THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Prom the collection of 
 James Collins, 
 
 Drumcondra, Ireland. 
 Purchased, 1918. 
 
 W 
 
 823 
 375c 
 
 7 SUBSQBIP^ION LIBRARY. 
 
 'S 
 
 D U e U-N-^A ND BELFAST. 
 
 m^^- 
 
 ^M 

 
 * 
 

 
 THE 
 
 CHRO]!(ICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE.
 
 THE CHRONICLES OF 
 CASTLE CLOYNE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 PIGTUBE8 OF TEE MUN8TEE FEOFLE. 
 
 BY 
 
 M. W. BREW, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the BURTONS OF DUITBOI 
 
 IN TEHEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, Limited. 
 
 1885. 
 [All Rights Reserved.']
 
 CHABLB3 DICKEirS AITD BVaJCS, 
 CBTSTAL PALACE PBE33.
 
 
 TO THE 
 
 LADY FLOEENCE DIXIE, 
 
 THE TRUE A^^) STEADFAST FEIEND OF IRELAND AND HER PEOPLE, 
 
 '^This Irish ^cbfl is "^tbiadti), 
 
 WITH SENTIMENTS OF MUCH RESPECT FOR HER TALENTS, 
 AND ADMIEATION FOR HER CHARACTER, 
 
 BY THE AUTHOK. 
 
 4'3?S98
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 Encoueageb by the favourable reception that was 
 given to my first book, '' The Burtons of Dunroe/' by 
 the Eeviewers and the PubHc, I venture to present 
 myself a second time to their notice, hoping to be 
 received once more with the same indulgence. 
 
 It may be said that I have painted the great Irish 
 Famine in colours that are too gloomy, and in 
 language that is too strong. But to this I answer 
 that the story of the Irish Famine could not be told 
 with a pen dipped in rose-water, even in a work of 
 fiction. But there are many still living who remember 
 that calamitous epoch in Irish history, who will bear 
 testimony that I have in no way exaggerated its 
 horrors, or made its details more painful than was 
 warranted by strict truth. They will say that on the 
 contrary, I have passed over them as lightly as it was 
 possible to do, consistently with the proper working 
 out of the story.
 
 viii PBEFACE. 
 
 There are two different stories running side by side 
 througli the book, each having but slight connection 
 with the other. This was to show how universal was 
 the action of the Famine, and how impartial in its 
 effects. Peer and peasant, landlord and tenant, the 
 home of the great, and the cabin of the lowly, all were 
 alike brought under its terrible influence, and all alike 
 were compelled to bend beneath the storm. Some 
 had vitality enough to survive it, and lift their heads 
 once more above the water, but more — and these last 
 were the great majority — went down beneath the 
 waves of utter and hopeless ruin, never to rise again. 
 
 With these few words of explanation, which I feel 
 are necessary, and thanking my readers, and the 
 gentlemen of the Press, for their former kindness 
 and indulgence — of which I wish the book were more 
 worthy — I remain their very grateful and obedient 
 servant. 
 
 THE AUTHOK.
 
 COI^TENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BALLYCKOSS PARM 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ALL-HALLOW EVE 15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE DUMB CAKE 28 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE "timbers OE A PRIEST " 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET 54 
 
 < CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE " HANDPASTING " . . . , . . , .74 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DARK DATS * .... 92
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. p^^jj. 
 
 THE STORM BEGIXS TO GA.THER 101 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE DILLON FAMILY 120 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 THE DILLONS AT HOME 137 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 THE EOSTEE, SISTERS 154 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 OONAGH LOSES HER EATHER .... , . 166 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 AN IRISH COUNTRY WAKE 183 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 A STORMY DEBATE 204 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 CANVASSING THE COUNTY 217 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 "over the walnuts and the wine" .... 231
 
 CONTENTS. xi 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. y^^^ 
 
 HOW PAT FLANAGAN CONTRIVED TO GO TO THE ELECTION . 257 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE NOMINATION DAT 269 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BEECH HILL 288 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION 303
 
 Here is my gallery of pictnres, sirs, 
 And you are welcome all to enter in ; 
 The more the welcomer. There is room for all 
 Who care to spend an idle, careless hour, 
 Scanning the portraits that are gathered here ; 
 For they are portraits. Drawn from very life. 
 In countenance and habit as they lived, 
 With harsh and awkward pencil, but yet true. 
 Some of those faces have a happy look. 
 The impress of the joyous heart within ; 
 And others wear a pensive, mournful gaze, 
 Born of the " sad pathetic minor " chord 
 That ran through all the music of their lives. 
 Come in, good sirs ; the doors are opened wide. 
 And you are very welcome !
 
 THE 
 
 CHROmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BALLYCROSS FAEM. 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Their homely joys, or destiny obscure. 
 
 Gray's " Elegy." 
 
 Not a model farm by any means was that of Martin 
 MacDermott, who was a ^^ strong farmer/^ and a 
 tenant on the old estate of Castle Cloyne. The farm 
 of Ballycross had been his father's and his grand- 
 father's, and all of his family, of whom anything was 
 known from time immemorial, had drawn their first 
 breath and breathed out their last sigh under the 
 shelter-- of the long, low, thatched roof, that stood in 
 unpretentious homeliness within a few hundred yards 
 of the public road. There was some good meadow 
 and arable land on this farm, which consisted of about 
 ninety acres, exclusive of bog — a good deal of which 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 TEE CEBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 had been reclaimed from time to time. This reclaimed 
 bog was not fit for much except to grow an inferior 
 sort of potato, which was soapy and watery, and in 
 truth only fit for cattle. There was no scientific farm- 
 ing practised at Ballycross, no experiments tried or 
 novelties introduced, for Martin MacDermott was a 
 staunch Conservative in many things, and in nothing 
 more so than in the cultivation of his land. He farmed 
 it as it had been farmed by his father and grandfather, 
 and what had been good enough for them was, he 
 thought, good enough for himself; they did well in 
 their day, and he could not fail to do well too if he 
 walked in their footsteps. That was his rule of life, 
 to which he strictly adhered, and which, up to the 
 time when this story opens, he had found to answer 
 tolerably well. His farm was as well cultivated as 
 those of his neighbours, and in many ways it could be 
 contrasted with theirs most favourably; it was very 
 productive, and he got the highest price for every- 
 thing that he brought to fair and market. This being 
 the case, he jogged on in the old beaten track, well 
 content with himself and the world; and he left new- 
 fangled ways, as he called them, to younger men, more 
 active in their habits, and more enterprising in their 
 aims. He was not rich, but neither was he poor. 
 He was always ready with his rent on " gale day,^'
 
 BALLYCE08S FARM. 
 
 and was supposed to have sometliing laid bj as a 
 provision for that rainy day tliat comes to most people 
 sooner or later in their lives. But this proverbial 
 rainy day had not come to him yet, nor was there 
 a cloud in the horizon to show that it was coming 
 at all; and, with peace and abundance in his humble 
 home, and a cheerful disposition that looked on all 
 things in their best light, the old age of Martin 
 MacDermott was very happy and serene. 
 
 The cottage in which he had lived since his birth 
 was a low thatched house, always well whitewashed, 
 and kept in good substantial repair. The doors and 
 windows were all sound and tight, and such as faced 
 the public road were neatly painted ; the thatch was 
 never allowed to get old or shabby-looking, but was 
 often renewed, so that it always looked whole and 
 neat. The house stood on a very slight elevation, 
 and a pathway well beaten down extended from the 
 front door to the road below. A stile of two or three 
 stone steps inserted into the low wall, or rather ditch, 
 that divided the farm from the road, was the mode of 
 entrance to the front of the house, and intended for 
 pedestrians only; but a few yards lower down was 
 a wooden gate, through which the cattle passed to 
 and from the out-offices, that were all situated at the 
 rear. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE GHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 On the particular day on wliicli my story opens — 
 the last day of October — the farm had rather a bleak 
 and desolate appearance, for the harvest had been all 
 gathered in, and the fields looked bare and brown. 
 But this was amply atoned for by the overflowing 
 abundance of the well-stocked haggard, where the 
 produce of the crops that had looked so green in 
 the previous summer was now gathered together 
 in golden plenty. There were stacks of oats and 
 barley standing round an immense rick of hay, 
 that towered above them all. Nearer to the house 
 was the winter s supply of turf, well built up so as 
 to be completely impervious to the weather, and 
 beside it was a goodly stack of bogwood to be 
 used in giving light to the kitchen through the 
 long, dark winter evenings. There was no lack of 
 substantial comfort in the appearance of Bally cross 
 house or farm, comfort no doubt of a very rude and 
 primitive kind, but still of that kind that it is so 
 pleasant to see. A stranger who passed by, and 
 glanced at the comfortable cottage, with its overflow- 
 ing haggard at the back, would conclude — and not be 
 far wrong in his conclusion — that it was no misnomer 
 to call the owner of such a homestead a '' strong 
 farmer,^ ^ who was easy in his circumstances, happy in 
 his life, and who owed no man anything.
 
 BALLYCROSS FARM. 
 
 Martin MacDermott had not married until lie was 
 well advanced in years, and his marriage had been 
 blessed with but one child. His wife had died about 
 three years before this time, and since her death, his 
 house had been managed by his daughter, who was as 
 dear to the old man as the apple of his eye. All the 
 love that other fathers diffused among many children 
 was garnered up by him for this one ewe lamb, who 
 in his eyes was the perfection of all that was good and 
 fair in a woman. And to speak the truth, the father's 
 partiality did not go far astray, for Oonagh* was a 
 good affectionate daughter, who did her best to make 
 his old age peaceful and happy, besides being a clever, 
 sensible housekeeper, who managed everything under 
 her care well and wisely. It was his boast that her 
 butter always sold as ^' first quality,^' and the cattle 
 she had reared brought the highest prices in the 
 market. The bacon that was cured under her inspec- 
 tion had a flavour that he did not find in any bacon 
 that he ate outside his own house, and the clothes 
 that were spun by her hands were warmer, and lasted 
 longer/ than if they had been broadcloth instead of 
 frieze. The girl's health was perfect, and her mind so 
 active, that work with her was not so much a 
 
 * Oonagh, the Irish for Winifred, pronounced Una.
 
 6 TBH CBBOyjrzES OF CASTLE CL0Y2^E. 
 
 necessity as a pastime. Whatever she had to do she did 
 thoroughly and well ; literally fulfilling the Scripture 
 precept, "What thy hand findeth to do, do it with all 
 thy might." It was this entire thoroughness that had 
 made her dairy a model of the most perfect neatness, 
 and her home not only the abode of plenty, but also 
 the most cheerful and pleasant house in that part of 
 the country. 
 
 It was to be more than usuaQy cheerful and plea- 
 sant this evening, for it was All-Hallow Eve : which 
 in the south of Ireland is always made a rustic f estivaL 
 It is spent in eating apples, burning beans, and general 
 merrymaking, and specially devoted by young people 
 to tae working of spells and charms, which are beheved 
 by them to have the power of revealing the forms, and 
 features, of these who in the distant and shadowy 
 future are fated to become their future spouses. 
 
 The farmer had gone to a fair early in the morning, 
 and before he left Oonagh had made him promise that 
 when he returned in the evening he would bring with 
 him Jack Hennessy, the blind piper, if the said Jack 
 was "over ground,'' as she had set her heart on 
 having a dance, in addition to the other amusements 
 peculiar to All-Hallow Eve. The men and boys em- 
 ployed on the farm had also gone to the fair, and no 
 one remained in the house but Oonaorh and two other
 
 BALLYCEOSS FJlS2I. 
 
 females. One of these was an elderly woman wlio 
 helped in doing the house- work, though she was 
 not considered exactly in the light of a servant. 
 Oonagh would have laughed heartily at the idea of 
 having a servant, or being thought entitled to have 
 one either, for she did not pretend to be anything but 
 just what she was, an honest man's daughter, and a 
 decent country girl. The third person was a cousin of 
 Oonagh's, who had come to spend the festival with 
 her. The trio had had an early dinner, after which 
 they fed the pigs, the calves, and the poultry ; then 
 they scalded the milk-pans, milked the cows; and 
 lastly, they made the kitchen neat and tidy for the 
 reception of the guests who had been invited to spend 
 the evening. Many hands make light work, parti- 
 cularly when the hands are impelled by willing hearts, 
 and before evening had set in their business was all 
 done, and the two girls retired to the httle room they 
 occupied in common to wash the dust from their faces 
 and hands, and exchange their working clothes for 
 those which were kept exclusively for Sundays and 
 holidays. Xo fine ladies arraying themselves for a 
 Court ball ever felt more pleasure in doing so than 
 these artless country girls felt in donning their simple 
 finery, and helping each other to display it to the best 
 advantage. Their dresses in truth were not very
 
 8 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 expensive, or elaborate, and were unaccompanied by 
 any ornaments save those of youth^ good looks, and 
 tbe modesty that is second nature to an Irish maiden. 
 When their simple toilet had been completed to their 
 satisfaction, they returned to the kitchen to exhibit 
 themselves to old Molly, and get her opinion as to its 
 success. 
 
 " Now, Molly, tell the truth. Which ov us do you 
 like the best ? " said Oonagh, with a pleasant smile. 
 
 " Why, thin, that I may never die in sin if I could 
 make a choice betune ye ! '' replied Molly, lookiug 
 from one to the other with unfeigned admiration. 
 " Oonagh has the natest gound, but Shusy's ribbon 
 bates out all the ribbons ever I seen. It's raley 
 purty, so it is, an^ shuits her colour just as if she 
 bespoke the makin' ov it.'^ 
 
 " And look at the lovely comb I have in my back 
 hair,^'' cried Susie. " Isn't it very purty intirely ? " 
 
 " Faix an' it is so. No wan could fault that comb 
 that had an eye in his head. Who gave it to you, 
 Shusy ? '' 
 
 " My brother Tom gave it to me as a Christmas- 
 box. I never wear it but ov an odd time, for ^tis too 
 2:ood for common use.'^ 
 
 " Your brother Tom is a rale good boy. I wish, 
 Shusy, that yourself and myself could make a match
 
 BALLYCBOSS FARM. 
 
 betune him an' Oonagh. What a^purty couple they'd 
 make, an^ what a roarin' weddin^ we'd have over ^em ! '' 
 
 Oonagh tossed her pretty head, and told the old 
 woman that she preferred her old father to the best 
 husband in the world, and Susie laughed and said 
 that of all the girls she knew, Oonagh was the one 
 she would select as a wife for her brother. 
 
 ^' But, girls, how will it be if Jack Hennessy isn't 
 able to come ? '^ .^aid Molly, with a grave face. 
 
 This question put a stop to the merriment of the 
 girls, for the non-arrival of the blind piper would be 
 a most disastrous ending to all their preparations. 
 
 '' What put that into your head, Molly ? '' they 
 both cried with one voice. 
 
 " Well, for wan thing, this is Novimber Eve, an' 
 powers ov people will be at the fair watchin' to snap 
 him up. An' moreover, if he was there, many a wan 
 was for giving him a thrate, and we all know that 
 Jack loves the licker, and that when it gets into his 
 head it takes all sinse an' raison out ov it. I'll go 
 bail if Jack comes to us anyway overtaken, 'tis little 
 dancin' will be on this flure to-night." 
 
 "My father promised me that he'd look out for 
 Jack the first thing af ther he got into the fair green," 
 said Oonagh, " an' what's more, that he'd give him 
 in charge ov Paddy Bryan, wid strict ordhers not to
 
 10 TEE CEEONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 let liim have a taste ov licker for the whole day, 
 barrin' wan noggin ov sperrits to keep the cowld 
 out ov his stomach. An' when once my father makes 
 me a promise, it will go hard wid him if he don't 
 keep if 
 
 " It is almost time they wor here now," observed 
 Susie, '' an"* Judy likewise. We may as well go down 
 to the stile, an' watch for them comin'; sure 'tis as 
 good for us as to be standin' here." 
 
 " Now, Molly, I depind on you to have a good fire 
 whin they come in,'' said Oonagh; "they'll be fairly 
 famished, an' the sight ov a good fire will be a rale 
 welcome to them after bein' out all day. An' Molly 
 asthore, don't forget to have the potatoes on the fire, 
 for they'll be hungry as well as cold." 
 
 " Niver fear, you can depind on me the same as 
 if it was yourself was in it," answered Molly. 
 
 The two girls strolled down the path in front of 
 the house, and when they came to the stile at the end 
 stood there, watching the people who were returning 
 from the fair, and exchanging greetings with such of 
 them as they had any acquaintance with. Though 
 the short October day was rapidly drawing to a close 
 there was yet sufficient light to enable them to see 
 and to be seen, and a very pretty picture they made 
 as they stood side by side, leaning on the stile. They
 
 BALLYCBOSS FARM. 11 
 
 were botli very pretty girls ; young, fresh, and briglit 
 witli health, and good spirits. At first sight Susie 
 would be considered the handsomer of the two. She 
 was tall and slender, with bright amber-coloured hair, 
 and a fair soft face, the chief charm of which was 
 a pensive innocent expression, that won upon all who 
 saw it. She had a gentle caressing manner, especially 
 towards anyone she loved, and a heart too tender 
 and yielding for the stern discipline that in nine cases 
 out of ten is sure to be a woman's lot. 
 
 The beauty of Oonagh was not inferior to that of 
 her cousin, though it was altogether of a different 
 character. She was not so tall, being just the medium 
 height, nor so slender, but her figure was perfectly 
 moulded, and her carriage upright and graceful. Her 
 face was not quite so handsome as Susie's, but it had 
 a thousand times more character. The lips, though 
 sweet and flexible, expressed much firmness and de- 
 termination, and there was high spirit and no small 
 share of pride in the finely- curved nostril and square 
 jaw, too square indeed to harmonise with the strict 
 rules of beauty. But the great attraction of the girl's 
 face lay in her eyes — the regular Irish eyes — gray, 
 soft, earnest, and shaded by long lashes so dark as 
 to be almost black. When she spoke she looked full 
 in the face of whoever she addressed with those won-
 
 12 THE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 derful eyes, as if she had nothing to fear, and nothing 
 to conceal. There was an expression of ineffable 
 candour and sweetness in those clear calm eyes, as 
 if the soul that looked out through them was truth 
 and peace — true to itself, and at peace with all the 
 world. Her hair, like her eyelashes and brows, was 
 very dark. The general expression of Oonagh^s face 
 was one of mingled gravity and resolution, which 
 would have been rather disagreeable but that it was 
 tempered, and toned down by the exceeding sweetness 
 of the soft, gray eyes. 
 
 " Isn't Judy very late ? " remarked Susie. 
 
 '' She has a dale to do, an' no wan to help her 
 or do a hand's turn for her ; her stepmother keeps 
 her hard at work, an' 'tis seldom she can get out 
 at all," replied Oonagh. 
 
 " It would be quare if she couldn't come. We'd 
 have no fun at all without Judy. She's so pleasant 
 that the very look ov her brightens up a place when 
 she comes into it. An' sure if she don't come, how 
 are we to manage to do the trick of the dumb cake ? " 
 
 *' We'd be a dale sorrier that she lost the diver- 
 shun an' the pleasant night," said unselfish Oonagh, 
 *' than if we was never to do the charm ov the 
 dumb cake at all. An' sure if all fails us, we can 
 make Molly do it along wid us."
 
 BALLYCBOSS FARM. 13 
 
 '^ Oil ! by your lave, that wouldn't do at all. 
 The three women that does the charm must be un- 
 married, an' poor ould Molly is a widder woman 
 this many a year." 
 
 "I never thought ov that. But if Judy don't 
 come, we can ask somewan ov the other girls to stop 
 wid us for the night. But I won't enjoy myself at 
 all if poor Judy isn't wid us, for ^^he has a hard 
 life with her cross stepmother, an' a little fun don't 
 often fall in her way." 
 
 " Oh, here she is ! " exclaimed Susie joyfully. " I 
 see her red shawl a good way off. Now, Oonagh, 
 we're all right if only Jack Hennessy don't fail us.'^ 
 
 The two girls ran out on the road to meet the 
 new comer with many demonstrations of joy. She 
 was about their own age, a handsome, sparkling- 
 looking brunette, with a bright complexion, and black 
 eyes that actually flashed with joy and excitement. 
 
 '^ An' I didn't forget the chicken's egg for the 
 dumb cake," she cried, as soon as the first transports 
 of the meeting had somewhat subsided. ^^Iwas in 
 dhread that Oonagh had no chicken ready to lay, 
 so not to have any disappointment I brought the egg 
 wid me." 
 
 " Oh ! we have the egg safe enough," said Oonagh, 
 ^^ an' I have the same egg undher lock an^ kav for
 
 14 TEE CEBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 the last week, in dkread that anything would happen 
 it. But ran into the fire, Judy, a' rdgal, for you 
 must be froze wid the cold, an' we'll folly afther 
 you as soon as ever my father comes. . He ought 
 to be here by this." 
 
 '^ If you only said the words sooner so he would. 
 But oh, girls ! Jack Hennessy isn't along wid him." 
 
 At this dismal announcement all the gladness 
 faded out of the faces of the three fair girls. Jack 
 Hennessy was not coming, and consequently there 
 could be no dance ! Here was a fiasco as unfortunate 
 as it was unexpected, and all their anticipations 
 of a pleasant evening were in one moment dashed 
 rudely to the ground. It was hard on them after 
 having invited all their friends and neighbours to 
 come and make merry. The non-arrival of Jack 
 Hennessy had knocked all their innocent plans about 
 their ears like a house of cards !
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ALL-HALLOW EVE. 
 
 O youth ! tbou hast a wealth beyond 
 
 What careful men do spend their souls to gain. 
 
 Maey Howitt. 
 
 ^' Wheee is Jack Hennessy ? Why didn't you bring 
 him wid you ? Sure we won't have any fun in life 
 without the music/' were the exclamations of the 
 three girls as old Martin MacDermott approached the 
 stile. 
 
 '' I didn't bring him, an' there's no more about it," 
 he replied gruffly. ^^ Come along, Oonagh, an' get the 
 supper^ for I'm fairly starved. It's my supper that's 
 troubling me now, an' not Jack Hennessy an' his 
 music." 
 
 " But did you get sight ov him at all, or did you 
 send to look for him as you promised me ? Oh, thin 
 we never thought that you'd lave us in the bog hole 
 this way ! "
 
 16 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 '' Sure I sint Paddy Bryan to liunt for him, an' I 
 wint myself afther Paddy, but where was the use ? 
 He was whipped up this mornin^, an' carried off to a 
 weddin' that's to be to-night, a great weddin' intirely 
 beyant at Bally casey, an' ov coorse they couldn't do 
 without Jack an' his chanther, be no manner ov 
 manes." 
 
 ^'Erra, girls, don't mind him," cried Oonagh joy- 
 fully, for though her father tried hard to keep a grave 
 face, yet the merry twinkle of his eye betrayed him ; 
 " sure he's only makin' fun ov us. I'll go bail that 
 Jack Hennessy is comin' on along wid Paddy." 
 
 The old man burst into a hearty laugh. 
 
 " Wisha bad manners to you for an old schamer," 
 cried Susie, drawing a long breath of intense relief, 
 " what a fine rise you took out ov us ! " 
 
 " If you were as well used to his schamin' as what 
 I am, it wouldn't be such a surprise to you," said 
 Oonagh gaily. 
 
 '^Well, as Oonagh guessed it, I may as well tell 
 the thruth about it. The piper is surely comin' along 
 wid Paddy, who had strict ordhers from me not to 
 lose sight ov him. But, Oonagh, '<x colleen dhass, he 
 alive about the supper, for I'm as hungry as if I 
 didn't see a male of vittles for a week." 
 
 As soon as Molly had heard the farmer's voice
 
 ALL-HALLOW EVE. 17 
 
 talking to the girls she lost no time in getting the 
 supper ready, so that it was on the table when they 
 entered the house. It would be hard to find a happier 
 set of people than they who sat down to the large 
 dish of hot potatoes, flanked by piggins of milk, and 
 plates of butter. It was not often that there were 
 strangers at Ballycross, and Oonagh would have 
 liked to have added a rasher of bacon to this ordinary 
 fare in their honour, but that was not possible as it 
 was a strict fast-day. 
 
 Supper was hardly over when Paddy the farm 
 servant, with a broad grin on his weather-beaten 
 face, arrived in triumph, bringing the piper with him. 
 The three girls broke into a perfect shriek of delight 
 when they saw the pair, and certainly Jack had no 
 reason to complain of his welcome. One of them 
 took his hat, another his stick, while the third took 
 him by the hand, and guided him to the cosiest corner 
 of the wide hearth near old Martin, who said to 
 them, " It^s his supper ye ought to be givin^ the 
 poor man, instid of makin' all this noise an' 
 iDotheration." 
 
 ^ '^ So we will, father, so we will,^^ said the cheerful 
 voice of his daughter, " but he must get the cowld 
 out of his heart first. I put some potatoes down to 
 roast for him, for they were gettin' cowld, an^ they^U 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 TEE CEEONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 be nice an' liot by tlie time lie takes a bate ov tbe 
 fire/' 
 
 Wben Jack bad eaten bis supper, Oonagb by bar 
 fatber's directions brougbt bim a glass of wbiskey to 
 ^' wet bis wbistle/' and put bim in good bumour 
 for tbe evening. Tben wben be bad joined tbe old 
 man in '^a blast ov tbe pipe" be set about tuning 
 bis instrument, and tbougb tbe sounds be drew from 
 it were discordant enougb, to tbe ligbt-bearted girls 
 tbey seemed tbe music of tbe spberes. 
 
 Not less pleasant was tbe droning of tbe pipes 
 in tbe ears of tbe invited guests, as tbey came singly 
 or in groups up tbe patb tbat led to tbe bouse ► 
 Tbere were pretty modest-looking girls wbo came witb 
 tbeir lovers and brotbers, dressed in tbeir best finery, 
 and ready for any amount of innocent amusement 
 tbat migbt be set on foot. A few elderly people came 
 to see tbeir cbildren enjoying tbemselves, as well as 
 to bave a slianahus witb old Martin. Tbere was 
 Jobn Molloy, tbe rustic beau and dandy of tbe district, 
 wbo was called by tbe men " Buck Molloy " in derision^ 
 because be was always clad in ^^broadclotb " instead 
 of frieze wbicb tbey tbemselves wore, and because be 
 used long words in speaking, and bad a conceited 
 swaggering way witb bim tbat tbey tbougbt supremely 
 ridiculous. By tbe women be was called by tbe
 
 ALL-HALLOW EVE, 19 
 
 more complimentary sobriqaet of " Shawn Sugagli/^ 
 or '' Pleasant Jolin/^ because for tliem he had always a 
 bright smile, a cheerful word, and a manner so flatter- 
 ing, and persuasive, that they thought him perfectly 
 irresistible. But the popularity of " Pleasant John '' 
 did not extend from the young girls to their fathers, 
 who all thought him a good-for-nothing fellow, whose 
 only property consisted of his fine clothes, and 
 whose " pleasant ^^ manner was nothing more than 
 swagger and impudence. 
 
 This rustic Adonis was living with an elder 
 brother, who lived on a good farm — well tilled and 
 stocked — and who, being a bachelor- did not grudge 
 him a seat at his table, and the shelter of his roof. 
 Sometimes John did a day's work on the farm, but 
 this was only at a very busy time such as springtime 
 and harvest ; but for the greater part of his life he 
 was perfectly idle, though his brother had to work 
 very hard to keep the wolf from the door. 
 
 Whenever John was reproached for his idleness, 
 he invariably replied that hard work did not agree 
 with him ; or, in plain language, he did not care to 
 work, and disliked it intensely. A small share of 
 work went very farindeed with ^' Pleasant John." But 
 though he was never known to work more than a 
 couple of days in the week, and only then under
 
 20 THE CEEOXICLES OE CASTLE CLOYXE. 
 
 the spur of most pressing necessity, lie was indefa- 
 tigable in his attendance at fair and market, though he 
 had nothing to buy or sell ; as his brother, for many 
 good reasons, never entrusted him with the trans- 
 action of his business. John was also most punctual 
 in giving the light of his countenance to weddings 
 and wakes, and such other social gatherings as gave 
 him a chance of meeting his acquaintances, and of 
 showing off his handsome face and " pleasant " ways 
 among the young women of the district. 
 
 Though the feminine portion of the community 
 looked on him with much favour, all his own sex, 
 particularly the seniors, set him down, and with truth^ 
 as a professional fortune-hunter. His brother, they 
 said, would be sure to marry, for he was still a young 
 man; and, in that case, John's tenure in the house 
 would rest on a very sandy foundation; for it was 
 not likely that the new mistress would have much 
 toleration for such an idle and unprofitable inmate. 
 Having a shrewd suspicion himself of this awk- 
 ward eventuality, John turned his thoughts to 
 making a rich marriage, as it seemed the only way 
 by which he could settle himself comfortably in life. 
 And it was remarked of him that though he flirted 
 furiously with every pretty girl he met, yet that he 
 never devoted himself for more than the time beine.
 
 ALL-BALLOW EVE. 21 
 
 to anyone who was not well endowed with worldly 
 goods. 
 
 It is a strange thing, but no less true, that Oonagh 
 MacDermott, who was a sensible young woman, was 
 so foolish as not only to receive favourably the admi- 
 ration of this idle, worthless fellow, but had learned 
 to love him with a love that a true woman feels but 
 once in all her life. She was infatuated by his 
 handsome face, and plausible tongue, and made a vow 
 to her own heart that if she were not married to 
 him she would never marry any other man. 
 
 Bat she had a silent disposition, and bm-ied this 
 love in the depths of her own heart, and not even 
 to her friends Susie, and Judy, did she give the least 
 hint that this man was more to her than aU the rest 
 of the world. "When he should ask her to be his 
 wife, she would admit how long and well she had 
 loved him, but never until then. 
 
 I have said so much of " Shawn Sugagh" — partly 
 because he is one of the chief personages of my 
 story, and exercised an overpowering influence on 
 the life and fortunes of Oonagh, and partly because 
 he assumes to himself the first place wherever he is 
 as his own special right — that I have not left much 
 space for the description of the other guests. But 
 it is not necessary, as they were all of the common
 
 22 THE CHBONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 type of country men and women, who all came to 
 enjoy themselves, and contribute to the enjoyment 
 of the rest. 
 
 They were all accustomed to make merry on All- 
 Hallow Eve — literally the Eve of All Saints — and 
 they were fully determined to do so on the present 
 occasion. On that night every family, no matter how 
 poor, has an attempt at merrymaking, even in a small 
 way, and tries, for a few hours at least, to put grief 
 and care into the background. 
 
 The young people ate apples and burned beans, 
 as well as going through all manner of weird spells 
 and charms. 
 
 On All-Hallow Eve, the fairies, or the '' good 
 people'^ as they were popularly called, were supposed 
 to be particularly active, and to be endowed with a 
 power that was not given them at any other time of 
 the year. On that one night they meddle more with 
 the affairs of men — a race that they envied because 
 they had been endowed with souls, and destined for 
 the eternal happiness of heaven that was denied to 
 themselves. These tiny people were supposed, to 
 preside over all the spells of this night, hop over 
 the girdle on which the young girls burned themselves 
 with their sweethearts in the form of beans, perch 
 on the edge of the tea-cup which some experienced
 
 ALL-HALLOW EVJE. 
 
 sybil was " tossing '^ for tlie benefit of the young people, 
 who with eager faces^ and earnest eyes were grouped 
 all round her, waiting for the words that were to them 
 as the oracles of Fate ; and directed with unerring 
 accuracy the size and shape that the molten lead was 
 to assume when thrown into cold water. In short, on 
 this night the fairies reign supreme all over the south 
 of Ireland, ready to lend their aid when properly 
 invoked by the usual mystic words, and ceremonies, to 
 all who seek "to pierce the unborn years /^ Like 
 Queen Mab, they haunted dreams, and filled the night 
 with fantastic visions of the future, that were not to 
 be expected on any other night of the year. That 
 was so some fifty years ago ; but in these degenerate 
 days it would seem that the wee people who were 
 so sportive, and playful, have been frightened away by 
 the shriek of the railway engine, and the advance of 
 that ubiquitous personage "the schoolmaster abroad," 
 and the haunts where they played their elfish tricks, 
 will know them no more. 
 
 When the apples had been all eaten, and the beans 
 all burnt, amid the good-humoured laughter of the 
 company, the floor of the kitchen was cleared of 
 chairs and tables, Jack Hennessy struck up the cheer- 
 ful strains of " The Fox-hunters' Jig/' and old Martin, 
 in a pleasant voice, told the young men to lose no
 
 24 THE CHEONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 time in asking their partners, " to take the flure wid 
 'em." But not one of those sheepish fellows felt 
 inclined to be the first, " to take the flure " ; they all 
 hung back shamefaced^ and bashful, each waiting for 
 someone else to begin. It was on an occasion such as 
 this, that John Molloy showed himself to great ad- 
 vantage. Now with the native confidence that never 
 deserted him, he gallantly sprung up, and advancing- 
 to where Oonagh sat, put both his heels together, and 
 making her a low bow, asked her with a smile, that 
 disclosed a set of teeth as white, and even as those of 
 a hound, "if she wbuld be plased to take the flure 
 wid him." 
 
 In answer to this invitation Oonagh stood up, and, 
 with a deep curtsey in return for his bow, gave him 
 her hand. Emboldened by the Buck's example, other 
 young men took heart of grace, and came forward to 
 secure partners. That indeed was dancing ! The 
 boys went at it as if they meant business, and would 
 not admit of any shams. It was amusing to see how 
 conscientiously they did all their ^' steps ^' both in jigs 
 and reels ; the pigeon's wing, cover the buckle, the 
 double shuffle, heel and toe, and then da capo. They 
 were in earnest — those stalwart young country fellows_^ 
 and no mistake. They snapped their fingers, stamped 
 on the floor, and withal kept the most perfect time
 
 ALL-HALLOW EVE. 25 
 
 to tlie music. The dancing of tlie girls was of quite 
 a different description. They had as many " steps " as 
 the men, but they executed them more neatly, and with 
 less flourish. Their movements were light,, easy and 
 exceedingly graceful. The clumsiest and most awk- 
 ward-looking- among them became quite another person 
 when she stood up to dance. Her motions became 
 buoyant and graceful, her feet light and elastic. And 
 if sparkling eyes, pleasant smiles, and blushes that 
 came and went in quick succession, were true indications 
 of their feelings, they enjoyed the music and the 
 dancing quite as much as their partners, although 
 they were not altogether as demonstrative. 
 
 At the end of a couple of hours the piper declared 
 that he should have a little rest, as well as a glass of 
 punch to " wet his whistle " once more, and then began 
 the fun of the snap-apple. An enormous apple was 
 suspended by a string from the roof, and some lighted 
 candles were stuck into it all round. The fun consisted 
 in the young men trying in turn to take a bite out of 
 the apple, a difficult task — as they were not allowed to 
 use their hands to steady it as it swung to and fro, and 
 not a little dangerous, as they ran the risk of burning 
 their noses or of singeing their whiskers. At each in- 
 effectual attempt to take a bite, there were peals of 
 laughter from all the rest, and the apple kept dangling
 
 26 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 and the candles burning, as if in mockery of tlie 
 desperate efforts made to pull tliem down. At last 
 tlie string took fire, and the apple fell to the 
 ground, not, however, until it had served the purpose 
 for which it had been hung up, and being the cause of 
 provoking much mirth and sly badinage. 
 
 While the young people were amusing themselves 
 after their own fashion, the seniors of the party sat 
 at the ample hearth blazing with turf and bogwood. 
 The men smoked their pipes with old Martin at one 
 side, discussing the price of butter and corn, and other 
 topics equally interesting to them, while at the other 
 side of the fire the women watched the dancing with 
 the critical eyes of persons who had been good dancers 
 in their own day, and consequently thought themselves 
 entitled to give their opinions on the subject. They 
 chatted, and laughed, and enjoyed the passing hour — 
 those poor toil-worn old people — as if labour and 
 poverty were not the chief elements of their daily life, 
 and as if the dreaded ^^ gale day '' were not looming 
 darkly, but surely, in the distance. 
 
 About eleven o^ clock the large kitchen table was 
 drawn again to its old place in the centre, and soon by 
 the deft hands of Oonagh and Molly, it was covered 
 with huge piles of bread and butter, every slice being 
 fully an inch thick, and an immense tea-pot surrounded
 
 ALL-HALLOW EVE. 27 
 
 by a formidable array of cups and saucers. Their 
 exertions during tbe evening had given the company the 
 appetite of a London alderman, and they attacked the 
 good cheer with a vigour that soon disposed of it very 
 satisfactorily. Then by way of variety, at the close of 
 the entertainment, some songs were sung, and more 
 apples were handed round so that the company could 
 eat while they were listening. But at length the last 
 song was sung, the last apple eaten, the last pipe 
 smoked, and the guests all went away with the ex- 
 ception of the piper, who was to sleep with Paddy 
 Bryan in the loft over the kitchen. The old farmer, 
 now completely tired out, retired to his own little 
 bedroom, and the three girls were left free to enter on 
 the solemn, and weird mystery of the '^ Dumb Cake.^'
 
 CHAPTER 111. 
 
 THE DUMB CAKE, 
 
 With hearts that tremble between hopes and fears, 
 We seek to pierce the gloom of future years, 
 And, with irreverent, and daring hand, 
 Uplift the veil that shrouds th' unseen land. 
 
 Making, baking, and eating the "dumb cake" is a form 
 of spell known only in Ireland, by which, those who 
 practised it sought to obtain some glimpses of the 
 destiny that awaited them in after-life. The spell 
 should only be wrought on All-Hallow Eve, as being 
 the night of all the year when the '^ good people ^' 
 had most influence on the fate of human beings, and 
 by three women, who should all be unmarried, and 
 on whose maiden fame no evil shadow had ever 
 rested. Neither a wife, nor a widow, could take any 
 part in the mysterious rites, for their lot was fixed, 
 their fortunes had been told long before, and they
 
 THE DUMB CAKE. 
 
 had nothing more to learn by diving into the future 
 hut what they were ah^eady well aware of, namely, 
 that they were mortal_, and must one day die. 
 
 When all in the house but themselves were asleep, 
 the three girls proceeded to make the dumb cake- 
 The ingredients of this magic cake consisted of an 
 Qggj which should be the first laid by a chicken, the 
 shell of this full of flour, and another egg-shell full 
 of salt. Those three were to be mixed by the three 
 girls, baked by the three, and eaten by the three, in 
 the most perfect silence. From the moment when 
 the three put each a hand to work the cake until 
 they awoke next morning, they were bound to observe 
 the most rigid silence ; for the utterance of even one 
 word would have the effect of breaking the spell, and 
 rendering its power null and void. 
 
 It was this strict and necessary silence which 
 gave it the name of "dumb cake.''^ So while the 
 three girls were making, baking, and eating it, taking 
 great care that not even a crumb was left behind, 
 they never spoke a word, and in the same silence 
 they retired to rest. It was also de rigiieur that 
 the three girls should sleep under the same roof, so 
 that they should see the book of the future unfolded 
 within reach of each other. 
 
 Early next morning the people at the farm were
 
 30 THE GHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 all astir. The farmer and liis man Paddy went off 
 to early mass ; for tlie Feast of All Saints is a strict 
 holy-day in the Catholic Church. Molly and the 
 three girls were to go to a late mass ; but in the 
 meantime they were by no means idle, for the cows 
 had to be milked, the dairy to be attended to, and the 
 pigs and poultry fed. They were so busy that they 
 had no time to think of their dreams of the previous 
 night, or tell each other of the great and wonderful 
 revelations that had been given to them while 
 they abode in the solemn, and mysterious land of 
 sleep. 
 
 When the morning^s work was done and break- 
 fast despatched, the farmer and his man went off 
 to a distant part of the land to look after a sick 
 cow, and only the women remained in the house. 
 
 Though old Molly had left her girlhood far 
 behind her, she had her full share of the faith in 
 the spell of the dumb cake, and a good deal of 
 womanly sympathy with those who, by virtue of 
 their youth and maidenhood, were privileged to per- 
 form it. She was curious, too, to know what each 
 and all had to tell her of the working of the charm, 
 which no doubt she had herself often tried in the 
 long-past days of her youth. 
 
 ^^^Tis too soon to go to mass yet,^^ she said to
 
 THE DUMB CAKE. 81 
 
 tliem ; ^' moreover, we liave tlie place all to oursels ;. 
 so sit down, girls, by tlie fire, and let us hear what 
 luck the dumb cake brought to ye. "'TIS something 
 good, or Fm greatly disappointed ; for ye all desarve 
 good luck, and ye'll get it too, never fear. Come, 
 Oonagh machree, let you begin, as you^re the eldher ; 
 though, for that matther, there's no great differ betune 
 any ov ye.^' 
 
 '' Oh, let Judy begin first, as she's the stranger. 
 Sure, 'tis only manners to let her tell her story first." 
 
 Judy began clearing her throat, and looked 
 as bashful as possible, while all the others began to 
 laugh. 
 
 '^ Come now, Judy, make a clane breast of it," 
 said Molly, entering with good-natured interest into 
 the spirit of the fun, '^ an' tell us what sort ov a boy 
 it was that you dhramed ov last night." 
 
 '^ Oh, wisha, I might as well tell it at wanst, for 
 ye never could guess it if ye wor to be guessin' for a 
 week," with a burst of loud laughter, and a saucy 
 toss of her head. "The boy that came to me was 
 a boy that I never would marry, if he had the estate 
 of Castle Cloyne at his back. It was that mad Dick 
 Considine that came to me in my dhrames ; no less, if 
 ye plase ! " 
 
 ^' Dick Considine isn't mad at all, whatever people
 
 m THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 may say/' said Oonagli ; " thougli I own lie's a little 
 quare in liimself at times. He's a dacent, lionest boy, 
 tliat minds his bisness ; an'^ signs on, lie lias bisness 
 to do wben otber men are wid their bands in their 
 pockets. Sorra bit ov madness is in the same boy, 
 but what's in the looks av him ; and, sure, looks don't 
 signify a thrawneen. I heard my father say that Dick 
 has a nice spot ov ground iip in the mountains, an' 
 that he has it well for the value too. So you needn't 
 turn up your nose at him, Judy." 
 
 " Well, as ye think so much ov him, you're wel- 
 come to my share ov him. I'll never marry a madman, 
 for maybe 'tis to kill me he would." 
 
 ^^But, Judy, it wasn't to me he came last night, 
 but to yourself." 
 
 " Well, then, he made a great mistake intirely in 
 comin' to me ; I wouldn't marry that cracked fellow — 
 no, not if he was the Queen's eldest son. I tell ye 
 all that, now, an' ye can remimber my words." 
 
 There was another burst of mocking laughter 
 from the other two girls, at which Judy's bright 
 colour became still more bright, and her black eyes 
 flashed indignantly. 
 
 '^ Who did you dhrame ov, Shusy ? " said Molly, 
 trying to pour oil on the troubled waters by changing 
 the subject.
 
 THE DUMB CAKE. 
 
 " Oil, then, botheration to it for a story ! " replied 
 Sasie, with a pretty pout. '' 1 had no better luck 
 than Judy, for if she dhramed ov a madman, I 
 dhramed ov a fool — the biggest fool in the whole 
 counthry/^ 
 
 ^' An' who was he^ eroo ? Was it Mike na Lhibe, 
 for he's the biggest fool in the counthry ? " 
 
 "It wasn't Mike na LUheJ' 
 
 " An' who was it, then ? " 
 
 ^' It was Shawn Sugagh ! " 
 
 •'An' do you call him a fool, Shusy ? He's the 
 very handsomest boy in the three baronies, let alone 
 the pleasantest; an' 'tis because he is so pleasant and 
 good-humoured, that the name of " Shawn Sugagh " 
 was put on him. Hould your whisht, little girl, an' 
 let no one see that you're so foolish. John Molloy 
 is husband good enough for the first lady in the 
 land." 
 
 '^Then the first lady in the land may have the 
 oniadhawTij for all I care," said pretty Susie. *^It 
 never'll be said ov me, that wid my eyes open I went 
 to marry the likes ov him." 
 
 " What is there so foolish about him ? " asked 
 Oonagh. 
 
 '' Well, Oonagh, one would think, to hear you 
 ask that question, that you hadn't an eye in your 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE CHEOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYXE. 
 
 head. Why, he^s full o£ consate an' impudence up 
 to his very chin. Only look at the swagger ov him, 
 and listen to his tall English, all the same as if he 
 was an estated gentleman, an' the aiqual ov Masther 
 Hyacinth Dillon, ov Castle Cloyne, an' instid ov that 
 he hasn't a majesty to bless himself wid, either goold, 
 silver, or brass, but as his hard-workin' brother will 
 give it to him. The poor ape thinks that all the 
 girls are dyin' about him, an' all the time they^re 
 only makin' game ov him.'' 
 
 '' You're as hard to be pleased as Judy, every bit," 
 said the old woman, '^'but 'tis no use for either ov ye 
 to be grumblin'. What's allotted can't be blotted. 
 Them two boys is marked out for the pair ov ye, 
 an' mark my words, if it was in twenty years to come 
 ye'll be married to them, an' to no one else. So ye 
 may as well make the best of it, an' be satisfied wid 
 what's ordained for ye. If ye' re so hard to be 
 pleased, 'tis the crooked stick ye might get instid of 
 a husband. Did ye ever hear tell the story of the 
 crooked stick ? " 
 
 '^ Och ! don't be botherin' about it. I'm rale 
 sorry I had any hand in that dumb cake at all. It's 
 nothing at all but an ould 2nslierogue.''^ 
 
 * Pisherogue — Superstition.
 
 THE BVMB CAKE. 35 
 
 At this sally they all laughed again. 
 
 "Fll tell you this day that you'll marry John Molloy 
 the fool, the same day that I marry mad Dick 
 Oonsidine/' cries the incorrigible Judy, hardly able 
 to speak for laughter. 
 
 '^ Folly on, childher, folly on ; sure ye'll never 
 be younger, or heartier, than what ye are to-day, an* 
 the world is all on before ye,^^ said Molly. '^It's 
 time enough for ye to be sorrowful when the sorra 
 comes in the dure to ye. Now, Oonagh Anien dheelish,* 
 ^tis your turn. Tell us who was the bachelor that 
 came to you last night. I hope you won't be as hard 
 to be pleased as these foolish girls here.''^ 
 
 ^^No bachelor came to me,'' replied Oonagh 
 quietly. 
 
 ** Eyeh ! No bachelor came to you after putting 
 a hand in the dumb cake ? " 
 
 '^ Sorro wan at all." 
 
 " Well, what did you dhrame ov thin ? Something 
 sthrong, I'll go bail, you're so long in tellin' us.'^ 
 
 " It was worse than sthrong, MoUy, it was fright- 
 ful — part ov it, I mane. I dhreamt that I was in 
 chapel hearing mass, an' though the chapel was full 
 ov people I didn't mind any wan there but the priest 
 
 * Allien dheeUsh — Dearest daughter. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 that was on the altar. He was a handsome young 
 man^ wid fair hair an' blue eyes, an^ I thought I heard 
 some one near me say that he was the new coajuther 
 an^ that that was his first mass in the parish/' 
 
 " Sure that was no bachelor at all/' cried laughing 
 Jady, ^' no wan could marry a priesf 
 
 "Well, sure she couldn't be married without a 
 priest, could she ? " said the old woman. " Go on, and 
 tell us about the husband, a rdgal ! You dhreamt ov 
 something else, surely ? " 
 
 " I did/' replied the girl with an expression of 
 much gravity in her soft gray eyes. "I thought that 
 I was in bed, not here at home but in a strange place 
 I never was in before, an' as I was lyin' there awake 
 I thought two men carryin' a coffin betune 'em came 
 in, an' laid the coffin down by the side ov my bed an' 
 thin went away. When they were gone I ris up 
 on my elbow, an' looked on the plate that was on 
 the cover, an' there was ' Oonagh MacDermott,' my 
 own name, on it ! When I saw that, I was so frightened 
 that I awoke, an' my hand to you I had no more 
 sleep after that." 
 
 ''The Lord save us! That was a frightful 
 dhrame to have," cried the timid Susie with a 
 shudder.
 
 THE DUMB CAKE. 37 
 
 ^' Eyeh, that I mightn't die in sin, if I believe in 
 dhrames at all ! " exclaimed tlie good-natured Molly- 
 trying to cheer them after having heard such a weird 
 revelation. 
 
 ^^ They're only ould talk, an' the dumb cake is 
 only fit for makin' fan ov it. Many a time I done it 
 when I was a colleen oge, full ov fun an' divarshun, 
 an' the man I took wid in the ind wasn't any ov them 
 I dhramed ov at all, though he was a good husband 
 to me while the Lord left us together. Och ! sure if 
 I thought things would turn out so conthrary intirely, 
 I'd set my face against the whole box and dice from 
 the bignin." 
 
 '^ Well, there's no help for spilled milk but to call 
 the cat," observed Oonagh philosophically. " We may 
 as well not be botherin' ourselves about charms and 
 thricks on All-Hallow Eve, for they're nothing but a 
 pack ov lies. The clergy is complately agin the like, 
 an' as we wint agin the clergy, we couldn't expect to 
 have better luck. For my own part, I'll larn a lesson 
 by it, an' that's never to make or meddle wid ijishe- 
 rogues agin durin' duration." 
 
 >' Wan would think Oonagh has made up her mind 
 to be an old maid," said Judy, '' but don't ye mind that 
 at all. That's an intention she won't keep when the
 
 38 TEE GEB0EICLE8 OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 riglit boy comes to the fore/^ and tlie joyous-liearted 
 girl sang tlie chorus of an old song, 
 
 " BaUinnamona oro ! 
 
 The snug little wedding for me." 
 
 " Here are my father an^ Paddy comin^ across the 
 stile/^ said Oonagh, starting up from her seat, ^^ an' tis 
 time for us to be on the road, barrin' we want to be 
 late for mass/^ 
 
 '^ Oonagh is in a hurry to see if the priest that says 
 last mass is like the priest that was in her dhrame," 
 said Susie 
 
 '^ Faith, thin, Fm not so. I know well ^tis ould 
 Father Kafferty that will be on the altar, an' won't he 
 make a fine complaint ov me to Miss Grace, if I'm late 
 for mass/' 
 
 When they were at dinner in the afternoon the 
 farmer made several sly allusions to the spells usually 
 done by young people on All-Hallow Eve, and ended 
 by asking the blushing girls what bachelors did they 
 dream of. There was a good deal of fencing on the 
 part of the trio, and at last they boldly denied having 
 done any charms, or dreamed of any one, or any thing 
 in particular; At this, Martin laughed long and loud, 
 and continued bantering and teasing them, until at last 
 Molly came to the rescue, by asking what an old man* 
 like him knew of such things.
 
 THE DUMB CAKE. 39 
 
 ^' Now^ Molly^ you may as well let the cat out ov 
 the bag. Sure I know well that my back wasn't well 
 turned this mornin^_, when you heard it all from 
 ^em." 
 
 " Well^ an^ if I did itself^ you may as well take it 
 aisy, honest man^ for I donH mane to make you as wise 
 as myself. Erra ! what can an ould man like you know 
 what young girls do be thinking ov ? You know tales 
 is'nt to be told out of school/^ 
 
 ^' Wellj girls, ye have no call to be so shamefaced 
 about it/^ said the kind old man. '* Tis only what ye' re 
 mothers an' grandmothers done before ye wor born, 
 and what ye^r own girls will be doin^ in their turn. 
 The day will come when ye won't think ov the like at 
 all, so while ever ye'r young, and hearty, have the bit 
 ov divarshun, an' give no thanks to any wan o' count 
 ov it/' 
 
 When dinner was over the two visitors prepared to 
 go away. Judy went first, having the fear of her cross 
 stepmother before her eyes, but Susie stayed longer, 
 waiting for her brother who was to come for her. 
 With the shades of evening he came on horseback, with 
 a pillion behind him for Susie. He was a good-looking 
 young man, with a frank honest expression of coun- 
 tenance, that also seemed very shrewd and sensible. He 
 was very much attached to Susie, who fully returned
 
 40 TEE CHEONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 his affection, and thought how very happy she would 
 be if she could succeed in '^making a match" between 
 this dear brother and her cousin Oonagh. Her efforts 
 in this direction, however, had up to this not been 
 been attended with any success. Oonagh was, as 
 Susie expressed it, " hard to plase,^^ or in other words 
 she did not see Tom Burke's perfections in the same 
 rose-coloured light that his sister saw them, and gave 
 a deaf ear to all the hints that Susie was constantly 
 throwing out on the subject. 
 
 Tom Burke was obliged to dismount, for the 
 hospitable farmer would not consent to his riding off 
 until he had taken some refreshment, and his horse 
 had got a feed of oats. While Tom was eating, 
 Martin kept the two girls in an agony of bashfulness 
 and terror, by threatening to tell him who they had 
 dreamed of on the preceding night — an idle threat on 
 his part, considering that he did not know it himself, 
 though he teased them by pretending that Molly had 
 told him privately. At last Tom, remembering that 
 he had fifteen miles to ride before they could reach 
 home, hurried Susie out of the house, and in a few 
 moments the clatter of his horse's hoofs died away in 
 the distance.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Ah me ! how weak a thing 
 The heart of woman is ! 
 
 Shakespeahe. 
 
 Aftee their unusual dissipation on All- Hallow Eve^ the 
 family at Ballycross fell again, as a matter of course, 
 into the groove of their old quiet monotonous life. 
 Very quiet indeed that life was, having nothing to 
 mark the passage of time but the round of weekly 
 labour, broken only by the rest of the Sunday, and 
 the duty of hearing mass on that sacred day. The 
 farm of Martin MacDermott was some miles distant 
 from any town or even village, so that the life passed 
 by him and his family was one of almost unbroken 
 solitude and seclusion from the world. They did not 
 consider this isolation any hardship, or feel discon- 
 tented or lonely because of it, for they had always
 
 42 THE CERONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 been accustomed to it^ and had never the experience of 
 any other life. To be ready with the rent on gale 
 day_, as well as when the tax collector was expected on 
 his round, and to support themselves after all was 
 paid in tolerable comfort_, required so much incessant 
 labour, and careful thrift, that they had neither time 
 nor inclination to think of much variety, or amuse- 
 ments. In attending to their business early and late, 
 they found an occupation full of the most absorbings 
 interest, and in ministering to the wants of all the 
 dumb creatures that were on the farm, and in one way 
 or another, contributed to make money, and keep the 
 wheel going round, they found quite as much variety 
 and pleasure as they cared to have. There was no 
 ennui ever felt among them, for every hour of the day 
 was fully occupied by its own allotted task, and every 
 season brought the work that of right belonged to 
 itself. The bread that was earned by this continuous 
 labour had a savour that made it very pleasant, and 
 the sleep that followed after a long day of restless 
 activity, was sound and refreshing. If their ideas 
 were few, and all turned in one narrow groove, their 
 consciences were at peace with themselves, and the 
 world; and if their lives were without excitement or 
 strong emotion they were, on the other hand, very 
 peaceful and happy.
 
 THE "TIMBERS OF A PRIEST:' 43 
 
 Very often did Oonagli tliink of tlie strange dream 
 she had had on All-Hallow Eve ; a dream so unlike 
 anything that she had imagined it would have been. 
 She was quite sure that the lover who would appear 
 to her under the magic spell of the dumb cake would 
 be John Molloy, and yet it was not to her he had 
 come but to Susie Burke, who not only did not care 
 for him, but had called him a fool, and thought 
 herself aggrieved by being put off with such a husband. 
 Still though she could not prevent her thoughts from 
 dwelling on it, she did not put much faith in the 
 prediction that on her coffin would be inscribed 
 " Oonagh MacDermott," though what the young- 
 priest celebrating his first mass in her presence had 
 to do with her future life, she could not imagine. 
 She had joined the two girls as light-hearted, and 
 joyous as she was herself, in the charm of the dumb 
 cake, partly for the fun of the thing, and partly 
 because it was the correct thing for three unmarried 
 girls to do on All-Hallow Eve. She was the one of 
 the three the most unlikely to die unmarried, for she 
 had many lovers, and none of them at all backward 
 in trying to win her favour. As her father's only 
 child she was an heiress in a small way, and a good 
 farm with a long lease, well tilled and stocked, with a 
 comfortably furnished house on it, constituted a dowry
 
 44 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 that heiglitened her attractions in the eyes of her 
 rustic admirers very considerably. The Irish peasant 
 has an insatiable ^^ earth hunger/' and a woman who 
 is the fortunate owner of a ^^ little spot of land/' is 
 sure to be sought after, no matter what her appearance 
 or disposition may be. But Oonagh's attractions were 
 not altogether confined to the " spot of land/' for 
 though not what is called beautiful, she was a very 
 pretty girl, and when youth and good looks were 
 thrown into the scale, along with the house and farm, 
 there was not much probability that she would die 
 unmarried, " that malady most incident to maids." 
 
 However, it must be confessed that Oonagh had 
 not shown her usual good common sense when she 
 had, out of all her admirers, selected as the one man 
 to whom only she would give herself away, the idle, 
 good-for-nothing fellow that Susie had so con- 
 temptuously called "that fool, John Molloy!'' John, 
 with his "pleasant" ways and handsome face, had 
 fairly bewitched the innocent, simple-minded country 
 girl. His big words, that made up in sound what 
 they wanted in sense, seemed to her the essence of 
 fine education, and his impudent swagger the perfec- 
 tion of ease and good breeding. 
 
 He had deluded Oonagh as he had deluded many 
 another girl, to all of whom he had devoted himself
 
 THE "TIMBERS OF A PRIEST." 45 
 
 until they had dismissed Mm, or until lie had dis- 
 covered that their portions did not come up to his 
 expectations. With all his " pleasantness '' he never 
 lost sight of the main chance, but was fully deter- 
 mined to sell himself in the matrimonial market for 
 the very highest price that he could obtain. 
 
 Neither youth, nor beauty, nor goodness, possessed 
 any value inhis eyes, compared withhouse, and land, 
 and money. If he ever thought of them at all, it 
 was as very secondary considerations indeed. They 
 were all very good things, he admitted, when cast 
 into the scale with world^s wealth, but when in the 
 opposite one, were not to be thought of at all. With 
 him the great point was not the wife, but the fortune ; 
 and he was indifferent whether the fortune was to 
 consist of land or money. However, of the two 
 he preferred the land, as being — provided the lease 
 was a good one, and the rents all paid up — the most 
 respectable and substantial. 
 
 It was a strange thing that Oonagh should have 
 given her love to this man — a problem that could not 
 easily be solved. Love is proverbially blind, and in 
 this ~ instance there could be no doubt of his defective 
 vision. Though cheerful, with the gladness of youth 
 and innocence, Oonagh was naturally grave and re- 
 flective, composed in manner, quiet in conversation,
 
 46 THE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 and collected in tliought ; wMle he was all impudence 
 and conceit, witli an amazing volubility of language, 
 and a frivolity of character^ that always prevented 
 him from settling down to any permanent or useful 
 occupation. 
 
 In no way was there the least similarity between 
 the two, except that they were both young, and good- 
 looking. And yet this poor, simple, credulous girl 
 loved him with all the might of her affectionate heart, 
 and all the force of her deep, thoughtful nature ; 
 while the graceless scamp only cared for the good 
 house and farm of which she would one day be the 
 owner. 
 
 One of the peculiarities of Shawn Sugagh, and not 
 the least noticeable, was his extraordinary mode of 
 speech. He always made use of the longest and 
 most high-sounding words that he could think of, 
 what the peasantry call jaw-breakers ; and this with- 
 out taking the least thought as to whether they were 
 correct in themselves, or appropriate to the subject 
 in hand. As a natural consequence his sentences were 
 so involved, and his meaning so obscure, that it was 
 not easy to follow him, particularly if his hearers were 
 not accustomed to the peculiar style in which he 
 delighted to indulge. 
 
 When quite a child his father had decided that
 
 TEE "TIMBERS OF A PRIEST." 47 
 
 lie should be a priest, the great object of an Irish 
 peasant's ambition; and, as the first step to this 
 desirable consummation, he was sent as soon as he 
 was capable of learning, to acquire the first rudiments 
 of education, to what is called a hedge schoolmaster. 
 
 In the eyes of Molloy senior, the great qualifica- 
 tion of this man for '' teaching the young idea how 
 to shoot,^^ was the way in which he spoke — or, rather, 
 murdered — the Queen's English. His language was 
 nothing but a complete jargon of long, confused 
 words, jumbled together without propriety, or co- 
 herence of any kind. In this he resembled all of 
 his class ; for the Irish hedge schoolmasters who lived 
 in bygone times, consideredt he study of English 
 grammar — or, in fact, the study of any English at 
 all — altogether unnecessary. They knew Latin ex- 
 tremely well, and, in most instances, had a very 
 respectable knowledge of Greek. They were first- 
 class arithmeticians, and possessed an acquaintance 
 with mathematics, and algebra, that would put many 
 college-bred men to shame; but their ignorance of 
 English, and English literature, was as profound, as it 
 was laughable. 
 
 This, however, was not perceptible by the poor 
 simple country people who sent their children to be 
 instructed by these pedagogues^ and with whom
 
 48 THE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 tlieir inflated bombast passed for fhe most profound 
 erudition. They were in admiration at the ^' tall 
 English," though they did not well understand it, 
 and of the Latin that they did not understand at all ; 
 and their great ambition was that their children. 
 should adopt the vocabulary of the master, and in 
 many instances even exceed it in grotesque absurdity. 
 
 Foremost among these enlightened worthies was 
 old Molloy, and his son fully satisfied his expecta- 
 tions. The boy^s ear was so true, or his memory 
 so retentive, that he found no difficulty in acquiring 
 the lofty style of language practised at the academy 
 he attended, which was held in a mud hovel in winter, 
 and under the shade of a hedge in summer, from 
 which circumstance the teachers were commonly 
 called by the name of hedge schoolmasters. 
 
 The delight and pride of poor old Molloy, when 
 his son first began to speak " tall English,^^ knew no 
 bounds. He used to listen with the greatest atten- 
 tion, while the young hopeful was holding forth to 
 the gaping rustics who crowded round the fire on 
 winter nights, and at every pause would pat him 
 fondly on the shoulder, crying out exaltingly : 
 
 " M'dnim an Bhia,'^ Johnny ! There's none ov 
 
 * Wdnim an Dliia-'—'M.j soul to God.
 
 THE "TBIBERS OF A VEIESTr 49 
 
 us able to liould a candle wid yoa. Folly on, my 
 boy, folly on. Faix, you^ll bate tlie master himself 
 wan OY these days, an^ you^ll be sure to carry all 
 before you when you go to Maynooth ! '^ 
 
 When John was old enough and, in the opinion 
 of ^Hhe masther/' fully qualified to enter college, 
 it was necessary that he should wait on the bishop 
 of the diocese, to undergo an examination which if 
 successful would obtain from that dignitary the cus- 
 tomary certificate, without which he could not be 
 received as a clerical student at the College of 
 Maynooth. 
 
 G-reat preparations were made to enable him to 
 appear before the bishop in a respectable manner. 
 He got a suit of new clothes, not frieze as he had 
 hitherto worn, but broadcloth of the deepest black ; 
 a new silk hat, and the best horse in the stable to 
 make the journey with. It had never once occurred to 
 either the father, or the son, that the journey would 
 be a fruitless one, and that the return home would 
 not be as triumphant as the going forth had 
 been. 
 
 Alas for the vanity of earthly hopes ! The edifice 
 that had been so long in building, and had been 
 thought so secure, came down with a crash like a 
 house of cards. When the candidate for Holy Orders 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE GEBONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 presented liimself before the bisliop, lie was very much 
 disappointed by the prelate's cool reception of him. So 
 far from being favourably impressed by his conversa- 
 tion and manner, the bishop was amazed, and not a 
 little disgusted by his gross ignorance and vulgar 
 self-conceit. In language that admitted of no mis- 
 takej he told the crestfallen youth that he was unfit 
 to enter Maynooth, and that the best thing he could do 
 on his return home would be to apply himself to learn 
 some honest calling, by which he could earn his own 
 living. John pleaded hard for a reversal of this 
 terrible sentence, the death-blow of all his hopes ; 
 spoke of his aged father whose heart had been set on 
 seeing him a priest ; of the long years he had passed 
 in acquiring a suitable education, and the blight that 
 would be cast on his whole future life, if he were to 
 return home without the certificate. But the bishop 
 was inexorable, and refused point-blank to give it to 
 him. To use his words on his return home in no 
 enviable state of mind, 'Hhe ould gladiathur was 
 somniferously oblivious ov my merit an conwersity wid 
 the humanities, as well as wid the classical consthruc- 
 tion of langwidges.^^ 
 
 Great was the astonishment in the village of 
 Castle Cloyne and the neighbourhood, when the Buck 
 returned home, after having been ignominiously
 
 THE " TIMBERS OF A PBIESTr 51 
 
 dismissed by tlie bishop. Every one made sure that 
 he would pass muster, not only with success, but great 
 applause, and obtain his certificate for entering college 
 entirely as a matter of course. The seniors of the 
 parish with whom his " tall English ^' passed current 
 as the most refined and perfect specimens of language, 
 were amazed especially, by the want of discernment 
 shown by the bishop in failing to see the great merit 
 of John, as well as the immense advantage that would 
 accrue to the Church if he were ordained a priest. It 
 was a hard nut to crack, and after smoking a great 
 deal of tobacco, and scratching their heads a great 
 many times, they could come to no other conclusion 
 than that the bishop must be ^' near his end '' when he 
 did so foolish a thing as to reject such a promising 
 young man, and so suitable a candidate for Holy Orders 
 as John Molloy ! 
 
 It must be admitted that those sentiments were in 
 no degree shared by the younger men, by all of whom 
 John was more or less disliked. They were by no 
 means sorry for his discomfiture, which was for a long 
 time a standing joke amongst them. One of them 
 would ' slyly ask him did the bishop invite him to 
 remain to dinner, and whether it was wine, or punch 
 that was drunk at his table ? Another would inquire 
 with much apparent interest, what part of his 
 
 E 2
 
 52 TBE CHRONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 education it was that the bishop found most fault 
 with, and what part of it met with most commenda- 
 tion ? To all of which questions John replied with his 
 usual cool impudence, either unconscious of the covert 
 sarcasm and ridicule conveyed by them, or pretending 
 to be so. 
 
 But the poor old man never got over the great 
 disgrace of having the son on whom he had placed 
 such mighty hopes returned on his hands like a 
 bad shilling. In truth it was his death-blow. At 
 first he could scarcely believe it, for he had the 
 most implicit and childlike belief that John's great 
 learning and ^'' conwersity wid the consthruction 
 of langwidges '^ would be at once apparent to the 
 bishop, who would be only too glad to secure 
 so promising a scholar for the Church. But when 
 at last the bitter truth was made plain to him, 
 the poor old man, disappointed in his dearest 
 hopes, and mortified by the signal failure of all 
 his plans, took to his bed and never left it again. 
 His heart was broken, and he died in a very short 
 time, with his last breath laying his death at ^ the 
 door of the '^hard-hearted bishop that had thrated 
 his bright boy so badly." 
 
 He had made his will some time before, leaving 
 all he should die possessed of to his eldest son.
 
 THE " TUIBERS OF A FBIEST. 
 
 being quite sare that Jolin would pass the exami- 
 nation for the Church, and consequently would be 
 well provided for. This will was either forgotten 
 by the old man in his grievous disappointment^ 
 or he felt himself unequal to making another, but 
 from whatever cause it arose, it was certainly never 
 revoked. At his father's death, therefore, the Buck 
 found himself absolutely a pauper, dependent on his 
 brother for the commonest necessaries of life. How- 
 ever, this did not seem to weigh very heavily on 
 his spirits, or abate in any degree his usual careless 
 effrontery, or gaiety of manner. His brother was 
 unmarried, and had no objection to his company 
 for the present, and John himself, quite confident 
 of his own irresistible attractions, took the world 
 easy, sure that he would set everything right by 
 means of marriage with some girl rich, enough 
 to maintain him in idleness for the rest of his 
 life. 
 
 And this was the man that was beloved '^not 
 wisely but too welP' by the grave and thoughtful 
 girl in the brightness of her happy youth, and the 
 unstained purity of her innocent maidenhood ! No 
 wonder that the greatest master of the human 
 heart that ever wrote exclaimed, "Alas, how weak 
 a thing the heart of woman is ! "
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BEOOK AND EIVER MEET. 
 
 Standing, with reluctant feet. 
 Where the brook and river meet — 
 "Womanhood and childhood fleet. 
 
 LOXGFELLOW. 
 
 Cheistmas soon came round again^ to be immediately 
 followed by the Shrovetide, which last season is that 
 specially set apart by the Irish peasantry for ^' marry- 
 ing and giving in marriage." There are two reasons 
 for this ; one is that it is the idle time of the year, 
 and there is nothing to be done but "matchmaking"; 
 and another is, that for the seven weeks of Lent 
 that succeed it, marriage is not permitted by the 
 Catholic Church, unless under very peculiar and ex- 
 ceptional circumstances. Therefore it is that on the 
 approach of Shrove there is a good deal of stir and 
 excitement among the young people and a good 
 deal of hard bargaining among the seniors, who are
 
 THE BROOK AKB BIVEB MEET. 55 
 
 tlie parties that really make the matches. Many 
 marriages take place daring Shrovetide, and many 
 more are decided on, and then broken off, and the 
 persons concerned go elsewhere to look for husbands 
 and wives, no bad feeling, or ill-will being manifested 
 on either side. 
 
 For a people so imaginative and impressionable 
 as the Irish, it is extraordinary how prosaic and prac- 
 tical they are in the matter of marriage. A real 
 love-match is rare, and in nine cases out of ten the 
 marriages of the Irish peasantry are downright 
 Smithfield bargains. The parents of the young 
 people arrange everything beforehand without any 
 reference to them, and their motto is "penny for 
 penny," or, when that is not possible, as near an 
 approach to it as can be got. They fight and haggle 
 over every acre and every shilling ; and what involves 
 the future happiness, or misery, of two human beings 
 is reduced to a mere matter of pounds, shilings, and 
 pence. 
 
 The author has often known a match, that had 
 gone on swimmingly for a long time, broken off at 
 the last moment, because the old father on one side 
 would not consent to let the calf go with the cow ; 
 or the mother on the other side demurred to having 
 •the washing-tub, or the clutch of chickens, thrown in
 
 56 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 as a make-weiglit with the rest of her daughter's- 
 portion. Or it will sometimes happen that one party 
 .will insist on having the fortune paid in guineas^ 
 while the other will sturdily refuse to give more 
 than pounds. 
 
 This stumbling-block of the odd shillings has very 
 often put a final end to many a matrimonial treaty. 
 All the time the '^ boy and givV are either making- 
 love in a corner, or listening in profound silence to 
 the discussion going on among the elders ; and what- 
 ever . is the decision arrived at_, they are perfectly 
 satisfied to abide by it. 
 
 Strange to say, these mercenary marriages turn 
 out extremely well. The newly-wedded couple settle 
 down in their home, quite satisfied with each other, 
 and do their duty by each other, and by their children 
 in the most admirable manner. They have no 
 divided interest, and they work together in harness 
 as smoothly, and amicably as if they had married 
 for love. Conjugal infidelity on either side is almost 
 unknown ; and when an instance of it unhappily 
 occurs, which is very rarely indeed, it is looked 
 upon by the people with the greatest horror, and 
 disgust. 
 
 One evening in the beginning of this particular 
 Shrovetide, there was a wedding in the neighbour-
 
 THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET. 67 
 
 hood, and Paddy and Molly went to it after their 
 day^s work was done^ promising to return without 
 fail at twelve o'clock. Oonagh did not go, for her 
 father had been all day in the next town on some 
 business, and had returned home wet and weary ; so 
 she remained to give him his supper, a duty that 
 she never delegated to any other person. At such 
 times she always managed to have something better 
 for him than the usual fare, a fried Qggj a rasher of 
 bacon, or if he was wet, as was the case this evening, 
 a tumbler of hot punch. When he had eaten his 
 supper, and settled himself in the chimney corner to 
 smoke his pipe before going to bed, Oonagh put away 
 the table, swept up the hearth, threw on the fire an 
 immense log of bogwood that was to serve for light 
 for the rest of the night, and then when nothing more 
 remained to be done, got her knitting, and sat down 
 at the opposite side of the fire. 
 
 It was a wild night out of doors; one of those 
 nights on which stern Winter, knowing that his reign 
 is nearly over, makes a vigorous effort to retain his 
 supremacy. The wind was howling round the farm- 
 houslB, and the rain in frequent gusts beat against 
 the windows with almost the force of hail. The cold 
 and darkness outside made the warmth and light of 
 the kitchen doubly pleasant from the contrast. It
 
 58 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 was a picture of comfort taken altogetlier; homely 
 a-nd humble, but natural and peaceful, and in harmony 
 with the two figures that were its most salient 
 features. The large kitchen, with its simple furniture 
 as clean as scrubbing could make it, lighted up by 
 the fitful glare of the bogwood ; the '^ blazing ingle 
 and the clean hearthstone,^^ at one side of which 
 sat the silver-haired old man, and at the other his 
 daughter just entering on womanhood, with a face 
 that might have been thought too grave, and serious 
 for her years, only that it was brightened up by a 
 sweet and pleasant smile. As if to complete the 
 picture a large dog — a cross between a Newfoundland 
 and a retriever — lay stretched in luxurious ease on 
 the hearthstone before the fire. Bran, called after 
 the famous dog of the Irish hero. Fin McCoul, was 
 one of the most intelligent of his race, and the 
 farmer's special favourite and attendant both at home, 
 and whenever he went abroad. 
 
 When Martin had smoked his pipe, and laid it 
 and his tobacco box in a little niche in the wall that 
 had been made expressly for that purpose when the 
 house was built, his daughter knew that he was in 
 the mood for a little conversation. 
 
 " You never would guess, Oonagh, who it was that
 
 THE BROOK AND BIVEB MEET. 59 
 
 was married istherday/' lie said ; ^' no, "not if you wor 
 guessin' for a month ov Sundays." 
 
 "I never could guess it, so you may just as well 
 put me out ov pain an' tell it at wanst." 
 
 " I suppose so. Well, then, it was Judy.'' 
 
 " Judy ! ! ! ■" Three notes of admiration can scarcely 
 express the astonishment that was both in the face 
 and voice of Oonagh. 
 
 "Fake an' sure, it is. An' you wouldn't ever 
 guess who the husband is." 
 
 " Is it Dick Considine ? He was the boy she 
 dhramed ov on All-Hallow Eve." 
 
 "Well, he's the boy she's married to anyway. 
 She'll have a good life wid him, for he's a very 
 dacent boy, an' well off." 
 
 Oonagh became very thoughtful. Here was the 
 first of the marriages that had been shadowed forth 
 by the spell of the dumb cake. Judy had declared 
 that nothing on earth would make her marry 
 *' Mad Dick Considine," and now when only four 
 months had gone by, she had become " Mad Dick's " 
 wife ! 
 
 '^You're vexed because you worn't axed to the 
 weddin'," he said, noticing her silence; "but you 
 have no call to be vexed, for they had no weddin'
 
 60 THE ClIBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 at alL They wiut to tlie priest's liouse airly in tlie 
 mornin'^ an' as soon as they were married, they win^ 
 home to Dick's place up in the mountains, for his father 
 is dyin' an' he didn't think it right to have any 
 weddin' o' count ov it." 
 
 ^' Well, Judy might have let me know ov it." 
 
 " She couldn't do that. The match was made in 
 the greatest hurry intirely, be Jady's stepmother, 
 an' she run the poor girl out ov the house before 
 she could say either yes or no to it. So the neighbours 
 say, anyhow. 
 
 " I often h'ard her say in this very house that 
 she never would marry that same boy, and hated the 
 very sight ov him." 
 
 ^' Well, so itself. It's little ov her talk her father 
 or stepmother would put up wid. Poor Dick was 
 ever an' always fond ov her, an' offered to marry 
 her without a penny, or anything but the clothes she 
 stood up in; my hand to you her stepmother would 
 stand no arguin' after that. Dick will be a worse 
 husband to her than I take him to be, if she isn't 
 a dale happier wid him, than she was wid her step- 
 mother. She was a wild slip, but she is very 
 young, an' livin' up there in that lonesome house in 
 the mountains will tame her a bit." 
 
 It was hard to imagine laughing, joyous Judy
 
 THE BROOK AND RIVEB MEET. 61 
 
 in her lonely home ^'up in the mountains." She 
 was, as it were, buried alive, far away from all who 
 knew and loved her, and alone with the man that 
 she herself had called '' Mad Dick/' Oonagh wondered 
 if she should ever again see Judy; or if they did 
 meet after long years, would they both be greatly 
 changed. How well for us it is that the future is 
 hidden from our sight by an impenetrable veil ! Had 
 the time, and place, and circumstances of her next 
 meeting with the friends of her youth been then 
 revealed to Oonagh, the grief and horror of the 
 terrible vision would go far to deprive her almost 
 of reason. But it was mercifully withheld from her 
 view. 
 
 " There was great matchmakin' in town to-day,'^ 
 said the old man after a while. "There wasn^fc 
 a public-house that wasn't chokefull of people 
 matchmakin' for themselves. A good many of 
 the matches that wor made to-day will be in broken 
 chaheys to-morrow mornin' ; but that's neither here 
 nor there. We have a good many days yet before 
 Shrove Tuesday comes round, an' a power of 
 matches will be made, an' broke agin, betune this 
 an' then." 
 
 There was another pause, this time louger than 
 the last, for Oonagh had become very grave, and
 
 62 TBE GHBOmCLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 silent, as she thouglit how soon the spell of the 
 dumb cake had begun to work. 
 
 "I am glad that Paddy an' Molly went off to 
 the weddin', and that the both of us are here 
 togither, for, Oonagh asthore, I have something to 
 say that no wan is to hear barrin' your own self." 
 
 The girl's face got scarlet at her father's words, 
 for she had full knowledge of what he was going 
 to tell her. 
 
 ^^Why, thin, who do you think came match- 
 making to myself to-day? Well, I may as well tell 
 you at wanst^ for you're a mighty bad hand at 
 guessin\ It was Michael MoUoy, an' his hopeful 
 brother the Buck ! Faix, tis the thruth that I'm 
 telling you ! '' 
 
 Martin McDermott thought Buck Molloy's comings 
 to him for a wife was such a good joke, that he 
 laughed loud and long, and it was only after a 
 little that he noticed that his daughter did not join 
 in his mirth, but looked very grave and sad. 
 
 ^' An' what answer did you give them, father ? '^ 
 she said after a little time. 
 
 *' What answer did I give ''em, is it ? Faix, thin, 
 a mighty short one intirely. They won't come to 
 me for a wife an' a fortune agin in a hurry; I 
 promise you that.''
 
 TEE BROOK AND BIVEB MEET. 63 
 
 Slie bent over her knitting as i£ a stitch, had 
 dropped, and she was trying to catch it np again, 
 but in reality to hide her tears which had begun 
 to flow. Her father watched her for a little time, 
 and then said in a kind voice, " Lay by that stocking, 
 anien machree, and come hither, an^ sit thee down 
 alongside m.e." 
 
 She threw aside her work, and taking her stool 
 sat down near him, laying her hand on his knee 
 in her usual affectionate manner. 
 
 " You never towld your ould father a lie, Oonagh," 
 he said fondly, '^an^ what^s more, 'tisn't in you to 
 tell wan. Did you know that the Molloys were to 
 come to me to-day to ax me for you ? '' 
 
 "I did, father.^' 
 
 *^' I knew youM tell me the thruth. An' was 
 it wid your own consint that they came ? " 
 
 "Yes, father; wid my full consint.^' 
 , " An' do you care for that fool, an' would you 
 marry him if you had your own will ? " 
 
 ^^Yes, if I had your consint and blessin', but 
 not without it." 
 
 " blessed Saints above ! But this bates all 
 that I ever h'ard tell of. Why, child, he is an 
 Omadliawn, a fool that hasn't got a grain of sinse in 
 his head, an' I'm not the only wan that'll tell you that."^
 
 U THE CHEOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 "He is not an Omadhan'ii, nor anything like 
 it, but a handsome clever boy, an' if he had any- 
 thing to do, he knows how to do it/' replied Oonagh 
 stoutly. "You desired me to tell you the thruth, 
 and you done well, for 'tis always the best. I 
 am fond of John, an' he's fond of me, and if we 
 wor married we'd be very happy togither wid the 
 blessing of Grod, an' your blessin', father." And as 
 she spoke the last words she looked up in his face 
 with a wistful, pleading expression in her sweet, 
 earnest eyes. 
 
 " I'm heart sorry to hear this from you, my child," 
 said the old man sfravelv. 
 
 " Oh, father ! why do you say that ? What raison 
 have you to mislike poor John ? He's a da cent 
 couple's son, an' he has great larnin' intirely. He's 
 a well-behaved honest boy, an' neither a drunkard nor 
 a thief." 
 
 "But that's nothiugj he's an idler an' a shool^-, 
 goin' about from house to house, lookin' for divarshun 
 for himself, instid ov doing a little honest work to help 
 his brother that has the cost ov feedin', an clothir/ 
 him. The swaggerin' fool ! He has deludhered you 
 wid his rocks ov tall Eoglish, an' thrown dust in your 
 eyes. But he isn't able to deludher r,ie ; I'm too 
 ould a bird to be caught wid all his chaff."
 
 THE BBOOK AND BIVEB MEET. 65 
 
 The girl was by this time fairly crying, for her 
 hopes of gaining the old man^s consent to her roarriage 
 with the Buck, were becoming fainter every moment. 
 
 " I know what you^re thinkin' ov, child/'' he went 
 on ; " it^s that I^m very hard, an' cruel to you intirely, 
 an^ that's what I wouldn't like my little girl would 
 be thinkin' ov her ould father. I can't help that, an' 
 I suppose you can't help it yourself. But if you 
 think it now, the day will surely come to think the 
 very conthrairy. Listen hither to me, 'a graw gedl;^ 
 you only know this boy a short time, an' you know 
 me all your life, an' you know likewise that I'm your 
 best friend^ as well as your ouldest wan," 
 
 " I know that well, father, an' you may be sure 
 that as I never went agin' you before, I'm not goin' 
 to begin now," she sobbed through her tears. 
 
 '' My good girl you wor ! Sure I knew I had 
 only to say the word to you. An' now I'll make it 
 all plain to you : Shawn Sugagh has no manes ov his 
 own, an' his brother won't give him anything. If you 
 married him, he'd walk in here ov coorse, an' hang 
 up his hat — he has brass enough for twice as much — 
 an' very soon he'd make ducks an' drakes ov what is 
 here, an' give neither ov us any thanks. We're only 
 
 * 'JL grav: gedl — My bright love. 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE GEUONICLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 able to pay wliat's due ov us, an^ keep the roof over 
 our heads by the dint ov hard work ; an^ how would 
 it be wid us, if we had him a walkin' giutleman on the 
 flure wid his hands in his pockets all the year round ? 
 An' will I tell you what would become ov you, poor 
 child, whin I'd be gone, an' my time here can't be 
 very long now. The sheriff would be down on you 
 before you knew where you wor, an' the good farm 
 that belonged to my father an' to his father before 
 him, would be taken from you by Mr. Dillon for his 
 rint. That's what your story will be, child, if you're 
 so foolish as to marry that idle scamp, that cares for 
 nothing nor no one in the world but his own four 
 bones. Oh, Oonagh darlin' ! " he continued, laying 
 his hand tenderly on the head that was bowed on his 
 knee, '^ don't break your poor ould father's heart ! 
 Don't sind him home to his people before his time ! " 
 
 '^Don^t say another word, for God's sake," she 
 replied, raising her head, and smiling through her 
 tears. *^ The man was never born for whose sake I'd 
 break my poor ould father's heart.'' 
 
 ^' My own good little girl ! " he cried, stooping 
 down to kiss her. " My own sensible, wise Oonagh ! 
 But mind, I won't ax any promise from you ; I'll only 
 ax you to wait for a while, and see for yourself what 
 sort the boy is."
 
 THE BROOK AND BIVEB MEET. 67 
 
 " Father, Fll make you a promise, an' that's that I 
 never will marrj either John Molloy, or any wan else 
 while you live, without your full consint. I make you 
 that promise from myself, an' I mane to keep it, wid 
 the help ov God." 
 
 '^'Tis before me how it would all be,'' he said softly 
 as if to himself, '''just the same as if 'twas wrote down 
 in black an' white. The kind ov life my little girl 
 would have wid ' Pleasant Jack ' wouldn't be at all 
 the kind of life that she had wid the ould man; it 
 wouldn't be ' pleasant ' at all, by no manner ov 
 manes. That idle shoolin' fella would never settle 
 down to honest work, but to make up for that, he'd 
 make her a common slave. He'd be at every fair an' 
 market, sportin' an' spindin' my child's manes, and 
 she'd be all the while breakin' her poor heart at home ; 
 an' very soon when the rint wouldn't be to the fore, 
 Mr. Dillon would put the two ov 'em out on the road. 
 He's a good landlord — no betther — an' has great feelin' 
 for his ould tenants ; but sure it stands to raison that he 
 wouldn't always take excuses in place ov money. May 
 God break hard fortune before my little girl's feet ! " 
 
 '^ Say no more, father," said Oonagh, " an don't 
 throuble your mind about what will never happen, 
 plase God. Sure I gave you hand an' word, an' you 
 know that I won't go back ov it." 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 " Tliat^s right, avoiirneen ; an' you may be sure the 
 day will come when you'll be glad you follyed the 
 advice ov the ould father, an' made the ind of his life 
 comfortable an' happy." 
 
 " Wid the help ov God I'll do that, never fear. 
 You have only myself in the whole world, an' it would 
 be a quare thing surely if I was to turn agin you, or 
 even to think ov it. Faix it would be the nne young 
 man indeed that would persuade me to such a 
 thing ! " 
 
 Once more he laid his hand on her head and blessed 
 her with a blessing that was not the less fervent from 
 being silent, while he thanked God for having given 
 him so good and dutiful a child. 
 
 " I think I'll go to bed now, a villish,^ " he said 
 rising. '^ I'm very tired afther the day, but so itself ; 
 I have a light heart goin', thanks to you, Oonagh. I'm 
 in dhread you'll have a long watch ov it, before Paddy 
 an' Molly come home from the weddin'. 'Tis airly yet 
 in the night." 
 
 When old Martin MacDermott went to bed, his 
 daughter remained sitting by the fire, very wretched 
 if the truth must be told. When she found herself 
 alone, the bitter tears she could no longer restrain 
 
 * A villisli — My sweetest.
 
 THE BROOK AND EIVEB MEET. 69 
 
 gushed forfch, and she wept long and silently over the 
 destruction of all the bright hopes and beautiful 
 dreams that had formed all the sunshine of her life. 
 In no single respect did she agree with her father in 
 the estimate he had formed of her lover's character 
 and disposition. She believed that estimate was 
 founded on prejudice and a rooted dislike, for which 
 she could in no way account. She still believed that 
 Pleasant John was all that her fond credulous heart 
 had imagined him to be — as bright and amiable as he 
 was handsome, and that when she consented to 
 renounce him, she put away all happiness from her 
 future life. But for all that, she was unshaken in her 
 loyalty to her father, and fully determined that her 
 duty to him should be paramount to her affection for 
 her lover. For no lover — though he were handsomer 
 and brighter than John, though she thought that 
 hardly possible — could she disobey her only parent, or 
 by any act of hers help to bring down his good gray 
 head with sorrow to the grave. He had worked very 
 hard all his life for her, and to leave her a comfortable 
 home when he should be taken from her. Now she 
 remembered her mother's last words to her, ^' Oonagli 
 dear, when Vm gone take care ov the poor ould man 
 for my sake.''' Up to this, she had obeyed the last 
 command of her dead mother to the best of her power,
 
 70 TEE GEBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 and her reward had come to her in happy days and 
 peaceful nights, and in the consciousness that she was 
 doing her duty, and duty, in the eyes of Oonagh, was a 
 very sacred thing. Young as she was, she made it her 
 watchword, and felt that while she followed in the 
 straight and well-defined path to which it pointed, she 
 could not go far wrong. 
 
 Now, too, she remembered the dream of All-Hallow 
 Eve. One part of the spell had already come true, 
 for Judy was married to "Mad Dick Considine!^^ 
 This was complete proof to the mind of the poor 
 ignorant girl that the two other dreams would also 
 come true, though when, or by what means, she could 
 not imagine. And the man that Susie Burke had 
 dreamed of was John Molloy — her own John ! She 
 had, at the time, listened to Susie telling them this 
 with silent incredulity; but now she began to think 
 that such a marriage would most certainly take place, 
 that her cousin would supplant her in the heart of 
 her lover, and be his wife as she herself had one day 
 hoped to be. 
 
 It would be unjust, she thought, to blame Susie 
 for this, or feel any jealousy or resentment towards 
 her. It was the fate that had been marked out 
 for her ! 
 
 A common Irish maxim is, that "what's allotted
 
 THI] BROOK AND BIVEB MEET. 71 
 
 can^t be blotted/^ and the truth of this piece of 
 fatalism was not doubted by Oonagh for a moment. 
 No Oriental believed in Msmet more devoutly, and 
 unquestioningly, than did this credulous country-girl 
 believe in destiny ; from the action of which, and 
 its effects on her future life, no efforts of her own 
 could ever struggle against or avoid. 
 
 She did not forget her own part in the weird 
 drama of the dumb cake. She was not destined to 
 be married to Pleasant John or to anyone else, for 
 was not " Oonagh MacDermott ^^ inscribed on the 
 lid of the coffin that had been brought into her 
 room in the dream, and laid down in silence beside 
 her bed ? 
 
 It had been only a dream, then — the merest shadow; 
 but she was now as sure as of her own existence 
 that the dream would come true, and the shadow 
 would one day assume form, and substance. There 
 was to be no marriage for her — that she was as 
 much convinced of as if she were standing, not at 
 the opening of her life, but at its close, when sh© 
 could look back on all her past years, with their 
 thoughts, words, and deeds spread out before her 
 as if on a map. It was decreed that she should die 
 unmarried, and that the name on her coffin should be 
 none but her maiden name.
 
 72 THE. CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 Why^ she asked herself, had she been so foolish as 
 to have a hand in that dreadful dumb cake ? It was 
 wicked^ sinful, and condemned by the Church, and 
 yet she had done it, and now she was beginning to 
 feel some of the punishment due to so great a sin. 
 God had for His own wise purposes hidden the future 
 from her eyes, and she with bold irreverence had 
 sought to know what He had thought fit to conceal. 
 Never again would she do any spell or charm ; she 
 had had enough of such wicked practices, and more 
 than enough. But that could not efface what had 
 been done, or make sufficient atonement for it. The 
 sting remained in her heart, and would remain there 
 for ever. 
 
 After some time the poor girl wiped away her 
 tears, and knelt down beside the dying embers to 
 say her evening prayers and recite the Rosary. This 
 exercise brought her grieving heart much peace; 
 and when, her prayers over, she once more sat down, 
 it was not to weep again but to try to brace herself 
 up for the battle of life that was likely to be a hard 
 one for her. Henceforth she would have no duty but 
 to obey her mother's last command, and take care of 
 the old man, and prove to him that the love and care 
 he had lavished on her, had not been bestowed on a 
 thankless child. It was a long and a hard battle
 
 THE BROOK AND BIVEB MEET. 73 
 
 she fought with her own heart — this poor ignorant 
 girl, not yet twenty years of age — as she sat alone at 
 midnight in cold and darkness, but in the end she 
 came off the victor. That hour of lonely self- 
 communion had wrought in her the work of many 
 long years. That one hour of serious thought had 
 transformed her from a child into an earnest and 
 deep-hearted woman, who should now put away 
 childish things ; into a responsible being who was to 
 remember that one day she would have to render an 
 account of what she had done with the life that had 
 been bestowed on her.
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 THE 
 
 This was the time when Oonagh 
 Stole out to meet her barefoot love. 
 
 John Philpot Curran. 
 
 On the following Sunday^ which happened to be the 
 last before Lent, Oonagh was alone in the farmhouse. 
 It was evening, and that hopeful, gracious time of 
 the year when we notice that the days are growing 
 long and bright, and the hedges and wayside bushes 
 are putting forth their tender green buds, timorously 
 at jBrst, but soon making vigorous growth, as if they 
 had taken courage from the few gleams of sunshine 
 that occasionally lighted up the wintry landscape. 
 Molly was engaged in the dairy, and the farmer 
 and his man Paddy had gone to drive the cows home 
 to their quarters for the night. Although the evening 
 was fine, there was a frosty feeling in the air that
 
 THE " HANDFASTING." 75 
 
 made the girl draw near to tlie fire, having first put 
 down more turf, so as to have a good fire when her 
 father should come in to supper. A large pot of 
 potatoes was hanging on the crane over the fire^ 
 and the large kitchen table was drawn to the vacant 
 space before it, in readiness for the evening meal. 
 
 Suddenly Oonagh's attention was aroused by the 
 sound of a well-known voice, that was made more 
 audible every moment as the owner of it approached 
 the house. It was a mane's voice, very harsh and 
 cracked, altogether out of harmony with either time 
 or tune ; and the owner of this voice was no other 
 than the parish omadhawn. 
 
 If I had a small cot on the oceau to row, 
 
 I'd follow my darlin' wherever he'd go. 
 
 I'd rather have my thrue love to sport and to play 
 
 Than all the red goold that's on land or on say. 
 
 Before the singer could begin another verse 
 of this love-song the latch of the door was raised^, 
 and he entered, with the usual salutation of " God 
 save all here.^^ 
 
 , "God save you kindly/'' answered Oonagh. " Is 
 that yourself, Thady ? Sit down, an^ have an air ov 
 the fire." 
 
 This invitation was gladly accepted by the new
 
 76 TBE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 comer, wHo had no settled liome, lived no one knew 
 how, but to whom everyone was kind and forbearing, 
 except the little boys, who delighted in teasing and 
 making fun of the poor fool, after the fashion of all 
 their race from time immemorial. He sat down in 
 the chimney corner opposite Oonagh, and stretched 
 out his bare feet and legs, that were hardly protected 
 from the severity of the weather by the old trousers 
 that were not half long enough, to the grateful 
 warmth of the fire. 
 
 ^^You come in good time,'^ observed Oonagh, "for 
 the potatoes are down for the supper; an^ I^m sure 
 that you^re hungry as well as cold.-'^ 
 
 " I do be often cowld,-'^ said the poor fool, looking 
 ruefully as he spoke at the old rags that served him 
 for raiment ; '"'■ but sure I wouldn't be so long, if God 
 would only put it into some good Christian's heart 
 to gi' me a shuit ov clothes/' 
 
 '* Well, Thady, I'll see to-morrow what I can do 
 for you,'' she said in answer to this broad hint. " I'll 
 steal the kay ov my father's chest, and who knows 
 but I may find some ould things in it that would 
 fit you?" 
 
 At the splendid prospect of getting the "new 
 shuit" his face expanded into a broad grin of delight. 
 Oonagh's little joke of stealing her father's key was
 
 TEE " SANDFASTING:' 77 
 
 taken by him in a literal sense^ and lie winked 
 knowingly, to give lier to understand tliat lie knew 
 her secret and would not betray her. 
 
 " An' what's the best news wid you, Thady ? '' 
 she said in a little time. ^^ An' what did you do wid 
 yourself since I saw you last ? '' 
 
 '' Och ! I was here, an' there, an' everywhere^ 
 like the bad weather, looking out to see where I'd 
 get a shuit ov clothes comin' on the winther, but sorra, 
 wan ga' me a ha'porth," replied Thady, whose thoughts 
 seemed to be altogether taken up by the all-important 
 subject of the clothes. 
 
 ^' The Shrove is a'most over, Thady, an' you're 
 not married yet. Why is that ? " 
 
 " Eych ! What little concern marriage is givin' 
 me, if you knew but all," he said, with a bashful look 
 that was very comical. "There's time enough to 
 think ov them things in another year or so. But 
 why did you let the Shrove pass you, Oonagh ? 
 Sure we war all expectin' you'd give us a rousin' 
 weddin'. Faix 'twas all your own faut, little girl; 
 sure the world knows that you have bachelors 
 galore." 
 
 '' Well, what good is that when none ov 'em axed 
 me?" 
 
 " Lave off your thricks now, Oonagh. Sure, isn't
 
 78 THE CEBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 wan ov 'em waiting for you this very minute down at 
 tlie well ? '' 
 
 " What was that you said, Thady ? " 
 
 "Aha, see that now! An' she purtended just 
 now that she hadn^t any bachelor at all/' cried Thady, 
 with a burst of foolish laughter. " Go long out 
 ov that wid you." 
 
 '^ Sure, 'tis yourself that's purtendin' now. I 
 don't b'lieve that any wan at all is at the well."" 
 
 '^ Isn't there ?" — indignantly. "Fake an' sure, there 
 is. What will you gi' me now, if I tell you that Buck 
 MoUoy is smokin' his pipe alongside the well, waitin' 
 for you ? An' if you won't b'lieve me, maybe you'll 
 b'lieve that.'' 
 
 He took a crumpled piece of not too clean paper 
 out of his ragged pocket, and handed it to her with 
 a great flourish. This precious billet doux was as 
 follows : 
 
 " If you would have the shuparior condisention to 
 perambulate down towards the well, it would obligate 
 in the highest degree your adorable lover. If you 
 don't come, I am determined to put a pariod to my 
 existence as the bearer can testify. My own darlin', 
 don't refuse the last dyin' speech an' confession ov 
 yours to command J. Molloy." 
 
 ^' When did John give you this ? " she asked,
 
 THE '' HANDFA8TING:' 79 
 
 wliile slie twisted the paper irresolutely round lier 
 fingers. 
 
 "Why thin, just as I was comin' in the horlieen. 
 * An' tell her,' ses he, * that she may as well come out and 
 spake to me, for I won't lave out the place until I see 
 her, if I had to stop here till morning,' ses he." 
 
 She was for a moment uncertain what to do, but 
 finally decided on complying with her lover's wish, and 
 giving him the meeting he asked for so passionately. 
 On arriving at this conclusion, she by no means intended 
 any disobedience to her father's commands ; she 
 merely meant to tell John that all must be over 
 between them, at least till he came with her father's 
 sanction and approbation. To tell him this would 
 come better from herself, she thought, than from 
 anyone else, and she owed it to his love for her, to give 
 him a last interview. It should be the very last, she 
 said to herself, and henceforth when they met, it should 
 be as friends, not as lovers. 
 
 '' Will you watch the potatoes for a start, Thady, 
 while I run down to the well an' see what bisness 
 John Molloy has ov me ? " she said ; '' an' when you 
 think they're done, you can call Molly in from the 
 dairy, if I'm not back agin by that time." 
 
 She caught up an old shawl, and drawing it over 
 her head went out of the house. Though the evening
 
 80 THE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 was cold, lier face was burning at tlie consciousness 
 that for tlie first time in her life, she was doing what 
 had an underhand, clandestine appearance. But she 
 felt strong in a sense of rectitude, and though she 
 dearly loved the man she was going to meet, yet her 
 loyalty and duty to her father were still greater than 
 her love. 
 
 When the Buck saw her coming, he sprang up to 
 meet her, to put his arm round her waist and kiss her 
 cheek in the old tender way that she remembered so 
 well. She submitted unresistingly to his caress, 
 knowing that it was for the last time. 
 
 '^ 'A graiu gedl, I knew you'd come to me ! '' he 
 exclaimed, with the passionate ring in his voice that 
 he could assume at will. " Oh darlin' ! if you only 
 knew how I was excruciating to behold you, an^ to 
 communicate to the tindherness ov your sensibility all 
 the injurious condemnation, that I had to put up wid 
 from that ould ancient father ov yours.'" 
 
 Even in his excitement and anger he could not 
 lay aside what old Martin had contemptuously called 
 his 'Hall English,^' it had become so habitual to 
 him. 
 
 " I hope, John, that you won't forget in anything 
 you say ov him that he is my father, an' a good father 
 too. If you have anything disrespectful to say ov him,
 
 THE " eandfastikg:' 81 
 
 you mustn't say it while I'm to the fore. Mind that, 
 now, before we go any farther/^ 
 
 '^ But did he make any revelation to you ov the 
 great intherview my brother an' myself had wid 
 him?" 
 
 " He did, an' I'm very sorry for the way that it 
 ended, an' I can't say more than that. 'Tis a great pity 
 intirely that ye didn't all undherstand wan another 
 betther than what ye did. It was my prayer that all 
 would be right betune ye, but God did not see fit to 
 grant that prayer, for His own wise inds, ov coorse." 
 
 ''^Wid great submission, Oonagh, I must declare 
 that your sintiments aren't what I can consthrue into 
 either sinse or rationation. What right has your 
 father to put his intherdiction betune us at all at all ? '> 
 
 '^ Because he is my father, John, an' a very good 
 raison it is. No wan has a betther right." 
 
 ^^ Blood alive ! are you goin' to turn conspirathor 
 agin me an' confedherate wid him ? I must say, 
 Oonagh, it was not that sort of ambiguousness I 
 expected from you." 
 
 " I'm not turnin' agin you ; but you know, John, 
 that I must folly my father's advice, an' be said 
 an' led by him. It's my duty, an' my wish as 
 well." 
 
 " You don't care for me, Oonagh, or love me, as 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 TEE CEBONICLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 you said you did, often an' often. All your pMan- 
 tliropy an' jocularity are for the ould man, an' not 
 for me." 
 
 "He has the best right, John/' she replied meekly. 
 " I am all he has in the wide world, an' it would be 
 a poor case surely if I was to fail him now when he 
 wants me most." 
 
 " An' do I count for nothing in your contempla- 
 tions ? I'm beginning to think that if you wor stiffer 
 with him, and held out more persuasion, he wouldn't 
 be intirely so obdurated an' contumacious." 
 
 " I did my very best — indeed, indeed, I did ; but 
 he wouldn't hear to a word I said," and as she spake 
 her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 He actually ground his teeth with rage, but 
 between her own agitation and the darkness of the 
 evening she did not perceive how angry he had 
 become. 
 
 " Well, Oonagh," trying to control himself 
 and speak to her in the old caressing way, " as your 
 father hasn't the proper feelin' for us, an' won't 
 be subversive to right rason and thrue love, we 
 must only take the law into our own hands. If 
 he won't extenuate his consint an' blessin' to us 
 an' our marriage, we have only to get married 
 without 'em."
 
 THE '' HANDFASTING:' 83 
 
 "No, Jolin; we won't do auytliing whatever ov 
 tlie kind/^ she said quietly but firmly ; " our marriage 
 would have uo blessin' from God if my father's 
 blessiu' wasn^t on it likewise. If I was to do such 
 a thing, it would be aiquil to killin' him, an' that 
 I won't do for you or any other man that ever stud 
 in shoe-leather. The last words my mother ever 
 said to me was : ' Take care ov the ould man, 
 Oonagh, for my sake/ an' when she said it, an' 
 looked so pitifully in my face, I fell on my knees 
 by her bedside, an' promised her that I'd be a 
 dutiful, lovin' child to him for her sake, as well 
 as his own. An' that promise made her die happy. 
 When I meet my mother in heaven, John, I'll be 
 able, wid the help ov God, to look her straight in 
 the face, an' tell her that I kept faithful the promise 
 I made her." 
 
 " Sure, marryin' a handsome boy, that's so jovial 
 and obsequious wid you, an' that dotes on the very 
 ground you walk on, won't have any hand in killin' 
 him. A tough ould man like that won't break his heart 
 for such a thrifle." 
 
 " He never ga' me a cross word or a sour look," 
 she went on, as if to herself, " an' he has no wan to 
 care for him in his old age but me. It would be a poor 
 return for all his love to grieve him or break his heart." 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 " There won^t be no broken hearts at all, I tell 
 you. He'll be highly oblivious of our stolen match 
 in a few days, and say to himself that what can^t 
 be cured must be endured. He^ll sind for us both 
 wid great rejoicin^ an^ contrition^ an^ then there 
 will be nothing at all among us but satisfaction an' 
 plinty, society an' harmony/' 
 
 But this glowing picture failed to dazzle the eyes 
 of Oonagh or change her resolution^ and for answer 
 she only shook her head. 
 
 " You're just as hard-hearted an' obdurated as 
 your father," he said bitterly. 
 
 '' No, John, I am not. My heart is only too soft 
 where you are concerned ; an' you ought to know 
 that the girl who begins her married life by disobeyin' 
 her parents can't make a very good wife. There is 
 no use at all in our remainin' here arguin', for if we 
 wor at it till mornin', I have only the wan answer 
 for you." 
 
 "An' what may that be, might I ask invidiously?" 
 
 "It is that we must have patience, an' wait a 
 little. Who knows but my father will soften to us 
 — an' he will^ I know^ when he sees that we won't 
 anger or disobey him. An', John, mind this, an' 
 be full sure ov it, whatever day or night he gives 
 his consint, I'm ready an' willin' to go wid you
 
 TBE "BANBFASTINGr 85 
 
 before tlie priest. I can't say any fairer than 
 that." 
 
 ^' ThoJces an Bioul e* for a story ! '' he burst out, 
 his anger getting the better of his prudence. " Who 
 do you think is obligated to be dancin' attindance on 
 him till he^s foolish an^ dotin' ? That very shuparior 
 dutifulness doesn't shuit my ticket at all. Ov coorse 
 it doesn't. The queen's eldest daughter would be 
 well aimed by so thremenduous an apprentiship as 
 that. 'Tis the thruth I'm tellin' you, Oonagh, an' you 
 may like it, or lump it, whichever plases you best." 
 
 The instant after he had made this rude as well 
 as impolitic speech, he could have bitten his tongue 
 for his folly. But the mischief had been done, and 
 he saw that she was seriously and justly offended. 
 She wiped away the tears that were flowing fast, 
 and drew back a little, saying with an air and tone of 
 proud composure : 
 
 '^ Very well, John. I'm thankful that you let me 
 see your mind before it was too late. You are free 
 to go as you came, for if you remimber I didn't sind 
 for you to come here to-night. An' there's no call 
 at all for you to dance any attindance on my father, 
 or on me either. An' wherever you go, or whoever 
 
 * Thokes an Bioul e — The devil take it.
 
 86 TEE GHE0NIGLE8 OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 you go coortin^ to, ^tis all wan to Oonagh. I'm an 
 honest man's cliild, an' I never done nothing that 
 would make me hide my face, an' there's as good fish 
 in the say as ever came out ov it. You can go your 
 way an' welcome, an' I'll go mine, an' that's to folly 
 my dead mother's commands, an' stick to the poor 
 ould man that stuck well to her an' me. An' I thank 
 God that ga' me the grace to put your timptation far 
 from me, an' kept me from consintin' to what would 
 lie hard an' heavy on my heart at my dyin' day." 
 
 '^ Oh, Oonagh, asthore machree ! don't be vexed 
 wid your own poor John for a few untimeous words. 
 Sure I never thought you'd impressionate that a way 
 what I said in a hurry, that didn't come from the 
 heart at all but only was a slip ov the tongue. Make 
 friends wid me now, my darlin', an' let us be as 
 harmonious as ever." 
 
 He drew her towards him, and kissed her with 
 much apparent affection, and Oonagh, woman-like, 
 forgave him. He ceased to press her on the private 
 marriage, for he saw that on that point she was 
 inflexible, and that neither his entreaties, nor her own 
 great love, could move her by as much as a hair's 
 breadth from the path of duty. While mentally 
 comparing her to a mule, a pig, and every other 
 animal whose obstinacy is proverbial, he wisely re-
 
 TEE "HANDFASTING." 87 
 
 solved on lowering his demands, and trying to get a 
 part as lie could not obtain tlie whole. 
 
 '^ Well, darlin'/' he said in his tenderest tone and 
 most insinuating manner, "as you objectionate so 
 completely to an instantaneous marriage, we^ll say 
 no more about it. I wouldn't fret or afflictionate you 
 for the whole world, nor have your purty eyes in- 
 undated wid tears. But if we can't be married^ sure 
 we can be handfasted together. You can't objec- 
 tionate to that, surely.''^ 
 
 "I don't like handfastin^ at all. ^Tis not a thing 
 for a dacent girl to have any call to," she said 
 dubiously. 
 
 "Let me see if I have the sixpence about me," 
 he said, affecting not to hear her protest against this 
 ante-nuptial engagement, which in the south of 
 Ireland is considered almost as binding and sacred 
 as marriage itself. He went through the farce of 
 searching his pockets for the sixpence, although the 
 schemer had taken very good care to provide himself 
 with the coin in question before he came, so as to be 
 prepared for the handfasting, in case she should refuse 
 to consent to an elopement. 
 
 "Now, 'acushla gedl, we're all right. You^'e to 
 put your right hand into my right hand, an^ rehearse 
 all the expressions I propose to you af ther me.''^
 
 88 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 She neither gave nor withheld her hand, but he 
 took it, and grasping it firmly, began to say the 
 formula of the ^^ handfasting " : 
 
 "I promise an' vow in the most solemn manner 
 to be thrue an' faithful to you, Oonagh MacDermott, 
 an' to hold myself bound to you as my future wife 
 in all things ; an' I promise to marry you as soon 
 as it is convanient to both ov us, an' whin circum- 
 stances will permit." Having gone through this 
 form, he told her that now it was her turn to repeat 
 the words after him. 
 
 Oonagh said the words after him mechanically, 
 but on concluding added, '^provided that my father 
 gives his consent." And not only that, but she 
 pronounced them with emphasis and firmness. 
 
 ^^ You might just as well have left that last part 
 out totationally," he said, much displeased. " I didn't 
 rehearse them words to you at all." 
 
 ^^ But they was in my mind, an' they may as well 
 be out as in. If I didn't say them, I'd only be 
 desavin' you ; an' no man shall have any call to 
 charge me wid doin' that. They're said now, an' 
 I mane to stand by 'em." 
 
 "Well, Oonagh, I dealt fairer by you than you 
 done by me, for I didn't put in any clauses ov sur- 
 render. Now gi' me your hand, an' let us go
 
 THE " HANDFASTING:' 89 
 
 througli tliis little bisness agin ; for there must be 
 recicoprocity in it, if it is to liave any valuation 
 at all in it/^ 
 
 *'No, Jolin ; I'll have no more ov it. If you're 
 not satisfied wid what I said there^s no harm done ; 
 an' my hand to you I'll not keep you to your part 
 ov it." 
 
 He pretended not to hear this^ but by a dexterous 
 twist of his forefinger and thumb he broke the six- 
 pence into two equal parts^ giving one to her, and 
 retaining the other for himself. She put her half 
 into the corner of the handkerchief she wore round 
 her neck, and knotting it tightly put the knotted 
 end into her bosom, so that it could not be seen by 
 anyone. 
 
 " I'm sure ov you now, 'a colleen dhass/' he said 
 fondly. "I know well that you'll never bate a re- 
 thrate from them words durin' duration. '^ 
 
 "I never will, John; you may be sure ov that. 
 But all the same you wor just as sure ov me before; 
 for when I say a thing I mane it, an' intind to stand 
 by it, as if I was book-sworn." 
 
 " Well, darlin', my love for you is so shuparior 
 an' ov so intoxicatin' a characther that I thought I 
 never could make my own ov you intirely until the 
 sixpence was divisioned between us. An' sure 'tisn't
 
 90 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 yourself_, 'a graiu haivn, that will blame me for that 
 wid your own purty mouth ? '^ 
 
 ^'^0, dear; but I feel that somehow I love you 
 all the more for it. But we must part now, for I 
 see Bran running down the hill beyant there, an' 
 that's a sure sign that my father isn't far behind 
 hira. The poor dog is so glad to be comin' home 
 that he always runs on first. Indeed I can't stay 
 longer, for I wouldn't like that for the first time in 
 his life the ould man would have to say, ' Where is 
 Oonagh ? ' I'm heart sorry, John, that I can't ax 
 you to come in an' take pot-luck wid us, but it is 
 far betther for you not to come near the place yet 
 awhile, till I can manage to make things a little 
 smoother for both ov us wid my father. He loves 
 me dearly, an' won't refuse to make me happy when 
 he knows my heart is in it." 
 
 "An' whin are we to confabulate together again, 
 my darlin' girl ? " 
 
 " I can't tell that, but you may be sure as soon 
 as I can do it quietly I'll sind for you. But I own 
 that I don't like these stolen meetings, an' I won't 
 have no more ov 'em. My father wouldn't like 'em, 
 nor Father O'Rafferty, nor Miss Grace ; an' they're 
 not things for a dacent girl to have any call to at all. 
 But we can meet every Sunday afther mass, an' I
 
 THE '' BAyDFASTINGr 91 
 
 liave no objection that you^d come a part ov tlie way 
 home wid me in tlie face ov day, an' everywan to 
 see us — yourself, an^ me, an^ Molly, for we go togetlier 
 always to mass on Sundays." 
 
 With this permission he was obliged to be 
 satisfied, and after a very tender parting — for the 
 simple girl now regarded herself as his betrothed 
 wife — she went back to the bouse before her father 
 arrived, and just as Molly was taking the huge pot 
 of potatoes off the fire. In this she was assisted 
 by the fool, who, to judge by his wistful looks, and 
 the eag-erness with which he offered his services, was 
 mucli in want of a supper, and fully determined on 
 making good use of the food that was soon to be 
 placed on the table.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DAEK DAYS. 
 
 Fathers have flinty hearts. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 As has been said in the preceding chapter, the 
 ceremony of '^ handfasting ^' is regarded by the 
 Munster peasantry as binding and solemn as the 
 formal betrothal that in Germany, and other Conti- 
 nental nations precedes marriage, and is considered 
 as scarcely inferior to the nuptial rite. The broken 
 sixpence is a tangible evidence of the mutual con- 
 tract, and by females is looked upon with almost 
 as much reverence as the wedding ring, until the 
 time when that symbol of wedlock shall be placed 
 on the finger in the ceremony of marriage. It is 
 considered as a religious promise solemnly made, 
 and to be kept very strictly by the two contracting 
 parties. It sometimes happens that the fresh, dis-
 
 BAEK DAYS. 93 
 
 interested love of youth will give way under tlie 
 pressure of parental authority, the temptation of 
 more attractive or wealthier ties, or the corrosive 
 influence of time that robs all such romance of 
 its pristine gloss. Sometimes the day will come 
 when the "boy" will throw away or give back 
 his half of the sixpence to his betrothed, or when 
 she will relegate her half to the bottom of her 
 " chest '^ to forget it, or if she remembers it at all, 
 with a kind of tender, bashful regret for the pleasant 
 days of her long-past youth. 
 
 In persuading Oonagh to go through the cere- 
 mony of " handfasting " with him, the Buck showed 
 that he thoroughly understood the simple earnestness 
 of her character, and the tenacity with which she 
 would be sure to cling to what in her eyes was a very 
 sacred promise. He knew that he could rely on her 
 constancy, not less than on her affection, and that 
 having entered on so solemn a compact, she would 
 observe it conscientiously, and be faithful to him at 
 all risks, and under all circumstances. There wa& 
 not much fear of his fidelity to her, for his own 
 interest — always the first consideration with him — 
 would induce him to be faithful to the contract he 
 had made with her. He was poor and wanted to be 
 rich, he was idle and wanted to live an indolent,.
 
 9-4 THE CHEOXIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 comfortable life, without having to work more than 
 he had a mind to do, and he saw no way to such a 
 desirable state of things but to marry Oonagh, and 
 have nothing to do when he came to Ballycross 
 except, as her father had said, to " hang up his hat/' 
 His brother would in all probability be married next 
 Shrove, and his wife,, like all the other wives John 
 knew, would like to have her house to herself, and 
 her affection for her husband may not be extended 
 to the brother who was a great burden^ and gave him 
 very little help. His brother often found great fault 
 with him for his idleness; how much more loudly 
 and constantly then would a sister-in-law do so, who 
 would be a comparative stranger, and whose interest 
 would be altogether separate from his ! It was by 
 no means a pleasant prospect to have to look forward 
 to, and he saw no escape from it but a wealthy 
 marriage, or what would be such to a man in his 
 position of life. The farm of Ballycross was one of 
 the best on the estate of Castle Cloyne, and besides 
 this, it was well known that old Martin had some- 
 thing laid by for the proverbial rainy day. The best 
 of all was that the heiress of this goodly heritage was 
 neither old nor ugly, but a very pretty young girl, 
 who was also greatly attached to the fine, hand- 
 some fellow who honoured her by accepting her
 
 DARK DAYS. 95 
 
 affection. He liked to have everything made 
 pleasant for him, and it teas pleasant to know that 
 Oonagh was just what she was, instead of being 
 a woman that he conld not love or be happy with. 
 But had she been a very Gorgon, he would have 
 married her all the same, for it was the good farm 
 and comfortable house that were ever in his mind, 
 and the heiress thereof was but the necessary adjunct. 
 A wife was the pill that should be swallowed before 
 he could enter into possession, and it was a matter 
 of much self-congratulation with him that it could 
 be easily swallowed, and was rather agreeable than 
 otherwise. He was fond of Oonagh, after a fashion 
 of his own ; her devotion flattered his vanity, which 
 was commensurate with his avarice, and no doubt of 
 her constancy ever crossed his mind. He felt quite 
 confident that with time and some skilful mana2:ement 
 on his own part, he would be able to overcome her 
 scruples, and induce her to consent either to an 
 elopement, or a private marriage. Once either event 
 took place, he would be in a position to dictate his 
 own terms to the old man, and compel him to sur- 
 render unconditionally. He should be made to pay 
 well for all the trouble and annoyance he was giving 
 them at present, and the thought of how he would 
 turn the screw when it would be in his own hands,
 
 96 THE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 was one that gave the Buck unmingled satisfaction. 
 The house and farm should be made over to himself 
 at once, and when he was lord and master, the old 
 man should be satisfied with a seat in the chimney 
 corner ; or if not content with that inferior place in 
 a house that till then had been his own, he would 
 be at perfect liberty to take himself off to the 
 poor-house ! 
 
 It was the old story over again of the woman 
 who had expected great profit from the sale of her 
 chickens before they had been even hatched. In 
 making those calculations he did not remember the 
 strength and firmness of Oonagh^s character, or the 
 depth of her religious principles. Her love for him 
 was very great, but her sense of duty was stronger 
 still. Her heart was very tender and loving, but under 
 such firm control that they who knew her best often 
 said ^' she never allowed it to run away with her 
 head.^^ The only time that her head had lost its 
 supremacy, and allowed her heart to get the mastery, 
 was when she had been so foolish as to give the rich 
 treasure of her love to such a mean, selfish, worthless 
 fellow as John Molloy. 
 
 When Lent was over, and marriage was permitted 
 once more to be celebrated in the Catholic Church, 
 the Buck, no way abashed by the ill-success of his
 
 DARK DAYS. 97 
 
 former proposals to Martin MacDermott for tlie hand 
 of his daughter^ renewed them, and again met with 
 the same cold reply as before. If there was any 
 difference it was decidedly for the worse, for the old 
 man not only rejected his proposal, but absolutely 
 forbade him to come to Ballycross any more. 
 
 This contumelious proceeding was so galling to 
 the vanity of the Buck, that he retorted with more 
 warmth than wisdom, and words ran so high between 
 them that Martin declared that though Oonagh was 
 his only child, he would see her in her coffin rather 
 than see her the wife of such a thorough blackguard 
 as John Molloy had that day shown himself to be. 
 The next time they met the old man stared full in 
 the young one^s face, and passed on his way without 
 any sign of recognition, for which contemptuous treat- 
 ment the Buck felt an insane desire to knock him 
 down on the spot. But he dared not proceed to such 
 a length, for he knew that Oonagh would never for- 
 give him for raising a hostile hand to her father^s 
 gray head. And not Oonagh alone, but all the world 
 would cry shame on him for it. So he had to content 
 himself with keeping the peace, and nurse his wrath 
 to keep it warm, until another and more convenient 
 time. 
 
 ■ Oonagh had heard something of this, but not all ; 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 for her father never spoke of it, and what she did 
 hear was the garbled accounts of people who had not 
 even been present at "the scrimmage/' but related 
 it merely from hearsay. Since she had promised 
 never to marry John MoUoy without his consent, 
 the old man had never alluded to the subject. She 
 had given her promise, and he had full confidence 
 in her truth and strong sense of duty, and saw no 
 reason why he should worry either her or himself by 
 keeping up unnecessary agitation. The matter had 
 been settled in a satisfactory manner, and there was 
 an end of it. He trusted that time and the course 
 of events would open her eyes to the true character 
 of "Pleasant^' John, and show her how hollow and 
 worthless he was, and what a broken reed she 
 would lean on if she should be so miserably weak 
 as to place her future happiness in his hands. 
 
 But if the day was ever to come when Oonagh''s 
 eyes were to be opened to the real nature of the man 
 to whom she had plighted her troth, and whose broken 
 sixpence rested night and day upon her breast, that 
 day was yet very far distant. In the opinion of the 
 innocent girl, whose life was so retired and lonely, 
 whose knowledge of the world was so limited, he was 
 everything that a lover or a husband should be. 
 
 The dearest wish of her heart was to see him
 
 BAEK DAYS. 
 
 reconciled to lier father, and to have the two beings 
 she loved best on earth not only friends, but connected 
 together by nearer and dearer ties than those of 
 friendship alone. But this, she well knew, must be 
 the work of time. 
 
 Meantime, she would be patient and hopeful, and 
 try to stand between the two, as the peacemaker, 
 pouring oil upon the troubled waves when she had 
 the opportunity of doing so, and waiting with good 
 courage for the happy time that was sure to come 
 at last. 
 
 But through all, she was firmly resolved on keeping 
 faith with both, and she could not see that there was 
 anything incompatible in loving one, and fulfilling to 
 the letter her duty to the other. She would be a good 
 and dutiful daughter, and keep the promise she had 
 made her father not to marry John without his 
 consent, and she would be also faithful to the lover, 
 to whom she had made another promise just as sacred. 
 Both these promises had been freely given, and they 
 should be strictly kept. It was a perilous position 
 for a woman to be placed in, and one fraught with 
 difficulty and embarrassment. But Oonagh was young, 
 and' to youth all things are possible, and the distant 
 future is seen through a veil of the brightest and 
 
 purest rose. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 Alas ! how many tears must be sted, how many 
 sorrows endured, how many lonely, miserable hours 
 must be spent, before the strong, sanguine heart of 
 youth sinks down, all its bright hopes crushed and 
 withered, and all its glorious illusions melted one by 
 one into empty air !
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE STOEM BEGINS TO GATHER. 
 
 Oh ! To what a reed 
 We bind our destinies when man we love ! 
 
 BuLWER Lytton. 
 
 The winter in wliicli our story opened had been a 
 very cold and inclement one, and tlie spring that had 
 followed it was one of almost incessant rain. Even 
 under the *^ dewy skies ^■' of the Green Isle, it was con- 
 sidered to have been the latest and most ungenial 
 spring that had been remembered for more than a 
 decade of years. The rain fell not in showers, but 
 in torrents, deluging the whole country, and turning 
 the fertile low-lying lands into perfect swamps. 
 Farming operations, except on high ground, were at 
 a standstill, for seed would rot if put into earth so 
 soaked with moisture, and though time went on, the 
 dull gray sky overhead showed no sign of fair
 
 102 THE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 weather. The farmers, after the fashion of their tribe, 
 kept hoping on from day to day for some improvement 
 in the weather on the approach of summer, and that 
 though their crops would inevitably be very late, yet 
 that they might be fairly good in the long run. But 
 when the summer came at last it was not much to 
 boast of, and though the seed had been sown as soon 
 as it was practicable, yet the crops had never ripened 
 properly for want of sufficient sunshine. Even hay 
 — that should have thriven in so much moisture — 
 was of very inferior quality, being rank and tough, 
 coarse in fibre, and so sour that the cattle would 
 not eat it but when hard pressed by hunger. The 
 potatoes, upon which all classes — particularly the 
 very poor — mainly depended for subsistence, were 
 almost failures ; for they never got dry in the ground, 
 and were in consequence wet and soapy, as well as 
 small in size. And, to complete the record of calamity > 
 the sheep were dying in scores, of the rot, and of a 
 disease called flukes in the liver, which is generated 
 by feeding on excessively wet pasture. 
 
 In this melancholy state of affairs the estate of 
 Mr. Dillon of Castle Cloyne had a full share, and 
 Martin MacDermott fared no better than his neigh- 
 bours in the general distress. His crops were very 
 far below the average of other years, and his sheep
 
 TEE 8T0BM BEGINS TO GATHER. 103 
 
 perished one by one in spite of all his care. While 
 the wet weather continued there was scarcely a 
 week that he did not bring home on his shoulders 
 either a dead, or dying sheep. Those infected sheep 
 were of course valueless, except for the skins, which 
 sold for very little, as just then there was unhappily 
 a glut of sheepskins in the market. 
 
 To make up for all these losses in some small way, 
 the MacDermotts redoubled their exertions, and 
 spared neither time, nor labour to keep things 
 straight on the farm. The old man was out early 
 and late, and in all weather ; as far as it was in his 
 power, leaving nothing to chance. His daughter did 
 her very best to aid his efforts, and lighten his heavy 
 burden. She never left the farm for the whole 
 summer, but to go to mass on Sundays and holy days; 
 she never thought of any variety or recreation, and 
 never added even a shilling's-worth to her simple stock 
 of clothes. It was rare to see so young a girl so wise 
 and thoughtful; but Oonagh was no common girl, 
 but one whose head and heart were both far in advance 
 of her years. 
 
 When the 25th of March— usually called "Gale 
 Day '^ in Ireland — came round, Martin was hard set to 
 pay his half-yearns rent. To put it together he had to 
 sell his best milch cow, and also a good deal of the
 
 104 TEE CEBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 hay tliat he required for his cattle during the rest of 
 the spring. He was, however, more fortunate than 
 most of his neighbours ; some of them could only pay 
 half their rent, while a great many could pay but a 
 very small part of it. Mr. Dillon, the landlord, was not 
 a hard man, and as he lived among his people, and was 
 in a great degree his own agent, he knew well what a 
 sea of troubles his poor tenants had to struggle against, 
 and that it was not through any fault of their own 
 that their payments were deficient. He was willing to 
 make every reasonable allowance for them ; partly 
 through kindness, and partly because he knew that 
 driving them to utter pauperism was not the best way 
 to come by the arrears that remained due, as well as 
 to ensure a more punctual settlement of accounts for 
 the future. 
 
 As may be supposed, the loss of their best cow 
 made a very serious difference to the MacDermotts. 
 The supply of butter for the market was far short 
 of what it used to be, to say nothing of the loss 
 of the skimmed milk for the use of the family, 
 and for rearing young cattle. It would be a long 
 time before they could hope to have another cow 
 so good, if indeed they would ever have her like 
 again. But in one respect kind Nature has been 
 bountiful to the Irish peasant; she has given
 
 TEE STOEM BEGINS TO GATEER. 105 
 
 him an elastic spirit and a sanguine temperament. 
 The cloud over his head must be very black and dense, 
 through which he cannot see the silver lining that 
 hangs behind it. He has, happily for himself, the 
 faculty of working on against the greatest odds, and 
 of hoping, even while there is hardly room for a hope 
 to rest upon. The MacDermotts were no exception to 
 this almost universal law. They were very thankful 
 that in a season of such severe distress they were able 
 to meet their landlord with the full amount of what 
 they owed him, when so many of their neighbours were 
 defaulters ; thankful that they had another six months 
 in which to take breath, and to strive by sheer hard 
 work, and rigid self-denial, to provide against future 
 casualties, and recover the ground that they had lost. 
 
 But though they worked hard, and contented 
 themselves with such poor fare as barely sufficed to 
 support life, yet a tide ran against them that not all 
 their efforts could enable them to stem. Neither 
 incessant toil, nor rigid self-denial, can be of much use 
 to man when Nature herself turns against him ; when 
 the elements make war on him, and the ungrateful 
 earth refuses to make any return for the time, and toil, 
 that have been lavished on it. The summer was just 
 as wet as the spring had been, and the prospect instead 
 of brightening, became daily more gloomy and sad.
 
 106 TEE CEBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 The old man^s healtli broke down under tlie pressure 
 of bodily labour, and mental anxiety, wliicli of course 
 added very considerably to tbeir distress. He did not 
 complain, and stoutly assured his daughter that he was 
 quite well, but her watchful eyes detected in his 
 appearance many signs of failing health, that one less 
 affectionate, and less interested, might never see. 
 
 The summer — if a season wherein the sun never 
 shone for five days out of the seven, could be called 
 summer — was over, and Michaelmas Day, another 
 Gale Day, came round again as inexorable as Fate. 
 So far from having the full amount of his rent now, 
 Martin had only a little more than half of it, and for 
 the first time in his life he was behindhand. It was 
 a great mortification to him, for not only was he very 
 honest, but he was very proud, and his pride was 
 humbled by being obliged to go to his landlord to 
 beg for time, instead of being able to claim a receipt 
 for the full amount of his half-year's rent. He had 
 strained every nerve, and exhausted all his slender 
 resources to make up the money, but without success. 
 One of his heifers had been choked by a raw potato 
 that she had managed to come by, but could not 
 manage to swallow. That very heifer was to have 
 been sold to make up the rent, and now they had 
 nothing to get for her but the price of the hide.
 
 THE 8T0BM BEGINS TO GATHER. 107 
 
 There remained then nothing to sell but four pigs. 
 Oonagh had always fattened up four pigs every 
 summer, and took great pride in their size and 
 quality; two of them were slaughtered at Christmas 
 for the use of the house, and the other two were 
 sold to purchase clothing for the ensuing year. But 
 the luxury of a meat dinner occasionally, and of 
 comfortable clothing, could not be thought of now, 
 nor any other earthly thing but the inevitable rent. 
 So the pigs were all sold, and the very next day 
 the tax-collector came to demand payment of the 
 county taxes, and the price of one of the pigs had 
 to be handed over to him, for tax-gatherers, as a 
 rule, are very peremptory persons. This reduced 
 the sum that was intended for the rent very con- 
 siderably, and when Michaelmas Day arrived — as it 
 did all too soon — the farmer found that he had not 
 the full amount of his rent. 
 
 It was a bad business, but there it was staring 
 them in the face, and they could neither evade, nor 
 ignore it. If trouble of mind, or bodily exertion 
 could have been of any use, there was enough and 
 to spare of both, but in this case all the effect they 
 produced was to make the old man so ill, that he was 
 fit for nothing but to go to his bed. In fact, the 
 only thing that surprised his daughter was his having
 
 103 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 been able to keep up so long. How glad sbe was 
 now that nothing bad induced ber to desert bim; 
 that she bad not left bim in bis old age to struggle 
 on alone witb tbe difficulties tbat were besetting bim 
 on every side, and wbicb were as new and strange 
 to bim, as tbey were bard to bear ! Continually sbe 
 raised ber beart in thanksgiving to ber Heavenly 
 Father, Who bad by His grace enabled ber to do ber 
 duty by ber earthly one, and to try even in a small 
 way to be a help and comfort to bim. 
 
 On the morning before the dreaded Gale Day, 
 the poor old man was very ill, and when Oonagh 
 brought bim bis breakfast into his little bed-room, 
 be refused to eat it. 
 
 ^' This is a nice egg that was laid this very 
 mornin^ ; won^t you plase me now by atin^ it ? '^ sbe 
 said in ber most coaxing way. "The tay is rale 
 beautiful, for I got a little grain ov it good, a 
 purpose for yourself.''^ 
 
 He drank a little of the tea to gratify ber, but 
 could not eat anything. 
 
 '^ Child, this is a bad business," be said, sinking 
 back on bis pillow. 
 
 " It is a bad business, father, but sure it might 
 be worse. Wid the help ov God, -'tis nothing but 
 the grief, an^ hard work, that's lanin^ on your poor
 
 THE 8T0BM BEGINS TO GATHER. 109 
 
 heart, an^ if wanst the rint was paid, you'd come- 
 on agin like a flagger." 
 
 " But we haven't the rint, Oonagh, an' to-morrow 
 is Gale Day ! '^ 
 
 ^^We haven't it all, surely, but the masther will 
 take what we have from us, for he is a good man.. 
 That's well known ov him far an' near. An' sure he 
 knows you to be an honest man that never was back 
 before, an' wouldn't be now either, only for the times 
 bein' so hard. An' my hand to you, when the masther 
 sees how sick an' wake you are, he'll not think ov 
 pressin' you." 
 
 " I won't be able to go up to the house to him 
 wid the little I have, an' tell him my poor case.- 
 Avock ! near as Castle Cloyne is to us, I'm in dhread 
 that I could never walk so far." 
 
 " An' what need you go there, or as much as think 
 ov it, an' me to the fore ? I can run up to the big 
 house in no time, an' do the best I can. I'll see Miss 
 Grace, an' she'll put in a good word for me, never 
 fear." 
 
 " It is the best thing that we can do," he said with 
 a sigh. " Miss Grace has a feelin' heart, an' she never 
 forgets that you are her own foster sister. 'Tis a fine 
 thing surely to have a frind in coort. Bat listen 
 hither to me, alannali, I don't like at all the thought
 
 110 TRE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 ov your going up to tlie big house to-morrow. The 
 place will be full ov men ov every kind_, an' I wouldn't 
 like my little girl, to be elbowin' an' pusbin' ber way 
 through 'em. Moreover, you'd have no time to spake 
 to the masther, an' in since him into how it is that I 
 haven't all my rint this Gale, an' that I'm so wake an' 
 loWj that I can't go wid it myself to him. You can go 
 there to-day fair an' aisy, when no wan will be there 
 at all, an' you won't be jostled about among a lot ov 
 sthrange min. So in the name ov Grod, asthore gecll, 
 count out the money wanst more, to see if it is all 
 right, an' then set off wid yourself." 
 
 " Yes, father, as soon as I help Molly wid the 
 dairy." 
 
 "No, child, you must go at wanst. 'Tis aisy to 
 look after the dairy now, /oreer / * an' Molly can do 
 it to-day without you. I'm onaisy till I hear what 
 the masther'll say to me about bein' back wid him. 
 But he's a good man, an' knows well that I'd pay to 
 the last farthing if I had it, an' Miss Grace will be 
 sure to give you a lift over the stile, for your mother's 
 sake that nursed her at her breast. An' Oonagh, 
 I'd like you'd go airly, so that you could tell your 
 story plain an' square to the both ov 'em." 
 
 * Foreer .'—Alas !
 
 THE STOBM BEGIlSfS TO GATHER. Ill 
 
 As soon as she had removed the almost untasted 
 food from her father's room^ and eaten her own frugal 
 breakfast, Oonagh proceeded to obey his instructions 
 with as little delay as possible. She made her simple 
 toilet, which was easily done, for her wardrobe, never 
 very abundant, had lately shrunk to very small pro- 
 portions, for clothes luill look shabby and wear out, 
 when not supplemented by fresh additions. But 
 clothes must be very bad indeed that will not look 
 tolerably well when they are whole and neat, and 
 set off by a good figure, and handsome face. And 
 as Oonagh cast a parting glance at the little glass 
 that hung on a nail near her bed, she was well aware 
 that she made a fair and attractive picture, for the 
 girl was neither blind nor a fool ! 
 
 It was a very fine morning when Oonagh set out 
 to walk to Castle Cloyne, which was about two miles 
 from her fathers house. There had been a slight 
 frost on the previous night, just enough to freshen 
 the air, and send a brighter colour into her cheeks 
 than they had worn for some time past. The birds 
 were pouring forth their sweetest music from every 
 hedge and bush, and the sun, that had been such a 
 stranger for the spring, and summer, now shed down 
 its brightest beams as if to make some tardy amends 
 for its previous defalcations. The meadows along
 
 111! THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYJSE. 
 
 the road looked fresh, and green, in tlieir rich after- 
 math. The bramble-bushes on either side were 
 covered with clusters of ripe, juicy blackberries, that 
 were very tempting-looking, and Oonagh was yet 
 young enough to cast longing eyes on them. At 
 another time she would have stopped to gather some, 
 but she knew she had no time for that to-day, so she 
 hurried on. 
 
 It was a delicious day, the first of what is called 
 the Indian summer, and the heart of the poor 
 harassed girl grew light, and hopeful, under its 
 gracious influence. 
 
 She had gone about a mile when she was over- 
 taken by Thady, the omadhaiun, who was on one of 
 his rounds, and as their way was the same they walked 
 on together. 
 
 '^ An^ where are you goin' wid yourself now, 
 Oonagh, if a body might ax ? ^^ after they had 
 exchanged greetings ; for, like all persons of weak 
 intellect, he was inordinately curious about every- 
 one's affairs, and was in consequence the general 
 newsmonger of the whole parish of Castle Cloyne. 
 '*" Up to the big house, to see Miss Grace.''' 
 '''An' have you nary other bisness?" 
 "I have a message from my father to the 
 masther ? "
 
 THE 8T0BM BEGINS TO GATHER. 113 
 
 " I suppose he's sindin' you wid his Gale's rint ? 
 Faix, Oonagh, 'tis well to be you. There's many 
 a wan ov the Castle Cloyne tinants, that hasn't 
 your story to tell this fine mornin'. Many a wan 
 ov 'em will be back this Gale, if what we hear be 
 thrue." 
 
 She made no answer to this, as she did not choose 
 to enlighten him on the state of her father's affairs, 
 nor give him an opportunity of retailing them in the 
 next house he went to. 
 
 '' Eyeh ! did you hear the great news ? " he ex- 
 claimed suddenly. '^ The wondherf uUest news that 
 you h'ard this month ov Sundays." 
 
 "No, Thady, I did not." 
 
 '^ You didn't, eroo ! Faix, that flogs cockfightin', 
 so it does. Sure, I thought that every mother's son 
 in the whole parish h'ard it." 
 
 '^ I wasn't out for some time, barrin' to airly mass 
 on Sundays ; for my father isn't well in himself, an' 
 so I had more to do than I had before. But, Thady, 
 what's your wondherf ul news ? " 
 
 " Well, 'tis that Michael Molloy got a sudden 
 death ere istherday — God bless the hearers, an' the 
 place we tell it in." 
 
 " Michael Molloy got a sudden death ? " she 
 repeated, as if trying to comprehend what he said. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 *' Don't you know him, Oonagli ? He's the brother 
 ov Shawn Sugagh, the fine, handsome, rollickin' boy, 
 that spakes such grand English intirely, an' that 
 the people calls ^Buck Molloy,' be way ov a nick- 
 name/' 
 
 " I do know him, Thady ; why wouldn't I ? An' 
 is John Molloy's brother dead ? " 
 
 " Sure, I seen him dead an' laid out, for I was 
 all night at the wake. He wint to the fair ere 
 istherday, an' people say he took a dhrop too much. 
 He fell out ov the cart, anyhow, on his way home ; 
 an' airly next mornin' he was found dead — the Lord 
 save us ! — wid the cart turned upside down in top 
 ov him. The mare got loose from the tacklin' some- 
 how, an' she was atin' the grass be the side ov the 
 road, as fair an' aisy as if nothing at all happened 
 to poor Michael. He was a dacent man, poor Michael, 
 but he was a thrifle too fond ov the licker. If he'd 
 only lave the whisky alone, an' come away from the 
 fair place wid his seven senses about him, he wouldn't 
 be a box ov cold mate to-day. People do be sayin' 
 that he was matchmakin' in the Widda Casey's tint 
 an' took more licker on the head ov it than was good 
 for him." 
 
 ^' For who was he matchmakin', Thady ? Which 
 was it for, himself or his brother ? "
 
 THE STOBM BUGINS TO GATHEB. 115 
 
 " Yarra, how div I know ? sure 'tis all aiquil 
 whicli ov 'em it was. Sure they wor both ov 'em at 
 it ever an' always ; it would be Michael to-day^ an' it 
 would be John to-morra. There wasn't a girl in the 
 whole country wid the name ov a little money that wan 
 or other ov 'em wasn't afther. An' so 'tis to pay the 
 Gale's rint that you are goin' up to the big house ? " 
 
 The girl was so much absorbed by her own 
 thoughts that she made no reply to this question, and 
 the simpleton, careless whether she did or not, went 
 rambling on after his own peculiar fashion. 
 
 '* Begor, if the Buck was pleasant before, 'tis three 
 times pleasanter he'll be from this out. Fake an' sure 
 'tis now he be Shawn Sugagh in rale airnest. What 
 rocks ov fine English he'll have now ! The priest 
 ov the parish will hardly bate him for big words, an' 
 grandeur. If his English was tall before, 'twill be a 
 dale taller now that he has the house an' farm all 
 to himself. Blood alive ! 'tis now all the girls will be 
 pullin' caps for the same boy, anyway all the rich girls, 
 for he won't look at any wan else. If he was hard to 
 be plased before, he'll be tin times harder now." 
 
 '^ 4^n' was he hard to be plased ? " 
 
 " Alliloo ! 'Tis himself that was. There isn't a boy 
 in Castle Cloyne thinks more ov himself than 
 Shawn Sugagh, an' b'lieve me he won't let himself go
 
 116 THE GHBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 cliape. When next lie goes mat clim akin', ^tis blood, 
 bone, an' beauty be must get. The dickens a less will 
 satisfy him.'^ 
 
 " An^ does he often go matchmakin' ? ^' 
 
 " You may say he does, an' tell no lie in it. Sure 
 'tisn't more than three months ago — maybe ^twas at 
 last Shrove, but my memory isn't very good — he was 
 matchmakin', an' was widin that ov bein' married " — 
 snapping his fingers. '*" But he differed wid the girl's 
 father on the head ov a nice little Kerry cow that he 
 had a great fancy for, but the ould man wouldn't give 
 it, and said he was givin' his daughter quite enough 
 without throwin' in the Kerry along wid the rest. 
 The Buck and his brother wor so vexed that they riz 
 out ov the match intirely, an' the girl was married 
 that day week to Tom Scales. Ov coorse you hard 
 ov her, Oonagh ? She was a girl ov the Ryans, an' a 
 nate purty girl too, be the same token. She often ga' 
 me a shirt when I was in black want ov it. But 
 you're not mindin' me, Oonagh." 
 
 '^ Fake an' sure I am." 
 
 " Listen hether to me now. The best thing you 
 can do is to cock your cap at John Molloy, an' give us 
 wan pleasant night at your weddin'. 'Tis long 
 since there was any divarshun in the parish, an' 
 'tis what the people says that they have something
 
 THE STOBM BEGINS TO GATEEB. 117 
 
 else to trouble ^em now besides divarsbun. God be 
 wid the good ould times, Oonagh, *a colleen dhass, 
 when there was full and plinty in every house, an' no 
 talks at all ov poverty an' bad crops ! " Evidently 
 the poor fool's welcome was not at all what it once was 
 in the houses where he took up his quarters on going 
 his rounds. 
 
 By this time they had reached a part of the road 
 that branched off in two parts, one running off to the 
 nearest town, and the other leading to the house and 
 demesne of Castle Cloyne. Oonagh was by no means 
 sorry to part company with the fool, for she was weary 
 of his talk. He was sometimes amusing enough, and 
 with all his folly had a certain amount of cunning and 
 shrewdness, but just now he was too much for her. 
 She longed to be alone for a short time, to collect 
 her thoughts, and think over what she had just 
 heard. 
 
 She did not believe a word of the story that her 
 lover had been matchmaking with "the girl of the 
 Ryans," or any other girl. She would as soon doubt 
 of her existence, as doubt his faith, and loyalty. 
 Whatever he might have done before the " hand- 
 fasting," that ceremony bound him so firmly to her 
 that in honour he could not think of any other 
 woman until she had formally released him from
 
 118 TEE CEB0NICLE8 OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 his engagement. Now that lie had got means 
 sufficient to satisfy her father, he would come forward 
 once more and renew his proposals. He would settle 
 down now that he had business to attend to, and 
 become sensible and industrious, and all that her 
 fond heart had ever imagined him to be. And as 
 Oonagh with the hopeful credulity of a loving woman 
 thought of all this, and pictured the happy future 
 that was before her, her eye grew brighter and her 
 step more buoyant. Her mind was more at ease 
 than it had been for many a long day, and she could 
 almost have sung out loud in the fulness of her joy. 
 It was not that she was glad because a neighbour, and 
 one she had known all her life, had met with a sudden 
 and awful death, and had been hurried into the 
 presence of his Maker, while unprepared and pro- 
 bably in a state of sin. Oonagh had a tender and 
 pitiful heart, and would be sorry if a lesser evil than 
 sudden death had befallen anyone she knew. But 
 now the great importance of this event, and the 
 great inflaence it must exercise on the future of her 
 lover and herself, made her harder and more indif- 
 ferent than she would be at another time. She was 
 young, human, and in love ! What more can I say ? 
 That must excuse her fault.
 
 THE 8T0BM BEGINS TO GATHER. 119 
 
 In this happy and sanguine mood slie turned 
 aside from tlie main road, and entered on a narrow 
 footpath that led on to the back entrance of Castle 
 Cloyne.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE DILLON FAMILY. 
 
 Not long our air they breathed, 
 Not long they fed on venison, in Irish water seethed, 
 Not often had their children been by Irish mothers nursed. 
 When from their full and flowing hearts the genial feeliii< 
 
 burst. 
 
 Thomas Davis. 
 
 The Dillons of Castle Cloyne were descended from a 
 very old Anglo-Norman stock that liad been settled 
 in Ireland for several centuries — so long a time, indeed, 
 that it had sufficed to obliterate all traces of their 
 foreign origin, to identify them completely with their 
 adopted country, and to make them in all respects 
 ^^more Irish than the Irish themselves.''^ They 
 brought Irish, wives to their homes, were served 
 by Irish, servants with dog-like fidelity, and each 
 successive generation of them grew up more intensely 
 Irish, tban that which had gone before.
 
 THE DILLON FAMILY. 121 
 
 In ancient times tlie Dillons were people of mucli 
 importance^ and held a foremost place among tlie 
 gentry of tlie country. Their possessions were ample, 
 and their right to them indisputable. The world 
 went well with them, and they went just as well 
 with the world; for it was characteristic of the 
 Dillons, that they never made an enemy, and never 
 lost a friend. This was not because they did not 
 know how to take their own part, and bear them- 
 selves under all circumstances as men and gentlemen 
 should do, for they were brave almost to rashness, 
 and whenever hard knocks were plentiful they always 
 came well to the front. Even if they won nothing 
 else from their opponents, they won respect and 
 admiration ; and though they most frequently took 
 part with the losing side, neither the purity of 
 their motives, nor their gallant spirit, could ever be 
 called in question. 
 
 But what had made them so popular with all 
 classes was their overflowing good - nature, their 
 lavish hospitality, and a geniality of manner that 
 placed completely at their ease all with whom they 
 came into contact. 
 
 > They had their faults, no doubt, those Dillons — 
 for who is faultless ? — but no one cared to drao* 
 them into undue prominence when there was in the
 
 122 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 scale at tlie other side^ so much that was good, and 
 noble, to counterbalance them. So they lived, and 
 loved, and enjoyed their lives to the full, and no 
 one envied or hated them, or grudged them their 
 wealth or popularity, or ever spoke of them but 
 with kindness and good will. 
 
 But the Reformation brought a change to the 
 Dillons, for as they remained faithful to the creed 
 of their fathers they had to pay the penalty for 
 their fidelity that was invariably exacted in Ireland. 
 When the old faith went down, the prestige and 
 prosperity of those who adhered to it went down 
 with it. They lived henceforth under a cloud that 
 no ray of sunshine was ever allowed to pierce. 
 They were frowned upon by the ruling powers, ex- 
 cluded from every office of trust and emolument, 
 and treated in the land of their birth as an outcast 
 and alien race. 
 
 But the Dillons had a high spirit, and that happy 
 elasticity of disposition peculiar to Irishmen, and 
 given by a kind Providence in compensation for 
 innumerable misfortunes and sorrows. These two 
 grand gifts stood well to them in the hour of need, 
 and kept their heads above water when many 
 others of their co-religionists were swept away. 
 They struggled manfully against the terrible oppres-
 
 THE BILLON FAMILY. 123 
 
 sion of tlie penal laws, and tliough tliey were always 
 sufferers and losers to a great extent, yet it was 
 always under loud protest, and after fighting for 
 every inch, of ground. As tlie ages went on the 
 waters became more troubled, and the suffering 
 borne for conscience' sake was made more grievous 
 still. Many a gallant vessel went down after a 
 long and bitter struggle in the breakers of those 
 evil times, and those that did not had desperate 
 work to keep afloat. 
 
 In 1689, when a few hastily levied, and undis- 
 ciplined Irish regiments, had the chivalry or the 
 Quixotism — it can be called by either name — to 
 oppose themselves to six times their own number of 
 the best-trained, and seasoned troops in Europe, there 
 was not wanting one of the Dillons to fling himself 
 into the arena. Theobald Dillon raised a regiment 
 for the service of King James, for they were unlucky 
 enougb to espouse the losing side in politics, as well 
 as in religion. This fine regiment, destined to be- 
 come famous in many a hard-fought field, consisted 
 originally of the tenants, and adherents of the family, 
 and was called, ^ar excellence, ^' Dillon's Regiment of 
 Horse.'' This celebrated regiment distinguished itself 
 splendidly at the Boyne, at Aughrim, and in the 
 defence of Limerick. This sturdy Theobald survived
 
 124, THE CRBOmCLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 tlie disastrous Irisli campaign, was outlawed, and witli 
 tlie skeleton of his regiment had to fly to France. 
 Arthur Dillon, the son of Theobald, was another 
 gallant soldier, who rose in the French service to 
 the rank of Mareclial de Gampy and for bravery in 
 the field was made lieutenant-general. Another 
 of this fighting family commanded '^ Dillon's ^' at 
 Fontenoy. When the order to charge was given 
 to the Irish Brigade at the close of the day, James 
 Dillon rose in his stirrups, looked round him for an 
 instant, and then shouting, ^' Irishmen, remember 
 Limerick ! '' dashed forward, closely followed by his 
 men, all echoing his cry. He was killed in that 
 famous charge. His brother Edward, who rode at 
 his right hand, assumed the command at once, and 
 well did he, and the regiment he led, avenge that 
 day the death of their gallant leader. '^Dillon's" 
 wa^ never commanded by anyone but a Dillon, and 
 the last of those famous colonels, another Arthur 
 was guillotined at the French Kevolution, along with 
 many another great and noble man. 
 
 Another of the family was an officer of " Dillon's '' 
 at the rescue of Cremona; but this man was not a 
 Theobald, or a James, but a Hyacinth. He stood 
 with his men at the gates in their shirts — for they 
 were roused to fight the cuirassiers of Count Merci
 
 THE DILLON FAMILY. 125 
 
 wliile they were sleeping iu their beds — and thougli 
 their loss was very great, yet they stood at last in 
 the gateway victorious, and naked, in the gloom of 
 that cold January morning. Their Colonel^ Hyacinth 
 Dillon, was desperately wounded, but he recovered, 
 only to die in battle harness on another battle-field, 
 as many a Dillon had died before him. There was 
 scarcely a battle-ground in Europe where those Irish 
 exiles of every name, and rank, did not prove their 
 prowess, and shed their blood, for a cause that was 
 not their own, and for monarchs to whom they owned 
 no allegiance. But those monarchs had given them 
 shelter, and pay, when they were outcasts from their 
 own land. They had been forced by imperious 
 necessity to become soldiers of fortune, and to give 
 to foreign countries the energies, the blood, the lives, 
 that they would gladly have devoted to their own. 
 It was a most melancholy fate, that of those unfor- 
 tunate Irish gentlemen who had suffered so much, and 
 so severely for conscience' sake. They had no home 
 but the camp, no property but their good swords, 
 and nothing to look forward to, but a soldier's death, 
 and a grave in alien soil. Yet those poor gentlemen 
 always bore themselves well, and bravely, and without 
 reproach. There is not a Catholic country in Europe 
 in whose annals their services are not recorded, and
 
 126 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 many of tlie first families in those countries bear 
 the names, and are proud of their descent from the 
 soldiers of the celebrated Irish Brigade. 
 
 Although the Dillons who had remained at home 
 had no opportunities of distinguishing themselves, 
 and were consequently unknown, and unheard-of 
 beyond their own district, they had nevertheless their 
 full share of struggles, and reverses. The grinding 
 despotism of the cruel penal laws pressed on them 
 with iron force, such as they found it impossible 
 either to escape, or evade. Little by little, their 
 property was wrested from them by fines, and con- 
 fiscations for their religious recusancy, but they only 
 clung all the more to their proscribed faith — partly 
 from pride, if the truth must be told, and partly from 
 sincere belief. The faith for which many Dillons 
 died at the Boyne, and many more at Fontenoy, could 
 not, they felt, be sold for a mess of pottage, or the 
 delights of the fiesh-pots of Egypt. As long as they 
 could, they resisted the cruel laws that were so hard, 
 and grievous, and when they could not resist, they 
 tried to evade them. 
 
 There was one of the family, another Hyacinth, 
 who was celebrated for the fine horses that were 
 always in his stable, and which set any of his neigh- 
 bours that had equine proclivities half mad with
 
 THE DILLON FAMILY. 127 
 
 envy. He was one day eating his dinner at the 
 public table of the hotel in the county town, during 
 the week of the assizes. While he was still at dinner, 
 his carriage, drawn by four magnificent bay horses, 
 drew up in the street just under the window of the 
 hotel. When he had dined, and was calling to the 
 waiter for his bill, an acquaintance of his entered the 
 room and addressed him : 
 
 "Dillon, that is a fine team of yours. I should 
 like very much to be their owner.^^ 
 
 ^'1 don't intend to sell them,^^ replied Hyacinth 
 Dillon. "I bred those cattle for my own use, and 
 as they suit me I don^t mean to sell them.^^ 
 
 " They are mine for all that. You know that by 
 law a Papist is not allowed to have a horse worth 
 more than five pounds," and with a smile of audacious 
 triumph the gentleman (!) laid four five-pound notes 
 down on the table before the astonished Dillon. 
 
 "^Why, they are worth fifty pounds each at the 
 lowest calculation, and to me, who bred them, a great 
 deal more. I cannot, and will not sell them/^ he cried 
 indignantly. 
 
 " But, my good fellow, don't you see that the law 
 is against you ? There is the legal price of the horses, 
 and you have no option but to accept it. The team 
 is mine, you understand.^'
 
 128 TEE CEBONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 Hyacintli Dillon ground Lis teeth in impotent 
 rage, for lie knew well what the law on the matter 
 was, and also that he was utterly without remedy. 
 He was a ^^ Papist/^ and any Protestant, who chose 
 to offer him five pounds each for his horses, had the 
 power to take them from his carriage, and lead them 
 away before his face. 
 
 "Might is right in these days," he said, with 
 darkening brow, and an eye that flashed fire, " so I 
 suppose I have no choice but to submit. But though 
 I must give you my team of horses for less than half 
 the price of one of them, I know no law that compels 
 me to give you my carriage, or harness, for what you 
 may choose to offer for them. I must step down, if 
 you please, and give directions to my servants about 
 them.'' 
 
 He left the room, and ran down the stairs in a 
 state of excitement that bordered on distraction. In 
 another moment four pistol-shots were heard in rapid 
 succession. He had killed his splendid horses, sooner 
 than surrender them to the man who had taken 
 advantage of a tyrannical law to possess himself of 
 them ! 
 
 A cry of anger and indignation broke from all 
 the gentlemen in. the room who had seen, and heard 
 the whole of this disgraceful transaction. The Pro-
 
 TEE DILLON FAMILY. 129 
 
 testants were quite as mucli disgusted as the Catholics, 
 for they were all gentlemen, and men of honour in 
 the room, and they gave expression to their indig- 
 nation in no measured terms. Cries of " Shame," 
 '^ disgraceful," '^infamous," '''kick him out," re- 
 sounded on every side, and things began to look so 
 threatening, that the mean wretch who had drawn 
 so much obloquy on himself, slunk out of the house, 
 ashamed, and crestfallen. He had lost the fine horses 
 that he coveted so much, and he lost what was of far 
 more value, his good name, and the respect of his 
 fellow-men. 
 
 But Hyacinth Dillon had too high a spirit to allow 
 himself to be extinguished. He continued to drive 
 his carriage as usual, but instead of horses, it was 
 drawn by four hullocks ! The law did not authorise 
 anyone to take them out of the traces, and make them 
 his own by offering to the recusant possessor a merely 
 nominal price for them. He had always been popular, 
 like all the Dillons, but his conduct on this occasion 
 had made him a perfect hero in the eyes of the people. 
 He was applauded to the skies by all classes and sects 
 of his excitable countrymen, by whom a bold, and 
 spirited action is always appreciated, while the man 
 who had behaved in a way so contrary to all their ideas 
 of what was manly, and gentlemanly, became the 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE CEEONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 object of universal scorn and contempt. To the 
 end of his life Hyacinth Dillon's carriage was always 
 di*awn by four bullocks^ and be and bis family 
 occupied it with as mucb ease^ and self-possession, as 
 if it were the splendid bays of tbe old time tbat 
 champed and curvetted out before tbem.* 
 
 Mr. Dominic Dillon, tbe present owner of tbe 
 Castle Cloyne estate, was descended from a younger 
 branch of this fine old family. The lineal represen- 
 tative and head of the house had long since conformed 
 to the established religion, had recovered a good deal 
 of the forfeited property, and in some way had entitled 
 himself to a peerage. But the younger branch had 
 not changed their creed when they had diverged from 
 the parent stem, and consequently had been obliged 
 to Hve in comparative obscurity, and to stand aside 
 while the honours of the world, and the pleasures of 
 society, were enjoyed by people vastly their inferiors in 
 birth and fortune. But for this mortifying state of 
 things there was no remedy, and they had to endure it 
 with as much philosophy as they could call to their 
 aid. In the course of time the severity of the penal 
 
 * This anecdote, exactly as it is set down in the text, is 
 related of one of the Geoghegans of Westmeath. J^umbers 
 of the Irish Catholic gentry had their carriages drawn by 
 bullocks during the time of the penal laws : the Wises of 
 Waterford among the rest.
 
 TEE DILLON FAMILY. 131 
 
 laws was gradually mitigated, and by the Emancipation 
 act of 1829 the last remnant of them had been swept 
 away altogether. But those wicked and cruel penal 
 laws had done their own work on many an old family ; 
 driven their children away to foreign lands for 
 education and subsistence, and made paupers of those 
 that had remained at home. The fine estates that had 
 been in possession of the same families for centuries, 
 were so swamped by fine and confiscation that they 
 had in most instances passed away into other hands, 
 and nothing remained of the original owners but the 
 vague, tender tradition, that lingered in the hearts of 
 the peasantry. 
 
 But the Dillons of Castle Cloyne were not 
 altogether in such evil case as this. They contrived to 
 keep their property even in the worst times, chiefly 
 with the help of some kind Protestant friends, who 
 from time to time had filed bills of discovery against 
 them, and by that form of law becoming the real 
 owners of their estates. This ownership was merely a 
 nominal one, and intended to cover and protect the 
 rights of the true possessors. By this means the 
 Dillons were enabled to keep their property, and 
 enjoyed the respect and consideration that is invariably 
 shown in Ireland to people who are well descended, or 
 as it is expressed, '^ are come of an ould stock.'' 
 
 K 2
 
 132 TEE GHBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 Their lands were heavily mortgaged, but they bore 
 that with as much equanimity as their neighbours who 
 were similarly circumstanced. If their means of 
 enjoyment were on a limited scale, they made up 
 for that by taking all the pleasure out of them that 
 they could be made to yield. Each of them seemed 
 as if he had said to himself, '^ Castle Cloyne will last my 
 time^' and acted accordingly, for he rode and hunted, 
 and made love, and enjoyed life in an easy, careless 
 sort of way ; and dying regretted by all who knew him 
 was succeeded by his son, or his nephew, as the case 
 might be, who as a matter of course was as easy-going 
 and pleasure-loving as all the rest of them. In the 
 mean time debts were incurred, and had multiplied so 
 fast that at the time when this story opens, the property 
 was mortgaged to its full value, and Mr. Dillon was 
 less the owner, than the steward thereof. It was a bad 
 state of things, but by no means uncommon in Ireland, 
 until the strong hand of the Encumbered Estates 
 Court ruthlessly swept away all old landmarks, 
 crushed out many old families, and razed to the 
 ground many a happy and time-honoured home. 
 
 The present owner of Castle Cloyne had always 
 been one of the most popular men in his native 
 county. When young he was noted for having a 
 proud, high spirit like all his race, but which in
 
 THE DILLON FAMILY. 133 
 
 him was tempered by great good-nature, and a 
 manner that combined dignity and self-respect, with 
 cordiality and courtesy. He lost none of this popu- 
 larity when on his father's death he became the 
 head of the family, for he was generous, genial, and 
 remarkable for his hospitality, even among a people 
 with whom hospitality is . considered a duty, and a 
 failure in it not only a meanness, but a crime. But 
 this very popularity became his ruin. Many of his 
 associates were persons who, though not better born, 
 were more largely endowed with worldly wealth than 
 he was himself, and to keep up with them, and meet 
 them on equal terms, made him contract debts that 
 were not always necessary, and which contributed 
 little by little, to swell the incumbrances on a 
 property so heavily weighted as his was. He had 
 the hereditary love of his family for good horses, and 
 as the evil times when he could not have legally one 
 of greater value than five pounds were happily passed 
 away, he indulged himself in this expensive luxury 
 until his stables, and the animals they contained, were 
 the objects of general admiration. His grooms and 
 trainers cost him a good round sum at the end of 
 the, year, when all was told. He kept a small but 
 good pack of hounds, and his kennel was on a par 
 with his stables, as far as care and money could make
 
 134 TBE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 it so. ISTor was a faultless stable, and kennel^ the only 
 extravagance that his love of horses, and dogs, had 
 entailed on this impoverished Irish gentleman. When 
 " the meet '' happened to be in his neighbourhood, 
 there was of course a handsome breakfast, or luncheon 
 at Castle Cloyne for all who chose to partake of 
 them, besides numerous dinner-parties, at which no 
 small amount of port wine, claret, and whiskey punch 
 was consumed by Mr. Dillon's jovial guests. All 
 this cost money, which was seldom paid, but saddled 
 on the property, to be paid at some future time, and 
 by some indefinite means, that no one could foresee 
 or understand. But the climax was put on the family 
 embarrassments, when Mr. Dillon ^^ contested the 
 county ^^ with one who, though not so well born, or 
 so popular, was better provided with '^ the sinews of 
 war.^' As an almost inevitable consequence he was 
 signally defeated. When the money was brought 
 into play, the good blood, and the popularity were 
 nowhere, and when the election resulted in his dis- 
 comfiture, Mr. Dillon returned to his home a sadder 
 if not a wiser man. His estate had been burdened 
 with an additional debt, and he had the mortification 
 of knowing that he was beaten on his own ground, and 
 in his native county, by a man whose father had been
 
 THE DILLON FAMILY. 135 
 
 an EnglisTi soap-boiler, and whose grandfather — if he 
 ever had had a grandfather — had never been even 
 heard of in Castle Cloyne ! 
 
 But all this had happened in times past, when 
 Mr. Dillon had been a young man. Now he was 
 far advanced in life, and a martyr to those periodical 
 attacks of gout, that are the certain legacies that 
 good living, and port wine leave behind them. The 
 jovial dinners, and the good wine had done their 
 work thoroughly, and now the greater part of his 
 life was spent either in bed, or in his arm-chair. 
 But though the gout had done much to cripple, and 
 make him a prisoner, yet it could not take away 
 the cheerfulness, the cordiality, the easy insouciance 
 that were like second nature to Dominic Dillon. 
 Though contending with pecuniary difficulties and 
 much bodily pain, yet in his old age he had the 
 same natural, spontaneous gaiety, and the same 
 superb indifference about money matters, with which 
 he had entered upon manhood. He took all things 
 easy, his creditors included; and they returned him 
 the compliment, for they rarely annoyed him about 
 their money, or pressed him for payment of it, 
 being apparently quite content with the high interest 
 that was paid to them with tolerable punctuality.
 
 136 THE GEE0NIGLE8 OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 A different train of tliouglit, and a different course 
 of action, might liave made Dominic Dillon a different 
 man; more prosperous, more wealthy, and, it may 
 be, more churlish and niggardly; but it would not 
 have made him happier, or more beloved.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DILLONS AT HOME. 
 
 Nous regardons les moeurs de ce peuple comme une 
 belle fable, et il doit regarder les notres comme un songe 
 monstraeux. 
 
 Fenelon. 
 
 Dominic Dillon had married early in life, and after 
 a few brief years of wedded happiness, liad been 
 left a widower witli two children. He contracted 
 no second marriage, but remained faithful to the 
 memory of the fair young Avife so dearly loved, 
 and early lost. He was in the flower of his 
 manhood when she ^was taken from him ; but 
 from that hour his heart was closed against the 
 love of woman, and all the affections of his kind, 
 and genial nature were reserved for the children she 
 had left behind her. 
 
 The elder of these children. Hyacinth, was the 
 pride and glory of his father^ s heart. At this time
 
 138 TEE CHBONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE, 
 
 he was scarcely more than a boy, having only at- 
 tained his majority^ but one whose bright face, and 
 superb physique, gave promise of developing into a 
 perfect specimen of handsome, and vigorous man- 
 hood: He had been well educated; but like most 
 young men brought up in the country, his tastes 
 and recreations lay more in field sports, and manly 
 occupations out of doors, than in the refined pleasures 
 that arise from the cultivation of the intellectual 
 faculties. 
 
 He was a good horseman, inheriting all the family 
 love for the equine race, which cost his father a good 
 round sum every year, but Mr. Dillon could not find 
 fault with a passion in his son, that he possessed him - 
 self in no small degree. In truth, he could not bring 
 himself to find fault with the lad, let him do what he 
 would. Hyacinth was a true Dillon, or, as the people 
 used to say, ^^ a chip of the old block,-" and never 
 troubled himself as to how, or where, the money he 
 required was got, so long as it was forthcoming when 
 he wanted it. He enjoyed his life immensely after 
 his own fashion; was always one of the stewards at 
 the county races, and the steeplechases, that came off 
 occasionally, and not unfrequently rode one of his 
 own horses — when the stakes were competed for by 
 gentlemen — bringing him in triumph up to the winning
 
 THE DILLONS AT SOME. 139 
 
 post. To his own natural advantages he added all 
 his fa therms good-nature, and courtesy of manner. 
 He would ride a steeplechase over a very stiff course 
 just as readily as he would go to a ball, being neck- 
 and-neck with the men in the first, and ready for any 
 amount of flirtation with the women in the second. 
 It is not surprising, then, that he was as popular with 
 one sex as with the other, and not more so with his 
 own class, than with the peasantry, who never spoke 
 of him but with affectionate respect, for the heart of 
 the Irish peasant always goes out to a handsome 
 person, and a gallant, daring spirit. When they spoke 
 of their landlord's son, it was in language as en- 
 thusiastic as it was sincere. It was invariably, 
 '*^Masther Hy'cinth is his father's own son,'' or, 
 '^ He's a rale Dillon, every inch ov him,'' or it would 
 be, '^ Masther Hy'cinth has a fine sperrit, an' an open 
 hand, an' he didn't stale either ov 'em, but got 'em 
 from every father that ever came before him." 
 
 Mr. Dillon's second child was a daughter, but unhke 
 his son, for she was not handsome, and slightly de- 
 formed. She was small in person, and though not 
 actually in ill health, yet she lacked the robust appear- 
 ance, and faultless physique, that were so conspicuous 
 in her brother. She shared with him, however, the 
 good disposition, and the pleasant, gracious manner
 
 140 THE GRBOmCLBS OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 tliat was so eminently one of tlie family cliaracteristics. 
 Her want of personal beauty liad made lier sensitive 
 and thouglitful beyond lier years, and thougli slie 
 bad a fall sbare of the Dillon pride, yet it did not 
 manifest itself after tbe fashion of the Dillons. Sbe 
 abborred debt, and considered tbat all tbe sbifts, and 
 scliemes, and subterfuges tbat inevitably accompany 
 debt were unwortby of respectable people, and should 
 be beld by tbem to be mean and disgraceful. Wben 
 slie came home from tlie Parisian convent in wbicli 
 slie bad been educated, and was placed by ber father 
 at the head of his establishment, she became acquainted 
 with a state of things for which her life in the peace- 
 ful cloister had in no way prepared her. She came 
 home, to be sure, at a most awkward time, for it was 
 just after her father had '^ stood for the county^' and 
 been signally defeated, greatly to his own surprise and 
 that of his friends. After that, the expenses of the 
 fruitless contest had to be faced. Day after day the 
 ^' greetings ^' of ^^ Our Sovereign Lady the Queen ^^ 
 in the form of writs and latitats were out against him 
 and it took some time before his affairs were arranged, 
 which was done by paying the small sums in cash, and 
 the large ones by additional mortgages on his estate. 
 In the interim Mr. Dillon had to be ^^ on his keeping," 
 for the bailiffs were lying in wait to arrest him, and
 
 TEE DILLONS AT EOME. 141 
 
 prowling round tlie demesne, the gates of whidi were 
 locked by day as well as by night. The house was 
 strictly barricaded, except on Sundays, when arrest was 
 not legal; strong chains were thrown across all the 
 doors on the ground floor, and the windows all nailed 
 down. It might have been imagined that the house 
 was in a state of siege, only that the words of the 
 poet were reversed, for here the foe did not come 
 in battalions, but in single spies. 
 
 It was at this singularly unpropitious time that 
 Mr. Dillon brought home his daughter from her 
 French convent, after an absence of ten years, wholly 
 unprepared for this strange state of things, and 
 incapable for a long time of realising it. She was 
 shocked to find that her father's house was beset 
 by bailiffs, and guarded like a jail; and that, so far 
 from being either ashamed or unhappy, he seemed 
 to look upon it as only a temporary inconvenience; 
 but which, to the proud, sensitive girl, looked very 
 much like want of principle, and even common 
 honesty. In a little time, however, all the debts 
 consequent on the election were settled somehow; 
 the doors of Castle Cloyne were no longer shut with 
 the chain thrown across them. Mr. Dillon was no 
 longer "a Sunday man,^^ but free to come and go 
 without fear of having a writ thrust into his hand
 
 142 TEE GHB0NICLE8 OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 as lie went along. He was very soon as jovial as 
 ever^ made merry witli his numerous friends^ and 
 with tliem had a great many amusing anecdotes of 
 the election to talk over and laugh at. 
 
 This was all great fun to Hyacinth, who enjoyed 
 it immensely. The angles of his pride had been 
 blunted long since by an acquaintance with debt and 
 its attendant satellites, bailiffs and process-servers; 
 and this of late years had become so frequent as 
 to be almost a matter of course. But it was far 
 otherwise with Grace, whose first experience of life 
 had been so very galling and humiliating. A little 
 of this experience had sufficed to turn the happy, 
 light-hearted girl into a grave and silent woman ; 
 accepting the responsibilities that devolved on her 
 as mistress of such an establishment as her father's 
 house with a feeling that was almost sorrow, but 
 determined to fulfil them in a true, conscientious 
 spirit. She could not hope to undo what had been 
 done, but she would try to wake some sort of re- 
 spectability and order out of the chaos that had 
 hitherto reigned supreme. It was a gigantic task 
 she had set herself, and one that would have made 
 an older woman shrink back in dismay; but Grace 
 Dillon had a brave, patient heart enclosed in her frail 
 body, as well as a share of the large fund of self-
 
 TEE BILLONS AT HOME. 143 
 
 denial, and endurance, witli whicli some women are 
 endowed, and wMcli is often the only dower that the 
 poor souls are gifted with. Her father and brother 
 were much amused by her attempts at retrenchment, 
 and economy, but they were also glad ; not that they 
 imagined for a moment that any effort of hers coisild 
 effect any solid or lasting improvement in the state 
 of affairs at Castle Cloyne, for they knew well that 
 the evils she sought to grapple with, were too widely 
 spread, and of too old a date to be dealt with suc- 
 cessfully by a young, inexperienced girl; but as it 
 took up her attention, and afforded her pleasure to 
 think she could be of use, they let her have her own 
 way in some very minor details that belonged to her 
 own province as mistress of the house. It was very 
 disheartening work, but she persevered, and in her 
 own small way effected a little revolution. The house 
 that since her mother^s death had been the theatre 
 of reckless extravagance, and untidy waste, began 
 under her gentle, but firm management to show some 
 appearance of being a home, and a home, too, that 
 was presided over by a lady. The chaos soon gave 
 way to order, and the wasteful expenditure to a 
 system of economy that was careful, and prudent, with- 
 out degenerating into meanness. But this beneficent 
 change was only in her own peculiar domain, indoors.
 
 lU TEE CEBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 There was no improvement outside tlie house, either 
 in the stable, or the kennel ; and with regard to the 
 lavish expenditure in those departments, 'she could 
 only look on in silent vexation, wondering where, and 
 how it was all to end. 
 
 At this time Mr. Dillon was slowly recovering 
 from one of his usual attacks of gout. He sat in his 
 easy chair, with the gouty foot wrapped up in flannels, 
 and resting on a soft cushion. On one side was a table, 
 on which lay an open writing-desk at which he was 
 making up accounts, for he employed no agent, but 
 transacted all his business with his tenants himself. 
 This was one of the many reasons why he was so 
 popular with them, because it brought him face to face 
 with them, to arrange their affairs, and settle their 
 differences, without the intervention of any third party. 
 It was said that this arrangement was a very bad one 
 for himself, and that his finances would be in a more 
 flourishing condition, if a paid agent, who would stand 
 no nonsense, had the management of the estate. 
 Mr. Dillon^s plan did not work well on the whole, but 
 he said he would not have anyone going between him 
 and his people, and that as he knew them, and they 
 knew him, things would be sure to come right in the 
 end. 
 
 The room in which he sat was the dining-room.
 
 THE BILLONS AT HOME. 145 
 
 and it would Lave looked bare and comfortless only 
 that a large fire blazed in the grate, shedding warmth 
 and brightness around it. It was a large^ lofty room 
 that had no doubt looked well once on a time_, when 
 the paint was fresh, and the furniture new ; but that 
 had been a very distant time indeed, so distant that 
 the date, was altogether lost. Now the paint on the 
 doors and windows was so defaced, that it would be 
 hard to tell what might have been its original colour, 
 and the carpets and hangings, that had once been 
 handsome and bright, were faded to one uniform dingy 
 hue. The furniture when bought had been the best 
 of its kind ; all of the best Honduras mahogany, 
 solid, substantial, and almost black from age. There 
 was no veneering in the dining-room of Castle Cloyne 
 — everything in it, though ponderous, and old- 
 fashioned, was still real and true. 
 
 Miss Dillon sat opposite to her father at the other 
 side of the fire, engaged in some needlework, but 
 quite silent, lest she should distract his thoughts 
 from the accounts he was wading through, apparently 
 with no small trouble. Though not handsome, her 
 face was very pleasing, with a refined, patrician 
 expression stamped upon it; an expression that is 
 born of education, and a habitual dwelling on pure 
 and ennobling thoughts. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 She wore a very simple dress of dark merino, 
 but tliougli it was not expensive it fitted her to 
 perfection, and a collar and cuffs of plain linen 
 relieved by their freshness, and whiteness, the sombre- 
 ness of the dress. She wore no ornaments but a 
 watch and chain, that had been her mother's. 
 
 While Mr. Dillon was going down a most for- 
 midable-looking column of figures, with his fore- 
 finger pointing slowly at them, a servant entered 
 the room, and laid a scrap of dirty-looking paper on 
 the table before his master. 
 
 " What is it, Pat ? " asked Mr. Dillon, looking up 
 pen in hand. 
 
 ^^Av you plase, sir, Andy Mulhall the farrier 
 is in the kitchen below, an' he sint me up to you 
 wid this little bill. He says he can sit be the fire 
 until 'tis your honour's convanience to sind down the 
 money." 
 
 "Very well, Pat; when I look over his bill, I 
 will ring the bell for you to come up again." 
 
 The servant — a good-looking young fellow who 
 had been in the family since his childhood, and in 
 consequence felt himself quite one of the family — 
 still lingered by the table. After a moment he 
 said : 
 
 " If it isn't convanient to you, sir, to pay this
 
 THE DILLONS AT HOME. 147 
 
 money, I can give Andy a glass ov sperrits, an^ pack 
 him off. 1^11 go bail lie can do without it for another 
 start. Sure, the tinants didn't pay yourself, at all, 
 till to-morrow.'" 
 
 ^'Well, now that you mention it, I think Andy 
 might have waited until I was paid myself/^ 
 
 '^ Faix, then, so I told him, but what's the use ? 
 You can't get anything out ov a pig but grunts. 
 I'd as soon be breakin' stones for a paviour, as 
 thryin' to knock a little dacency into a gilloat like 
 him." 
 
 "Well, I'll just look over his bill; the amount 
 can't be a great deal, for I paid him another bill 
 not long since. I suppose 'tis all right," and he 
 took up the scrap of dirty paper, written all over 
 in an illegible schoolboy hand. 
 
 *^ ' Be attindin' the bay mare when she was sick 
 wid glandhers, wan pound. 
 
 "' Be givin' her two dhraffs, two an' sixpence. 
 
 '^ ' Be curin' the black cow that ^ died, tin 
 shillin's. 
 
 ^''Be cuttin' a pup's tail an' airs, wan shillin'.' " 
 
 "I'll tell him to come in a few days, sir, 
 when you have more time to attind to him," said 
 Pat. 
 
 " The poor man may want his money," suggested 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 Miss Dillon. ^^ He lives at a great distance^ and 
 loses a whole day whenever lie comes here. If you 
 have the money, papa, don^t you think it would be 
 better to pay him, and let him go home ? " 
 
 ^' Oh, hang the fellow ! But you are right, Grace, 
 it is better be done with him at once. Here is his 
 money.^^ 
 
 Pat took the money and vanished, but before many 
 minutes he was back again. 
 
 '^^Av you plase, sir, Tom Delahunty is below for 
 the price ov the pup.'' 
 
 '' What pup ? '' 
 
 " The pup he brought from County Limerick for 
 Masther Hy'cinth, an' a very nate pup he is too, an' 
 will make a grand sportin' dog intirely in the coorse 
 ov a little time, when the thrainer is done wid him." 
 
 " My son is not here now, and I know nothing 
 about it. Tell him to come when Master Hyacinth 
 is at home." 
 
 " I as good as said them very words to him, your 
 honour, but he says he's in great disthress, an' the 
 wife lyin' down in the sickness wid him. I wouldn't 
 put it past him to tell a lie on the head ov it ; still 
 an' all, the faver is very bad near his place, an' what 
 he says may be thrue, though betune you an' me an' 
 the wall, I don't b'lieve a word ov it."
 
 THE DILLONS AT HOME. 149 
 
 " But it might be true, and if so, he wants money 
 for his sick wife. I wouldn't like to refuse him for 
 her sake. How much is it ? " 
 
 "He says the price of the pup is two guineas, 
 but he'll only ax Masther Hy'cinth the two pounds. 
 Erra ! I wouldn't give the ashes out ov my pipe for 
 what he says ! '' 
 
 " Two pounds is a great sum to give for a pup.'' 
 
 " Begor it is, sir, there's no denyin' it. But sure 
 if Masther Hy'cinth thinks he's worth it, 'tis all 
 aiqual." 
 
 '^ Well, here is thirty shillings, let him settle with 
 my son about the rest. Now, Pat Flanagan, be off, 
 a,nd bring me no more dunning messages, for this 
 day at all events." 
 
 " Fake an' sure, I won't if I can help it. The 
 soles ov my shoes is fairly wore out runnin' back 
 an' forrid, attindin' all the mornin' on every shooler 
 ov 'em.'^ 
 
 '' And, Pat." 
 
 ^ass, sir." 
 
 '^ Tell my son not to go out until I see him." 
 
 '' You just spoke in time, for I hard him tellin' 
 Toiiy Whigarald to bring his horse round to the hall 
 door," and Pat ran off to tell Hyacinth that his father 
 wished to speak to him.
 
 150 THE CHEONICLES OF CASTL'E GLOYNE. 
 
 Hyacinth^ wlio was going off to the liunt, came ia 
 to tlie dining-room when lie got the message. As he 
 stood by the old gentleman's chair, he was as fine a 
 specimen of youthful manhood as even a fond father's 
 heart could desire to see. His handsome face was 
 glowing with health and pleasurable excitement, and 
 his tall, well-made figure was set off by the orthodox 
 hunting costume of scarlet coat, and spotless doeskins. 
 He held a small silver- mounted whip in his hand, and 
 as he stood there twirling the lash round his fingers 
 with easy, unconscious grace, Mr. Dillon thought 
 that he was a son of whom any father might be justly 
 proud. 
 
 ''' I want you to drop this letter at the post-office 
 on your way ; it won't delay you a moment, as it is 
 stamped already. It is to that confounded rascal 
 Jackson, about the interest of his mortgage that fell 
 due last month." 
 
 '''I suppose he has been dunning you for it, the 
 impudent usurer ! Fd give the best horse I ever rode 
 for leave to lay my whip on his shoulders for only five 
 minutes.'' 
 
 '^ Easy, boy, easy. Our hand is in the lion's mouth, 
 and we must draw it out as gently as we can. We 
 can hardly blame the man for asking for his money 
 when it becomes due. I wish to Heaven tliat some
 
 THE BILLONS AT HOME. 151 
 
 one owed me a tliousand pounds, or even half the 
 money ! '' 
 
 " And so would I, for I am very hard up just now. 
 Could you spare me a few pounds, sir ? That saddler 
 fellow in town is dunning me for the price of the last 
 saddle and bridle I got from him." 
 
 *' See if you can stop the fellow^s mouth with this," 
 said Mr. Dillon, handing his son a five-pound note. 
 '^ I shall have more for you in a day or two when the 
 tenants have paid the rents." 
 
 ^^All right," said careless, handsome Hyacinth, 
 " and now I must be off. You are looking pale, little 
 one ; you must promise me you will take a drive 
 before dinner,^' and he kissed his sister before he went 
 away, for after a fashion of their own, those two men 
 dearly loved the fair-haired, delicate girl. 
 
 Mr. Dillon went back to his accounts, and the old 
 weary, harassed look came once more into his face. 
 But he was not to be left quiet very long, for 
 Pat Flanagan again opened the door. 
 
 " What is it now, in the devil's name ? " 
 
 " 'Tis another little bill, sir. Musha, bad luck to 
 the whole pack ov 'em, every day they see a pavin' 
 stone ! " 
 
 " Didn't I tell you not to bring me any more of 
 those infernal bills to-dav ? "
 
 152 TEE CER0NICLE8 OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 '^ Sure enough you did, sir, but sure what good was 
 that ? The kitchen below is full ov 'em, an' if I said 
 the yard outside, I wouldn't be goin' asthray. The 
 divel a lie in it ! I'm fairly harished wid the whole ov 
 'em, an' moreover the cook is dhruv out ov her seven 
 sinsis wid the way they're all gathered round the fire 
 discoorsin' wan another, an' all their pipes in full 
 blast." 
 
 ^^ You should have sent them off one after another 
 as soon as they came." 
 
 ''Be the tare of war, sir, that's aisier said than 
 done ! ' Ye have no call to be annoyin' the masther 
 this a way,' ses I, ' an' he only just riz out of bed wid 
 the gout in his fut. 'Tis enough to dhrive it up to 
 his stomach or into his head,' ses I, ^ the set ye're 
 makin' on the dear gintleman. Can't ye wait for yer 
 money till he's ped himself ? Samson was a strong 
 man, be all accounts, but sure he couldn't pay money 
 when he hadn't it. The tinints will all come in durin' 
 the week/ ses I, ' an' there will be no delay in life then 
 to every mother's son ov ye gettin' what's due to ye.' 
 Oyeh ! let me alone, sir," with a toss of his head — ^' I 
 might as well be whistlin' jigs to a milestone, as to 
 thry to make 'em hear to sinse or raison ! " 
 
 '^ Well, Pat, you must contrive to get rid of them. 
 I have not another pound on earth to give to any one.
 
 THE DILLONS AT HOME. 153 
 
 All the money I liad I gave to my son before lie went 
 out. Tell them all to come again this day week, and 
 then they shall be paid in full. I shall have 
 money then, though I haven't it to-day." 
 
 " Faix, sir, them was the very words I said to ^em." 
 *' Well, go down and say it over again. And be 
 sure you don^t come back with any more such 
 messages.^' 
 
 '^ I wonH, sir, if I can help it," and once more exit 
 Pat Flanagan from the dining-room.
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 THE FOSTER SISTERS. 
 
 Disparity of rank, or birth, goes for little with those who 
 have been cradled to sleep by the same hand. 
 
 There was no further interruption for some time^ and 
 Mr. Dillon and Hs daughter began to liope tliat the 
 duns had been put to flight, for that day at least. 
 Determined to make the most of this welcome respite, 
 they resumed their several occupations, and for some 
 time the silence was only broken by the scratching of 
 Mr. Dillon^s pen. However, in about half-an-hour 
 Pat Flanagan again appeared at the door. 
 
 " What brings you back again, after all I said 
 to you ?^' demanded his master, in an angry tone. 
 
 '' 'Tis a girl ov the MacDermotts, plase your honour, 
 hither from Ballycross. She's not a dun at all, sir, 
 but a dacent girl wid a message from her father,^' 
 replied Pat apologetically.
 
 THE FOSTER SISTEES. 155 
 
 "It is poor Oonsigh./' cried Miss Dillon, who was 
 greatly attached to her foster sister. " Tell her^ 
 Pat, to go upstairs ,to my own parlour, and I will 
 follow her in a few moments.''^ 
 
 "^Tis the masther himself she wants to see this 
 time, miss. Her father isn't at all well in himself^ 
 an' he sint her up wid his rint. "'TIS a variation 
 surely, glory be to goodness ! to have any wan at all 
 comin' wid money, instead ov comin' for it,'' and Pat's 
 face expanded into a broad grin. 
 
 '' I hear, Pat, that you are one of Oonagh's 
 numerous admirers," said Mr. Dillon, restored to good- 
 humour by the prospect of receiving money, instead 
 of. paying it. 
 
 " You're welcome to your game, sir." 
 
 " All I can say is, that you have shown very good 
 taste, for Oonagh is a pretty girl, and will not go 
 penniless to any husband who is lucky enough to get 
 her." 
 
 *' Polly on, sir, folly on. Sure I'm listenin' to you." 
 
 " Pat, you can bring Oonagh up here," said Grace, 
 wishing to relieve the embarrassment of the poor 
 fellow, who was now standing on one leg, and now on 
 the other, rubbing his hands hard together, and 
 looking as sheepish, and bashful, as it was possible for 
 a love- sick swain to look.
 
 156 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 Witli great promptitude Pat left the room in 
 obedience to the desire of his young mistress^ and 
 soon returned with Oonagh^ who made a respectful 
 •curtsey when she came inside the door. 
 
 '^ Welcome, Oonagh," said Grace, advancing and 
 kissing her affectionately. "Why^ I haven't seen 
 you for an age. You are cold_, dear ; come and sit 
 by the fire until papa is ready to attend to you.'' 
 
 " I made bold to bring you a few fresh eggs, 
 miss/' said Oonagh, laying down a little basket behind 
 the young lady's chair. " Sure I know that there's 
 plinty ov 'em here, but so itself; don't I often hear 
 you say that you never ate such good eggs as comes 
 from Ballycross ? They are fresh an' sweet tasted, 
 there's no denyin' it. Anyhow, you're always good 
 enough to say so." 
 
 " And I always think it, as well as say it," said 
 Grace, with the engaging condescension of a true 
 lady, for she knew it would make her foster sister 
 happy to think she was pleased with her little present. 
 " You never, Oonagh, bring me anythiug that is not 
 nice." 
 
 " Yes, miss. An' that's what makes me fret that I 
 never have anything rale nice to bring you. Nothing 
 but a few eggs, or a basket ov chickens, ov an odd 
 time."
 
 THE FOSTER 8I8TEBS. 157 
 
 '^But, Oonagh, I like your eggs and chickens better 
 than any otlier^ and therefore I am always very glad 
 to get them. But see, papa is now ready to attend to 
 
 you." 
 
 The girl took the money her father had entrusted 
 to her care from her bosom, and with much hesitation, 
 and many apologies^ explained that he was unavoid- 
 ably obliged to be a little in arrear this Gale^ instead 
 of paying the full amount of his half-year's rent as 
 usual. 
 
 *'^An' my father desired me say/^ she continued 
 in earnest tones, " that he hopes your honour will 
 excuse him this time, as it was the very first he 
 was ever behindhand on Gale Day, an^ wid the help 
 ov God it will be the last. We both ov us would 
 live on a male a day sooner than be back wid you, 
 but this time, sir, we couldn't help it, dear knows. 
 The crop rotted on the ground wid us, an' our best 
 cow choked herself wid a raw potato, before any ov 
 us knew it at all. But sure, sir, you know yourself what 
 a wet saison was in it, an' you hard, moreover, ov all 
 the bad luck that we had wid our sheep.^'' 
 
 '^I did hear it, and was very sorry for it, for I 
 know that your father is a decent, honest man, who 
 would pay the last farthing if he could,'' said Mr. 
 Dillon kindly.
 
 158 TEE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 " Long life to you, Mr. Dillon^ sir ; in sayin' tliem 
 words, you said nothing but the tlirutli. We sthruv 
 very hard to make up the money^ though we are 
 short a little, but we knew who we had to dale 
 wid, an' that your honour wouldn't be puttin' keepers 
 on us, or takin' our cattle to the pound for a thrifle/^ 
 
 '^It is a great deal, Oonagh, that would make 
 papa put keepers into Ballycross, or send your 
 father's cattle to the pound,'' said Grace. "He 
 wouldn't do it for your mother's sake." 
 
 " My father knew I'd have no call to be onaisy 
 while you wor to the fore. ''You have a frind in 
 coort,' ses he to me, ' while Miss Grace is there,' an' 
 sure if he never said it, I knew it my own self." 
 
 ^^ He, and you, only did me justice, Oonagh." 
 
 "An' plase God, sir, we hope to have the rest 
 for you very soon." 
 
 " I can't be hard on an old tenant like your father, 
 for I am well aware that he has had his full sLare of 
 the bad times, as we all have had. I am convinced that 
 he'd pay the full amount if he could, for if there is 
 an honest man on my estate, that man is Martin 
 MacDermott." 
 
 The eyes of the loving daughter filled with tears 
 at this tribute to her father's worth, and it was a 
 moment before she could reply.
 
 TEE FOSTER SISTERS. 159 
 
 " He's all that, sir, tlianks to you for giviu' him his 
 merit ; an' why wouldn't he ? Himself, an' all that 
 ever came before him lived undher your honour's 
 family, an' had pace, an' plinty, when poor tinints on 
 other estates wor harished, an' rack-rinted, an' ruin- 
 ated, horse an' fut. Sure, sir, it only stands to raison, 
 that good landlords will always have good tinints." 
 
 Mr. Dillon laughed very heartily. 
 
 " My good girl," he said, ^^ you have now in a few 
 words solved one of the problems of political 
 economy." 
 
 " I don't rightly undherstand you, sir." 
 
 " I dare say you do not, but it is the case, never- 
 theless. Oh damnation ! " This expletive, which burst 
 forth suddenly, was not addressed to any one in 
 particular, but wrung from him by a more than usually 
 sharp twinge of agony in his gouty foot. His face 
 became almost purple from excessive pain, and large 
 drops of perspiration stood out on his forehead. 
 
 " I see you're not well, sir, so I won't be throublin' 
 you now to write the resate," said Oonagh, with a 
 woman's ready tact. "It will do any time that's 
 convanient." 
 
 "I am better now, still I will take you at your 
 word, for I am not fit for any more business to-day/^ 
 said poor Mr. Dillon faintly.
 
 160 TEE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 " Come with me, Oonagh, my dear/' said Grace, 
 ^^ for my father must go to bed at once, and I will 
 send Pat to take him to his room. He understands 
 how to manage him, better than any one else. Come 
 with me to my own room, for I have some pretty 
 things my brother gave me to show you. And you 
 must have something to eat before you walk back to 
 Ballycross.''' 
 
 The two girls, leaving Pat Flanagan to put his 
 master to bed, went upstairs to a room that Grace 
 when she returned from school had got fitted up for 
 her own special use, and which no one but Oonagh, 
 outside the family, ever entered. It had a southern 
 aspect, and looked out on the flower garden that 
 was cultivated by Grace herself, with the help of 
 Pat, who did all the coarse, hard work of it under 
 her inspection. It was a sunny, cheerful apartment, 
 looking just what it was, the sitting-room of a lady. 
 There was a recess at each side of the chimney-piece ; 
 in one was a bookcase well stored with the best 
 authors, and in the other was an easel. There was 
 another recess, but much deeper, at the opposite side 
 of the room, and in this hung a crucifix beautifully 
 carved in ivory. In the centre of the room was a 
 table with her writing-desk, and a large vase o£ 
 flowers, while in the window was a smaller one, with
 
 THE FOSTER SISTERS. 161 
 
 her workbox, and tlie book sbe was reading at tbe 
 time. Over tlie cliimney-piece was a good copy of 
 tlie Ecce Homo of Annibal Caracci. This was the 
 only picture in the room except a portrait of the 
 late Mrs. Dillon in oils, which was considered by 
 those who had known her to be an excellent likeness, 
 and on that account much valued by Grace, though 
 she did not remember her mother, having been a 
 mere baby when she died. 
 
 It was a plainly -famished, simple room, without 
 any pretensions to luxury, save a good piano opposite 
 the window might be considered luxurious, but it 
 had the look of home. The nameless, subtle grace 
 that can be given but by a lady^s hand, constituted 
 its only charm. The furniture, with the exception 
 of the piano, was old and of little value, and the 
 carpet was faded and much darned. But the window 
 hangings were of the whitest, daintiest muslin, and 
 the flowers in the vase were freshly gathered. Books, 
 and sheets of music, and odds and ends of feminine 
 work, were all lying about, though without any dis- 
 order. The room and its contents bore distinct 
 evidence that the genius loci was a woman, and one 
 of Cultivated, and gentle instincts. 
 
 Miss Dillon rang the bell, and ordered the house- 
 maid who answered her summons, to bring luncheon. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 # 
 
 162 THE CSBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 She did not think that she stepped in the least 
 out of her own proper place, when she sat down to 
 eat with the poor country girl, the daughter of her 
 father's 'tenant. Oonagh was her foster-sister, the 
 child of her nurse, and was besides too modest, and 
 humble, to presume on her condescension, or be 
 inclined to forget herself because of it. In the 
 privacy of this, her own peculiar sanctuary, Grace 
 could be as friendly, and affectionate with Oonagh 
 as she pleased, and often treated her to many little 
 dainties that of course she could never have at home. 
 It was not friendship as the word is understood in 
 the world, that united those two girls, for there was 
 too wide a difference between them in alP respects 
 for that. The great disparity of birth, and rank, 
 and the incompatibility of thought, and feeling, were 
 all too broadly defined to permit of friendship, or even 
 association. But there was the freemasonry of 
 similar age, and sex, and the natural yearning that 
 youth always feels for something like itself. The 
 feeling on one side was that of protecting kindness, 
 and on the other was profound admiration, and grati- 
 tude, at once affectionate, and respectful. When to 
 all this was added the fact that they were both 
 nursed by the same mother — which in Ireland con- 
 stitutes a claim that is never iofnored — and it will
 
 THE FOSTER SISTERS. 163 
 
 be seen that the bond uniting those two young girls, 
 so very dissimilar in every respect, was one of no 
 common character. And it was noticeable, that not- 
 withstanding their mutual regard, the great difference 
 that was between them in birth, and social position, 
 was never once lost sight of by either. 
 
 When the good things that had been brought up 
 on the luncheon tray had been disposed of, Grace 
 said : 
 
 ''It strikes me, Oonagh, that you are getting 
 careless in the way of your clothes. You never have 
 anything new now/^ 
 
 " Sure enough, miss, I don^t. ^Tisn't that is 
 givin' me any trouble. How could I think of 
 gettin' new clothes while we wor back in the 
 rent ? '' 
 
 "You were always good, Oonagh; good, and 
 sensible. But you are too pretty to be wearing 
 that shabby old dress for ever. See, here is one I 
 bought for you when last I was in town;" and she 
 took from a drawer a quantity of printed calico, 
 which, though very cheap — for she could not afford 
 to make expensive presents — was still pretty, and 
 fresh-looking, and made Oonagh's eyes sparkle with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Thank you ever so much, miss. Faix, it was 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE CHB0NICLE8 OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 no harm for me to come to Castle Cloyne this 
 mormn\'^ 
 
 ^^And when it is made^ Oonagh, you must come 
 again to let me see how you look in it/^ 
 
 "Fake an' sure I will. Sure that's the laste 
 I can do, afther getting the makings ov such a beau- 
 tiful gownd. But sure, miss, you won't let me go 
 without hearin' a song; just one little song," she 
 pleaded, with all the love for music that seems innate 
 in the Irish race. 
 
 "Oh, certainly. Well, what shall it be?'' said 
 Miss Dillon, sitting down to the piano. 
 
 "Well, miss, whatever will be most plasin' to 
 yourself is what'll plase me. Sure all your songs 
 are so beautiful, 'tis hard to make a choice among 
 'em.'' 
 
 "Well, then, I shall sing the very last I got. 
 My brother brought it to me when last he was in 
 town ; " and selecting a piece of music, she began 
 to sing : 
 
 The life that was mine lies far behind me, 
 
 My day is fading to silent eve ; 
 The glories of noontide no longer blind me, 
 
 The gauds of the world no more deceive. 
 The hopes that once lured me on so gladly, 
 
 Lie withered, and dead on a ruined shrine, 
 And I say to my heart, beating low, and sadly, 
 
 " What hast thou done with that life of mine ?
 
 THE FOSTER SISTEB8. 165 
 
 " What hast thou done with the restless yearning, 
 
 That, soaring to heaven, you chained to earth ? 
 The inward lights that, so purely burning, 
 
 You put aside as of little worth ? 
 The friends that loved me have all departed, 
 
 One by one to the shadow land. 
 And I linger alone, and broken-hearted, 
 
 With nothing but ashes in either hand. 
 
 " Could aught of earth have the power to win thee. 
 
 Oh, lonely, sorrowful heart of mine ? 
 Thou, with the impress of heaven within thee ! 
 
 Thou that wert fashioned by hands Divine ! 
 What is there left of thy visions splendid, 
 
 The love that was true, and the hope that was high ? 
 Thy dreams are over, thy story ended, 
 
 And nothing is left thee, except to die ! "
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OONAGH LOSES HER FATHER. 
 
 Songez que chaque fleur, 
 Doit son eclat, doit sa fraicheur, 
 Et les doux parfums qu'elle exhale 
 A la piete filiale. 
 
 Demoustier. 
 
 The autumn had come and gone, and it had passed 
 very slowly and sorrowfully to Oonagh. Her father 
 had not recovered his health, but on the contrary each 
 day when it came had found him weaker, and more 
 feeble, than he had been the day before. The 
 dispensary doctor had been to see him several times^ 
 bnt his visits had brought no amendment to the 
 patient, and finally Oonagh, as a last resource, thought 
 she would send for the best physician in the neigh- 
 bouring town, though she well knew that his visit 
 should be paid for at a rate that she could but ill 
 afford. But she said to herself, that whatever the fee
 
 OONAGE LOSES HEB FATHER. 167 
 
 miglit be, yet it would be well spent if ib gave her 
 father a chance of life. It was only a chance, her own 
 sense told her that — but she determined that he 
 should get that chance, and when she had done all she 
 could, she would leave the issue in the hands of the 
 great Arbiter of life and death. 
 
 When this celebrated physician — in whom, humanly 
 speaking, was her last hope — had left her father's 
 room, Oonagh followed him outside the door where his 
 horse was waiting for him, and said in a voice that 
 trembled with anxiety : ^' Oh, sir, have you any 
 comfort to give me ? ^^ 
 
 He looked keenly at the quivering lips, at the soft 
 gray eyes suffused with tears, and though well used to 
 scenes of misery, his kind heart ached for a creature 
 that was so young, and fair, and so soon to be left 
 desolate. He thought it would be cruel to buoy her 
 up with false hopes, or impart a transient feeling 
 of security, that would only make her future sorrow 
 more intense and bitter. 
 
 " My good girl, your father is very ill/^ he said 
 gravely. 
 
 " He is, sir, foreer ! But sure now that you saw 
 him, an^ know what ails him, you'll be able to set 
 him on his feet agin in no time, wid the help ov 
 God.''
 
 168 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 " Life and death are in God^s hands, and we must 
 submit to what He wills/' 
 
 '* Surely, sir. But a grate docthor like yourself, 
 can do a power ov good='' 
 
 He smiled at her simplicity, but said no more, 
 knowing that the truth would come home to her 
 gradually as time went on. 
 
 " I must go now,^^ he said, '^ for my time is precious, 
 and I am wanted elsewhere." 
 
 " When will you come agin, sir ? or will joxi wait 
 until I sind for you ? " 
 
 ^' I need not come any more. Whatever can be 
 done for him, can be done by the dispensary doctor/' 
 
 " I don^t mind the money at all, sir," she cried 
 eagerly. ^' If it was the last pound that was in the 
 house, I wouldn^t begrudge it. An' why would 
 I ? Sure it is his own, an^ he has the best right 
 to it.'' 
 
 " The money, my good girl, makes no difference. 
 If I thought I could do any good by coming again, I'd 
 do so willingly, but I really scruple taking your money 
 when I can't do your father any good." 
 
 '^ Is that the way ov it ? " she said, comprehending 
 his meaning for the first time. ^' Oh, my father ! 
 my poor old father ! " 
 
 She covered her face with her hands, and the
 
 OONAGH LOSES HEB FATHEB. 169 
 
 tears she could no longer restrain, came trickling 
 down between her fingers. 
 
 " You must not let him see you like this/' said the 
 physician. " Everything like excitement, or agitation, 
 must be carefully avoided in his presence. What 
 you have got to do now, is to keep him as easy, and 
 peaceful as you can, for he is very ill with heart 
 disease, and worry or trouble of any kind would be 
 highly injurious, and might even shorten his life. 
 So be very careful." 
 
 " Oh, then, sir, 1^11 go bail that his life won't be 
 shortened by as much as even a loud word. An' I thank 
 you for tellin me, for I might break down before him, 
 wan time or other, if I didn't know how it was. 
 My poor heart will be breakin' inside ov me, but so 
 itself ; what hurt ? Ocli mavrone ! what trouble is 
 out foment me, an' I was never used to it ! " 
 
 She stood aside to let the doctor mount his horse, 
 and then ran down the path like a hunted creature, 
 till she came to the well that was at the end of the 
 field. Here she flung herself down on the damp 
 grass, and wept, and moaned, with all the passionate 
 abandonment of the Irish peasant women. Her cries 
 and sobs could not disturb her father there. She 
 could ease her bursting heart in that lonely spot, and 
 no one could see, or hear her, but He who was soon
 
 170 TEE GHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 to be her only father. After some time a hand was 
 laid gently on her shoulder, and looking up she saw 
 the old servant bending over her^ with looks of 
 the tenderest compassion. 
 
 '^ Whisht now, 'a ragal ! Whist now, or you'll 
 kill yourself intirely, so you will ; an' 'pon my con- 
 science, you're very nearly kilt as it is.'' 
 
 " Oh, Molly, Molly ! how am I to live at all with- 
 out my good, lovin' father ? '^ and the poor girPs tears 
 burst forth afresh. 
 
 '^He was a good father, Oonagh, an' you'll miss 
 him. I'm not goin' to deny it, surely ; but killin' 
 yourself won't do him no good at all. If you're 
 knocked up, what is the poor ould man to do, I ax 
 yourself that ? '■* 
 
 ^^ I'll give you hand an' word, Molly, I won't cry 
 any more — while I'm out foment him, I mane, for the 
 docthor said he wasn't to be throubled, or fretted 
 at all. But how will I be able to hould on, when 
 I see him dyin' before my very eyes ? " 
 
 "God will help you, 'a villish, never fear. It 
 will be hard on you, I own, but we can go through 
 a dale more than we think. 'Tis often well that we 
 can't see all the hard fortune that's on before us ; if we 
 wor to see it, we would lie down an' die at wanst. 
 Child, look at me ! I berrid my husband, an' seven
 
 OONAGR LOSES HEB FATHEB. 171 
 
 as fine childher as ever stud on a poor woman^s flare, 
 an' I had to bear it all. Wlien tlie first ov 'em died, 
 if I knewn what was before me, I'd have clifted 
 myself. But I was ever an' always hopin' that some 
 ov 'em would be left to me, an' that kept me on 
 my feet, an' my heart alive in my bosom." 
 
 '^ An' when the last ov 'em was taken from you ? " 
 asked Oonagh, interested in the old woman's sad 
 history, notwithstanding her own grief; ^'^what did 
 you do then ? " 
 
 "I was used to the throuble be that time, an' it 
 was not as sthrange to me as it was at first. An' 
 when I put the last ov my fine boys in the coffin, 
 I knelt down alongside it, and thanked Grod that He 
 left me on my feet to take care ov 'em all, an' that 
 I was able to have for 'em everything that they 
 wanted. It would be a different story wid 'em if 
 they hadn't their mother, an' that thought comforted 
 me, an' kept me up. An' you see, here I am to-day, 
 af ther it all, an' I have to get through my day's work, 
 an' put up wid the rough, an' the smooth, that's sure 
 to come to every wan that's livin' on another person's 
 flure." 
 ^ " An' do you ever think ov 'em, Molly ? " 
 
 " In coorse I do. Many a night I do be awake 
 thinkin' ov 'em all. An' they come to me in my
 
 172 TEE GHROmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 dhrames, sometimes wan, an' sometimes another. But 
 I tlirj to put 'em out ov my head by day, barrin' 
 when I'm in the chapel, or at my prayers, for if I 
 didn't, I'd never do my bisness rightly. An' though 
 I do be ever_, an' always prayin' for them, sure, well 
 I know that they are all prayin' for me in heaven, 
 my good, honest husband, an' my seven little innocent 
 childher, that never committed a sin." 
 
 " That ought to comfort your poor heart, Molly." 
 "An' signs on, it do. Sure, what other comfort 
 have I, but to think that they are all in heaven 
 before me ? The first money I ever aimed afther I 
 went out to service, went to put a fine tombstone over 
 'em all." 
 
 " An' they're all in the wan grave ? " 
 " Well, 'tis a'most the same thing, but 'tis the wan 
 headstone stands for all. An' afther the stone was put 
 up, I saved a few pounds more, that's in the hands of 
 Father O'Rafferty, to bury me wid 'em all, when my 
 own time comes round. Before I'd touch a penny 
 ov that money, I'd lie down in the ditch, an' die ov 
 hunger. Sure he knows what I gave him that money 
 for, an' he'll take care ov it for that." 
 
 " But all this time, Molly, my father may be 
 wantin' us, so we may as well go home." 
 
 *' Sure enough, he may. But, as there machree,
 
 OONAGS LOSES EEB FATHER. 173 
 
 before you go near him you must wasli your eyes, so's 
 that lie won't see the signs ov cryin' on ^em." 
 
 " Did you know, Molly, that my poor father was 
 so bad ? " asked Oonagh, as they walked towards the 
 house. 
 
 " Eyeh ! I did, sure ; this long time past/^ 
 
 " An' you never told me ? Oh, Molly, that wasn't 
 kind/' 
 
 "Wisha, what good would it do you to know it ? 
 What the ear won't hear, the heart won't fret for; 
 that's an ould sayin' in the Irish. Sure, I thought 
 you'd know it soon enough. If I told you when 
 first it came into my mind, 'tis lyin' alongside 
 your mother in Kilcarrol churchyard you'd be to- 
 day, wid the dinth ov frittin', instid ov bein' 
 able to take care ov the ould man, now that he wants 
 care." 
 
 Few traces of her recent agitation were visible 
 in the face, or manner of Oonagh, when she returned 
 to her father's bedside. She opened the little window 
 to admit the last rays of the waning sun, and then 
 she noticed for the first time how wan, and hollow 
 were his cheeks, and how much, and sadly he was 
 altered. She wondered at her own blindness, and 
 stupidity in having gone on from day to day, without 
 having seen what was so patent to all other eyes.
 
 174 THE CEBONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 "1 never thought ov losin^ him/^ she said to 
 herself; ''an' if I did itself, I wouldn't let it come 
 near me." 
 
 She tried to bear up as well as she could, for 
 her father's sake ; but it is hard work to try to be 
 cheerful when the heart is breaking. But it was 
 a brave heart that was in Oonagh's breast; how 
 brave and true it was, the story of her after-life will 
 show. 
 
 But all too soon the day came round, when she 
 and her first great sorrow were to stand together, 
 face to face. 
 
 For some days the old man had been gradually 
 sinking, and being quite sensible of his own con- 
 dition, he desired that the priest should be sent 
 for, to give him the last consolations of his religion. 
 He had always led a very primitive, simple life, had 
 never wronged anyone of a shilling, or a shilling's- 
 worth, and, like Nathaniel, was a man in whom there 
 was no guile. He had as few accounts to settle with 
 his Maker, when it came to the last, as was con- 
 sistent with human frailty; and, therefore, his pre- 
 paration for death was neither difficult, nor distressing 
 to him. 
 
 It was the eve of Christmas — a dark, bleak day, 
 the hours of which were marked by frequent showers
 
 OONAGB LOSES EEB FATHER. 175 
 
 of rain, and sleet. The evening came down darker, 
 ^nd bleaker still, than the day had been, as if in 
 sympathy with the gloom, and trouble that reigned 
 within the kouse. Oonagh and the old woman went 
 through their usual tasks, for whatever their trouble 
 was, the machinery of the farm, and household, should 
 be kept going just as usual. Their business, however, 
 was not of a nature to task their energies very much, 
 for there was only one pig to be fed, one cow to be 
 milked. When the frugal supper of potatoes and 
 milk was over, and that Molly was engaged in the 
 dairy, and Paddy smoking his pipe by the fire, 
 Oonagh proceeded to light the Christmas candle, 
 which could only be done by the "vanithee," or 
 mistress of the house. 
 
 The origin of ^the -Christmas candle in the houses 
 of the Irish peasantry, is lost in the mists of antiquity, 
 the custom having been first adopted in the country, 
 when it was converted to Christianity by St. Patrick. 
 At all events, this is the account of it most generally 
 believed and accepted. It is intended to typify, and 
 commemorate the star that appeared on the first 
 Christmas night in the heavens, to announce to the 
 Gentiles the birth of the Divine Infant, who was sent to 
 redeem the world. It is a holy, and beautiful custom, 
 transmitted down from one generation to another, with
 
 176 THE CRBOmCLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 scrupulous regularity, and is observed by the people 
 of tbe south, and west o£ Ireland, with the same 
 reverent and earnest spirit, with which it was observed 
 by the first Irish Christians, twelve centuries ago. 
 
 The Christmas candle is always the best, and 
 longest that can be procured, and once lighted it 
 is never put out, but suffered to burn away to the 
 end. If it is a more than usually large one, which 
 is often the case — for those particular candles are 
 made very large — it often remains lighting, until far 
 into the evening of Christmas Day. Oace lighted 
 and left in its own place — which is always in the 
 recess of a window, so that it can be seen from a 
 distance — it is never touched again, even to be 
 snuffed, nor is it considered right to make use of 
 it for ordinary purposes. To prevent this, which 
 would be considered a sort of desecration, there are 
 other candles always lighted in the same room. A 
 very curious superstition is attached to the Christmas 
 candle, which may probably account for the scrupu- 
 lous care with which the people avoid touching it, 
 or meddling in any way with it after it is lighted, 
 and set in its place. If it is put out, or dies out of 
 itself before it comes to the very end, it is considered 
 most unlncky, as it betokens that a death shall take 
 place in the house before the next time that a
 
 OONAGH LOSES HEB FATHER. 177 
 
 Christmas candle sliall be lighted. It may therefore 
 be imagined, how caref ally it is watched, and guarded 
 from the hands of thoughtless children, a gust of 
 wind, or anything that would tend to upset, or even 
 shake it in the smallest degree. 
 
 When Oonagh had lighted the Christmas candle, 
 "in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and 
 of the Holy Ghost,'^ she laid it reverently in its 
 place in the window, and then went to her father's 
 room, to sit up with him for the rest of the night. 
 He was asleep when she went in, so wrapping a 
 warm shawl round her, for the night was cold, she 
 sat down by the bed to commence her long, dreary 
 vigil. There was a candle burning on a small table 
 at the bed's foot, and it showed her the old man's 
 face as it was turned towards her. His temples 
 thinly covered by a few gray hairs were sunken, the 
 features were pinched and sharp, and over all was 
 a pained and anxious expression, that even sleep 
 could not smooth away. As she gazed on him, and 
 thought of all his care and love for her, she knelt 
 down beside him, and silently thanked God for the 
 grace He had given her, of never having wilfully 
 grieved that aged heart, or added by any disobedience 
 a single gray hair to that hoary head. 
 
 The long winter night wore on slowly, and silently, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 and still the girl kept lier patient, and solitary watcli. 
 Once or twice, she stole out to the kitchen, partly, 
 to stretch her limbs that were numbed from being 
 in the same position for a long time, as well as half 
 frozen from cold, and partly, to see if the Christmas 
 candle was still burning in the window. Imbued 
 with a large share of the superstition of her class, 
 and country, she was simple enough to think that 
 if it burned down brightly, and evenly, to the socket 
 of the candlestick, no one would die in that house 
 until Christmas Eve came round again. When she 
 had satisfied herself on this point, she went back 
 again to her father's room, to resume her watch, 
 and pray, and weep silently, as before. 
 
 About daybreak he awoke, and smiled faintly 
 when he saw the anxious face that was bent over 
 him. 
 
 ^'Oonagh, anien dheelish/^ ^ he said feebly, '^my 
 time is getting short, an' there is something on my 
 mind I must say to you before I go.'' 
 
 "I was wishin' myself to ax you if you had 
 any last word to say, or injunction to lay on me," 
 she replied in a low, quiet voice. ^^Tell me now 
 whatever it is you'd like I'd do, an' I give you a 
 
 * Anien dheelish — My dearest daughter.
 
 OONAGK LOSES EEB FATHEB. 179 
 
 faithful promise, that, if life an^ health are left to 
 me, it will be done, wid God^s help/'' 
 
 " I was an honest man ever an' always,^ ^ he con- 
 tinued, ^^an^ all that ever came before me wor the 
 same. No one knows me better than you, Oonagh, 
 for every thought in my heart I made known to 
 you. Sure you wor all I had to open my heart to, 
 an^ you never ga^ me cause to be sorry for doin^ 
 it. Well, as I lived honest, I wouldn't like to renage 
 from that now that I'm goin' to die, nor lave it to 
 any wan to say, that he lost by me or mine.''' 
 
 " No wan can say that ov you, father. Sure you 
 don't owe anything, barrin' what you owe to your 
 landlord ? " 
 
 " Child, that's just what's throublin' me. The 
 rint that's due ov me is lanin' on my heart. Part 
 ov the Michaelmas rint is due yet, an' March will 
 be here in no time, an' there is no money, nor 
 anything we could make it ov." 
 
 " God will give it to us, father; never fear." 
 
 "The masther is a good man, an'," after a pause, 
 " no wan was ever harished, or dhruv to beggary 
 by him, or any man ov his name. That's well known 
 ov 'em. But that's no raison why the honest man 
 shouldn't get his own." 
 
 " I'll do my livin' best, father ; I can't say more." 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE GEBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 "I know that, 'a cuslila macliree, but so itself. 
 You never could work this farm wid the load ov 
 debt that's hangin' down on it. If you wor a boy, 
 you might be able to do it by dinth ov hard slavery, 
 but what can a poor girsha do, but starve, an' starve, 
 an' break her heart over it ? No, darlin', you never 
 could keep your hoult here, unless you wor to 
 marry some wan that had money enough to clear 
 off the arrears, an' start fresh agin. Is your heart 
 still set on John Molloy, Oonagh ? " 
 
 *^My mind is the same towards him that ever it 
 was," she replied, ^^an' if I don't marry him, I never 
 will marry any other man.'' 
 
 '^Well, I'll say nothing so agin' him. He came 
 in for good manes lately be the death ov his brother, 
 an' he may settle down now, an' have sinse. I put 
 no dyin' command on you regardin' him, wan way 
 or the other. Folly your own likin' ; you'll do what's 
 good an' sinsible, an' nothing else. Marry him if 
 you like, but if his mind is changed to you — an' 
 I bear a good dale ov his matchmakin', here an' there 
 — in the name ov God let him go. I lave you free 
 to do as you like; only, child, look well before you, 
 for wanst the words are said over you by Father 
 O'Rafferty, there is no go in' back." 
 
 She could only answer by pressing his hand in both
 
 OONAGH LOSES HEB FATHER. 181 
 
 her own, and stroking ifc softly. She could not trust 
 herself to speak, lest she should utterly break down. 
 
 " I^m gettin^ dhrowsy agin/^ he said feebly, " but 
 before I go to sleep, kiss me wanst more, my lovin' 
 dutiful child, that never grieved her ould father's 
 heart. May God reward you, an' mark you to grace, 
 ■an' give you lovin' childher ov your own, in good 
 time ! '' 
 
 He laid his withered hand in benediction on the 
 bright, young head that was bowed down beside him. 
 Exhausted by all this unusual excitement, he very 
 soon fell asleep again. 
 
 After some time, Oonagh rose from her knees, and 
 went out to the kitchen to look once more on the 
 sacred candle. When she opened the door communi- 
 cating with the kitchen, she found herself, to her great 
 horror, almost in total darkness, for there was no light 
 whatever but that of the cold, gray dawn struggling 
 in through the window. The Christmas candle 
 although not half burned down, was no longer 
 burning! It had probably been extinguished by a 
 sudden gust of wind. At this sight of ill omen, the 
 poor girl's fortitude completely deserted her. She 
 was weak from anxiety, and her nerves were all 
 unstrung from long-continued night- watching. The 
 tears that she had hitherto succeeded in restraining,
 
 182 TEE CHEONICLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 lest tlie sight of tliem should liave the effect of 
 disturbing her father, now burst forth unchecked, and 
 she wept long, and bitterly, for her heart was full 
 almost to bursting. With that sudden and unaccount- 
 able extinguishing of the Christmas light, had gone 
 out her last desperate hope of her father's life. 
 
 And this was Christmas morning ! — the morning on 
 which the angels sang the first carol, and announced 
 to the world "tidings of great joy''; but to the 
 weary heart of this poor desolate girl, it had brought 
 nothing but sorrow, and despair.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AN IRISH COUNTRY WAKE. 
 
 Thou art the victor, Death ! 
 Thou comest, and where is that which spoke 
 From the depths of the eye when the bright soul woke ? — 
 
 Gone with the fleeting breath. 
 
 Felicia Hemans. 
 
 The old man died in tliat sleep. He never even 
 moved again, and it might be said that he liad 
 ceased to exist, rather than that lie died. It was 
 by tbe ashen hue that spread gradually over bis face, 
 that the devoted daughter who knelt beside him 
 knew that he was gone, and that she was alone in 
 the world. Her only near relation was a sister of 
 her father's, who lived with her family at such a 
 considerable distance, that a meeting between them 
 was not a thing of frequent occurrence. Although 
 Oonagh did not know much of this aunt, yet her heart 
 yearned to her as the sister of her dead father, and
 
 184 THE GHB0NICLE8 OF GA8TLE GLOYNE. 
 
 her first care was to send one of the men employed on 
 the farm, to the house of Mrs. Clancy, to acquaint her 
 with the fact of her brother's death. She was not 
 expected to arrive until late in the evening, as 
 Oonagh's messenger had to ride fully fifteen miles, 
 before he could reach her house. 
 
 The short winter^s day was spent in making all the 
 preparations that were considered necessary, for 
 observing the customary wake of such a decent man 
 as Martin MacDermott. Oonagh was so prostrated 
 by her excessive grief, and the fatigue of being for 
 many nights without sleep^ and almost without food, 
 that she was quite passive, but a kind neighbour came 
 in to do what she could to help her. This woman and 
 Molly set fco work vigorously, and made such good use 
 of their time, that long before night had set in, 
 everything was in readiness for the wake. The body 
 of the old man was "laid out^^ on the bed on which 
 he died, on sheets as white as snow, over which was 
 a handsome counterpane, borrowed for the occasion 
 from the housekeeper at Castle Cloyne. The wooden 
 roof of the bed was draped with white sheets, looped 
 up with bows of black ribbon, a sort of drapery that 
 had a weird, and solemn effect, making the dead face, 
 and rigid form beneath, look more awful than they 
 would have done if canopied only by the bare wood.
 
 AN IBISH COUNTRY WAKE. 185 
 
 When this, and all the other details had been arranged 
 to their satisfaction, the two women sat down to rest 
 for a while, and contemplate the effect of their labours, 
 old Molly declaring that " the poor ould man was the 
 finest corp, that she had ever sot her two eyes on/' 
 
 The next scene of their operations was the kitchen, 
 which after they had thoroughly cleaned, they 
 arrranged in the manner suitable for such occasions. 
 Everything portable, with the exception of the chairs 
 and a couple of tables, was put out to the barn, so as 
 to make all the room possible for the numerous guests 
 that were certain to arrive before the night. Chairs 
 and seats of every description, borrowed from the 
 nearest neighbours, were ranged along by the walls. 
 A large table at the extreme end of the kitchen bore 
 a plentiful supply of cups and saucers, tumblers, and 
 glasses ; showing that though the cause of meeting 
 was a melancholy one, yet everything that could 
 conduce to the comfort of the mourners was near at 
 hand, and though they might be sad, yet certainly 
 they should not be either dry or hungry. 
 
 When the last sad rites had been rendered to the 
 dead, a considerable number of persons having by 
 that time arrived at the house, Oonagh, as being the 
 female next of kin to the deceased, stood up at the 
 head of the bed, and raised the first strain of that
 
 186 TEE GEBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 most weird, and melanclioly of all funeral chants, 
 the Irish keen! It would have been contrary to 
 all tradition, and custom, if this was done by any 
 other woman than the nearest relative, and not even 
 by her, untiFthe last dismal toilet had been completed, 
 and the defunct " laid out/^ Until then the mourners 
 should weep in silence, for it is a superstition 
 among the peasantry that loud lamentation has the 
 effect, not only of disturbing the last moments of 
 the dying persons, but even of drawing them back 
 from the heaven] to which their souls have taken 
 flight. But at the end of three hours, which time is 
 adopted in honour of the three hours that our Saviour's 
 body hung upon the cross — the death-cry is raised 
 by one woman,^ and all the other women who are 
 in the house join ^their voices with hers, to swell the 
 awful chorus of [the melancholy keen. 
 
 There are many circumstances that prove in the 
 most conclusive manner, the great antiquity, as well as 
 the Eastern origin of the Celtic family, and among 
 these, not the least noticeable is the peculiar way in 
 which they lament, and bury their dead. All the 
 ancient people of Avhom any knowledge has come 
 down to us, bewailed their deceased friends with the 
 same elaborate ceremony, and passionate vehemence,, 
 that are practised by the Irish peasant of the present
 
 AN IRISH COUNTRY WAKE. 187 
 
 day. In the sacred writings are numberless examples 
 of tliis among the Jews. We read there of "the 
 mourners going about the street, when man goeth to 
 his long home " ; of people rending their garments, 
 and strewing ashes on their heads, to denote the 
 intensity of their sorrow. When the Lord went to the 
 house of Jairus the ruler, whose daughter was dead, 
 He found " the minstrels and the multitude making a 
 rout,^' and He told them to give place, for that the 
 damsel was not dead but sleeping. When He went ta 
 Bethany to raise Lazarus from the dead, He found 
 that "many of the Jews had come to Martha and 
 Mary, to comfort them concerning their brother.^^ 
 In the book of Jeremiah we read, " Call for the 
 mourning women, and let them come ; let them hasten, 
 and take up their lamentation.'^ There are many 
 more texts to the same effect to be found in tho 
 Scriptures. Later on, we find that the Greeks, who 
 were the most intellectual, as well as the most 
 imaginative of the ancients, sung the death-chant for 
 their lost friends, and doubtless they did so, not 
 altogether from sorrow, but because such occasions 
 called forth all the poetic, and graceful character of 
 their genius, and the majestic construction of their 
 beautiful language. The Romans employed hired 
 mourners, who were denominated " Mulieres Praeficas,^''
 
 188 THE CHBOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYXE. 
 
 to chant the death-song, which in the Latin was called 
 Ulnlo, nearly identical with the Irish Ullaloo. The 
 Irish, and the Scottish Highlanders, the two great 
 branches of the Celtic family — the most poetical, and 
 in many respects, the most conservative of modern 
 peoples — have from the earliest ages bewailed their 
 dead in the measnred cadence, which is called by the 
 former, the Caoine or Keen, and by the latter the 
 Coronach. The chieftain was borne to his last resting- 
 place, amid the piercing notes of the death-chant, 
 pealed forth by a thonsand voices, and it was equally 
 poured forth for the poor peasant, who had died far 
 away in his lonely cabin among the hills. 
 
 Who that has once heard the Irish keen, can ever 
 forget it ! There is a world of passionate sorrow, and 
 despair in the upper notes, and a world of pathetic 
 sweetness in the lower ones. Xow it swells out with a 
 sublime, and awful grandeur, piercing to the very 
 brain with its sharp, thrilling agony, and now it falls 
 with an infinite softness, and pathos, that go straight 
 to the heart, and fill the eyes with tears that cannot 
 be repressed. And all through this wail, wild and 
 barbaric as it is, there runs an exquisite melody, 
 a poetical cadence, which though harsh and savage in 
 the ears of the stranger, and the foreigner, are full of 
 beantv, and interest, for all who are the children of the
 
 ^.Y IRISH COUNTRY WAKE. 18^ 
 
 old sod. The deatli- chant of the Celtic race is dying 
 away before the march of civilisation, and the hard 
 realities of this nineteenth century — morels the pity ! 
 — but it is not yet altogether dead. It still lingers in 
 the Scottish Highlands, and in the remote districts of 
 the south, and west of Ireland ; and in the latter, many 
 elderly women are still pointed out, who have obtained 
 much local celebrity as amateur, or professional 
 keeners. 
 
 Although that Christmas Day was a wet and 
 stormy one, yet the bad weather did not prevent 
 people from coming to the wake. Some of them 
 came from the immediate neighboui 'hood, and others 
 from a considerable distance. About nightfall they 
 began to come, dropping in singly, or in groups; 
 and later on, men came on horseback, with their 
 womenkind on pillions behind them, while their 
 clothes, saturated with rain, and splashed with mud, 
 showed that they had come a long distance. Among 
 those who came in this fashion, were Mrs. Clancy, 
 Oonagh^s aunt, and her husband, who had lost no 
 time in obeying her summons. As soon as they 
 alighted, the husband led his weary horse off to the 
 stable, while his wife hurried into the house to take 
 her part in the keen that would be raised on her 
 arrival, to do her special honour, as being, with
 
 190 THE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 fclie exception of liis daughter, tlie only relative of the 
 deceased. Once more the wild, piercing wail arose, 
 and fell in the death -chamber, in mournful and pas- 
 sionate strains, the leading voices being those of 
 Oonaofh, and her aunt, while all the other women 
 joined in the chorus, according to the time-honoured 
 custom observed on such occasions. 
 
 When the keen was over, Mrs. Clancy in the 
 most matter-of-fact manner, proceeded to the kitchen, 
 to get some refreshment for her husband, and herself, 
 which they both required after their long ride in 
 the wind and rain. As soon as the meal was over, 
 he sat down by the huge fire to smoke his pipe, 
 and discuss the latest news with all the other men 
 assembled there before him, and she went off to 
 make preparations for tea, and act for that night 
 as mistress of the house in Oonagh^s place. She 
 was a very active, bustling woman, who delighted 
 in making herself busy; and though her sorrow for 
 her only brother was truly sincere, yet she looked 
 forward with no little pleasure, to meeting many of 
 her old friends, and neighbours, that she had not 
 seen for a long time, and who would be sure to 
 come to the wake. In this expectation she was not 
 disappointed ; and between receiving, and conversing 
 with each new-comer, and dispensing the hospitality
 
 AN IRISH COUNTRY WAKE. 191 
 
 of Ballycross, even thougli it was only pro tern., her 
 grief for the dead, and her sympathy with his orphan 
 daughter, were for a time relegated to the back- 
 ground. 
 
 At midnight the house was as full as it could 
 hold. The old, and the married men, were crowded 
 round the kitchen fire, smoking by turns, and talking 
 on whatever subjects most interested them. In the 
 background were the young men, and girls, talking 
 too after their own fashion,, and, if the truth must 
 be told, indulging here, and there, in a little sly 
 flirtation. In the death-chamber only were observed 
 the solemnity, and gravity, that were proper and 
 becoming. Oonagh sat at the head of the bed, 
 and though the elderly married women who kept 
 watch with her, spoke at intervals to each other in 
 drowsy, subdued whispers, she never spoke at all, 
 but sat wrapped up in her own sad thoughts. When 
 any one arrived who was either related to, or con- 
 nected with the family, the keen was again raised, 
 as a special compliment to that person. At the 
 first sound Mrs. Clancy forgot her duty as hostess, 
 and rushed into the room to take part in the cry, 
 in which she was assisted by all the other women, 
 especially by those who were considered good keeners, 
 and who felt no small share of pride in their pro-
 
 192 THE GEBON'IGLES OF GASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 ficiency and skill. When tliat wild burst of grief 
 was over, tilings settled down again into the old 
 groove ; the women in the room with Oonagh began 
 to talk in the usual monotonous, sleepy tones, and 
 Mrs. Clancy went back very composedly to super- 
 intend the distribution of innumerable cups of tea, 
 and glasses of punch, the manufacture of which 
 afforded her occupation for the rest of the night. 
 
 Among the young people at the upper end of the 
 kitchen were two persons whose conversational powers 
 were at all times in great request, and just now were 
 most generously exerted for the amusement of the 
 company. One of them was John Molloy, whose loud 
 voice, and extraordinary phraseology, were heard dis- 
 puting with every one that would listen to him, as he 
 tried with his usual impudence, and forwardness, to 
 engross the whole conversation, and force his own 
 opinions on the rest of the company, greatly to their 
 amusement, as was evident by the half-suppressed 
 laughter that went round after any of his ^^tall 
 English/^ The other person was Pat Flanagan, who, 
 being their landlord's " own man,'^ was treated with 
 great respect, and listened to with more attention 
 than was paid to Pleasant John, of whom all the rest 
 got tired very soon. 
 
 '^ Come, Pat, tell us a pleasant story that will help
 
 AK IRISH COUNTRY WAKE. 193 
 
 to pass the niglit for us/^ said one of the young 
 men. 
 
 '^Sorra story have 1" replied Pat; "there's 
 nothing at all stirrin' about the place ; an' the masther 
 is so bad ov late wid that cursed gout^ that 'tis 
 seldom I can lave the house/' 
 
 " But you read the newspapers, man, or you hear 
 the gintlemen upstairs readin', an' talkin' about 'em 
 anyhow ; sure, 'tis all wan. What's the good ov livin' 
 wid quality, if you don't hear some news now and 
 thin ? an' such a fine scollard, too, as you are ! Why, 
 ^twould be enough for the likes ov me, that can't read 
 or writOj to talk that a way." 
 
 '^ Well, I do get a squint at the papers sometimes, 
 I won't deny it. When they are read in the parlour 
 they are sint downstairs, an' then I have 'em all to 
 myself. I do be readin' 'em in the mornin' while 
 I'm waiting for the masther's bell, to call for his 
 clothes, that I'm afther brushin', an the hot wather 
 to shave himself." 
 
 '^Is there any fightin' goin' on anywhere?" 
 inquired an elderly man. " Sure, I remimber that 
 when I was a houhal oge,^ we were always fightin' 
 'wid that limb ov the divel, ould Boney. ''Tisn't 
 
 "^ Boulial Oge — Yonng boy. 
 VOL. I.
 
 19 i TEE CEBOEIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 callin' him out ov his name to say lie was a divel's 
 limb, an' well I know it to my sad cost. My only 
 brother was badly thrated by a girl he was very fond 
 ov, an' in a fit ov passion he listed in the Connaught 
 Rangers, an' he was kilt out there at a place called 
 Paddy joice,* an' many another dacent boy along wid 
 him." 
 
 ^^Why, thin, that reminds me ov a funny story 
 that I saw in a newspaper last week," observed Pat. 
 '' It was talkin' ov the Connaught Rangers that put 
 me in mind ov it." 
 
 " Oh ! let us have it, be all manes. 'Tis yourself, 
 Pat avick, that can tell a story well, an' sure, that's 
 no sort ov admiration, beiu' all your life above at the 
 coort." 
 
 '^ Oh ! that's neither here, nor there," replied Pat 
 modestly. "Howsomever, the story is a rale good 
 wan, if I can only remimber all the ins, an' outs ov 
 it. Anyway, here goes." 
 
 At this there was a profound silence, and all the 
 company showed, by the attention with which they 
 listened to him, the great interest they took in the 
 promised story. 
 
 " I suppose ye all hard ov a place called Spain ? " 
 
 * Paddyjoice — Eadajos.
 
 AN IRISH COUNTRY WAKE. 195 
 
 " Where is it, eroo, an' wliat sort ov a place is it 
 at all ? " 
 
 " I was never there myself, so I can't tell ye for 
 certain what sort ov a place it is; but I think it 
 is at this side ov America, only a dale nearer. The 
 masther was there onct, when he was a young man, 
 an^ he gives it great commendation intirely. Ah, 
 sure ye all hard ov it ; ^tis where we had all the 
 millia murther wid that ould Boney, the divel's luck 
 to the villyan ! " 
 
 "Well, we h'ard tell ov the place.'^ 
 
 " Well an' good ; if ye did, 'tis all right. We 
 have no more fightin' wid Boney, for he's dead an' 
 berrid long ago, an' 'twas rale spite an' madness 
 that he couldn't have any more fightin' that kilt him. 
 Sure, 'tis a queen they have now in Spaiu, instid ov 
 Boney. 'Tis the fashion now, you persave, to have 
 queens instid ov kings." 
 
 " Oyeh ! " This in a tone of great incredulity. 
 
 '^ Begor, 'tis the thruth I'm tellin' ye. Sure, 'tis 
 a queen we have ourselves, for we wouldn't on any 
 account, be behindhand in the fashions. 'Tisn't a 
 king we have over us at all, but Queen Victoria ; 
 becase, ye see, we're so ginteel we must folly the 
 fashion." 
 
 Ignorant though his auditors were, they knew 
 
 2
 
 196 TEE CEBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOTKE. 
 
 that so far lie spoke the truth ; for very few^ among 
 the male part of them at all events, that had not 
 some knowledge of the formula on law papers 
 containing the words of " Our Sovereign Lady the 
 Queen.'^ 
 
 '^Well, the Queen ov Spain wasn't well in 
 herself at all lately, an^ she was ordhered be her 
 docthors change ov air. She wasn't at all sorry, 
 for she had taken a great longin^ to see forrin 
 parts. So she got herself ready, an^ come over 
 to London to see life, an' get a little divarshun out 
 ov herself. Ov coorse, she saw all the sights ov 
 London, an' 'tis there the great sights are, sure 
 enough. I was there wid the masther some time 
 back, so you see I have a good right to know. 
 
 ''Well, whin the Queen ov Spain saw all that 
 was to be seen in London, she began to think that 
 it was almost time for her to pack her boxes, an' 
 start for home. There was only wan thing she 
 didn't see, an' that was a review ov the sojers, an' 
 she didn't like to go without seein' that sight. So 
 she sint for the head man ov the army, an' tould 
 him she had a great longin' intirely to see a review. 
 This was the Jook ov Cambridge, an' along wid 
 bein' the head man ov the army, he was the Queen's 
 first cousin.
 
 AN IBISE COUNTRY WAKE. 197 
 
 " ^ Oh ! wid all the pleasure in life,' ses the Jook. 
 'Anything at all to plase a lady/ ses he. 'An' 
 what day would it shuit you to see a review ? ' 
 ses he. 
 
 " * The sooner the betther/ ses she, ' for my 
 thrunks is all packed; an', moreover, I'm badly 
 wanted at home, for a lot ov blaggards is makin' 
 great disturbance there/ 
 
 " * Would this day week shuit you ? ' ses he. 'Or, 
 if you'd like it betther^ we could have it the day 
 afther to-morra." 
 
 " ' That's the chalk, an' chalk it down/ ses she, 
 quite plased ; * for my passage is taken for this day 
 week, an' if I don't go that day, I'll have to forfeit 
 the money.' 
 
 " ' All right,' ses he ; * we'll have the review 
 the day afther to-morra, to plase you.' 
 
 ''An' sure enough, the day afther to-morra, there 
 was a grand review in a part ov London called 
 Hyde Park; an' the Queen ov Spain was there, 
 in a fine open carriage, wearin' her best clothes, 
 though the rogue ov the world purtended before, 
 that they wor all packed up. An' the Jook ov 
 Cambridge was there, alongside the carriage, on 
 horseback, to show her everything, an' point out 
 all the manoeuvres an' variations ov the review.
 
 198 TEE CEBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYXE. 
 
 TThen it was all over, he tonld lier tliat the sojers 
 would marcli past, to give lier a great salute, in honour 
 ov her bein' the Queen ov Spain. 
 
 "'TVho are thim ? ' ses she, when a ridgment past 
 by. 
 
 ^' ' Thim is the Guards,^ ses he. ' Aren't they 
 fine min ? ' 
 
 " *■ H'm,' ses she, ' they're well enough.' 
 
 '^ ' They're the finest min in the British service, 
 or in any other service either,' ses he. ^ That's given 
 up to them be very good judges,' ses he. 
 
 " ^ There's good judges wan way, an' good judges 
 the other way,' ses she. ' I wouldn't fancy them 
 much myself.' 
 
 " ' You're hard to be plased,' ses he. ' But here's 
 the Highlanders ; you can't deny but thim is fine 
 clever min,' ses he, ^ an' no mistake.' 
 
 '^ ' I'm denyin' nothing,' ses she. * Have it your 
 own way.' 
 
 '^Well, to make my story short, he couldn't get 
 her to give as much as wan word ov praise to any 
 ov the ridgments that marched past her carriage, 
 afther all the throuble he had in gettin' up the review 
 to plase her. At last he got quite offinded, which 
 was no admiration in life, and looked as black as 
 twelve o'clock at night.
 
 AN llilbll COUyTLY WAKE. 199 
 
 " ' Who is thim ? ' ses she, when they wor all 
 nearly past. 
 
 '' ' Thim is the 88th Ridgment/ ses he. 
 
 " ' Oh, bloody wars ! ' ses the Qaeen ov Spain. ' Is 
 thim the poor ould Fag-a-ballaghs ? '' 
 
 " ' I don-'t know what you mane be that nickname/ 
 ses he, as stiff as a crutch. ' They^re Her Majesty's 
 8Sth Eidgment ov fut, or Connaught Rangers/ ses he. 
 
 ^' ' Thim's the sojers that I have the graw* for/ ses 
 she, ' an' why wouldn't I ? Sure they come from poor 
 ould Ireland, an' all the world knows, that Ireland 
 an' Spain is related on the double. I know thim fine 
 fellas well/ ses she, ^an' I have every raison to be 
 thankful to 'em.' 
 
 " ^ They're great fighters, I'll own to that,' ses 
 he. ' But they're not a bit betther than the rest that 
 you turned up your nose at.' 
 
 ^' ' Oh, ma grille cJiree 'hu !-\ was every mother's 
 son ov ye ! ' ses she, when the sogers was passin' 
 by ; an' she sthretched out her two hands to 'em. * It's 
 long till I'd put ye in comparison wid any ov 'em, 
 for ye're the flower ov the flock, if as many more 
 wor in it,' ses she. 
 
 '*■ '' Are you cract, woman ? ' ses the Jook, gettin* 
 
 * Graw — Love. 
 
 t Ma grille chree liu! — My heart's dehght !
 
 2'>3 TEE CEEOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOTXE. 
 
 into a great furv. ' TVliat do you mane be makin' a 
 holy stow OY yourself, before all tlie dacent people 
 that's in it ? ^ ses he. 
 
 '' ' Oh, lay me alone ! ' ses she. * Ton don't know 
 what's goin' through my heart this minit. 'Tis aisy 
 enough for you to be lectorin' me this way/ ses she, 
 ' when me, an' my little sisther, an' our poor mother, 
 wor obleeged to be hidin', and flyin' from post to 
 pillar, without a screed to our backs^ an' thim poor 
 Irishmin fightin' our battles an' takin' our part whin 
 we wor down in the world/ ses she, ' an' I'm not the 
 wan to forget ould frindship,' ses she. 
 
 "*I like a joke weU enough,' ses he, 'but fair 
 play's a jewil aU the world over. It is aisy enough 
 wid yon to be talkin'. Faix, 'twas yourself that was 
 high, an' dhry, when we wor taking' your part, an' 
 spindin' our money in your cause, the same as if 
 goolden guineas wor only jackstones, an' sindin' our 
 fine min to be kilt^ and murthered intirely, for the 
 sake ov yourself, an' that ould fagot ov a mother ov 
 yours/ ses he. 
 
 '- ^ Why, thin,' ses the Queen ov Spain, ' what did 
 my poor mother ever do to you, to make you bally- 
 rag her, an' call her out ov her name ? ' ses she. 
 
 " * Oh, by George ! as you put it to me that way, 
 I don't mind teUin' yon,' ses he. * Sure, 'tis no saycret.
 
 AX IRISH COUXTEY WAKE. 201 
 
 anyhow, for tlie whole 'varsal world hard it. Didn't 
 she go and demane herself be marryin' a private 
 sojer that was standin' sinthry outside her parlour 
 windy, though her husband was only a month 
 berrid ! ' ses he. ' If you call that dacent behavor, 
 I don't know what you'll say next/ ses he. When 
 we put yer foes undher yer fut, an^ lint ye money 
 aftherwards to set ye up in housekeepin', an' thought 
 to be paid after a little time, 'twas the heighth ov 
 abuse we got from ye, instid ov our hard cash. An' 
 sure, 'tis well known, how ye stole a march on us in 
 regard ov yer matchmakin', an' never had the 
 dacency to invite any ov us to yer weddin', afther 
 all we done, an' all we lost by ye. To hear you talk, 
 honest woman, one would suppose that you took me 
 to be a common omadhawn,' ses the Jook." 
 
 The narrator of this veracious history paused as 
 soon as he had come to this part of his story. 
 
 " Go on, Pat ! Go on, man alive ! What did 
 the Queen ov Spain say to the Jook thin ? I hope she 
 gave him tit-for-tat. Begor, that was great intirely ! " 
 
 All those exclamations came from different voices, 
 showing the great interest that was taken by the 
 company in what was a story in more respects than one. 
 
 "Well, I'm rale sorry I can't give ye the rest 
 ov it," said roguish Pat, with a very grave face, " for
 
 202 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 1 
 
 wlien I got as fair as tliat, tlie paper was tore. Sorra 
 a lie in it. Fake an' sure ! I was as much dis- 
 appointed myself as any ov ye, for I was longin^ to 
 know how the battle royal inded. I searched the 
 house, high up an' low down, for the bit that was tore 
 off, but I never come across it. I'm thinkin' that the 
 kitchenmaid put a hand in it, to light the fire wid it." 
 
 *' Oh, what a pity ! I'm sorry now that I h'ard the 
 bignin' ov the story, as I can't hear the ind. Fd 
 bet any money that she was well able for him. Oh ! 
 never fear, the women are great intirely, when it 
 comes to handlin' their tongues. My hand to you, 
 she gave it to him, an' he was a deserver ov it surely, 
 for it was a mane thing ov him to throw her mother 
 in her teeth. Well, if you b'lieve me, it was a dale 
 manor to boast ov the money he lint her." All this 
 and as much more in the way of comment, proved 
 what an appreciative audience Mr. Pat Flanagan told 
 his story to, and how firmly the poor ignorant people 
 believed in it. 
 
 The only dissenting voice was that of Buck MoUoy, 
 who was not quite so ignorant as the rest. Besides 
 this, he had sat all through, swelling with mortified 
 vanity, on seeing another engrossing that share of 
 general attention which he thought should in right of 
 his own superior merit, belong exclusively to himself.
 
 AN IBTSH COUNTRY WAKE. 203 
 
 '' I objectionate that narration/^ he said dic- 
 tatorially. " I objectionate it in the most obnoxious 
 complication. Confusion to the word of thruth is in 
 it from bignin' to ind, as I can prove by entherin' 
 into a concatenation, an^ disquisition on the head ov 
 it, wid any of the gintlemin here present." 
 
 *^ Yarra, hould your whisht, you great big ape!" 
 said the elderly man before mentioned. " You're not 
 fit to hould a candle to Pat Flanagan, in the way ov 
 discoorse, nor never was, though you don't think so 
 yourself. Sure he goes in, an' out, ov the parlour 
 at Castle Cloyne, an^ hears what the quollity do be 
 sayin' there ; moreover, he^s a bright boy himself, an' 
 has paper an' books galore to lay his hands on, when- 
 ever he has the time for it, an' signs on, he's very 
 knowledgable, an mighty pleasant company for a 
 piece ov a night." 
 
 This decided opinion of the elderly man settled 
 the dispute, and Shawn Sugagh, finding the tide 
 running against him, went away. The rest of the 
 company began to leave also by degrees, and by 
 six o'clock there was no one in the house but a few 
 old women who sat in the '^ corp room," shivering in 
 the chill air of the cold winter's morning, and almost 
 stupefied for want of sleep.
 
 CHAPTER Xiy. 
 
 A STOEMY DEBATE. 
 
 Alas ! how light a cause may move' 
 Dissension between hearts that love. 
 
 TnoiiAS MooEE. 
 
 Mes. Clancy remained with her niece for a few days 
 after the funeral, to set things to rights, as she 
 expressed it, a task for which Oonagh herself was 
 for the present quite unequal. She went over the 
 farm from end to end, examining everything with 
 a keen and experienced eye, and saw with surprise, 
 and dismay, that all there was not in the flourishing 
 condition that she had imagined. The live stock 
 was much reduced, and there was but a poor prospect 
 of sowing the seed in the spring, as the ground had 
 not been sufficiently manured or prepared for it. 
 She was surprised at all this, for her brother, when 
 they last met, had made no complaint to her, and
 
 A STORMY DEBATE. 205 
 
 consequently slie had hoped that the hard times 
 had not pressed so sorely on him, as they had done 
 on others, and like all who are themselves in fairly 
 good circumstances, she could not ascribe this un- 
 fortunate state of things to any other cause than 
 carelessness, or gross mismanagement. However, 
 she was wise enough to keep this opinion to herself, 
 but she resolved to take OonagVs aSairs into her 
 own hands for some time to come, and see if she 
 could not put them into a more satisfactory condition. 
 In the meantime she would look out for a suitable 
 husband for her niece, a person who would be 
 possessed of suflficient capital to free the land from 
 all debt, stock it newly, and bring it back again 
 to something like its old state of prosperity. In this 
 well-meaning if injudicious plan, she had not the 
 least idea of meeting with any opposition from 
 Oonagh, who would be only too glad, she argued, 
 to chime in with a plan that was not only usual 
 and natural, under the circumstances, but one of 
 manifest advantage. She knew that her niece was 
 soft and gentle, but she did not know the depth 
 of her character, the wisdom with which she could 
 form her own plans, and the quiet determination 
 with which she could carry them out. 
 
 Early in the day on which this notable bustling
 
 205 TEE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 woman was to return liome, slie and Oonagh were 
 at breakfast, tete-a-tete, for Molly and the men were 
 absent on outside business, and sbe thougbt it was 
 a good time to impart her views to ber niece on tbe 
 subject that engrossed so much of her own attention. 
 "When I go home now/^ she began, "Fll sind 
 you one ov the boys, either John or Martin, whichever 
 you like yourself, to manage the place for awhile, 
 until things are put right somehow. You're not 
 aiquil to manage such an extensive farm as this 
 yourself, an' until you get a man ov your own to do 
 it, wan ov my boys can do it for you.^^ 
 
 *"' Thank you, aunt, for thinkin' ov it, but " 
 
 ^' Oh ! don^t say another word ; ^tis no compliment 
 in life, an^ if it was itself, you're heartily welcome 
 to it. Sure, I'm the only relation you have in the 
 world, barrin^ the Carrolls that wint to America, an^ 
 wor lost on the passage — the Lord be betune us an' 
 harm ! — an' if I don't look afther you, I'd like to 
 know who would. Blood is thicker than water all 
 the world over. My sons are both as good, clever 
 boys as a mother ever reared, though I say it that 
 oughtn't to say it ; but, sure, that's neither here or 
 there. So you can say now which ov 'em I'm to 
 sind hither to you. I'll go bail he'll do his livin' 
 best wid the farm, an' it wants that, for it was greatly
 
 A STOEMY DEBATE. 207 
 
 neglected this long time to all appearance, in regard 
 ov your poor father bein' so long sick." 
 
 '^ Thank you kindly, aunt^ a thousand times over, 
 but your own bisness is too heavy to let you spare 
 either ov the boys." 
 
 " Oh, don't mind that. Sure if either ov 'em 
 was a dale betther, you're welcome to him for as 
 long as you want him. That won't be long, please 
 goodness, for next Shrove we'll have some dacent, 
 clever boy that will settle himself wid you for good 
 an' all." 
 
 ''I won't be married next Shrove, nor maybe 
 never at all, so you may as well put marriage for 
 me out ov your head." 
 
 '^Tut, tut; that's all the ramash^ ov a foolish 
 young girl that doesn't know her own mind. Your 
 heart is sore yet, 'a graw gedl, an^ you don't like the 
 thought of a bachelor at all. But so itself; this 
 time twelve months you'll be singin' a song ov another 
 tune, an' that's only what it ought to be. Ov coorse, 
 it isn't in nature that you could live here by yourself, 
 an' moreover you never could manage this large farm, 
 an' all the workpeople in it without a comrade." 
 
 '^ I thought ov everything, an' turned it all over 
 
 * JRa}7i(Xs7t— Noiiseiue.
 
 208 THE CEBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 in my mindj until my poor head is fairly addled from 
 tMnkin'/^ said tlie weary girl with a sigh. " But it 
 all comes to wan thing in the end." 
 
 " An' what is that, eroo ? " 
 
 " I must sell the land." 
 
 " Sell the land ! '' exclaimed Mrs. Clancy in a voice 
 of the greatest consternation, and astonishment, '^ sell 
 the land ! Oh, queen ov Heaven ! did any wan ever 
 hear the like ? '' 
 
 '^Tm as sorry myself, aunt, as you are, but what 
 can I do ? " 
 
 '^ What can you do, is it ? Eyeh ! what would you 
 do, but just what Fm tellin' you? Let wan ov my 
 boys manage for you till Shrovetide, an' then marry 
 some decent, honest man, that'll have a thrifle ov 
 money. You'll have the land an' he'll have the 
 arrighidh,^ an' I'd like to know what's to prevent 
 ye both from bein' very happy together. That's what 
 you're to do, an' a good sensible thing it will be." 
 
 The poor girl sighed, and as she did so, her hand 
 came involuntarily in contact with the broken sixpence 
 that lay concealed in her bosom. 
 
 ^' Sell the land, inagh ! Why, Oonagh, you must 
 be cract, to think ov it even. It is the best farm on 
 
 * ArrigMdh — Money.
 
 A 8T0B]\IY DEBATE. 209 
 
 Mr. Dillon's estate, for the size ov it, an' you talk ov 
 it just tlie same as if it was only a cabbage garden, or 
 an acre of bog.'' 
 
 " I'm just as fond of tbe place as yourself, but it is 
 in debt, an' the debt must be paid. Sure you know- 
 well that Mr. Dillon must be paid his rint, an' where 
 is that to be got if I don't sell the place ? As for 
 marryin' a man just for the sake ov his money, 'tisn't 
 a thing that I could ever bring my mind to. An' well 
 as I love Ballycross, I'd far sooner sell it than sell 
 myself." 
 
 '' Oh, holy Saint Bridget ! did ever any wan hear 
 the like since the world began ? Oonagh MacDermott, 
 you're out ov your mind, that what's you are, an' if 
 you don't show more sinse and raison than what 
 you're doin' now, I'll have you sint to the madhouse 
 in Limerick, until this mad fit is well taken out ov you." 
 
 Oonagh smiled at this ridiculous threat. 
 
 " You think I wouldn't do it," said Mrs. Clancy in 
 great wrath ; " see if I don't ! It would be hard on 
 me, I own, to have people say madness was in my 
 family, in regard ov my two little girls that aren't 
 preferred yet, but I'd sooner do it than let you make 
 such a world's wondher ov yourself. Och mavrone ! 
 was there ever such a heart-scalded poor woman as 
 what I am this day ! " and covering her face with 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 lier apron, slie rocked herself back, and forward in 
 a paroxysm of tlie wildest grief. 
 
 "Dear aunt, I can't bear to see you irettin^ 
 like this/' said Oonagb, rising, and laying her hand 
 softly on Mrs. Clancy's shoulder. " Sure if you'd 
 only hear to raison, you'd see it is the best thing 
 that I can do. I can't bear to see you so vexed, 
 but all the same, I'd like to give everyone his due, 
 an' not let any wan say he was a loser by my good, 
 honest father." 
 
 " Don't spake to me, Oonagh MacDermott ! Don't 
 come anear me, I tell you ! Oh, vo, vo ! Did I 
 ever think I'd live to see such a black, woful day ! 
 To see the splindid, fine farm, that belonged to my 
 father, an' his father before him, an' that they wor 
 so proud ov, an' the fine slated house on it that I 
 was born in, going for a song, an' I obleeged to 
 stand by, an' let it go. 'Tis for my sins, surely, that 
 I'm condimned to pass through such a fiery furnish — 
 what else ? " 
 
 Oonagh waited patiently until this burst of passion 
 would subside. When it did so after some moments, 
 she sat down again, and resumed the conversation 
 with her usual composure of manner, and gentleness 
 of voice, as if there had not been such a stormy 
 interruption to it.
 
 A STORMY DEBATE. 211 
 
 '^ You see, aunt, there's nearly two years' rint 
 due ov the land, an' where am I to make out that 
 much money, if I don't sell it ? The masther, I own, 
 was very indulgent, an' patient wid us, but you know 
 that wouldn't go on always. He has his own calls, 
 an' he's not a rich man be no manner ov manes, 
 an' he'd have to eject me in the long run, an' so 
 I'd make nothing at all by holdin' on. Isn't it 
 betther for me to sell it, an' get something for my 
 intherest in it, an' clear my good father's name, 
 than have the sheriff come down on me, an' lave 
 me nothing at all ? '^ 
 
 '' What signifies two years' rint?" said Mrs. Clancy. 
 '^ Sure 'tis nothing but a dhrop in the ocean to Mr. 
 Dillon, an' the like ov him. He ought to remimber 
 that you are the last ov a good ould stock, that 
 lived on his ground for hundreds of years, an' that 
 it was your mother that nursed his own daughter 
 into the bargain. He'll forgive you every pinny if 
 you only go the right way to work wid him, an' 
 thin you can begin a new score wid him as fresh 
 as a daisy. He never could stand the country if 
 he threw you out on the wide world, an' you all 
 tiiat's left afther your dacent father." 
 
 '' An' is it because I am the last afther my dacent 
 father, that I'm to bring discredit on his name ? '^ 
 
 F 2
 
 212 THE CREONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 exclaimed Oonagli, while a proud light kindled in 
 her clear^ earnest eyes. ''An' is it because I am 
 the fosther sisther ov his daughter, that Fd do what 
 would make her ashamed ov me ? ]\iiss Grace Dillon 
 must never have cause to say that the milk she got 
 from my mother wasn't honest, an' thrue ! " 
 
 "Have it your own way," cried her aunt; "but 
 I renounce it. I'll not have hand^ act, or part in it." 
 
 She had ceased crying by this time_, and now sat 
 back in her chair defiantly, with her arms folded 
 beneath her ample chest_, and her lips tightly com- 
 pressed. Oonagh might sell the house and land, 
 and burn all the furniture in a colossal holocaust, but 
 she would never interfere again, at any time, or under 
 any circumstances whatever. Never ! 
 
 '^I have no way ov payin' this heavy load ov debt 
 but just to let everything go," said the poor girl, as 
 if speaking to herself, while at the same time she 
 looked out on the green fields that she loved so well. 
 " God knows — an' He knows everything — that I'd 
 live on a male a day, an' work my fingers to the 
 bone, if I thought there was a chance ov my being 
 ' able to keep the farm ; but there is no chance, foreer ! 
 While I'd be strivin' to pay what's due, more rint 
 would be risin' on me, an' there would be wages, 
 an' rates, an' taxes, an' how could I work the land
 
 A STORMY DEBATE, 213 
 
 with any advantage an' pay all, when there is hardly 
 as mnch as a cow on it ? " 
 
 " There is a cow on it/' cried the aunt, forgetting 
 her late declaration of non-interference. " I saw 
 her myself this mornin' in the cow-house/^ 
 
 '' She is sold, or as good as sold. Anyway, she's 
 old, an' runnin' out ov her milk, an' won't sell for 
 much; but whatever she brings, I want it to pay 
 Dan Ryan for the coffin that he " 
 
 ^''Let him wait for it," interrupted Mrs. Clancy, 
 with a toss of her head. 
 
 '^ He can't do that, for he's a poor man wid a 
 long young family, an' I know myself that he was 
 obliged to run tick for the timber that made it. 
 An' moreover, if I was never to handle another 
 shilling beyant the price ov that cow, I couldn't 
 bear to think that the bones ov my good, lovin' 
 father wor lyin' in a coffin that wasn't paid for." 
 And as she spoke, Oonagh's face was lighted up 
 with emotion. 
 
 It is the last straw that is said to break the camel's 
 back. This last speech filled up the cup of Mrs. 
 Clancy's wrath. 
 
 "An' div you think, Oonagh MacDermott, that 
 I'm goin' to sit any longer here listenin' to your 
 cract ramasli ? " she exclaimed, rising up with great
 
 214 TEE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 majesty. '^As you^ll neither lade nor dhrive for my 
 biddin', I have no more to do but to rise out ov you. 
 May God direct you, little girl^ as Vm not able to 
 do it." 
 
 She took down her ample blue cloth cloak from 
 the peg on which it hung behind the door^ and put 
 it on with great deliberation. Then she opened the 
 door, and passed out without even glancing towards 
 her niece. 
 
 ^^ Oh, aunt, where are you going ? " cried Oonagh, 
 running after her, and trying to bring her back again 
 into the house. But the irate old dame was not to 
 be mollified. 
 
 "Let go my cloak, child, an' let me go my ways. 
 I see plainly that I have no bisness in this house, 
 an' moreover that I'm not wanted there," 
 
 " But sure the horse isn't come for you at all yet, 
 an' you never could walk from this to your own place.'"' 
 
 " I'll thry it, anyhow.'^ 
 
 " But the sky looks very black intirely, an' Fm 
 in dhread that we'll have a power ov rain. You'll 
 be wet to the very skin before you're over a mile ov 
 the road." 
 
 " So itself. I'm neither sugar nor salt, that I'd 
 melt just o' count ov a dhrop ov rain." 
 
 '' Ob, aunt, asthore macLree ! don't lave me this
 
 A STORMY DEBATE. 215 
 
 a way ! " pleaded the poor girl, wlio was now crying 
 bitterly. "Don't lave me in anger, for my dead 
 father's sake. I'm very miserable, an' dessolate with- 
 out that, if you only knew but all.'' 
 
 Mrs. Clancy, however, was not to be appeased by the 
 tears and entreaties of her weeping niece, but in high 
 dudgeon closed her heart against the streaming eyes, 
 the sensitive, quivering mouth, the clinging hands, and 
 the broken voice imploring her to stay with her " for 
 her dead father's sake." She strode down the path to 
 the stile with a sturdy step and a sullen brow, without 
 ever looking back to where the poor orphaned girl was 
 sobbing convulsively. 
 
 " Don't mind her, 'a cushla geal," cried old Molly, 
 who had returned from the dairy in time to be a 
 witness of the latter part of this scene. " The ould 
 garron ! 'tis a gizzard that's inside ov her instead ov a 
 heart, an' a very hard one it is too. She was ever an' 
 always a great collecthor ov a woman, an sure I'm not 
 the only wan that says it ov her. Alliloo ! 'tis she that 
 makes that poor disciple ov a husband ov hers shake 
 in his shoes. My hand to you, she makes him sing 
 his Kyrie Eleison in gallant style. You're well rid ov 
 the ould Shedioge,* an' if she get's drownded itself, 
 
 * Shedioge — A bloated, puffed-up woman.
 
 '216 TEE CEBOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOJXE. 
 
 she wants sometliiiig that'll cool her. Sure she never 
 came to the house while your poor father lived — ^the 
 Heavens be his bed this day ! — but she was sure to 
 light a icisp before she went away agin. Whisht now, 
 Oonagh, whisht, alanna dheelish ! Come in out of the 
 could, an' I'll make a cup ov tay for yourself, and 
 meself, that'll rise our hearts, an' dear knows we want 
 that same. The cross-grained ould fagot ! don't fret 
 yourself no more about her. She's gone now, thank 
 goodness, an' if we never see her agin, that the sight 
 ov our eyes may never fail us ! "
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CANYASSIXG THE COUNTY. 
 
 I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, to earn a 
 
 decent estimation of them; 'tis a condition they account 
 
 gentle ; and since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have 
 
 my hat than my heart, I will practise the insinuating nod, and 
 
 be off to them most counterfeitly. Therefore, beseech you, I 
 
 may be consul. 
 
 Shaxespease. 
 
 About this time an event occurred which created 
 no small sensation in tlie county, and particularly in 
 the estate of Castle Cloyne. This was nothing less 
 than a vacancy in the representation of the county, 
 caused by the sitting member having accepted the 
 Chiltern Hundreds. He had gone with his party- 
 through thick and thin, to use his own expression ; 
 was in his place in the House punctually, whenever 
 any question of the least importance was before it, 
 and waited with the most exemplary patience for the 
 good time coming, when the loaves and fishes should
 
 218 THE CHBOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 fall to tlie side tliat he had supported with such 
 steady regularity. His patience and devotion to the 
 party he had attached himself to^ were after some 
 time rewarded in a very satisfactory manner. There 
 was a division in the House on a very important Irish 
 question, and by a majority as overwhelming as it 
 was unexpected, the Ministry was defeated, and Her 
 Majesty's Opposition found themselves once more 
 seated on the Treasury bench. The new Ministers 
 did not forget the faithfal adherents who had stood 
 by them so gallantly in the days of their adversity, 
 and among them was the gentleman who had vacated 
 his seat in Parliament by accepting the Chiltern 
 Hundreds, preparatory to accepting also a very 
 influential, and lucrative situation in the Colonies. 
 
 No sooner was it known that there was a vacancy 
 in the representation of the county, than a number 
 of candidates came forward; each of them hoping 
 that the successful one would be himself. There 
 were at least " six Richmonds in the field,'^ all eagerly 
 setting forth their own claims on the popular favour ; 
 but as the day of nomination drew near, the six 
 dwindled down to two. The other four, in sporting 
 parlance, had got out of the running, for seeing that 
 their chances of success were growing less and less 
 as time went by, they considered that the better
 
 CANVASSING THE COUNTY. 219 
 
 part of valour was discretion, and prudently retired 
 from a contest whiclij if persevered in, would end 
 in certain defeat, made still more grievous by an 
 enormous bill of costs. 
 
 Of the two gentlemen who had resolved on coming 
 to the poll, Mr. Dillon of Castle Cloyne — who had 
 not lost courage by his former defeat — was the most 
 popular; though many of his best friends disapproved 
 of his tempting fortune once more. They coDsidered 
 that it was unwise of a man so largely in debt, to 
 encounter the heavy expense of a contested election, 
 and by so doing add still more to the grievous burden 
 laid on a property already heavily weighted, simply 
 for the empty gratification of writing two additional 
 letters after his name. Some of them went so far 
 as to say, that they hoped the poor old gentleman 
 wasn^t " losing his head," and that some kind friend 
 *^ who was for his good,^'' would in charity interfere, 
 and counsel, or compel him, to abandon a course that 
 was sure to end in disaster, and ruin. 
 
 The solitary opponent that remained to Mr. Dillon, 
 was a wealthy Manchester manufacturer who was 
 ambitious of a seat in the Imperial Parliament, and 
 hoped that by literally paving his way with gold, he 
 would get into it on the shoulders of an Irish consti- 
 tuency. His agents were in every part of the county
 
 220 TSE CHBONIGLES OF GASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 scattering money broadcast — in an underhand^ covert 
 way it is true, for they remembered tliat there were 
 such things as petitions against bribery, and corrup- 
 tion — but still surely, and with no niggard hand. 
 Mr. Dillon had not much gold to scatter, but he also 
 did some strokes of business in the way of bribing, as 
 far as his purse, which was slender, and his credit, 
 which still held good, allowed him. In every other 
 respect but that of money, he had far and away, the 
 advantage of the rich Englishman. He was no 
 stranger, but native born. He was a resident land- 
 lord; one of the '^ould stock,' ^ whose fathers had lived 
 in Castle Oloyne from time immemorial, and been 
 connected with both the gentry, and the people by 
 many old, and fast ties of kindred, and association. 
 Personally, Mr. Dillon was greatly liked by all classes, 
 and conditions of men. By his own equals, and by 
 the respectable middle class, he was popular for his 
 genial manners, his unbounded hospitality, and lastly, 
 because he had come from a family that had for ages 
 been identified with the soil. By the peasantry he 
 was almost idolised, because he professed their own 
 creed ; a creed to which all his race had clung with 
 passionate devotion through the darkest periods of 
 Irish history, for which many of them had given their 
 lives, and many more of them had abandoned property,
 
 CANVASSING TEE COUNTY. 221 
 
 and home, and country, to die exiles in foreign lands. 
 Stories of their heroism, their honourable poverty 
 uncomplainingly borne, and their chivalrous bravery, 
 which had made the name of Irishman respected all 
 over Europe, still lingered among the people, who now 
 called to mind, and dwelt upon them, with a fond and 
 exultant pride. Mr. Dillon lived among them, and 
 spent his fortune in the country that produced it. He 
 was by no means a hard landlord, but on the contrary 
 reasonably indulgent to his tenants, and was called 
 emphatically " the poor man^s magistrate.^^ The son 
 was quite as popular as the father, for to all the 
 father^s good qualities, Hyacinth added youth, good 
 looks, and a happy temperament that bathed every- 
 thing it came in contact with, in its own joyous 
 sunshine. So all things considered, *^the cotton- 
 spinner,^' as Mr. Bgglestone was irreverently termed 
 by a certain class of the constituency — who, though 
 they had no votes, had voices — had a most formidable 
 opponent in Mr. Dillon, even if his money bags were 
 twice as full, and their contents dealt out with a still 
 more lavish hand. 
 
 It may be asked what it was that had induced the 
 ihaster of Castle Cloyne, at his advanced age, and 
 in his straitened circumstances, to wish for a seat in 
 Parliament. Not only had he a reason, but he had
 
 222 TEE CEROXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYXE. 
 
 many, all of tliem appearing to liim good and 
 sufficient ones. In tlie first place, he wanted to 
 obtain freedom from arrest, wliicli impecunious 
 members of tlie Imperial legislature regard as one 
 of their greatest privileges. For many months he 
 had been '' on his keeping." Several writs were out 
 aofainst him, and more than one execution in the hands 
 of the sheriff, while the bailiffs were lurking about the 
 gates of his demesne, in a most persistent manner, at all 
 hours between sunrise and sunset. His house was liter- 
 ally in a state of siege. All the windows on the ground 
 floor were once more fastened down securely from 
 the inside, and the doors guarded by short iron chains 
 drawn across them, which were never slipped off the 
 hooks wide enough to admit any one to enter until 
 it was first ascertained beyond all doubt, that he who 
 sought admittance was neither a bailiff, nor a dun. 
 This state of things, though by no means any novelty 
 in Mr. Dillon's experience, was very displeasing to 
 him personally, as well as galling to his pride, and 
 the only way by which he could put an end to it was 
 by becoming a member of Parliament. He would 
 most willingly have paid every shilling he owed if he 
 could, but as that was not possible, there was no use 
 in worrying himself about it, neither could he bear 
 to be always a prisoner. He was resolved to be no
 
 CANVASSING TEE COUNTY. 223 
 
 longer ''a Sunday man," but free to breafhe tlie pure 
 air of heaveoj and to come and go as it pleased him ; 
 free to hunt and shoot, and take the place in his native 
 count jj that he was well entitled to by his birth and 
 fortune. These were all great privileges, and it was 
 surely worth his while, he thought, to run some risk to 
 obtain them. 
 
 Then again, no Dillon of Castle Cloyne had ever 
 sat in Parliament since the first penal laws against 
 the Catholics were enacted several hundred years 
 ago^ for since the passing of the Emancipation Act, 
 by which they were all repealed, one thing or another 
 had always arisen to prevent it. When that famous 
 Act became part of the law of the land, Dominic 
 Dillon was a minor, and when he did attain his 
 majority, and for some years after it, there was no 
 vacancy in the representation of the county. When 
 it did occur he tried his chance, as we have seen, but 
 without success, and another man went to St. 
 Stephen's, and sat in the seat that he so greatly 
 coveted. But now at last the long-wished-for 
 opportunity presented itself once more, and he had 
 not self-denial, or common sense enough to let it go 
 by. This time matters looked more propitious than 
 they did on the former occasion ; at least everyone 
 told him so, and he fully believed them. To all
 
 224 TEE CEBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 appearance, there was not only a probability, but 
 an absolute certainty tbat lie -would be at the bead 
 of the poll, and that at the end of several centuries, 
 a Dillon of Castle Cloyne would be the sitting member 
 for his native county. 
 
 In his family pride, as well as in his longings for 
 senatorial distinction, Mr. Dillon had the keen 
 sympathy, and ardent co-operation of his son. The 
 young man was ambitious, and thought that a seat 
 in Parliament was the first step in the path of honour, 
 that was newly opened to the family. With the 
 buoyant and versatile spirit of youth, he panted for 
 change, for excitement, for any new turn of the 
 wheel that would effect a change in the dull mono- 
 tony of a country life, and give it some colour, and 
 variety. When his father should be elected, he 
 would accompany him to London ; they would enjoy 
 their lives there, and breathe at last free from the 
 worry of bailiffs, and the impertinence of duns. 
 Lodgings in some old-fashioned street, or square, was 
 not a very brilliant prospect to look forward to, but 
 then the chain would not be drawn across the inside 
 of the hall-door, from sunrise to sunset, on six days 
 of the week. He would be sure to find in the Great 
 Babylon some outlet for the restless, and superabundant 
 energy that was consuming him, soul and body, like
 
 CANVASSING THE COUNTY. 225 
 
 a smouldering fire. A season in London, lie argued, 
 would be worth ten years of tlie dull routine of Castle 
 Cloyne ; and Hyacinth, with, the Dillon blood in his 
 veins^ never for a moment doubted the certainty of 
 having the entree of the best circles at the West End. 
 He would there make the acquaintance of many 
 young men who, though they might exceed him in 
 wealth, or social rank, could not, however, do so in 
 long descent, or in unsullied reputation. Hyacinth, 
 poor fellow, had a great deal to learn and to endure 
 before he could acquire the wisdom that only comes 
 from rubbing shoulders with the world, and taking 
 to heart the lessons and the sad experience that are 
 sure to be taught in its stern school ! 
 
 The only thing that gave either father or son any 
 trouble, was the expense of the election. Where was 
 that to come from ? The county was to be traversed 
 from end to end, to canvass the electors, and " entreat 
 their most sweet voices.^' There were agents to be 
 paid, and votes to be purchased — of course on the sly — 
 and accounts to be opened with the hotels and public- 
 houses at the various polling places, for lodgings, 
 food, and drink galore for the freeholders, and stabling 
 and provender for the horses of such of them as 
 should have a long distance to come. Then a mob 
 should be organised in every town, and well paid; 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 otlierwise tlieir performances in tlie way of sliouting, 
 cudgelling, and abusing tlie opposite faction, would to 
 a certainty be of a very languid, if not neutral, 
 cbaracter. If the tbing were to be done at all, it 
 sbould be done bandsomely; there would be neither 
 credit nor profit in half measures, to say nothing of 
 the risk of ultimate defeat. A good old family was 
 not to be let go to the wall, on account of a few 
 beggarly thousands; that was clear. 
 
 But once more, where were the thousands to be 
 got? To be sure there were five thousand pounds 
 vested in trustees, the fortune of the late Mrs. Dillon, 
 and by her marriage articles settled on younger 
 children, and as there were no younger children but 
 Grace, it would all come to her. She was perfectly 
 willing to give up her right to this money, but she 
 wanted two years of being of age, and consequently 
 her signature was not worth the paper it was written 
 on. The trustees were both dead, but their repre- 
 sentatives altogether declined making themselves 
 responsible, by consenting to have the money drawn, 
 or even any part of it. Miss Dillon would be sure 
 to marry, and her husband and children would hold 
 them, to the last shilling they possessed, accountable 
 fOT her five thousand pounds. It was very disobliging 
 of them, Mr. Dillon and his son said ; very mean and
 
 CANVASSING THE COUNTY. 227 
 
 shabby too^ for tlie money would surely be made good, 
 long before Grace came of age. Even if it was not 
 fortbcoming tben — as tbe trustees shrewdly antici- 
 pated — neither slie nor anyone on her behalf would 
 ever do so base a thing as to turn round on the 
 guardians of her fortune^ and compel them to pay 
 it a second time, to their own grievous wrong. But 
 the trustees — hard-headed men of the world — were 
 obdurate, and refused to let the money they held 
 for the young lady be swallowed up in the bottomless 
 pit of a contested election. They put no faith in the 
 solemn assurance that it should be refunded to the 
 last farthing; appearing to think that all the pro- 
 babilities lay quite on the other side. Disappointed 
 in this expectation, the Dillons had no other alter- 
 native than to negotiate a fresh loan at very hio-h 
 interest^ or, as Terry Macnamara, their nearest relation 
 and most intimate friend, pithily expressed it, '^ to kill 
 another pig." 
 
 So the " pig '^ was killed accordingly, and another 
 mortgage laid on the estate, in addition to all the 
 others with which it was already so heavily burdened. 
 Then when the " sinews of war ^^ were in readiness, 
 Mr. Dillon issued his address to the electors. It was 
 a very clever composition, as well it might be, con- 
 sidering that four persons were occupied for nearly 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 a week in putting it together. The quartette consisted 
 of Mr. Dillon and his son, Terry Macnamara, and 
 Father O'Rafferty, the parish priest ; and all the 
 friends of the family agreed that it was the ablest 
 and most convincing document that had ever been 
 issued from the press. It set forth the claims of 
 Mr. Dillon to the suffrages of the electors, which 
 were in truth so palpable as to need no exaggeration : 
 the hundreds of years in which his family had been 
 rooted in the soil; their continual residence among 
 their own people, and great sympathy with them, 
 and challenged their opponent to prove that a bad 
 or an exacting landlord had ever been known among 
 the family of Castle Cloyne. This last part was Mr. 
 Dillon's own composition, and it contained more 
 truth than is generally to be found in election 
 addresses. The next paragraph alluded to the bravery 
 of the Dillons, which had been proved not only at 
 home, but on every battle-field in Europe, where they 
 had distinguished themselves as gallant soldiers and 
 chivalrous gentlemen. This part was written at the 
 dictation of Terry Macnamara, who having proved 
 his courage by three times " facing his man,''' on the 
 sod early in the morning, was entitled to be called 
 an authority on all affairs of duelling or pitched 
 battle. But the pith and marrow of the document
 
 CANVASSING THE COUNTY. 229 
 
 was tliat whicli was inspired by tlie priest^ for it 
 reminded tlie electors of tliat great Catholic county, 
 that the Castle Cloyne family had in the worst of 
 times adhered with great constancy to the old faith, 
 and had lost and suffered much in consequence of that 
 fidelity. The address concluded with the usual 
 stereotyped flourish of calling on the electors not 
 to be bribed by English gold, but to hold their votes 
 as a sacred trust to be given to an Irishman, one of 
 themselves, one of their race and creed, and one 
 who was ready to die in their service ! 
 
 Great was the enthusiasm called forth by this 
 address when it made its appearance in the county 
 newspapers, and was posted up in large type on the 
 gates of the chapels, and on all the posts and dead 
 walls in every town and village. The address of 
 Mr. Eggles tone, . the candidate in the Conservative 
 interest, was torn down, or bespattered plentifully with 
 mud ; his agents were insulted, and any one who was 
 known to have promised him a vote, or to wish him 
 well^ was called opprobrious names, and held up as a 
 mark for the finger of public scorn. So great was the 
 general excitement, and so high did party spirit run, 
 that an additional force of police was sent into the 
 county, to assist in keeping the peace, and protect 
 the freeholders who came to the poll, from being
 
 280 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 maltreated. Two different mobs, well primed with 
 whisky, and bearing flags that displayed emblems 
 considered appropriate to the occasion, paraded the 
 streets of the towns and villages, paid by the two 
 candidates ; and many were the shillelaghs flourished 
 and the '^ scrimmages " fought during the few days that 
 preceded the nomination, when " the barley got abune 
 the bree." But as the belligerents were not killed, but 
 only ^^kilt intirely,^' and as no greater wounds were 
 inflicted on either side than could be easily cured by a 
 poultice, or a bit of sticking plaster, the police, who 
 expected this sort of thing as part of the usual 
 routine of a contested election, wisely took little or 
 no notice of the desultory warfare that was waged in 
 the streets, or the furtive skirmishing that went on 
 round corners, and in the back lanes. They knew that 
 a certain amount of license was at all times claimed and 
 allowed at a county election, and that when once the 
 saturnalia was over, party spirit, and mock enthusiasm, 
 well paid for, would evaporate as quickly as they had 
 effervesced, and that when the event that had conjured 
 up the excitement had passed away, the people would 
 as a matter of course settle down again to their 
 normal state of indifference and repose.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 What seek I here to gather into words ? 
 The scenes that rise before me as I turn 
 The pages of old times. A word, a name, 
 Con j ures the jDast before me till it grows 
 More actual than the present. 
 
 L. E. L. 
 
 It was the evening before tlie first day of tlie election ; 
 a close^ sultry evening in glowing August. Dinner 
 was over in Castle Cloyne ; the parish priest^ who was 
 one of the guests^ had said grace; and Miss Dillon, 
 the only lady among the company^ had vanished from 
 the room. As soon as the last flounce of her white 
 dress was gone, the four gentlemen who remained 
 behind drew closer round the table to enjoy their 
 post-prandial glass of hot punch, and also to arrange 
 the programme of the following day. 
 
 The guests who sat with Mr. Dillon and his son, 
 were Father O'Rafferty and Terry Macnamara; the
 
 232 TEE CEBOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYKE. 
 
 first was tlie parisli priest of Castle Cloyne, the 
 second a relative of Mr. Dillon's^ and his most intimate 
 friend. They had assisted in composing his address 
 to the electors, and now they had assembled together 
 to hold the final council of war, and decide upon 
 the course of tactics proper to be pursued in the 
 forthcoming campaign. 
 
 It is almost needless to say, that the priest was 
 a firm and active partisan of Mr. Dillon's, and ready to 
 employ every means in his power, and that a clergyman 
 could conscientiously use, to ensure success. There 
 were many reasons to make him embark in the cause, 
 heart and soul ; but the first and greatest was, of course, 
 community of creed. This was the grand bond that 
 bound him to it. Had Dominic Dillon been a bad man, 
 or an oppressive landlord, or, what he considered almost 
 as bad, an absentee, the priest would still have sup- 
 ported him on the broad principle of his being a 
 Catholic. But when, to being not only a Catholic, and 
 the descendant of a long line of Catholics, who had 
 lost so much for conscience^ sake, it was added that 
 Mr. Dillon was a good resident landlord, a warm friend, 
 and a genial host, at whose table he was himself 
 always a welcome guest, it is no matter of surprise 
 that he threw himself with all his heart into the cause. 
 He was a good-hearted man, this poor country priest^
 
 "OVER THE WALNUTS AND THE WINE." 233 
 
 who was never known to desert a friend,, and^ unlike 
 the world, was most friendly when his friendship was 
 most needed. The help of such an ally at a time like 
 the present was a tower of strength. His influence 
 over his flock was unbounded, and even with those 
 who could not be ranked in it, he was extremely 
 popular. It was said that, to a certainty, he could 
 command ten out of every twelve votes in the barony 
 in which the estate and village of Castle Cloyne were 
 situated, and that whatever candidate he favoured had 
 the best chance of being at the head of the poll. 
 
 The appearance of Father O^Rafferty, like his 
 lineage, was anything but patrician, though it was 
 very characteristic. He was a low-sized, round little 
 man, with a full, good-humoured-looking face, a 
 wide mouth, and a vulgar snub nose. Bat the homeli- 
 ness of his features was atoned for by a splendid pair 
 of black eyes, that made one forget everything else 
 in the marvellous intensity and variety of their ex- 
 pression. They could flash with the fiercest rage 
 and scorn, twinkle merrily with irrepressible fun, or 
 melt into the utmost softness with compassion or 
 charity. 
 
 > To the full as ardent a partisan and as firm a 
 friend was Terence — or, as he was always called, 
 Terry Macnamara. He was Mr. Dillon^s first cousin.
 
 234 TEE CHBONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE, 
 
 of liis own age, and they had been schoolboys toge- 
 ther^ united even more closely by the tie of friendship 
 than that of blood. As far as birth went they were 
 on a perfect equality, the only difference being that 
 the paternal ancestors of Mr. Dillon were Anglo- 
 Normans, while those of Macnamara were Irish, pure 
 and simple, without the slightest admixture of foreign 
 blood in their veins. They were Celtic to the core, 
 even to their very name, for Macnamara is an Irish 
 word, meaning literally " son of the sea." From the 
 earliest times they had been gentry in their native 
 county, people of large property, and possessed of all 
 the prestige that property is sure to carry with it, when 
 it is accompanied by good birth. It would be an impos- 
 sible task to trace their pedigree, for the founders of 
 the race were lost in the mists of antiquity, although 
 their descendants were rarely heard of, outside the 
 bounds of their native county. But there they held 
 their own well, and if they did not distinguish them- 
 selves greatly, were yet quiet, peaceful people, liked 
 and respected by all who knew them. However, one 
 member of the family was a notable exception to this 
 rule ; and, strange to say, this member was a woman ! 
 This Amazon lived in the time of Queen Elizabeth, 
 to whom she was a bitter, unrelenting foe, regarding 
 her person, country, and creed with the most impla-
 
 "OVER THE WALNUTS AND THE WINE:' 235 
 
 cable hatred^ wliich she manifested on all occasions, 
 in the most determined and sanguinary manner. 
 This " Banne Thierna/' or female chieftain, was called 
 by the Irish chroniclers of that time, Mauria Ehua, 
 or Eed Mary, but whether she obtained that sobriquet 
 from the colour of her hair and complexion, or from 
 the merciless, sanguinary nature of her exploits, 
 neither tradition nor history has explained. But the 
 chief aim of her life appears to have been hatred of 
 the English invaders, showing them no mercy when 
 they were so unfortunate as to fall into her hands. 
 She kept great state in her strong castle of Leim- 
 neigh, in the county of Clare, exercising a princely 
 hospitality, and by her generosity, haughtiness, un- 
 flinching courage, and unwomanly cruelty, made her 
 name famous through the land. The Castle of 
 Leimneigh is now only a ruin, and the bones of its 
 once powerful and dreaded Banne Thierna have 
 crumbled into dust, but the proudest families in 
 Clare boast of being her descendants, and have what 
 purports to be her portrait, hanging on their walls. 
 Neither is she forgotten by the peasantry, who speak 
 of the great " Mauria Rhua '' with a mixture of pride 
 arid dread, while the native bards have celebrated, both 
 in English and Irish verse, the story of her greatness 
 and of her wickedness. The Irish poetry was written
 
 236 THE CHB0NIGLE8 OF CASTLE OLOYNE. 
 
 with a vigour and entliusiasm, partly due to the 
 character of the language, and partly because the 
 object of their encomiums was a bold Irishwoman, 
 who had struck many good blows for her country. 
 The English verses were in every way much inferior, 
 being only the very poorest doggrel, of which cne 
 verse may serve as a specimen of all the rest : 
 
 The famed Mauria Ehua, she was my great grannura, 
 And spent in great splendour, ten thousand per annum ; 
 In Leimneigh Castle she kept a strict watch. 
 And hung all the Sassenachs that she could catch. 
 
 Terry Macnamara, the lineal descendant of this 
 very strong-minded female, was the younger son of 
 a younger son, and consequently as sparely endowed 
 with the world's goods as such people usually are. 
 When he came to man's estate, he got, through the 
 family interest, a commission in a cavalry regiment, 
 and, having done this, the family did nothing more 
 for him, but left him to sink or swim, as Fate would 
 ordain it, with nothing to support him but his pay. 
 It was the usual story with poor Terry. His pay, in 
 his own opinion, was wholly inadequate to enable 
 him to live like an officer and a gentleman, and, with 
 a young man's folly, he got into debt, which he had 
 no means of paying but by the sale of his commission. 
 When he returned home without a guinea in his
 
 "OVBB THE WALNUTS AND THE WINEr 237 
 
 pocket, his family were so disgusted tliat they — meta- 
 phorically — washed their hands of him, and either could 
 not, or would not do any more for him. The last was 
 probably most near the truth. After a short time 
 a sister of his father^ s died, and left him a small 
 annuity, so very small, that people said it was hardly 
 worth accepting; but poor Terry was very glad to 
 get it, and contrived to make it sufficient for his 
 wants. How he brought both ends of the year to 
 meet on such slender support, was a mystery, but he 
 managed to do it, somehow. If he had privations, no 
 one was the wiser, for he never complained to anyone. 
 Taught by the hard lessons of his youth, he never 
 got into debt again, but made his small income 
 suffice for his few and simple wants. His lodgings 
 in the village of Castle Cloyne were of a very un- 
 pretentious character, and his tailor^s bills were very 
 trifling, although he was always dressed like a 
 gentleman. But his laugh was as cheery, and his 
 manner and air as high-bred and proud, as if he 
 was the lord of a thousand acres. His sole extra- 
 vagance was in now and again making a present to 
 the little boy and girl that were growing up under 
 his eye in Castle Cloyne, and were as fond of him 
 almost as they were of their own father. 
 
 There was not a respectable house in the whole
 
 238 THE GHBOmGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 country to wliicli Terry Macnamara was not welcome 
 to come when lie pleased, and stay as long as it suited 
 him; and the kindness that was offered so freely, 
 and as freely accepted, was now the only debt that 
 he was willing to incur. But hospitality in Ireland 
 is so spontaneous, so freely given on one side, and 
 so willingly accepted on the other, that the least 
 obligation is never attached to it. Like mercy, it is 
 twice blest, for the host is glad when a guest shares 
 either in the abundance or the poverty of his table, 
 whichever it may be, and the guest knowing this, 
 and feeling that, to use an expression which is 
 peculiarly Irish, he is heartily welcome, accepts the 
 hospitality that, if the situation were reversed, he 
 would give as willingly as it is now given to himself. 
 But though Terry never denied his poverty, yet he 
 never obtruded it on anyone; for he was not either 
 mean or vulgar, and remembering the good blood 
 that flowed in his veins, he always preserved his 
 independence. And in proportion as he respected 
 himself, he made others respect him also. He gave 
 offence to no man, neither would he permit any man 
 to give it to him; for his courage was undoubted,. and 
 he had fought several duels, after the fashion of 
 Irish gentlemen in those days. Like the priest, he 
 had told off his three score of birthdays, but, unlike
 
 "OVER THE WALNUTS AND TEE WINE:' 23? 
 
 him, lie was tall and thin, with a high-bred, handsome 
 face, on which the word '' gentleman " was stamped 
 in unmistakable characters. 
 
 '^What a pity it is that you can't make your 
 appearance at the hustings to-morrow ! '' said the 
 priest to Mr. Dillon. ''To have Dominic Dillon's 
 election going on while he is at home himself at 
 Castle Cloyne, will be like sitting down to a weddino- 
 dinner when the bride and bridegroom are gone away. 
 I'd just as soon have one as the other; they are both 
 so tame and insipid that there is hardly a choice 
 between the two.'' 
 
 " It is hard," replied the host, with a sigh ; '' but 
 it can't be helped. The bailiffs — damn them ! — are 
 watching me as a cat would watch a mouse, and if I 
 only showed my nose outside my own gates, they 
 would pounce on nae just as quickly. It is too bad, 
 that while you both are fighting my battle at the 
 hustings, I am to remain at home with poor little 
 Grace." 
 
 '' What is to harm either you or her ? " said Terry. 
 " And you will have your own man, Pat Flanagan, to 
 bring you the news up from the village. You need 
 no,t be at all uneasy about the election, for we all 
 intend to work very hard. My young friend here,'^ 
 jerking his thumb towards Hyacinth, " will represent
 
 240 THE CRBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 you riglit well, and ride to tlie hustings at tlie head 
 of your tenantry; and unless I am greatly mistaken 
 in the lad, he will do you no discredit. The two best 
 attorneys in the county are your law agents,, and 
 Father John here and I will do all the rest ; so don't 
 be worrying yourself into another fit of the gout. 
 Everything will be all right; never fear/^ 
 
 "Is it finally settled who are to be the proposer 
 and seconder ? '' inquired Hyacinth. 
 
 "Yes, it is finally settled. Wilson, of Beech Hill, 
 is to propose your father, and your humble servant is 
 to second the nomination. ^^ 
 
 " A better selection could not be made," observed 
 Mr. Dillon. "Jack "Wilson is a Protestant, and Terry 
 Macnamara is a good holy Roman. Jack has his 
 pockets full of money, and Terry has the old blood 
 in his veins. That's an arrangement no one can cavil 
 at.^^ 
 
 " But the Englishman has more money than all 
 the Wilsons put together ; and to give everyone his 
 due, he is no miser, but is scattering it right and left 
 with a full hand. He bears a capital character, both 
 at home and abroad, and I am really sorry that we 
 must extinguish such a good fellow as Egglestone is, 
 by all accounts." 
 
 " He is a rank Tory, anyway," put in the priest ;
 
 ''OVER THE WALNUTS AND THE WINE:' 24.1 
 
 " and the best proof of it is tliat lie has all the Con- 
 servative landlords at his back. Oh, don't I know the 
 kidney of them ! Half of them Cromwellians, and 
 almost the other half Dutchmen who came in with the 
 usurper William/' 
 
 ^^They are all of them Irishmen now, whatever 
 their forefathers might have been," remarked Hyacinth 
 Dillon ; '^ and right good fellows, and gentlemen to the 
 core, the greater part of them are, and no mistake 
 about it. I am sorry so many of them will be arrayed 
 against us, but when this brush is over we shall all be 
 as good friends as we ever were.^' 
 
 " I have always been on good terms with my 
 brother grand jurors and magistrates," said Mr. 
 Dillon, "and I hope to be so at all times, whatever 
 way the election goes. Ten elections, not to talk of 
 one, could bring no ill-blood between us. But your 
 glass is empty. Father John. Hyacinth, pass the 
 decanter.' ' 
 
 "Not for me," cried the priest. "My allowance 
 is one tumbler of punch daily, and I have already 
 taken that." 
 
 " The decanter is with you, Terry. But probably, 
 like myself, you prefer a glass of this old port." 
 
 " Not at all. I prefer a glass of good whiskey 
 punch to all the port that ever came from Lisbon. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 242 TRIE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 But the water is nearly cold, and I must ring for some 
 that will be hot/' and suiting the action to the word, 
 Macnamara rang the bell. 
 
 In a few moments the summons was answered by 
 Pat, who brought the hot water with him. When he 
 had placed it on the table, he looked very significantly 
 at Hyacinth, and then slowly left the room. 
 
 " By the way, sir, I have a favour to ask of you," 
 said the young man, addressing his father, " and I am 
 sure I need only mention it to have it granted/' 
 
 " You are reckoning without your host, then, for 
 I won't let Pat go to the election, if that is the favour 
 you want." 
 
 ^^He has set his heart on going, and begged me 
 to ask leave for him. It is not often he gets a 
 holiday." 
 
 " Well, he cannot have any this time, that's all." 
 
 "As I am to be seconder to-morrow, I'll be 
 seconder also to-day," said Terry, "and I second 
 Hyacinth's request. Pat is a good boy, and deserves 
 a little indulgence. Who is to do his business at the 
 election, if he isn't to be there himself ? " 
 
 " And who is to look after me, if I should get an 
 attack of gout ? No one understands how to manage 
 me but Pat, and I can't spare him. Besides, he has 
 a genius for getting into mischief, and as sure as he
 
 OVER TEE WALNUTS AND THE WINE." 243 
 
 goes to the election, so surely will lie get Mmself 
 into trouble of some kind, and do our cause a great 
 deal of damage. Oh ! I know him, and I know too 
 the fiery blood that's in him, and that he got from 
 his father. He is much safer here, believe me, than 
 he would be at the election. '' 
 
 " I don't agree with you, father,' ' said Hyacinth. 
 "Pat is a steady fellow, though I must confess he 
 loves to make a sensation, and is up for any amount 
 of fun. Still, I will make a bet with anyone who will 
 take me up, that he will conduct himself properly 
 while at the election, if you are good enough, sir, to 
 let him go.'' 
 
 " You will lose that bet." 
 
 " It will be a great disappointment to the poor 
 boy," said Father John ; " but all things considered, 
 I dare say you ai*e right. He might most likely get 
 into some row that would end in finding himself in 
 the hands of the police. Pat has no control over 
 himself, poor boy, when he gets excited." 
 
 ^^He is his father's own son," said Mr. Dillon, 
 '^ and blood is sure to tell in the long run ; at least, 
 that is my experience. I remember Pat's father very 
 well, for we were both lads together, though the grass 
 is growing over him for many a long year. He was a 
 good-looking fellow, like Pat, but very poor, being 
 
 R 2
 
 244 TKE CHBOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYXE. 
 
 only herd in one of my fathers moantain farms ; a 
 wild, lonely place it is too^ as yon all well know. It> 
 was a great place that time for the mannfactnre of 
 pot whiskey, which was carried on with very little 
 hindrance. It was no one's business, yon see, to give 
 information, and the gangers were afraid to go there 
 without a strong escort; some of them who had 
 plucked up stifficient courage to go there alone, never 
 came back, or at least they didn't come alive. Bat all 
 that was before my time, and a good deal of what is 
 said about such things may not be true. There is no 
 potheen made there now, except an odd gallon now 
 and then, just to keep their hand in.'' 
 
 '' But about Paf s father, sir ? You were going to 
 tell us his story," said Hyacinth. 
 
 " Why, I thought ye all knew it ; certainly Father 
 John does; but 'tis a very old story now, for it all 
 happened before you were bom. Well, as I said, 
 Barney Flanagan was poor — as poor as Job on his 
 dimghill — ^but for all that he had a great spirit He 
 was the very deuce for fighting and love-making. 
 He could no more help palavering a pretty giri when 
 he fotmd himself in her company, than he could help 
 breathing, and the history of his various flirtations 
 would fill a volume. His fighting quahties were so 
 well known that he was elected captain of a party.
 
 "OYER THE WALXUTS AXD THE WIXE.' 240 
 
 and liis prowess at every fair green where lie and 
 liis 'faction' flourished their alpeens, was marked 
 by broken heads as plentiful as blackberries. My 
 father often remonstrated with him on his belligerent 
 propensities ; but though Barney always promised 
 amendment, the promise was invariably broken on the 
 first opportunity that presented itself 
 
 "He should have sent the scamp about his 
 business/'^ remarked Terry Macnamara. 
 
 " Well, so he should ; but somehow he never did, 
 though he was always threatening it. Barney was 
 the son of an old tenant, and as honest as the sun; 
 and, except when he was fighting or courting, he 
 minded his business well, and was one of the best 
 herdsmen on the property. In a man like that a great 
 deal must be condoned, or overlooked altogether, and 
 my father did both by turns. It is easy to part with 
 a good servant, but not so easy to get another who 
 will be as good. 
 
 *' But Barney did not always escape with a whole 
 skin, or without getting as good as he gave. 'Tis the 
 fortune of war, and greater captains than he had to 
 endure a reverse. One day that he headed his 'faction* 
 at the fair of Castle Cloyne, the scrimmage was sp 
 fierce and long-continued that my father, as a magis- 
 trate, had to send for the military, and read the Eiot
 
 246 TEE CEBONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 Act. The military — there were no police then — had to 
 charge the belligerents with fixed bayonets. When 
 some sort of order had been at last restored, there was 
 a lot of wounded and disabled men lying about in all 
 directions on the fair green ; but, luckily, no one was 
 killed outright. Among the ' kilt ' the worst case 
 was that of Barney Flanagan, whose skull was fractured, 
 and his whole body beaten black and blue. In this 
 deplorable condition he was laid on a door and brought 
 to this house, as he was known to be one of the Castle 
 Cloyne herdsmen. There was a bed made up for him in 
 one of the back rooms, and a messenger sent off with a 
 car to fetch his mother to take care of him. He was laid 
 up for some months, and all the time attended by a 
 surgeon, at my father's expense. At last he was well 
 enough to be sent home to his cabin in the mountains. 
 My father spent several hours lecturing him, and he 
 listened with great apparent attention, and making 
 many plausible promises for future good behaviour. 
 When the horse and cart, with a feather bed in it, 
 came to the door, he was helped into it and made very 
 comfortable, with his head resting in his mother's 
 lap. My father walked with them until they got out 
 from the avenue to the public road, exhorting the 
 invalid to turn over a new leaf, and avoid fighting for 
 the rest of his life. When they were turning off in
 
 ''OVER THE WALNUTS AND THE WINEr 247 
 
 tlie direction of the hills, Barney could no longer 
 restrain himself, and feebly waving his arm over 
 his head in a significant manner, cried out with 
 all the strength he had left in him : ' Plase good- 
 nessj Masther, we'll be able to hould the stick once 
 more/ '^ * 
 
 ^^ What an incorrigible ruffian ! '^ exclaimed the 
 priest. 
 
 " What a brave fellow ! '' cried young Dillon. 
 
 "He was really brave," remarked Terry Mac- 
 namara^ " and made of the same good stuff that won 
 all our battles out in the Peninsula. It was that same 
 bull-dog courage, only trained and disciplined, that 
 kept the squares unbroken at Quatre Bras and 
 Waterloo, when our men stood like rocks through the 
 long summer day, against the repeated charges of the 
 flower of Bonaparte's cavalry. What a splendid 
 soldier that fellow would have made ! His place would 
 not be long among the common rank and file." 
 
 "Indubitably. But you know, what would be 
 gallant conduct in a soldier was not quite the thing 
 for my father's herdsman. So now, my boy, you know 
 why I can't let Pat go to the election. He has his 
 
 * This anecdote is a literal fact. The man who acted and 
 spake as described in the text, was herdsman to the author's 
 father.
 
 24-5 TEE CHE02i7CLES OF CASTLE CLOTXJS. 
 
 father s blood in him, and Heaven onlv knows wliat he 
 might do, when he found himself in the thick of the 
 rooJ:aicn. He would either be brought back here 
 with a broken head, like his father, or be furnished 
 with safe lodgings at the expense of the county, for 
 breaking other people's heads. It is jtist a chance 
 which it would be/' 
 
 " Bat, sir, what was the end of Bamev ? He must 
 be dead many years, for as long as I can recollect, Pat 
 has been in this house." 
 
 " Not Tery long after that he got married to Pat's 
 mother. The moth was so lonor flutterinsr about the 
 candle that it got burned at last. Barney fell in love 
 with a girl, that he had no more chance of getting 
 as a wife than you have of getting the Princess Eoyal. 
 She was the only daughter of a respectable farmer, 
 who could give her a thousand poimds on her 
 wedding-day, and never miss it. But to give the 
 devil his due, Barney thought only of herself, and 
 not of her fortune. When he proposed for her, her 
 family laughed him to scorn, and when he had the 
 egregious folly to argue the point with them, they 
 put him by force out of the house, and he went off 
 swearing he would marry her in spite of them all. 
 He was not without some excuse, for he was dis- 
 tractedly fond of her, and she fully returned hi3
 
 "OVER THE WALNUTS -IXD THE WINE.'' 249 
 
 love. In some time, finding tliat nothing would 
 move the father and brothers — there were three 
 brothers, all tall, strong fellows — the lovers resolved 
 to take their fate into their own hands, and marry 
 without their consent, as they could not marry with 
 it. She consented to elope with him, and meet him 
 on a certain night in a little copse outside her father's 
 farm. 
 
 "As his cabin in the hills was too far away to 
 bring her there on foot, the scamp went to the 
 stables here, and telling the groom that he was 
 acting on his master^ s orders, he saddled the best 
 animal there, and coolly mounting it, he rode off. 
 She was a beautiful mare, called Hebe, famous 
 both for spirit and speed, and was the grandam of 
 my horse Tearaway, the best hunter I ever crossed. 
 He found the girl waiting for him, true to her 
 promise ; in a moment she was up behind him, and 
 they rattled away at a good pace, for the mare was 
 quite fresh. It was a stormy night, and still remem- 
 bered in the country for all the disasters that occurred 
 both on land and sea. Still the lovers were not 
 daunted, for with the good mare under them, they 
 hoped to reach the hills very soon. But in this 
 expectation they reckoned without their host. Even 
 through the noise of the storm, they heard the clatter
 
 250 TEE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 of horses^ hoofs behind them, and the three brothers 
 shouting to them to pull up. Barney knew that 
 their cattle were good, while his mare had the dis- 
 advantage of carrying double, what she was not used 
 to. He also knew that a tough fight was before him, 
 but for all that he did not lose heart. Telling the 
 poor girl, who was nearly insensible from fear, to 
 cling to him with both arms, he urged on the mare 
 with voice and hand, and she gallantly answered his 
 call, though half- maddened by the flashes of lightning, 
 that were almost continuous. 
 
 ^' There was a river on ahead, and the bridge that 
 spanned it was the nearest way to his home ; but 
 what was his consternation to find when he reached 
 it, that the river was so swollen by the rains, that it 
 had overflowed its banks, and carried away the piers 
 of the bridge on the other side, though those that 
 were next him were still standing. One half of the 
 bridge had been swept away, and was floating in 
 fragments down the river, and the other half would 
 in a few moments inevitably share the same fate. It 
 was a dreadful position that the unfortunate fellow 
 found himself placed in. Behind were the three 
 brothers, shouting with exultation when they saw 
 him, as it were, delivered into their hands; and 
 before him were the broken bridge, and the angry
 
 "OVER THE WALNUTS AND THE WINE:' 251 
 
 flood that foamed below. But lie never hesitated, 
 for lie knew tliat tlie mare lie rode was game to tlie 
 backbone ; so he gave her the spur, and looking back 
 at his pursuers, with the wild war-whoop with which 
 he had often led on his faction at fair and market, he 
 sprang on to the bridge. Hebe, true to her good 
 blood and generous spirit, put forth all her strength 
 for the leap, and flew forward towards the yawning 
 chasm. But just as her fore feet touched the opposite 
 bank, one of the brothers, frantic at seeing himself 
 baffled, fired a shot that was no doubt intended for 
 Barney, but it hit poor Hebe in the shoulder. With 
 a wild neigh of pain, she fell back into the swollen 
 river, and of course the lovers fell with her. But 
 Barney flung one arm round a broken arch, and with 
 the other caught the girl as she was drifting past him. 
 Steadying himself as well as he could, through the 
 masses of broken masonry, he brought her safe to 
 the bank. 
 
 " When the brothers saw that they were safe at 
 the other side, they knew the game was up, for none 
 of them would follow his example, in taking such a 
 desperate leap. To add to their rage and mortifica- 
 tion, Barney looked across at them with a mocking 
 smile. ' Oh, begor ! afther all yer haste, ye won't be 
 in time for the marriage.'
 
 252 TEE CEBONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 " He took the girVs hand, and led her away in 
 full view of the angry men at the other side, who 
 could do nothing but thunder out threats of vengeance 
 against him. His impudence and coolness made them 
 perfectly frantic, but he only laughed at them. He 
 brought the girl straight to the house of his parish 
 priest, and they were married. It was a strange 
 wedding, and a strange figure they must have cut, 
 as they stood before Father Pat, drenched to the 
 skin, and half-dead from anxiety and fatigue.'' 
 
 " But what became of the gallant mare ? " asked 
 Hyacinth, when his father ceased; '^was she drowned ?'* 
 
 "Not at all. She partly scrambled and partly 
 swam down the river for some distance, until she 
 came to where it was shallow, and the bank not so 
 precipitous, and then she got ashore. At least this 
 was the conjecture made on the matter by the 
 men in the stables, to which she returned some hours 
 after, covered with mud, and with a sorely wounded 
 shoulder. My father was foaming with rage when 
 he saw the state she was in, and swore by all his 
 gods, that he would make Barney's shoulders as 
 sore from the application of his horsewhip, as Hebe's 
 had been made by the shot. But on hearing the 
 story he forgave him. He admired him for his 
 pluck and courage, and was very proud of the
 
 "OVER THE WALNUTS AND THE WINE.'' 253 
 
 mare, wlio soon got quite well under skilful treat- 
 ment." 
 
 ^^ But did lier friends ever forgive Barney's wife, 
 and come down handsomely witli the cash, to set them 
 up housekeeping ? " 
 
 "They did not do either one or the other. My 
 
 father,, as their landlord, tried to reconcile them to 
 
 the young people, but he might have spared himself 
 
 the trouble. They never spoke to the poor girl again, 
 
 nor did they give her any money. My father gave 
 
 them a little farm at a low rent, to set them up in 
 
 a small way, but they did not live to enjoy it. She 
 
 got into a consumption, and only lived to give birth 
 
 to Pat. I dare say the drenching, and being all night in 
 
 her wet clothes, was the primary cause of it, and 
 
 she took much to heart the displeasure of her family. 
 
 Anyway, she died, and Barney never held up his 
 
 head again, but died of grief, if ever man did, thereby 
 
 falsifying a prediction of my father's, who often said 
 
 that as he had not been killed in a faction fight, or 
 
 drowned at the broken bridge, he was sure to be 
 
 hanged. The poor fellow was always reproaching 
 
 himself for having taken her from the comfort, and 
 
 pjenty of her father's house, to endure the hardship 
 
 and privation that were her lot with him. By that 
 
 time my father was dead, but knowing what he would
 
 254 TEE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 have done had he lived, I sent the infant to one of 
 the tenants^ houses to be nursed, and when he was 
 old enough took him into the house, where he re- 
 mained ever since. He is a good boy, and a smart 
 servant, but I must own has a good deal of his father's 
 hot blood and cool impudence." 
 
 '^My good friend, we must remember that we 
 were once young ourselves," interposed Father 
 O^Rafferty, ^^and so we should make allowance for 
 the light heart and high spirit of youth." 
 
 At this moment Pat himself appeared at the door, 
 telling them that " Miss Grace desired him announce 
 to the gintlemin, that herself an^ the tay wor waitin' 
 for ^em in the dhrawn' room." 
 
 It was refreshing to exchange the heated atmo- 
 sphere of the dining-room for the cool air of the plea- 
 sant drawing-room at the other side of the hall, where 
 Miss Dillon sat behind the urn, with a bright smile 
 of welcome. The windows were all open to admit 
 the soft, balmy air of an August evening, the room 
 was fragrant with fresh flowers, arranged in china 
 vases of priceless worthy and the well-appointed table, 
 with its dainty china and gleaming silver, looked so 
 bright and fresh that they felt as if suddenly trans- 
 ported into another atmosphere altogether. Every- 
 thing in the drawing-room looked so cool and pleasant,
 
 "OVER THE WALNUTS AND TEE WINE." 255 
 
 and suggestive of repose and peace. And not the 
 least pleasant thing in the room, was the young hostess 
 in her simple dress of white muslin, her only orna- 
 ments being natural flowers in her hair and in the 
 front of her dress. Though not beautiful, she was 
 young and gentle, and after all, when beauty is 
 pitted against youth, gentleness, and a gracious 
 manner, it is not always sure to come off the victor. 
 One will make itself wings, and flee away, alas ! all 
 too soon, but the charm of the others dies but with 
 life itself. 
 
 After having had some tea, the priest and Mac- 
 namara rose to go. Mr. Dillon and his son went 
 with them to the hall- door, and all four stood on the 
 steps to admire the loveliness of an August sunset. 
 
 " Good-night and good-bye, Dominic,''^ said Terry, 
 shaking hands with his host ; " I shall not see you 
 any more until you are a free man, and M.P. for the 
 county.^^ 
 
 " Bring back my boy safe and well to me, Terry, 
 and I will run chance for the rest." 
 
 Macnamara burst into a roar of laughter. 
 
 *^ That^s a good one ! " he cried, " the best joke I 
 haye heard for many a day. One would think I was 
 taking him off to lead a forlorn hope. Why, man, 
 what^s to happen him ? Look at that young giant.
 
 256 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 Father Jolm — six feet tall if he^s an inch, and his 
 father asks me to bring him back safe, as if he was 
 still a baby in long- clothes/' 
 
 '■^Musha, thin, if he isn^t aiquil to mind himself 
 this time ov day, an' take his share in a scrimmage 
 dacently/^ said Pat Flanagan, who stood in the back- 
 ground, with the freedom of a favourite serrant, '' he'll 
 be the first man ov his name that couldn't do it. 
 The first ov 'em at laste that I ever hard tell ov, 
 an' I'm livin' on the land ov Castle Cloyne, man an* 
 boy, for nigh upon four-an'-twenty years.'"*
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HOW PAT FLAXAGAN COXTRIVED TO GO TO THE ELECTION. 
 
 Lord. — Who is this forward, pestilent fellow, that thrusts 
 
 himself where he hath no right to be ? ^aiTj come up ! times 
 are changed, and things come to a pretty pass, when such as 
 he could be tolerated for a moment. An I had my will, I'd 
 make my horsewhip and his shoulders better acquainted. 
 
 Stevmrd. — Ah, my lord, content you ! He is young, and 
 youth is ever hot-blooded and malapert ; but he will acquire 
 better manners when he is a little longer in your lordship's 
 service. 
 
 Xext morning after a hasty breakfast, and before his 
 father was up, Hyacinth Dillon set out from Castle 
 Cloyne, gallantly mounted, faultlessly dressed, and in 
 all respects looking the thorough gentleman that he 
 really was. He was in th.e highest spirits, fuU of 
 pleasurable anticipations of the variety and excite- 
 ment in which he was to take such a prominent 
 pai't, and fully confident of its coming to a favourable 
 ending. 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 258 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 Mr. Dillon and his daughter sat in one of the 
 recesses of the large drawing-room windows, he 
 reading the newspaper for her, while she employed 
 herself in some needlework. They had a long, quiet 
 day before them, for all the men about the place 
 had gone off to the election^ with the exception of 
 Pat Flanagan, and an old groom who was too 
 rheumatic to take exercise_, but hung about the 
 stables,, smoking his pipe all day long, without being 
 of much use. But he was an old, faithful servant, 
 and Mr. Dillon could not bear the thought of turning 
 the poor old fellow out on the world when he was 
 almost past his work. He had just then been 
 absent for a day or two on his master^s business, 
 and was now returned. 
 
 ^' Av you plase, sir/^ said Pat, coming to the door 
 and standing with the handle in his hand. ^^Tony 
 Whigarald is outside, an^ would be glad to see your 
 honour."'^ 
 
 " And I shall be glad to see him. Send him here, 
 Patj as soon as he has had his breakfast/^ 
 
 In a short time Tony Fitzgerald made his appearance 
 in the doorway, making a profound reverence when he 
 saw Miss Dillon ; which reverence consisted in pulling 
 down his front lock of hair, and scraping the carpet 
 with his right foot.
 
 ROW PAT FLANAGAN GOT TO THE ELECTION. 259 
 
 " Have you had breakfast^ Tony ? " inqaired Grace 
 kindly. 
 
 ''^Sure enougli I have, miss; long life to you! 
 Lasbius an' lavins ; bread an' buttber, an' tay, an' 
 could mate. Saccess to Kitty MacCall ! 'tis herself 
 can handle the carvin'-knife an' fork in great style 
 intirely, an' cut a plate oy vifctles that would do your 
 heart good to see, let alone to ate. Faix, Miss GracOj 
 you couldn't be more fldhuloucli^ yourself^ at the head 
 ov the table, an' the dish out furnint you. 'Tis the 
 thruth I'm tellin' you, miss." 
 
 " I am very glad that Kitty treated you so well, 
 after year long ride this morning," said Grace, with a 
 pleasant smile. " Someone told me lately, that Kitty 
 and you were so friendly that we may be prepared for 
 a wedding in Castle Cloyne one of these days." 
 
 "You're welcome to your game, miss," said poor 
 old Tony. 
 
 ^^ But seriously, Kitty would make you an excellent 
 wife; and though I should be sorry to lose such a 
 good cook, still I would not stand in her way if she 
 got a good husband." 
 
 '•' Folly on. Miss Granua, folly on ! Fake an' sure, 
 you're a mighty pleasant young lady, so you are, God 
 
 * Fldhulouch — plentiful. 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE CEBONICLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 bless you ! '^ cried the ancient lover, with, a shamefaced 
 look that was exceedingly ludicrous, at the same time 
 delighted that Grace thought his powers of fascination 
 were still equal to captivate the heart of such a 
 blooming young woman as Kitty MacCall. 
 
 ^^ Come in, man, and sit down, and let us hear how 
 you fared on your travels," said Mr. Dillon, glad of 
 anything that would serve to break the monotony of 
 the long day that lay before him. 
 
 In obedience to this command, Tony Fitzgerald 
 -drew a chair just inside the door, and sat down on 
 its extreme edge ; for he did not think it would be 
 respectful towards Miss Dillon if he were to settle 
 himself in any more comfortable position. With his 
 old hat in one hand, and a stout blackthorn stick 
 in the other, he hemmed and cleared his throat a 
 good many times before he gave an account of 
 himself. 
 
 " Why thin, Mr. Dillon, sir, I have nothing to 
 tell you but the hoighth ov good news intirely. Ah ! 
 sure I needn^t be at the throuble ov dhrawin^ down 
 the wothers on your honour's own estate at all, for 
 ov coorse we're sure ov every man Jack ov them. I 
 wouldn't demane either you or myself be axin' any 
 wan ov ^em what way he'd wote, for all the money 
 in the Bank of Ireland, let alone all the cotton in
 
 EOW PAT FLANAGAN GOT TO THE ELECTION 261 
 
 Mancliester, wouldnH bribe wan ov them to sell the 
 pass/^ 
 
 "Well, indeed, Tony, I wouldn^t do my own 
 people such an injustice as to think any of them 
 would vote against me. I never deserved it from 
 them/' 
 
 "Sure enough, sir, you never did; there's nothing 
 at all surer than that. An' the min on the Beech 
 Hill estate will folly you to the poll, every man ov 
 'em; an' what great admiration is that, when Mr. 
 Wilson, their landlord, is to be your proposher, an' 
 his daughter to be married wan ov these days to 
 Masther Hy'cinth ? Never fear, but 'tis himself that 
 will keep a sharp eye on 'em, for fear they'd be 
 bought over by the cotton-spinner's money. Mr. 
 Wilson I mane, sir." 
 
 " Oh, I'm as sure of the Beech Hill tenants as 
 I am of my own; I'm not afraid of them at all. 
 But, Tony, the Mount Shannon men will all go, I 
 fear, with Mr. Egglestone." 
 
 " A good many ov 'em will, sir, I'm in dhread, 
 bad cess to them; but 1 gave some yellow boys to 
 the wives ov some ov 'em, on the sly, an' that gives 
 us about ten or a dozen wotes here an' there." 
 
 "But that was bribery, man," cried Mr. Dillon, 
 pretending to be much displeased.
 
 262 THE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 ^^Eyeh.! so itself, sir. Sure everything is fair 
 in love an' war, an' if we come in at tlie head ov the 
 poll, the devil may care about the bribery. Aren't 
 the other side bribin' horse an' fut, as fast as ever 
 they can pelt, an' why would we be behindhand 
 wid 'em ? We're not so poor as that we'd hould back 
 ov spindin' the money, o' purpose to plase thim/' 
 and Tony tossed his head to express great contempt 
 for '^the cotton-spinner." 
 
 At this moment Pat made his appearance once more, 
 and to the great surprise of Mr. Dillon, clad not in his 
 ordinary clothes, but in his best suit, which was never 
 worn but when he went abroad, or when there was 
 company to dinner at Castle Cloyne. He stood at the 
 door, hat in hand, and though at no time remarkable 
 for bashfulness, yet now he seemed as if trying to get 
 his courage up to a certain point. 
 
 '- What do you want ? " asked his master. 
 
 "Well, sir, I just came to tell you that I'm goin^ 
 to the election, an' to ax if your honour had any 
 commands ? " 
 
 " Going to the election ! " exclaimed Mr. Dillon in 
 the greatest amazement; "going to the election! Sir, 
 you shall do nothing of the kind. Go back to your 
 business, and let me have no more of this nonsense." 
 
 "An' who's to look afther Masther Hy'cinth, I'd
 
 BOW FAT FLANAGAN GOT TO THE ELJEGTION. 263 
 
 like to know, if I^m not there to do it ? Begorra, 'tis 
 kilt an' murdhered intirely he^ll be by tkim villyans, if 
 I'm not alongside ov bini to take bis part." 
 
 " He will do muck better without you. It is nearly 
 time to send up luncheon, and you had better go to 
 your pantry and see about it. Let me have no more 
 of your impudence.'^ 
 
 Mr. Dillon's tone and manner were so peremptory, 
 that Pat saw he had no earthly chance of getting 
 permission to set off, so he retreated without further 
 parley. But, though some time elapsed, he did not 
 return to announce luncheon as usual. 
 
 '' Oh, by the lord Harry ! the impudent rascal 
 has given us the slip, and gone oS to the election ! " 
 exclaimed Mr. Dillon in great wrath. 
 
 "Well, sir, I wouldn't put it beyant his father's 
 son to do that same,^^ said the old man, who had a 
 perfect recollection of Barney Flanagan and his 
 daring exploits. 
 
 " I hardly think that Pat would do such a foolish 
 thing," said Grace in her soft voice. 
 
 " ^Tis the very thing that he would do," cried Mr. 
 Dillon, who by this time had worked himself into a 
 great passion. "I know him well, and a greater 
 scoundrel than he is, is not on the face of the 
 earth. I often prophesied that he'd come to the
 
 264 TEE GEE0NICLE8 OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 gallows_, and tliey who will live to see it will know 
 that I took his right measure. He^s a desperate 
 blackguard ! '^ 
 
 '^Go look for Pat^ and send him here at once/^ 
 said Grace to Tony. "Tell him we are waiting for 
 luncheon." 
 
 Tony Fitzgerald obeyed at once^ very glad to 
 be dismissed, for he felt anything but at his ease 
 in Miss Dillon's drawing-room. He went to look 
 for Pat, whom he found at the gate of the back 
 entrance, whip in hand, and mounted on Mr. 
 Dillon's own horse, which was the very best animal 
 in the stables. He expected to have been able to 
 get well off before anyone would be sent in pursuit 
 of him, but now that he was caught in flagrante 
 delicto, he put on a bold face, and resolved to 
 brazen it out. 
 
 ''Arrah, where are you goin' to, man alive?" 
 demanded Tony, breathless from haste, and amazed 
 at the fellow's cool impudence. 
 
 "Pm goin' to the election. Sure you hard me 
 tellin^ as much to the masther, in the dhrawn'-room 
 within,'^ replied Pat carelessly. 
 
 "Well, an' if I did, I hard him tellin' you not 
 to do it, at your per'l. He said that, in the hearin' ov 
 my two ears.''
 
 HOW PAT FLANAGAN GOT TO THE ELECTION 265 
 
 '^Well, I hard him too. Sure the poor ould 
 gintleman was talkin^ to himself, an' av it^s the laste 
 consolation in life to him, no wan will begridge it. 
 Why would they ? " 
 
 "An^ who^s to send in lunch for himself an' 
 Miss Granua, an' attind ^em at dinner this evening 
 if you're to ride off wid yourself this a way ? " 
 
 ^' You may do it, av you like. Fake an' sure 
 there's no wan thryin' to prevent you; sorra wan 
 that I can see." 
 
 " Yarra, what div I know about attindin' quolity 
 at their vittles ? An' I have my own bisness to 
 mind." 
 
 " Oh, very well. Thin you can tell Kitty MacCall, 
 or any ov the other women in the kitchen, to do 
 it. There's enough ov them, goodness knows. But 
 don't go an' say, Tony Whigarald, when I'm gone, 
 that I didn't tell you what was right for you to do^ 
 for the short time I'll be away.'' 
 
 '^An' is it taking Tearaway, the masther's own 
 horse, you are, you young limb ov the divil ? " 
 
 '^ An' why not ? He knows me, an' no wan will 
 take as good care ov him as myself. An' now that 
 I think ov it," he added reflectively, " Tearaway is in 
 want ov a good gallop, for since the masther got 
 this last fit of the gout, the poor baste got no exercise
 
 266 THE GEB0NICLE8 OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 to signify,, an^ signs on^ lie^s gettin'' too fat. Faix, 
 Mastlier Hy'cintli said almost as much to me the 
 day before istherday/^ 
 
 "Pat Flanagan, you'll come to be hanged yet, 
 surely." 
 
 "Well, if I do, you won't break your heart o' 
 ^count of it. But all the time that I^m discoorsin' you 
 the day is goin' by, an' if I wait any longer the fun 
 will be all over when I get into the town. So good- 
 bye to you, Tony Whigarald,^' and touching the 
 horse with the whip he started off. 
 
 " Come back, you diviFs limb ! " shouted the old 
 man at the top of his voice. " Come back, I tell you 
 agin. My hand to you, Pat Flanagan, you'll sup 
 sorra for this day's work. The welcome you'll get 
 whin you come home will be your walkin' paper in 
 the heel ov your fist, see if you don't." 
 
 " Oyeh, nabocklish ! " cried the incorrigible Pat. 
 '^'Tis myself that'll be as welcome as the flowers 
 ov May to the masther, when I come home to him wid 
 my mouth full ov good news. Oh, be the tare ov 
 war ! 'tis I that'll be the white-headed boy thin wid 
 himself an' Miss Grace. *You never brought me 
 bad news, Pat, an' you're not goin' to begin now,' 
 that's what the ould gintleman will say to me, an' he
 
 BOW FAT FLANAGAN GOT TO TEE ELECTION. 267 
 
 shakin^ tlie very hand off ov me. Sorra word ov lie in 
 it, Tony Whigarald/' 
 
 " Be sed by me, Pat, an' come back.'' 
 'Take an' sure, I won't. Is it to have the 
 election goin' on, an' myself not to be in it ! Arrah, 
 get out ov my way, ould man, an' let me pass out 
 the gate." 
 
 "Well, if you're bint on goin', lave Tearaway at 
 home. If anything was to happen to that horse, 
 beyant all the other horses in the stable, the masther 
 will have your life. Oh, sorra dhrop he'll lave in 
 
 you!" 
 
 ^' An' what good would it be to go to the election 
 without I was dacently mounted ? I couldn't take 
 Masther Hy'cinth's part, nor let the people see that 
 I was own man to Mr. Dillon ov Castle Cloyne, if I 
 hadn't a good horse undher me. Is it to disgrace 
 the family you want me to do, Tony Whigarald?" 
 
 "The masther is callin' you, Pat." 
 
 "Oyeh, so let him." 
 
 " Well, if you won't come back quietly, I'll make 
 you," and Tony laid his hand on the horse's rein. 
 " Come back.'' 
 
 *' Bioul cuss !^ Clear the way out ov that, or I'll 
 
 * Dioul cuss — Devil a foot.
 
 268 THE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 ride over you. Hurroo ! '' and giving Tearaway fhe 
 spur, lie waved liis arm in triumph, wliile the horse 
 dashed off so suddenly that poor old Tony was 
 knocked down into the dirt. But that did not in 
 the least stop the career of Mr. Pat Flanagan, who 
 waved his whip over his head with a yell of exulta- 
 tion j and the horse, true to his name, tore away, 
 leaving the prostrate old groom soon far behind. 
 
 '^ I hope the foolish boy will bring the horse back 
 safe, an^ his own four bones into the bargain," said 
 poor Tony, picking himself up, having fortunately 
 sustained no greater injury than a large sprinkling 
 of dust and dirt. "^Tis thrue for the masther, he 
 has his father^s blood in him, an' he's every inch 
 ov him his father's son. He has a great sperit, 
 surely, an' sure the world knows he didn't stale that, 
 but got it where he had the best right to it. Maybe 
 'tis on a dure he'll be brought home to us, like his 
 father wanst on a time — who knows ? An' Tearaway 
 may be dhruv by him into the very thick ov the 
 rookawn, an' get his leg broke, so that he'll have to 
 be shot. An' if he do itself, what does Pat care ? " 
 And muttering these, and similar disjointed sentences, 
 the old man went into the stable to scrape the mud 
 from his clothes, before he presented himself to Mr. 
 Dillon to give an account of the affair.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE NOMINATION DAY. 
 
 Come, we'll inform them 
 
 Of our proceedings here ; in the market place 
 
 I know they do attend us. 
 
 Shakespeaue. 
 
 A LITTLE before two o^ clock on the first day of tlie 
 election, Hyacinth Dillon rode into the county 
 town in gallant array at the head of the Castle 
 Cloyne tenantry. A great number of these were 
 freeholders, prepared, as a matter of course, to 
 record their votes for their landlord; and a great 
 many more had no votes at all, but came to swell 
 the cortege and make a show for "the honour of 
 the old family.^^ They were all of them well 
 mounted, well dressed, and looking what they really 
 were, a respectable, sturdy body of yeomen, who 
 were in no degree actuated by coercion, but came 
 voluntarily to exercise their privilege on the hustings
 
 270 THE GHBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 in favour of a landlord who was well worthy of it. 
 At one side of young Dillon rode Mr. Wilson, of 
 Beech Hill, who was to be his father^s proposer, 
 and at the other was Terry Macnamara, who was 
 to second the nomination. The streets of the old 
 town were very narrow, and crowded with people, 
 consequently the cavalcade was obliged to proceed 
 very slowly on the way to the court-house, where 
 the opening of the drama was to be enacted. As 
 they rode along at walking pace, they saw that 
 the windows at each side of the street were 
 filled with spectators, mostly of the gentler sex, 
 a good many of them friends or acquaintances of 
 the three gentlemen who rode abreast at the head 
 of the cavalcade. The male portion of the spectators 
 smiled and nodded recognition to them as they passed 
 along, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, 
 and looked distractingly beautiful in the gorgeous 
 toilettes, that were all evidently got up for the occa- 
 sion. There was not a shadow of doubt as to which 
 of the candidates was the popular favourite, most 
 especially with the women of all classes. How could 
 it be otherwise, when they looked on the handsome, 
 bright-looking young fellow who represented his father, 
 and who managed his horse with much grace, though 
 his right hand was incessantly employed in raising
 
 THE NOMINATION BAY. Ill 
 
 his hat to acknowledge the vociferous welcome that 
 greeted him from every side ? If the ladies had no 
 votes, they had plenty of enthusiasm ; and, to do them 
 justice, they availed themselves of the latitude that is 
 allowed at election time, to manifest their sympathy in 
 the most unequivocal manner. Nor were the " faithful 
 commons" who thronged the streets a whit less 
 demonstrative than their betters. They shouted, they 
 flung their hats into the air, and unlike the gentry, 
 who contented themselves with silent pantomime, 
 they gave their opinions aloud pretty freely, as the 
 party from Castle Cloyne passed slowly along. 
 
 "Three cheers, boys, for the ould stock, for the 
 brave ould family, that stuck to their religion through 
 thick an' thin, an' wor always to the fore whenever 
 they wor wanted ! " 
 
 "■ Can any ov ye tell us where was the cotton man 
 an' his spinnin' jinny, when the Dillons wor fightin' 
 at the Boyne ? " 
 
 '^Ah ! sure you don't mane to forget Fontenoy, 
 where a Dillon was kilt at the head ov his regi- 
 ment?" 
 
 '^ God bless you, Masther Hy'cinth ! 'Tis yourself 
 that's the illigant fine young man, every inch ov you ; 
 an' happy is the woman that'll be able to put her 
 comehether on you.'^
 
 272 THE CEBONICLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 ^' Oh, plase goodness, lie^ll get a sonuher * yet ; an' 
 why not ? Sure he hasn't his matcli in all Ireland 
 ground." 
 
 '^ Blood alive, boys ! where's the spinnin' man at 
 all ? If he dars to show his nose liere to-day, we'll 
 sind him spinnin' back to Manchesther, to make baffity 
 at a pinny-farfching a yard." 
 
 This sally, which was evidently considered very 
 clever, was received with, a roar of laughter. 
 
 Up to this, everything had gone on well and 
 peaceably, but just as the Dillon party had arrived 
 within sight of the court-house^ the public tranquillity 
 was interrupted by a very unexpected incident. This 
 unpleasant interruption was caused by the appear- 
 ance of Mr. Pat Flanagan, who was determined to 
 exhibit both, himself and his steed to the greatest 
 possible advantage. On coming up with the party, 
 lie had prudently remained a little in the rear, as 
 he did not wish to be seen by Hyacinth, who would 
 bring him to a strict account for being there without 
 his master's permission. However, when they entered 
 the town, he knew that Hyacinth would have some- 
 thing else to do than thinking of him; and taking 
 courage from this, he pressed forward, no longer 
 
 * Somilier — A good wife.
 
 TEE NOMINATION' DAY. 273 
 
 content to remain modestly in the background. As 
 they proceeded, he got more excited by the noise 
 and uproar around, and, urged on by his own reck- 
 less vanity, he gave Tearaway the spur, just a little, 
 to excite his mettle. The horse was no way slow 
 to answer this unmistakable hint, but, as the crowd 
 was very dense, he could not get forward, and had 
 to content himself with rearing on his hind legs 
 to the terror of the people on foot, who could not. 
 get out of the way. At the side of the narrow street^, 
 just at the kerbstone, were a number of small tables 
 ranged along, and covered with apples, gingerbread, 
 and other cheap wares likely to find customers 
 among the country people. One of those tables 
 was right in front of Tearaway when he felt the 
 spur, and the old woman who sat behind it became 
 so terrified that she raised a loud cry of alarm. 
 This sudden noise, full in his ears, frightened the 
 horse, that, unable either to recede or go forward 
 through the crowd, settled the difficulty in his own 
 way by coming down on the little table with a 
 heavy crash, overturning the unfortunate old woman, 
 with her wares, into the dirt, the last being so 
 trampled by his hoofs that not a trace of their 
 original shape or substance could be discerned. 
 
 If the principal object of Pat Flanagan in coming 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 TEE CEBOmCLUS OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 to the election was to create a sensation, it must be 
 owned that tie had fully succeeded. Up to this point 
 all had been fair sailing, but now a scene of the 
 greatest uproar and confusion took place. The other 
 horses took fright, and following the example of the 
 unlucky Tearaway, reared and plunged, causing the 
 greatest alarm through the narrow, densely-packed 
 street, and it required the most dexterous manage- 
 ment on the part of their riders to keep them from 
 starting off at full gallop through the crowd. There 
 was something so ridiculously ludicrous in the whole 
 affair, that when Pat rose from the ground where he 
 had been thrown among the debris of the poor 
 huckster's little table, and caught his horse by the 
 bridle, he was greeted by ironical cheers and roars 
 of laughter from every side. High above it all, 
 however, rose the loud lamentations of the poor old 
 woman, who, more frightened than hurt, stood beside 
 the ruins of her poor stock-in-trade, and bewailed her 
 loss with a vehemence and volubility that only in- 
 creased the general amusement, without ehciting any 
 sympathy for herself^ or regret for the ruin of her 
 small wares. 
 
 '^ Oh, vo, vo ! Isn't this poor thratement for a 
 lone widda woman, that has nothing to keep the life 
 in her heart these bad times but her little industhry!^^
 
 TBE NOMINATION BAY. 275 
 
 she "bawled out in lier loudest tones. " Tliat table an' 
 wliat was on it was all I had to dipind on to get the 
 bit an' sup for the week, to say nothing ov my lodgin' 
 money, that's ninepence-ha'pinny as I'm a sinner. 
 Oh, millia murther ! I'm kilt an' ruinated horse an' 
 fut ; an' that I may never die in sin, if I have as 
 much as wan copper to buy me the bit ov tobaccy, 
 let alone the grain o' tay, to comfort my poor ould 
 heart this blessed night. Oh, yerra, neighbours ! let 
 ye all look at me, wid all I had in the wide world med 
 smithereens ov out foment ye ! " 
 
 "What do you mane, you ould rattletrap, be 
 makin' such a row for nothing at all ? " cried the 
 irrepressible Pat, in no way abashed by the conse- 
 quences of his escapade. ^'1 wouldn't give the 
 ashes out ov my pipe for all your thrumpery, if it 
 was twice as much. Err a, hould your whisht ! 
 What impidence you have, to be annoyin' the 
 gintlemin, an' they on their way to the Coort 
 House ! " 
 
 " Why thin, neighbours ! d'ye hear him ? The 
 blaggard that has me fairly murthered without 
 judge or jury, an' has the face to ballyrag me 
 af therwards ; the dirty lick-plate ! Och mavrone ! 
 I'm broke, horse an' fut ! " 
 
 Here a person in the crowd, who evidently was 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 one of the opposite party, cried with a loud voice : 
 "Down with the Dillons!'' 
 
 " An' down wid you, an' all your dirty breed ! " 
 Bhouted a man near the last speaker. " You infernal 
 ruffin ! If I hear another word, crooked or straight, 
 out of your ugly puss, I'll be afther sinding a few 
 ov your teeth ov a message down your throat." 
 
 " More power to you, Dan Murphy ! Stand 
 to your gun, man alive. Smash his nose to remind 
 him that he's to have betther manners next time; 
 an' when he looks in the glass he won't forget to 
 remimber it. Aye, in throth ! " 
 
 " Eyeh ! where would a poor excuse ov a man 
 like that, larn manners ? Sure he's only a tailor on the 
 loose for to-day,iust to sthretch his legs. There wouldn't 
 be much glory in fightin' wid the likes ov him.'' 
 
 This last sally was greeted with great laughter 
 by the crowd. 
 
 However, the tailor was not without his own 
 backers among the bystanders. Hats were pulled 
 down firmly over the brow ; sticks were flourished 
 in a way that was ominously suggestive; and there 
 was every prospect of a free fight in the narrow, 
 crowded street, which would doubtless have ended 
 with the usual amount of broken heads, only for the 
 presence of mind and savoir faire of Hyacinth
 
 THE XOMIXATIOX DAT. 277 
 
 Dillon. With his most genial Toice and winning 
 smile he called out to the old woman, and asked 
 her what was the cost of the damaged goods, pro* 
 fessing himself willing to pay her their full value. 
 
 ** Long life to your honour, sir," she replied, greatly 
 mollified. " The goods cost me half-a-crown istherday 
 night, for I had to buy 'em fresh in regard ov the 
 great hate ; but Vd be sure to double my profit, an' 
 more agin, before this day was out. An' my little table 
 an' stool that's in smithereens out foment you, Mr 
 Dillon, wor worth a couple ov shillings more ; aye, in 
 throth, if the bargain was betuue two brothers, they 
 wouldn't sell for a pinny less. That the harm ov the 
 year mayn't pass me, gintlemen dear, if it's a lie I'm 
 tellin' ye ! " 
 
 " Well, my good woman, I don't doubt you in the 
 least. I am sure you wei*e a good deal frightened; 
 but as for your furniture and wares, this, I think, will 
 pay you for their loss," And as he spoke, young 
 Dillon took a sovereign out of his pocket, and tossed 
 it towards her with a pleasant smile. 
 
 At the sight of the gold piece the poor old huckster 
 was almost stupefied from amazement. It was a long 
 time since she had known herself to be the owner of a 
 golden sovereign, a sum that, even at her own valua- 
 tion, was far more than the worth of the poor mer
 
 278 THE CEEOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYXE. 
 
 chandise slie had lost. She clutched the coin eagerly 
 in her hand, and, falling on her knees in the street, 
 poured forth her thanks for the gift, and blessings on 
 the giver, as loudly and volubly as she had before 
 bewailed the destruction of her extempore shop. 
 
 "Long life to you, Masther Hy^cinth,^' shouted 
 one of the popular party. " ^Tis yourself, surely, that 
 has the open hand an' the feelin' heart for the poor 
 an' the dissolute ! '' 
 
 "Fake an' sure, 'twas no loss to poor ould Joan 
 that she sat in the sthreet to-day, an' got that little 
 upset. 'Tis himself that's a Dillon every inch ov him, 
 an' he has their free hand, as well as their handsome 
 face. Gondhoutha.'' * 
 
 " The ould stock an' the ould blood for ever, an' 
 the ould religion to the back ov 'em." 
 
 " Soniiher to you, Masther Hy'cinth, darlin' ; what 
 you'll get yet, never fear." 
 
 "Yarra, lave off your prate, honest woman, an' 
 don't be delay in' us here all day. Make way, av 
 you plase, for the gintlemin to pass on to the Coort 
 House, where the sheriff is waitin' wid a power ov 
 compliments for the ould family ov Castle Cloyne." 
 
 Tranquillity having been restored through the tact 
 of young Dillon, the procession of which he was 
 
 * Gondhoutlia—W iihovit doubt.
 
 TEE NOMINATION DAY. 279 
 
 leader again moved on in tlie direction of the Court 
 House. In a few moments it emerged from tlie 
 narrow street into a square situated in tlie very 
 centre of the town, from which the different streets 
 branched off at the four sides. In the middle of 
 this square was the Court House. The open space 
 all round it was thronged with people, and from the 
 streets and lanes leading to it, vast numbers kept 
 pouring into it from all parts of the country. The 
 crowd was so immense that it was literally a sea of 
 heads, so densely packed together that if a pin fell, 
 it should be on some person's hat, even though the 
 hats were in perpetual motion, and kept surging and 
 swaying from side to side. They were all laughing, 
 talking, and bandying jokes from one to the other, 
 and as they saw the DiUons slowly advancing, they 
 good-humouredly tried to make way for them. 
 
 But it was not destined that the peace so lately 
 restored was to be of long duration. The fuel was 
 quite ready, and it only required a match to set it 
 in a blaze. Exactly as the Dillons arrived at the 
 Court House by one avenue, Mr. Egglestone and his 
 supporters came from the opposite side. The rival 
 parties met unfortunately in the centre of the 
 densely-crowded square. The Englishman was fully 
 as well and numerously attended as was his oppo-
 
 280 THE CEBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 nent, and his followers were of a higher and more 
 respectable class,, for the Conservative landlords had 
 rallied round him with all the authority and influence 
 that they could command. They mustered in great 
 force, partly to afford the candidate of their choice 
 all the moral support their presence could give, and 
 partly to see that their tenants, who were brought 
 up in gangs, should vote in the direction that had 
 been pointed out to them. 
 
 '^ This is very unfortunate,^'' said Mr. Wilson, of 
 Beech Hill, a grave, white-haired old gentleman, 
 reining in his horse. "I had hoped that one or 
 other of the two parties would have arrived at the 
 Court House before the other. God grant that there 
 will not be bad work here to-day ! ^' 
 
 '^ Pray don^t make yourself uneasy," said Terry 
 Macnamara coolly. "There is a strong force of 
 police here, and beyond a few cracked skulls and 
 broken bones, there will be no great harm done. 
 When things go beyond that, the police will strike inj' 
 
 '' I don't like the aspect of affairs at all,'' said 
 Mr. Wilson, shaking his head and looking very 
 grave. " I wish the business was well over, and 
 that we were all sitting down to dinner at Beech 
 Hill. Have you your men well in hand. Hyacinth^ 
 and can you depend on them to keep the peace ? "
 
 THE NOMINATION DAY. 281 
 
 ^^ There is one of them I will not answer for at 
 all, and that is the impudent scamp that caused 
 the row a while ago. My father was quite right in 
 forbidding him to come here to-day, but I suppose 
 the fellow came off without leave in the end. It is 
 just like what he would do. I was never more 
 amazed than when I saw him a few moments since, 
 and mounted too, on my father's hunter,, the very 
 best horse in the Castle Cloyne stables. Of course, 
 he stole him away without leave, for I think my 
 father would hardly lend Tearaway to me, not to 
 talk of letting Pat Flanagan ride him to the election. 
 But I promise you, that when I get home, I'll lay 
 my whip on his carcase to such good purpose, that 
 he won't be able to get on horseback for a month 
 to come." 
 
 " Three cheers for the ould family ov Castle 
 Cloyne ! " cried the audacious Pat, forgetting in his 
 excitement the wholesome fear of his young master 
 that had kept him up to this in the rear, " an' down 
 wid baffity makers an' spinnin' jinnies ! " 
 
 " Down wid the pot wallopper ! " screamed a 
 voice in the rear of Mr. Egglestone ; " an' down wid 
 the rebel Papists ! " 
 
 '^Who sould the pass to Vasey Whigarald at 
 the election of twinty-eight ?" bawled another.
 
 282 TEE CEB0WICLE8 OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 '' Fll tell you that, if you want to know. It was 
 the Tory landlords, every mother's son ov ^em/^ 
 
 " Boys, remimber yer counthry an' yer religion, 
 an' don't sell yer sowls for filthy lucre." 
 
 "Boys, don't mind this rdmash, but think ov 
 yer wives an' little childher at home, an' stand by 
 yer landlords ! " 
 
 By this time the confusion and uproar were 
 perfectly indescribable. The belligerents were no 
 longer satisfied with shouting abuse at each other, 
 but proceeded to more active measures. Very soon, 
 rotten eggs, dead kittens, and even stones and 
 brickbats were flying from side to side in blinding 
 confusion. Then the sticks were uplifted, but fortu- 
 nately owing to the density of the crowd, there 
 was not room for them to have full scope, and all 
 the mischief that was done was battering down 
 some scores of hats, and inflicting thereby some 
 black eyes and bloody noses. Shouts, yells of pain, 
 and the fiercest imprecations resounded on all sides, 
 while the closely-packed masses of people swayed 
 to and fro in the greatest excitement, like the waves 
 of a tumultuous sea. But the battle did not last 
 long, for the police, in a compact body, made their 
 appearance in a few minutes. It was not an easy 
 task for them to force their way to where the combat
 
 TEE NOMINATION DAY. 283 
 
 was raging most fiercely, but their very appearance 
 on the scene of action was sufficient. Bach party 
 was fain to recede, leaving it a drawn battle. Before 
 it was quite over, however, Mr. Egglestone was 
 struck in the cheek by a brickbat, and rushed into 
 the Court House with the blood streaming down the 
 front of his shirt. 
 
 The uproar within the Court House was almost as 
 great as it was outside in the square. It was filled 
 to suffocation almost, by a better class, but all talking 
 and shouting at the top of their lungs, so that the 
 proceedings took place for the most part in dumb 
 show. Mr. Egglestone was proposed to the electors 
 of the county as a fit and proper person to represent 
 them in the Imperial Parliament, but the noise was 
 so terrific that not a word that the gentleman who 
 proposed, or the one who seconded him said, could 
 be heard. Mr. Dillon, of Castle Cloyne, was next 
 proposed by Mr. Wilson, of Beech Hill, and his 
 nomination was seconded by Terry Macnamara, who 
 were both received with several rounds of Kentish 
 fire. Their efforts to gain a hearing met with no 
 better success, and they were obliged to sit down 
 after some moments spent in dumb show. 
 
 Then Mr. Egglestone stood up to address the 
 assembly, and was received by a perfect storm of
 
 284 TEE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 hisses, cat-callsj and similar manifestations of the 
 popular displeasure. He was as pale as marble, and 
 this was made still more apparent by the contrast 
 between the deathly hue of his face and the red 
 blood that dyed his shirt-front ; but he stood his 
 ground firmly, holding his hat in one hand, while 
 with the other he wiped away from time to time, the 
 drops that oozed out from the wound in his cheek. 
 He was told by a hundred voices to sit down, but 
 he would not do so, being fully determined to obtain 
 a hearing. After some short time spent in this sort 
 of pantomime. Father O^Rafferty, who stood at 
 Hyacinth Dillon's right hand, stepped forward and 
 addressed the people. 
 
 "Boys, fair play is a jewel, all the world over. 
 This gentleman has done nothing that should make 
 ye refuse to hear him. It is neither manly nor 
 straightforward, not to permit him to answer for 
 himself. I don't intend that ye should vote for 
 Mr. Egglestone by any means; Fd be very sorry 
 that ye did anything of the kind.'' This was said 
 in a mock whisper, and with a droll wink that set 
 everyone laughing. "But it won't do my friend 
 Dominic Dillon the least injury, or prejudice his 
 election in any way, to treat his opponent courteously 
 and fairly. And I hope that he will be so treated,
 
 THU NOMINATION BAY. 285 
 
 and get what everyone is entitled to, a fall and 
 patient hearing/^ 
 
 " Three cheers for Father O'Rafferty ! ''—this from 
 the lower end of the Court House — '"''and for his 
 sake let us listen to what this spinning-jenny man 
 has to say/' 
 
 Sufficient quiet was now established to enable 
 Mr. Egglestone to speak with some chance of being 
 heard. He was listened to in grim silence, and when 
 he was done there was a feeble attempt at a cheer, 
 made by his own party, but it soon died out. Then 
 Hyacinth Dillon, as the representative of his father — 
 who it was said was confined to his room by a very 
 severe attack of gout — came forward, to address the 
 electors on his behalf. As he stood before them bare- 
 headed, and in the flower of early manhood, graceful 
 in person, and with a face of almost feminine beauty, 
 he was received by thunders of applause, that were 
 renewed again and again. Ladies waved their hand- 
 kerchiefs from the galleries, and men flourished their 
 hats from the body of the house, in a manner scarcely 
 less enthusiastic. He, too, had to wait for some time 
 before he could obtain a hearing ; but the delay only 
 served to exhibit to greater advantage the handsome 
 young fellow who, hat in hand, and a bright smile on 
 his face, stood awaiting their pleasure. And when
 
 286 THE GEBONIGLES OF GA8TLE CLOYNE. 
 
 at last lie was allowed to speak, lie was constantly 
 interrupted by some flattering or encouraging obser- 
 vation, or by rounds of cheers, that sounded very 
 pleasantly in bis ears. 
 
 He began by apologising for tbe unavoidable 
 absence of bis fatber, which he hoped the electors 
 would not impute to indifference or disrespect to them. 
 He then modestly set forth the claims that his family 
 had on them, not forgetting to remind them of the 
 great number of his ancestors who had sacrificed so 
 much for conscience' sake in the old persecuting times. 
 
 '^ Hurrah for Fontenoy, an' for James Dillon who 
 died there at the head of his regiment ! '^ 
 
 '^Happily, the days were past," he continued, 
 " when the gentry of the country, and the flower of 
 its people, were compelled to choose between the duty 
 they owed to their religion, and their love for their 
 native land; and all Irishmen, no matter what their 
 creed or station might be, were now equal in the eye 
 of the law. None of the Dillons had a truer love for 
 religion and country than his father had, who had no 
 earthly doubt of being, through their support and 
 influence, returned by a large majority to represent 
 them in the Imperial Parliament/' 
 
 ^^ Three cheers for the old house of Castle 
 Cloyne ! ''
 
 THE NOMINATION DAY. 287 
 
 *"' Three cheers for the fighting Dillons ! " 
 
 '^ One more for the Dillon who fought at the 
 Boyne, and at Aughrim ; an' down wid the foreigner 
 an' his spinning jinny ! " 
 
 "As the day was now far gone^ he would not 
 trespass any longer on their kindness, conscious 
 as he was how very inadequately he could represent 
 his father/' 
 
 When the loud applause that followed this speech 
 had subsided, the High Sheriff called for a show of 
 hands, and nearly all present raised their hands in 
 favour of Dillon, while those who declared in favour 
 of Egglestone were very few. The latter gentleman 
 then demanded a poll, and the High Sheriff appointed 
 the earliest day allowed by the law, for it to take 
 place. The proceedings being then over for that 
 day, the people began to disperse. The rival candi- 
 dates and their friends departed on their respective 
 ways, and the Court House was left once more in 
 profound silence.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BEECH HILL. 
 
 "Le bonheur lui-meme n'esfc pas grande chose, mais les 
 avenues sont delicieuses." 
 
 Marmontel. 
 
 When the principal business of the day was overj 
 Hyacinth set out in search of Pat Flanagan, deter- 
 mined to order that worthy to return immediately 
 to Castle Cloyne^ as a very small punishment for 
 his disobedience and misconduct. Besides, he could 
 not tell what further mischief might be wrought 
 by Pat's overflowing good spirits, and exuberant 
 zeal for the honour of the family. In his heart 
 Hyacinth was not greatly displeased, for youth 
 will sympathise with youth, and " a fellow feel- 
 ing makes us wondrous kind." In his opinion 
 Pat's escapade was a fault on the right side ; but, 
 nevertheless, discipline must be observed and the 
 line drawn somewhere. But the valour of " Misther
 
 BEECH HILL. 28^ 
 
 Dillou^s own man " was blended with some small 
 share of discretion ; for as soon as lie saw that the 
 chief business of the day was over, and that the 
 immense crowd that had filled the town in the 
 morning was gradually dispersing, he prudently 
 followed that example, and took himself off, being 
 both afraid and ashamed to face his young master. 
 He was afraid, too, that if they met. Hyacinth would 
 order him at once to return with his father's hunter, 
 which was a thing that did not at all suit Pat's 
 programme. He had a cousin living within a mile 
 or two of the town, and he resolved to go off to 
 him and remain at his place until the election would 
 be over, taking of course Tearaway with him, for 
 he would not let the horse out of his own care. 
 He hoped, too, that as his young master would not 
 meet him in town during the intervening time, he 
 would think he had returned home with the horse. 
 As he said to his cousin, in the course of the evening, 
 when they were smoking their pipes together : " If 
 I let Tearaway out ov my sight, an' that anything 
 happened him, or that he was stole, o' 'count ov 
 borj-yin^ him without as much as ^ by your leave ' 
 to the masther or Masther Hy'cinth, begor, I'd have 
 nothing for it but to fly the counthry, an' make 
 for forrin parts. The divil a less ! " 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 In the cool of the afternoon, Terry Macnamara and 
 Hyacinth Dillon rode home to Beech Hill with Mr. 
 Wilson. It was a pretty place, just outside the 
 town, and its peace and repose were very welcome 
 after the noise and turmoil of the crowded town. Mr. 
 Wilson rode with them, and it was settled that his 
 house was to be their head-quarters for a few days 
 until the close of the election, as the distance to Castle 
 Cloyne was too great to permit of their returning 
 to it that evening. 
 
 Mr. Wilson, of Beech Hill — as he loved to be 
 called — was a man of large fortune, one of a class that 
 is known as les nouveaux riches. Although holding 
 himself the position of a gentleman, his family and 
 relations were all inferior in the social scale. Neither 
 he nor they could be called old gentry like the 
 Macnamaras and the Dillons, who could trace their 
 pedigree not for years, but for centuries. He did not 
 possess the luxury of ancestors, at least not any that 
 Ulster King-at-arms could take official notice of, nor 
 could he go farther back than his grandfather. For- 
 tunately, however, for himself he had had a grand- 
 father, the man from whom he derived his wealth, 
 who began life as an errand-boy, and ended it as the 
 senior partner of the house the floors of which he had 
 once swept. His son was well educated and ambitious,
 
 BEECE BILL. 291 
 
 and the grandson, wlio was a great improvement on 
 tlie other two, married into a good old county family^ 
 and, on the strength of the wife's respectability and 
 his own wealth, held his head as high as if he had 
 been descended from the Plantagenets. He was a 
 quiet kind of man, though rather pompous, and very 
 proud of his money, which he esteemed beyond 
 everything else in the world ; and this was not sur- 
 prising considering what money had done for him, 
 without aid whatever from good birth or high con- 
 nections, or brilliant intellect, which goes beyond 
 them all. Money, and money alone, had raised up 
 his family from their original obscurity, and placed 
 it in society, and on an equality with men whose 
 ancestors had come into Ireland with Strongbow, or 
 who had been lords of the soil there " when Brian 
 smote down the Danes/^ But though fully sensible 
 of the value of money, he made no ignoble use of 
 it, for he lived in good style on his own property, 
 assisted the local charities with liberality, and 
 practised a hospitality that was above criticism, 
 for it was neither mean on one side nor ostentatious 
 on the other. Respectable in his habits, and in- 
 offensive in manner and language, he was like the 
 hare in the fable, and " had many friends," as the 
 rich and prosperous are sure to have, unless they 
 
 u 2
 
 •292 TJELE CHEOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYXE. 
 
 violate good tasre or public opinion in some very 
 outrageous way. 
 
 Mr. Wilson's family consisted of only one child, 
 a daughter^ the sole heiress of his large fortune. 
 Like Grace Dillon, she was unfortunately mother- 
 less, but, unHke her, she was gifted with great 
 personal beauty. Young, lovely, and an heiress, it 
 may well be said that she had many admirers ; some 
 of them admiring her fortune, and others, with pro- 
 verbial Irish gallantry, admired her fine person still 
 more. But, with one exception, she regarded them 
 all with the greatest indifference, and that exception 
 was in favour of Hyacinth Dillon. The young heir 
 of Castle Cloyne loved the beautiful girl with all his 
 heart and soul; for him there was but one woman 
 in the world, and that woman was Caroline Wilson. 
 
 In this instance, strange to say, the course of 
 true love had hitherto run very smoothly. Those 
 two young people Hved in an enchanted palace, 
 within whose precincts summer always reigned, where 
 the flowers never faded, and where the birds^ songs 
 were a perpetual chorus of exulting joy. No serpent 
 lurked in the Eden of their love. Xo stem parent, 
 who had never loved himseK, or loved so long ago 
 that he had lost all memory of its fragrance, and 
 could not sympathise with youth, or the fresh, bright
 
 BEECH HILL. 293 
 
 hopes tliat are its priceless dower, was tliere to forbid 
 their love^ or separate them with a masterful and 
 pitiless hand. Mr. Dillon and Mr. Wilson were both 
 aware of the mntual affection of their children, and, 
 so far from opposing the engagement they had 
 entered into, they fnlly approved and sanctioned it. 
 This complaisance on the part of the two fathers 
 did not proceed altogether from pure affection for 
 their children, or anxiety to secure their happiness, 
 but from much more ambitious and worldly motives. 
 The first consideration with both was in the circum- 
 stance that the greater part of Mr. Wilson's property 
 lay side by side with that of Castle Cloyne, and that 
 the two, if joined together, would lie in a ring fence, 
 the fairest and most compact estate in the whole 
 county. The two old gentlemen were at one on 
 this point, and, after many consultations, they came 
 to the conclusion that it would be the greatest pity 
 in the world that the estates should be separated. 
 
 To be sure, there were a few minor objections, 
 but when all parties were agreed on the major 
 points, agreement in the minor ones was sure to 
 follow as a matter of course. Mr. Wilson knew 
 that the Dillons owed a great deal of money, but 
 his knowledge on the matter was rather vague, for 
 he thought they only owed some thousands, when
 
 29-4 THE CHBONIGLES OF CASTLE CLOYJ^. 
 
 in truth tlie estate of Castle Cloyne was mortgaged 
 up to its full value. Tlie large sum of ready money- 
 lie would give his daughter on her marriage would, 
 he calculated, not only clear off all the encumbrances, 
 but leave a handsome surplus sufficient to repair the 
 old house, and furnish it newly from the cellar to 
 the garret. With all the ambition of a parvenuj he 
 wished his child should marry into an old family 
 like the Dillons', whose blood was untainted, and 
 whose antecedents were faultless. The very quality 
 that he lacked himself he envied and admired in 
 them. His grandchildren would be Dillons, and with 
 the name would inherit the prestige and the grand 
 old traditions of the race. 
 
 But on his side Dominic Dillon did not regard 
 the projected marriage with unmixed complacency. 
 He felt, in truth, not a little sore and discontented 
 at the thought of his only son and his heir being 
 married to a woman whose grandfather had begun life as 
 an errand-boy, whose wealth had been made in trade, 
 and whose blood was, in his estimation, only the 
 merest puddle. Had the Wilsons a coat of arms 
 at all ? he asked himself, or if they had, where did 
 they get it, or from what respectable family did they 
 pilfer it ? Wilson was a quiet, gentlemanly man, who 
 knew how to bear himself well and prudently with
 
 BEECH HILL. 295 
 
 all classes of men, and Caroline was a beautiful^ 
 accomplished girl, and as far as he could see a good 
 girl too, but Ms son, the last Dillon of Castle Cloyne, 
 was, he thought, well entitled to marry a woman who 
 had not only money in her pocket, but good blood 
 in her veins. 
 
 All this, and much more to the same purpose, was 
 said by Mr. Dillon to his fidus Achates, Terry Mac- 
 namara, as they sat in the open window of the dining- 
 room in Castle Cloyne, one fine evening in summer. 
 Dinner was over, and there was a small round table 
 beside them, on which were two glasses of good old 
 port, and some fine ripe fruit freshly gathered. 
 
 " I can't say I think your view of the question is 
 either a good or a wise one/' said Terry, when Mr. 
 Dillon, with a rueful face, had for the twentieth time 
 gone over all his objections to the match. " Her 
 money is exactly what we are most in need of at this 
 stage of affairs, and not her blood, so that her want of 
 that commodity does not make much difference. Of 
 course it would be better if she had it; but as she 
 hasn't, there is no more to be said. We can't have 
 everything we like in this world. We can afford to do 
 without ancestors for her, when we have so many and 
 to spare on yours. Hyacinth has the blood and Caro- 
 line has the fat, and so the pair are pretty well
 
 296 THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 matched. Wilson wants to give liis daughter rank 
 and position by getting her married into an old 
 county family, and he is satisfied to pay well for 
 his ambition ; and you want to redeem the old acres, 
 and to do that you must pay too, in the sacrifice 
 of a share of your pride. Each gives what he can 
 spare, and gains all that he wants, and that, I think, 
 is a fair reasonable bargain." 
 
 ''All the same, Terry, I never would give my 
 consent to such a marriage, only that Hyacinth 
 loves the girl, and I could not bear to cross him, 
 or give him a sore heart in the beginning of his life." 
 
 '' You're about right there, and have used the 
 very best argument in favour of the match. He 
 is a fine lad, and it would be a grievous thing to 
 break his spirit or grieve his young heart on account 
 of the phantom of your absurd old family pride. 
 He is your only son ; take care not to pull the string 
 too tightly by which you still hold him in your hand. 
 You were young once yourself, Dominic, and you 
 married the woman you loved, and were very happy 
 with her. Don't, for heaven's sake, condemn your 
 son to a life less happy than was your own lot. 
 This consideration alone ought to settle the matter, 
 even if worldly prudence and sound common sense 
 were not already in the scale."
 
 BEECH HILL. 297 
 
 And it did settle it with. Mr. Dillon, though it 
 is very doubtful if lie would have consented to haul 
 down his flag so soon, had his affection for his son 
 not been seconded by the splendid dower that Miss 
 Wilson was to bring with her. Dominic Dillon was 
 no fool, although he sometimes did very foolish 
 things; and he could not but see that Terry's 
 arguments were wise and sensible. So he not only 
 gave his consent to the marriage, but he did so 
 with a good grace ; and it was arranged that it 
 should take place in another year, when the young 
 lady should have attained her majority. 
 
 On the day of the nomination there was to be 
 a large dinner-party at Beech Hill, composed for 
 the most part of those country gentlemen who had 
 come from a distance to give the support of their 
 presence to Mr. Dillon. There was not much con- 
 versation during dinner, for the guests were all too 
 hungry for anything but strict attention to the good 
 things before them. After dinner the discourse all 
 turned on the business of the election and the 
 proceedings of the morning, mixed up with some 
 local news, all of which, though very interesting 
 to the company themselves, is not of any importance 
 to the progress of this story. As soon as he could 
 do so without attracting observation. Hyacinth slipped
 
 298 THE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 out of the room,, wMcli tie could easily do as he 
 was next the door, leaving his seniors to discuss the 
 election, and make themselves comfortable over some 
 good old port and prime Cork whiskey. 
 
 Miss Wilson was not in the drawing-room when 
 he went in, but through the window he caught a 
 glimpse of her moving about among the trees out- 
 side the house. Springing through the open window, 
 he was in a moment at her side. Winding his arm 
 round her slender waist, he gently led her out of 
 sight of the dining-room windows, to where the trees 
 were more thickly massed, and the leafy screen over- 
 head made a fitting canopy for the idyll that always 
 exists on earth when that charming triad, youth, beauty, 
 and love, meet together for a brief space of time. 
 
 Caroline Wilson was a radiant blonde. In the 
 words of Tennyson, 
 
 She was divinely tall, 
 And most divinely fair. 
 
 If she was not a patrician by birth, she was certainly 
 one in appearance. It was no perversion of language 
 to call her beautiful, for she was nobly formed, with 
 a bright face crowned by an aureole of red golden 
 hair, and eyes of so deep a blue that they vied in 
 colour with the skies above them. She was, in truth, 
 very beautiful, and she knew it; for what woman
 
 BEEGR HILL. 299 
 
 that is beautiful does not know it, unless she is a fool ? 
 This knowledge made itself quite apparent in the 
 stately carriage, in the calm, proud composure with 
 which she met the admiring gaze with which strangers 
 first looked at her. She was a queen in right of 
 ^^ sovereign beauty born,^^ and required the full tribute 
 of admiration that she thought was due to the sur- 
 passing loveliness of her face and form. It had been 
 often said that Caroline's charms would be absolutely 
 perfect if she could only seem a little less conscious 
 of them, if she had about her more of the loving, 
 gentle woman, and less of the flattered beauty and 
 spoiled heiress. But Hyacinth saw no fault in his 
 idol, no flaw, however slight, in the dainty workman- 
 ship of her composition. In his eyes she was simply 
 perfect, the ^' bright particular star '' that was above 
 and beyond all other women. 
 
 Ah ! how happy they were, those two, as they 
 wandered about among the trees in the soft, sweet 
 haze of that glorious August evening ! Their future 
 promised to be as fair and cloudless as the present; 
 no cloud, not even as small as a man's hand, appeared 
 to darken the horizon that stretched itself on before 
 them serene and glad. Let age accumulate wealth, 
 and count his money-bags with ever-increasing in- 
 terest and greed, but youth and love have a gold
 
 300 TEE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 of their own far more precious, or rather they 
 possess an alchemy that turns all they touch into 
 gold ; airy, unsubstantial, fleeting, but to them price- 
 less wealth; a wealth that can neither be bought 
 nor sold, but is their own in fee. And when youth 
 and love abide in the same heart, there also is glad- 
 ness and happiness, for to be young is to enjoy, and 
 to love is to be happy. 
 
 But the August evening, though very lovely, is 
 also very short, and the fast-coming darkness as well 
 as the heavy dews warned them to retire indoors. 
 When they entered the drawing-room, where the 
 tea-table was set out waiting for its mistress, they 
 found only Mr. Wilson and Terry Macnamara playing 
 a game of backgammon at a small side-table. The 
 other guests had all gone away, soon after dinner, as 
 they lived in the country, and had long distances to 
 ride before they could reach their homes. 
 
 After tea Carohne sat down to the piano, and while 
 the two old gentlemen played their game with 
 varying success, she performed some of the fine 
 classical music of the German composers. She had 
 a good ear, correct taste, and had been most care- 
 fully taught, therefore her execution was beyond 
 what is commonly seen in an amateur. She played 
 piece after piece, and Hyacinth turned the leaves
 
 BEECH RILL. 301 
 
 of her music-book, and between each, there were 
 tender whispers and soft nothings by way of 
 interlude ; all very delightful to themselves, no doubt, 
 but which would look very silly indeed if put into 
 print. When the two old gentlemen had finished 
 playing, Caroline stood up from the piano, and closed 
 the book, while stiU the last strain of Chopin^s 
 dreamy music floated on the air. Her father, whose 
 taste lay more in vocal than in instrumental harmony, 
 asked her for a song before they separated for the 
 night, and she sat down again to the instrument, and 
 after a tender prelude she sang some English words 
 to a melancholy old Irish air. The words were quite 
 as pathetic as the air, and she rendered both with 
 much taste and feeling. It was strange that one so 
 young and joyous should have selected so sad a song, 
 but les extremes se touchent, and excess of happiness 
 often has the effect of making us thoughtful and 
 pensive, as if to remind us how transitory a thing 
 joy is, as well as to show us that there is nothing 
 bright, or glad, or lovely here below, that is not 
 darkened by the shadow and the fear that are the 
 inseparable attendants of all earthly things. 
 
 The day has waxed and waned, the night is falling, 
 
 Hushing to solemn calm the world's loud roar ; 
 But thou wilt answer to my heart's wild calling, 
 ISTo more, oh, never more !
 
 302 THE CRBOmOLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 'Eo more wilt thou be joyful in my gladness — 
 Oil loved and lost ! — as in the days of yore ; 
 And, if thou couldst not soothe, wouldst share my sadness, 
 No more, oh, never more ! 
 
 ISTo more wilt thou with tender accents bless me, 
 And on my lonely heart Love's sunshine pour, 
 Or with thy gentle, pitying hand caress me, 
 No more, oh, never more ! 
 
 Yearningly I stretch my arms above me. 
 
 As if to win thee from th' eternal shore ; 
 No more shall I be loved as thou didst love me. 
 No more, oh, never more !
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION. 
 
 With wreaths of laurel now my brows entwine, 
 • '5 . , . The victory is mine ! 
 
 Pope. 
 
 When the day fixed on by the sheriff for polling 
 the electors of the county arrived, the small old 
 town miscalled the capital was once more the scene 
 of the wildest excitement. Warned by what had 
 occurred on the day of nomination, the authorities had 
 wisely decided that the candidates and their followers 
 should make their entry into the town, not only from 
 different sides, but at different hours of the day. 
 Strong bodies of police were stationed at the out- 
 skirts, whose duty it was to enforce this order in the 
 most stringent manner. Mr. Egglestone, as he had 
 lodgings in the town, was directed to have his people 
 " to the fore '' by nine o'clock in the morning, while
 
 304 THE CEBOmCLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 tlie Dillons, wlio for tlie most part^had to come from a 
 distance, were appointed to put in their appearance at 
 ten, at which hour the polling was to commence at 
 the several booths. By this judicious arrangement 
 a collision between the opposite parties was avoided, 
 and the business of the day allowed to proceed with 
 not more than the usual amount of excitement and 
 uproar. 
 
 For an hour or two the voting was tolerably even, 
 and neither side could claim much advantage over the 
 other. This nettled the great county magnates, who 
 almost all were in favour of Mr. Egglestone, the Conser- 
 vative candidate, while the middle classes, the Catholic 
 clergy, and all whom they could influence, ranged 
 themselves on the side of Mr. Dillon. Matters went 
 on quietly enough until about noon, and then began 
 the real tug of war. The landlords, who could not en- 
 dure the thought of being defeated by the priests, 
 exerted themselves to the utmost, bringing their 
 tenants in gangs to the poll, riding at their head in 
 proud triumph, while the rear was brought up by their 
 stewards and bailiffs, who took care that no man fell 
 out of the ranks, or flinched from the task assigned to 
 him. There was very little fear, however, of much 
 overt rebellion against landlord authority, for the 
 greater number of those freeholders were only tenants
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION. 305 
 
 from year to year, and were well aware of the penalty 
 that would surely and sternly be exacted from them, if 
 they presumed to vote otherwise than as their land- 
 lords had directed. That penalty would be eviction ! 
 They would be deprived of their holdings, and they 
 and their families flung penniless on the world in 
 punishment for having obeyed their priests, rather 
 than their landlords. Some, when they came to the 
 poll, and saw the eye of their priest fixed on them, and 
 heard his warning whisper bidding them to stand by 
 the old religion and the old country, deserted their- 
 landlords,and boldly recorded their votes for Mr. Dillon,, 
 amidst the loud acclamations of the bystanders. But 
 they who had the courage to beard their landlords to 
 their teeth were not tenants at will, as may be well 
 supposed, but freeholders who held their lands 
 on lease; comfortable enough to pay their rents 
 punctually, and who could, consequently, afford them- 
 selves the luxury of giving their votes to the priest 
 instead of the landlord. But they were very few, 
 comparatively speaking, who had the courage to act 
 so independently ; and when the hour of noon pealed, 
 forth from the town clock, the tide had turned in 
 favour of Egglestone, and every moment that passed 
 increased his majority. 
 
 "This will never do," said Terry Macnamara to 
 
 VOL I. X
 
 306 THE CEBONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 Father O'Rafferty, as they stood together in one 
 of the booths. ''^The Conservatives are carrying 
 everything before them^ all along the line. Where 
 is Hyacinth ? ^' 
 
 . '^ He is haranguing a crowd from, the window of 
 his own committee-rooms/^ 
 
 '^That won't do much good now. There must 
 be stronger measures, or we are lost. The landlords 
 are going ahead of us at a slapping pace. I can^t 
 stay here any longer, but will go out to the streets, 
 where I could do more good than I can do here. 
 You can stay here and watch the voting.''^ 
 
 "I think it would be better if I were the one 
 to go into the streets/^ returned the priest. ^''111 
 run round to all the public-houses, and see who are 
 skulking there. You can take your turn when I come 
 back; but one of us must remain here to watch 
 the voters and inform our attorney of whatever 
 holes can be picked in the freeholders on the other 
 side.^' 
 
 '^ So be it/^ acquiesced Terry ; and thfe priest, 
 with a celerity that could hardly be expected in one 
 so old and so fat, was off like a shot. 
 
 This was the moment chosen by Mr. Pat Flanagan, 
 who up to this had remained in the background, to 
 make what he thought was a grand coui:>. No sooner
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION. 307 
 
 liad he seen Father O'Rafferty fairly out of the 
 booth, than he came forward with an air of great 
 importance, leading with great apparent care and 
 solicitude a feeble-looking old man, who, though the 
 weather was extremely sultry, was enveloped in a 
 large frieze ^^loody,^' and having his head and face 
 well wrapped up in a large woollen comforter. 
 
 '^ Make way there, boys, for this poor ould man, 
 that got up out ov his sick bed, an' come a long 
 distance besides, to vote for Mr. Dillon,^^ cried Pat 
 in a loud voice. 
 
 " Who are you, my man, and for whom do you 
 vote ? ^' asked Mr. Dillon^s law agent. 
 
 '^My name is Martin MacDermott, an' I come to 
 vote for my landlord, Mr. Dillon ov Castle Cloyne,'' 
 replied the man in the low weak voice of an invalid. 
 
 " Has Mr. Dillon such a tenant, and if so, is he 
 qualified to vote ? "" asked Mr. Egglestone's attorney. 
 
 Mr. Dillon's agent had his own misgivings as to 
 the real state of the case, but he kept them to 
 himself, for his business was to secure the vote, 
 not to disparage it, and an additional vote for his 
 employer when hard pressed was of great value* 
 Whether the vote was hona fides or not was no 
 affair of his. 
 
 " Undoubtedly Mr. Dillon has such a tenant, and 
 
 X 2
 
 208 TEE GHBOmGLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 in my mind, until my poor head is fairly addled from 
 thinkin'/^ said tlie weary girl with a sigh. *' But it 
 all comes to wan thing in the end." 
 
 " An' what is that, eroo ? " 
 
 " I must sell the land." 
 
 " Sell the land ! " exclaimed Mrs. Clancy in a voice 
 of the greatest consternation, and astonishment, " sell 
 the land ! Oh, queen ov Heaven ! did any wan ever 
 hear the like ? '' 
 
 ^^Tm as sorry myself, aunt, as you are, but what 
 can I do ? '' 
 
 '^ What can you do, is it ? Byeh ! what would you 
 do, but just what Fm tellin^ yo^? I^et wan ov my 
 boys manage for you till Shrovetide, an^ then marry 
 some decent, honest man, that^U have a thrifle ov 
 money. You'll have the land an' he'll have the 
 arrighidhy^ an' I'd like to know what's to prevent 
 ye both from bein' very happy together. That's what 
 you're to do, an' a good sensible thing it will be." 
 
 The poor girl sighed, and as she did so, her hand 
 came involuntarily in contact with the broken sixpence 
 that lay concealed in her bosom. 
 
 " Sell the land, inagh ! Why, Oonagh, you must 
 be cract, to think ov it even. It is the best farm on 
 
 * Arrigliidh—lsionej.
 
 A STORMY DEBATE. 209 
 
 Mr. Dillon's estate, for tlie size ov it, an' you talk ov 
 it just tlie same as if it was only a cabbage garden, or 
 an acre of bog.'' 
 
 " I'm just as fond of the place as yourself, but it is 
 in debt, an' the debt must be paid. Sure you know 
 well that Mr. Dillon must be paid his rint, an' where 
 is that to be got if I don't sell the place ? As for 
 marryin' a man just for the sake ov his money, 'tisn't 
 a thing that I could ever bring my mind to. An' well 
 as I love Ballycross, I'd far sooner sell it than sell 
 myself." 
 
 " Oh, holy Saint Bridget ! did ever any wan hear 
 the like since the world began ? Oonagh MacDermott, 
 you're out ov your mind, that what's you are, an' if 
 you don't show more sinse and raison than what 
 you're doin' now, I'll have you sint to the madhouse 
 in Limerick, until this mad fit is well taken out ov you." 
 
 Oonagh smiled at this ridiculous threat. 
 
 "You think I wouldn't do it," said Mrs. Clancy in 
 great wrath ; " see if I don't ! . It would be hard on 
 me, I own, to have people say madness was in my 
 family, in regard ov my two little girls that aren't 
 preferred yet, but I'd sooner do it than let you make 
 such a world's wondher ov yourself. Och mavrone ! 
 was there ever such a heart-scalded poor woman as 
 what I am this day ! " and covering her face with 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE CHB0NICLE8 OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 her apron, slie rocked herself back, and forward in 
 a paroxysm of the wildest grief. 
 
 "Dear aunt, I can't bear to see you irettin' 
 like this/' said Oonagh, rising, and laying her hand 
 softly on Mrs. Clancy's shoulder. " Sure if you'd 
 only hear to raison, you'd see it is the best thing 
 that I can do. I can't bear to see you so vexed, 
 but all the same, I'd like to give everyone his due, 
 an' not let any wan say he was a loser by my good, 
 honest father.-'^ 
 
 " Don't spake to me, Oonagh MacDermott ! Don't 
 come anear me, I tell you ! Oh, vo, vo ! Did I 
 ever think I'd live to see such a black, woful day ! 
 To see the splindid, fine farm, that belonged to my 
 father, an' his father before him, an' that they wor 
 so proud ov, an' the fine slated house on it that I 
 was born in, going for a song, an' I obleeged to 
 stand by, an' let it go. 'Tis for my sins, surely, that 
 I'm condimned to pass through such a fiery furnish — 
 what else ? " 
 
 Oonagh waited patiently until this burst of passion 
 would subside. When it did so after some moments, 
 she sat down again, and resumed the conversation 
 with her usual composure of manner, and gentleness 
 of voice, as if there had not been such a stormy 
 interruption to it.
 
 ^1 STORMY DEBATE. 211 
 
 " You see, aunt, there's nearly two years' rint 
 due ov the land, an' where am I to make out that 
 much money, if I don't sell it ? The masther, I own, 
 was very indulgent, an' patient wid us, but you know 
 that wouldn't go on always. He has his own calls, 
 an' he's not a rich man be no manner ov manes, 
 an' he'd have to eject me in the long run, an' so 
 I'd make nothing at all by holdin' on. Isn't it 
 betther for me to sell it, an' get something for my 
 intherest in it, an' clear my good father's name, 
 than have the sheriff come down on me, an' lave 
 me nothing at all ? '^ 
 
 '' What signifies two years' rint?" said Mrs. Clancy. 
 *"' Sure 'tis nothing but a dhrop in the ocean to Mr. 
 Dillon, an' the like ov him. He ought to remimber 
 that you are the last ov a good ould stock, that 
 lived on his ground for hundreds of years, an' that 
 it was your mother that nursed his own daughter 
 into the bargain. He'll forgive you every pinny if 
 you only go the right way to work wid him, an' 
 thin you can begin a new score wid him as fresh 
 as a daisy. He never could stand the country if 
 he threw you out on the wide world, an' you all 
 that's left afther your dacent father." 
 
 '' An' is it because I am the last afther my dacent 
 fatlier, that I'm to bring discredit on his name ? " 
 
 F 2
 
 312 TEE CHEOXICLES OF CASTLE CLOYXE. 
 
 this exploit of yours. Faith, his blackthorn stick and 
 your broad shoulders will be made better acquainted 
 than they ever were before." 
 
 " Oh, be the mortial, here he is ! '' exclaimed Pat, 
 in very genuine alarm. " Tm off; an', Mr. Macna- 
 mara dear, you needn't purtind that I was here afc 
 all." And, diving down under the arms of those 
 around him with, the dexterity of Harlequin in the 
 pantomime, he made his exit from the booth just as 
 the priest was coming in with, half-a-score of free- 
 holders, who were prevailed on by alternate threats 
 and coaxing to accompany him to record their votes 
 for the popular candidate. 
 
 Meanwhile the scene, or rather the variety of 
 scenes that took place outside in the streets, almost 
 baffle my poor powers of description. The crowd 
 there was immense, but there was no anger or 
 turbulence among the people. There was a good 
 deal of pushing and crushing, combined with a 
 noise and confusion of tongues that might well have 
 put Babel to shame, yet there was also much good 
 humour, and a spirit of rollicking fun that is not 
 to be found anywhere on earth save among an Irish 
 crowd. Pleasant jokes and witty chaff were bandied 
 about freely, and peals of laughter that were as 
 contagious as they were light-hearted, went round
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION. 313 
 
 witli scarcely any cessation. A large body of police 
 was drawn up at one side of tlie Court House, but 
 there seemed no probability that it would be re- 
 quired, while the chief officer lounged about, laughing 
 and chatting with all his acquaintances as they 
 passed up and down. 
 
 On the other side of the square, an old ballad- 
 singer, whose clothes were absolutely in tatters, 
 and whose ragged old bonnet was kept on her head 
 by a piece of strong twine, was shouting at the 
 highest pitch of her cracked voice, a doggrel soug, 
 the refrain of which gave much satisfaction : 
 
 Then success to brave O'Connell, wherever he is seen, 
 You'll know him when you see him, for he wears a shuit ov green. 
 For he gained ou]d Ireland's freedom, as I truly now declare, 
 When he won the great election, that was fought in County 
 Clare. 
 
 Not far distant was another ballad-singer, who 
 evidently was determined not to be outdone by a 
 rival of the inferior sex, for with the lungs of a 
 stentor, and a total disregard of time and tune, he was 
 roaring out a panegyric on Father Mathew, who had 
 
 Bate the sarpint whiskey 
 Out ov green Airin's isle. 
 
 Both those minstrels were apparently doing a 
 thriving trade, for with every verse they sang they
 
 314 THE ORBOmCLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 sold a dozen of ballads. Many a liand containing 
 a halfpenny was held out for one of those admired 
 compositions; and happy was he who succeeded in 
 securing one to take home, for the amusement of 
 the family circle. There was a blind fiddler mounted 
 on the steps of a gentleman's hall-door, drawing 
 sounds that could hardly be called music from the 
 strings of a battered old fiddle ; but whether it 
 was owing to the bad state of the instrument, or 
 to the want of skill in the musician, or to the 
 deafening noise that reigned around, no one could 
 tell what the tune was, or whether it was grave 
 or gay. For that matter no one seemed to care 
 one way or the other; but the poor blind man did 
 not fare the worse, for so many coppers were dropped 
 into his hat, that he might have been excused for 
 thinking his discordant strains were the music of 
 the spheres. Certainly there was no lack of music, 
 for in another direction was a highland piper, looking 
 very fierce and martial in kilt and philabeg, but 
 whose accent, the moment he spake, proclaimed 
 him to be unmistakably *' a son of the sod.^' There 
 was a Frenchman with a barrel organ, on the top 
 of which was perched a monkey, whose hideous 
 aspect and gaudy dress, joined to the demonstrative 
 gestures and foreign speech of its owner, made
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION. 315 
 
 them the centre of a group of gaping rustics. This 
 wretched animal became so terrified by the uproar 
 and the pressure of the crowd, that it broke loose^ 
 and scampered off over the heads of the people, 
 who screamed with terror or roared with laughter, 
 until it finally took refuge on the outer sill of a 
 first-floor window, from which coign of vantage it 
 looked down posturing and jabbering after the 
 uncouth fashion of all its race. It would be hard 
 to tell whether the antics of the ape, or the frantic 
 gesticulations and broken English of the poor French- 
 man, were the most absurdly ludicrous. 
 
 As a matter of course, the human voice was not 
 wanting to increase the general clamour and con- 
 fusion. It was there in every key and variety of 
 accent ; from all classes and all ages ; from the 
 shrill treble of the little street Arab, who trotted 
 about almost under the feet of the people, to the 
 deep bass of the stalwart giant ; from the mellifluous 
 brogue of the countryman, to the more reflned and 
 subdued speech of his superior in the social scale. 
 
 "I hear that the tide has turned, and that now 
 the chances are in favour of Dillon.-'^ 
 
 "I should not be surprised. The priests are 
 working shoulder to shoulder for him, and we know 
 what they can do when they are in earnest. At
 
 316 TEE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 every cost, they will have Dominic Dillon at the 
 head of the poll/^ 
 
 "For God's sake, honest man, take your elbow- 
 out ov my ribs ! '' 
 
 "Yarra! don^t be botherin' us. You think that 
 no wan is kilt but yourself.''^ 
 
 ^Tll bet six to one, that, in spite of all the 
 priests are doing, Egglestone rides the winning horse, 
 and wins in a canter.'' 
 
 " Done ! I'm as sure o£ your money as if I 
 had it in my hand; so, old fellow, you had better 
 have it handy. The Catholics will return Dillon, 
 if their priests never interfered at all. Priests and 
 people are working together now, as they have 
 always done," 
 
 '^ Bosh ! The landlords are more than a match 
 for them. They have the freeholders, and the priests 
 have the mob." 
 
 " Oh, you common basthoon ! Don't you see how 
 you're tear in' the shawl off my back ? " 
 
 "Musha, bad luck to your impidence ! What 
 a rale rooliawn you're risin' for nothing at all." 
 
 " Why, thin, peeler 'a graw machree, did you see 
 that man ov mine anywhere at all ? " 
 
 "How can I tell? Sure I don't know your 
 husband from Adam."
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION. 317 
 
 " Oh, tare an' 'ouns ! What a rale omadhawn 
 I am to stand here all day, to be shoved and scrouged, 
 as if I was only a lump ov dough; an' my supper 
 ov beautiful new praties by the fire at home waitin' 
 for me."" 
 
 "That I may never die in sin, if I had so 
 much fun in all my life before. I wouldn't miss 
 this day for the best pound note I ever shut my 
 fist on." 
 
 All this time the friends and agents of Mr. 
 Dillon had exerted themselves to such good purpose, 
 that the fortune of the day had undergone a change, 
 and that gentleman had not only come up with his 
 opponent in the several booths, but had shot ahead 
 of him with so large a majority that before the day 
 was half over his return was considered certain. 
 Slips of paper giving the exact state of the poll 
 were printed every half -hour, and circulated through 
 the crowd, who received the accounts contained with 
 great enthusiasm. At every fresh announcement 
 the people flung up their hats, shouting and yelling 
 as if they had gone mad. 
 
 At three o'clock Mr. Bgglestone, seeing that his 
 case had become desperate, withdrew from the con- 
 test. He saw that his own supporters had been 
 polled to the last man, while from all parts of the
 
 318 THE CEBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 country great numbers still were pouring in to record 
 their votes for the owner of Castle Cloyne. 
 
 No sooner was it known that Mr. Egglestone had, 
 as the phrase went, ^' thrown up the sponge/^ than 
 the excitement and exultation of the people became 
 perfectly indescribable. They cheered as the Irish 
 know how to cheer — not with the voice alone, but 
 with the heart, that broke out through it and thrilled 
 through every inflection. Round after round of 
 triumph pealed out and died away, and then burst 
 forth again and yet again, with renewed and most 
 emphatic joy. Then there was no end of hand- 
 shaking. The people were shaking hands with their 
 priests, with each other, and with everyone who would 
 shake hands with them. As for Hyacinth Dillon, 
 it was well that his hand was suffered to remain 
 attached to his body, and not wrung off altogether, 
 in the uproarious congratulations of his friends and 
 supporters. 
 
 This state of things was of course gall and worm- 
 wood to the opposite party. They could have borne 
 their defeat with more equanimity, had the rejoicing 
 over it been a little less pronounced, but the '^ lo 
 triumphe '' had been so loud and universal that it 
 actually maddened them. A growl of dissent arose, 
 low at first, but gradually increasing in force and
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION. 319 
 
 volume, with an ominous sound tliat argued ill for 
 the continuation of the good humour that had 
 hitherto prevailed among the crowd. 
 
 " Down wid the rebel Dillons ! Down wid the 
 ould Papist nest of Castle Cloyne ! " shouted a diminu- 
 tive hunchback, who was bailiff to the gentleman 
 that had proposed Mr. Egglestone. 
 
 " Erra, what's that you're say in/ you misfor- 
 tunate example ? If you spake another word, by St. 
 Pathrick, I'll make such smithereens ov that crooked 
 carcase of yours, that your own mother wouldn't 
 know you ! " cried a burly butcher, looking down 
 on the little man with eyes sparkling with rage. 
 
 " Oh haithershin ! Fake an sure, you won't do 
 anything ov the sort, while the peelers are to the 
 fore. There's law in the land, my fine fella, for you 
 an' the likes ov you, an' a quiet little corner in the 
 stone jug, where you'll get plinty ov time to get 
 cool. Arrah ! be aisy, man ; or you'll be made to 
 do it." 
 
 The big butcher made no reply, but clasping his 
 strong arms round the unfortunate hunchback, he 
 raised him from the ground bodily, and flung him 
 with great force over the heads of the people. He 
 struggled and wriggled for a moment, and then fell 
 heavily down through an opening made for him by
 
 320 THE CEBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 tlie sheer weight of his own body. He rose to his 
 feet immediately, with blood streaming down his 
 face in a copious stream; but as it was proceeding 
 from his nose, his injury was more apparent than 
 real. 
 
 "Boys, will ye stand by, an' see me kilt an' 
 murthered be that infernal ruffin ? '' he yelled, as he 
 dashed the gouts of blood aside with both hands. 
 
 " Av you^d keep a civil tongue in your head, 
 no wan would lay hand on you,^' observed a by- 
 stander. " It will tache you to let the Papists alone 
 for the futhur. 'Tis a poor case, that we have to 
 stand here to listen to a critchahawii^ ov your sort 
 ballyraggin^ us.^^ 
 
 " To hell with the Pope, an' the priests along wid 
 him ! '' bawled a man, who was the very next moment 
 felled to the ground by the brawny arm of the butcher. 
 
 The melee now became general. However, the 
 space was so confined and crowded with people, that 
 though blows were freely exchanged and sticks 
 flourished in the air, not much harm was done, but 
 the confusion and noise were dreadful. Some of the 
 gentlemen present called loudly for the police, and 
 for a magistrate to read the Eiot Act, just as a fresh 
 
 * Critchahaivn — A hunchback.
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION. 321 
 
 actor appeared upon the scene. This was Father 
 O'Rafferty, brought to the spot by the uproar, 
 and he at once proceeded to quell the tumult in a 
 fashion peculiar to himself. He rushed into the very 
 thickest of the battle, and laid on right and left, 
 on friend and foe, with his stout blackthorn cudgel, 
 with such praiseworthy impartiality and downright 
 goodwill, that he scattered the combatants as if they 
 had been so many frightened sheep. 
 
 "Take that, and that, and that ! ^^ he shouted, 
 following every word with a whack laid on with 
 all the strength of his arm. "I'm shamed an^ dis- 
 graced by ye ! 'Tis a pity not to leave ye to murder 
 one another, or be shot down by the police like mad 
 dogs ; and that I don't do it is not for your sake, 
 but for the sake of your wretched wives and children. 
 What, ye rufl&anly blackguards ! 'Tis fighting ye 
 want — no less ! Well, here I am, and I'll give ye 
 enough of it, see if I don't. Take that, and that ! '' 
 and again the stick came down with the force of a 
 sledge-hammer. 
 
 This shower of blows, well aimed and given in 
 earnest, had such good effect, that in a few moments 
 the crowd that had been so dense dissolved very 
 rapidly. They who were nearest the priest, and 
 under the immediate influence of his terrible stick, 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 TEE CHBOmCLES OF CASTLE CLOYNE. 
 
 received their castigation with wry faces and cries 
 of pain, while they who were at a distance beheld 
 the performance with shouts of laughter. What had 
 promised to be a tragedy ended by being a screaming 
 farce ! 
 
 '*" You have not done badly this time as a cham- 
 pion of the Church militant. Father John," said Terry 
 Macnamara, who had watched the scene with much 
 amusement ; " but though you are great, be merciful 
 also. The arms and backs of some of those poor 
 devils will be black and blue for a month to come, 
 after the thrashing you gave them.^^ 
 
 '^The rascals haven't had enough yet," replied 
 the priest, who, however, lowered the formidable 
 blackthorn. ^^ Their bad conduct has brought me to 
 shame ; and I was so proud of them, forsooth, and 
 boasted so much of their good behaviour ! To tell 
 the truth, they were well-behaved, and would have 
 continued so to the end, only for that miserable little 
 humpback, who began the fray. But I think he was 
 drunk." 
 
 ^'^And I am sure of it. I saw him to-day in 
 half-a-dozen public-houses, treating himself, as well 
 as others, at Mr. Egglestone's expense, and this row 
 has been the consequence. It was well you were so 
 near, otherwise there would have been bad work, 
 and the police should interfere.'^
 
 A CONTESTED ELECTION: 323 
 
 " Well, bad as I was to them, it was better for 
 them to bave to deal with my blackthorn, than with 
 the bayonets of the police.'^ 
 
 A fresh incident now occurred that diverted the 
 public attention into another channel. For some 
 days a travelling circus had been advertised to per- 
 form in the neighbourhood on the day of the election, 
 and now the horses and performers were advancing 
 up the street in grand parade. The procession was 
 headed by a high open car, painted in gaudy colours 
 and drawn by four piebald horses. A brass band, 
 braying with might and main^ occupied this car, 
 adding a good deal to the noise, though the less that 
 is said of the music the better. After this showy 
 vehicle came another, containing the " funny men " 
 of the company, wearing hideous masks, and dressed 
 most grotesquely. The cavalcade was closed by the 
 females of the troupe on horseback. On account 
 of the crowd, they had to proceed very slowly, to 
 the great delight of the people, who were delighted 
 to get gratis a good deal of the sight that should 
 be paid for by-and-by. All went on well until the 
 first car, containing the band, arrived at a part 
 of the square that opened into a back street, or 
 rather lane. From this lane a flock of geese, led 
 by a solemn-looking old gander, issued at the moment 
 the car arrived, and, with the stupidity of the race,
 
 324 THE GHBONIGLES OF CASTLE GLOYNE. 
 
 marched straight on instead of turning back on 
 to either side. Unable either to stop or recede, the 
 driver of the car, with a lofty air of contemptuous 
 indifference, drove right down on the geese. Though 
 geese saved the Capitol and city of Rome, they could 
 not save themselves in this instance, but, fluttering 
 their wings, raised such an outcry as even to drown 
 the discordant sounds of the band. The scene was 
 so full of all the elements of broad farce, so absurd, 
 so noisy, as to defy all description. When at last, 
 amidst the inextinguishable laughter of the crowd, 
 the cavalcade had swept on, it was seen that more 
 than half of the unfortunate birds were dead, and 
 the rest so maimed that they were quite worthless. 
 The poor old woman who was their owner came out 
 of the lane just in time to behold the catastrophe, 
 and her lamentations over their destruction were 
 loud and long-continued. She had good reason to 
 remember "Dillon's election," for those wretched 
 geese made all her worldly wealth. The Irish geese, 
 less wise and fortunate than their Roman predecessors, 
 instead of being honoured as the saviours of a great 
 nation, were the sport of a mob, and were crushed 
 to death under the wheels of a travelling caravan. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAELE3 DICKBN3 AKD BVANS, CBYSTAL PALACE PEE83. 
 
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