.t^:t 
 
 ^^
 
 ^ 
 
 /" 
 
 0"^
 
 V
 
 /z^:^-^:^ 
 
 THE 
 
 MAYOR OF WIND-GAP 
 
 AND 
 
 CANVASSING. 
 
 BY THE O'HARA FAMILY. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET. 
 
 183j.
 
 I 835 
 
 THE 
 
 IJ 
 ^ 
 
 MAYOR OF WIND-GAP. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 . An evening in the fine fresh month of May. 
 
 7^^ Those Ephemera called, by some anglers, the 
 May-fly, by some others the Green-Duke, 
 
 5 and bv some others, out of our country, 
 ;_S whatever they choose to call them, had emer- 
 ged in great abundance from their long im- 
 prisonment beneath the waters, and were 
 
 :! now fulfilling the purposes of their brief 
 atmospheric life. They swarmed in the slant- 
 ing sun beams, whisking their (to them) 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 ip
 
 2 THE MAYOR 
 
 long tails, and fluttered their mottled wings, 
 with such an appearance of thorough enjoy- 
 ment, that it seemed as if their new state of 
 being, was to be altogether devoted to worldly 
 revelry and thoughtless love-making. In a 
 very short time, however, after their sports, 
 the contingent and inevitable cares, to which 
 every animate atom is liable, engrossed them. 
 They settled down upon the water, from 
 which they had arisen, preparing for a voyage 
 (to them literally a voyage down the stream 
 of life) ; their wings, lately so alert, were, 
 in order to serve them as sails during that 
 voyage, soberly closed together ; and as the 
 current carried them along, they shed their 
 OV8S upon it, that a new race might be en- 
 sured, who should frolic in the May -beam 
 of the ensuing year; and their providential 
 responsibility thus discharged, they drooped 
 and died, after having been but for a few 
 hours the denizens of the breeze, which had 
 summoned them into a new existence.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 3 
 
 While these tiny creatures made their 
 short entrances and exits, the voracious 
 and gigantic trout was not an idle obsenrer 
 of some of their motions. He gulped them 
 down in scores, either in their journey up- 
 wards, from the bottom of the river, into the 
 regions of air, and while yet unfledged for 
 their airy gambols, or when subsequently 
 floating on the stream in their maternal 
 pride, he broke the water into circles, of 
 each of which the centre was a little vortex, 
 formed by him for their annihilation : nor 
 was the trout the only devourer of these 
 truly short-lived beings ; the martin, the 
 swallow, and the swift, glancing with ar- 
 rowy speed through them in mid air, or 
 over them on the river, snatched them from 
 the very hey-day of their pastimes. 
 
 It is well known to all "brothers of the 
 angle" that in this refreshing month of May, 
 when the green-duke thus sails along the 
 water, the sportsman who skilfully imitates, 
 
 b2
 
 4 THE MAYOR 
 
 and uses it, may expect to plod homeward, 
 after the dusk of the evening, with his basket 
 well laden on his back. Upon the evening- 
 then, which opens our tale, along- the banks 
 of a certain river in the south of Ireland, 
 the most skilful deceiver of the finny tribe 
 known in the parish pursued his recreation. 
 Through all his operations, this individual 
 displayed the skill of a master in his art. 
 His fishing-rod, owing to the dexterity of 
 his jerk, cut whistling through the calm air; 
 his line fell smoothly and straightly on the 
 stream, touching it even to a hair's breadth, 
 at the exact point he wished; and, a good 
 copy of the green-duke powerfully aiding 
 him, his success was equal to his adroitness ; 
 for he drew forth trout after trout, in quick 
 succession, 
 
 Maurteen Maher seemed rather an elderly 
 man, yet quite alert in all his movements. 
 He was tall and thin, with angular features, 
 a sallow complexion and a shrewd eye ; and
 
 OP WIND-GAP. 5 
 
 although many might call him ill-favoured, 
 there was something- inviting in his smile, 
 and respectable in the steady intelligence of 
 his look. The general expression of his 
 face was, however, habit of observation, and 
 a consciousness of intellectual superiority, 
 perhaps ostentatiously displayed. His grey- 
 ish well-combed hair, fell in great profusion 
 on his shoulders, yet he wore over it, — or 
 rather over half of it — a wig of three buckles; 
 his hat was very broad-brimmed; his loose 
 outside coat had an ample cape, and was 
 drawn and held tight round his waist by a 
 belt of horse-skin, which also performed the 
 duty of suspending his fishing-panier. 
 
 In the act of extracting his favourite 
 green-duke from a freshly-taken trout, Maur- 
 teen Maher suddenly bent his head down- 
 wards and listened. 
 
 " Aye, that's her own merry little laugh," 
 — he soliloquized, " and 'twould be a pity, 
 the happy heart that's in her body should
 
 6 THE MAYOR 
 
 ever know the blight of sorrow; and yet, for 
 all that, as lightly as she steps along- — and 
 no bird of spring is blither — sorrow will 
 darken over her early, if Maurteen Maher 
 does not stand her friend." 
 
 While he spoke these words slowly and 
 sententiously, the object of his sympathy 
 appeared in view. Although at the beginning 
 of his soliloquy his acute ear had distin- 
 guished her approach, by the notes of her 
 laugh, they had at the moment been hidden 
 from each other, by a sudden sinuosity of 
 the river, curving with the curve of the 
 flowery bank by which it wandered. Now, 
 as he discovered her at a distance, Maurteen 
 looked steadily towards the owner of "the 
 happy little heart," and continued talking 
 to himself: — 
 
 " The boy is at her side of a surety — and 
 tisn't the running wather, nor the May-bush 
 full of its blossom that he cares to be looking 
 on ; no — he's looking into her eyes to know
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 7 
 
 if the love is there ; and tis'nt the song of 
 the thrush nor the note of the sky-lark above 
 his head, that he's giving ear to; no — he 
 hears nothing but her silver little voice, 
 that turns all she spakes into music. She's 
 joking at him, I see : Och ! aye ; but the 
 glance she gives to him, and the smile that's 
 on her lips, don't mane to tell us that she's 
 so hard-hearted entirely. It is just the way 
 I thought it was. He's not the shape of a 
 gorsoon a girl would darken her brow at. — 
 Sure if it's a thing that a^ purty creature in 
 the bloom of her beauty makes a boy's heart 
 leap with joy, a young colleen may like the 
 lad that's comely and goes brave ; aye ; 
 that's a story of ould standing, as ould as 
 the time that Adam used to be coorting Eve. 
 Long ago : but I'll tell ye my notion ; if the 
 good luck happened that our great-grand- 
 mother. Mistress Eve, was an ugly ould 
 crature with wrinkles on her face, and no 
 teeth in her gums, — when poor Adam first
 
 8 THE MAYOR 
 
 set his eye upon her, by my g-ood troth 
 we'd be in Paradise this blessed day ; the 
 poor fool of a gardener would never be 
 ating that misfortunate apple, for an auld 
 calloch's bidding-, I'll be bound." 
 
 The persons thus commented on by Maur- 
 teen Maher, were a girl of twenty, and a youth 
 perhaps a year older, and, judging by their 
 dress, their manners, and their bearing, they 
 belonged to the better class of society. We 
 have never pretended to much talent in 
 describing female beauty ; in the present 
 instance, however, it is no difficult task to 
 say that Anny Kennedy was somewhat be- 
 low the middle stature ; of a perfect symme- 
 try of shape, with a complexion, clear, bril- 
 liant, blooming, yet free of vulgar redness — 
 
 ** The rose insensibly mingling with the lily,*' 
 
 as young ladies love to write it. It is 
 quite as easy to declare that she possessed 
 very dark eyes, of which every glance was
 
 OF WIND-GAP. V 
 
 merriment, shot through a dazzling- sunni- 
 ness — this latter quality, being softened, 
 however, by the crystal moisture in which 
 they swam ; that her lips were very red, and 
 very pouting, but not very saucily so— that 
 most tantalizing expression relieving itself 
 by an admixture of innocent playfulness ; and 
 we may add, that, anticipating her constant 
 smile, there were courier-dimples near the 
 corners of her mouth ; that in the centre 
 of her almost transparent chin there was 
 the mark — 
 
 ** Love's dimpling finger did impress ;" 
 
 that, from beneath her large-leafed, low- 
 crowned, black silk hat, her very black hair 
 fell, of course 
 
 *' In jetty ringlets on her snowy neck/' 
 
 aye, and sometimes wantoned over her 
 shoulders ; that her waist was tiny — for in 
 those days young girls (and sometimes old 
 ones too) laced themselves as tight as they 
 
 B 5
 
 10 THE MAYOR 
 
 do in our own day ; and that her little mouse- 
 like feet hid themselves in shoes of which 
 the heels were nearly three inches high, but 
 which still did not succeed in spoiling the 
 symmetry of the exceedingly pretty objects 
 they covered. We have presumed to say, that 
 there would be no difficulty in mentioning 
 these things ; but at last we own to ourselves 
 that we fail in our effort to give an idea of 
 the guileless happiness, the twinkling intel- 
 lect, the almost childish, yet full, play of 
 mind, catching merriment from every sym- 
 pathizing object, and, withal, the scarce- 
 hidden consciousness of superior beauty, 
 and the youthful avidity to exact the tri- 
 butes of its conquering influence, which 
 ran through the whole of her expression. 
 Maurteen Maher has called Anny's com- 
 panion "a gorsoon that a young colleen 
 would not darken her brow at,'* and we 
 think he was right. The lover's hair, as 
 well as his mistress's, was very dark, his
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 11 
 
 face oval, and rather pale ; his eye power- 
 ful, feeling, and of strong- manly character ; 
 his lip curving- beautifully, whether in stern- 
 ness or in smiles ; — his person finely formed. 
 — There was in his look, his air, his man- 
 ner, his most ordinary address, a depth, an 
 ardency, and yet a pathos of expression : 
 from the very manifestations of his mere 
 exterior, he seemed to be a man who felt 
 every thing intensely. — At present, even 
 under the softeninsr influence of the univer- 
 sal conqueror, — he was more self-absorbed 
 than anything else. To be sure, the inno- 
 cent lamb could not seem to be (if it ever 
 has seemed any thing it was not) more gentle 
 than he appeared to Anny ; — and under any 
 circumstance, or in the person of any other 
 animal, his equal or his inferior in the in- 
 tellectual scale, never could George Blun- 
 dell have uttered gentler, or more timid, or 
 even more slavish, sounds, than those to 
 which his handsome mouth now gave utter-
 
 12 THE MAYOR 
 
 ance ; — never could his strong eye have 
 been more moistened— more subdued — more 
 half-put-out, in fact ; and yet, it is still 
 maintained — (or rather insinuated — for we 
 do not want really to injure the boy, if we 
 can help it) — that all the time Anny was 
 thinking of him, during- these symptoms, 
 he was thinking nearly as much about him- 
 self as he was about her. Is it very new 
 to assert such a thing ? 
 
 Although Anny Kennedy loved her tam- 
 ed enthusiast, still, prompted by the hey- 
 day consciousness of her beauty and her 
 power, she sported with him. From this 
 we infer that she never reflected how fiery 
 a nature, passionate for good or evil, might 
 lie hidden under his silky mildness of de- 
 meanor towards herself. But in truth, the 
 effect upon him of her merely arch equivo- 
 cations was, could she have understood it, 
 something that she never would have pro- 
 voked. The young man hoped, and feared.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 13 
 
 doubted, and felt certain, triumphed, and 
 desponded, was raised to ecstasy, or lowered 
 to misery ; and all this so fretted and fever- 
 ed him, as to make Georg-e Blundell a very 
 incompetent person to eng-age in any other 
 matters of life, with the calmness of mind, 
 and the precision of action, necessary for 
 honourable success. 
 
 " In g-ood truth, Mr. George Blundell,** 
 said Anny, shortly before she fell under the 
 keen, though friendly, notice of Maurteen 
 Maher — and as she spoke, she gave her 
 head a little coquettish movement, that put 
 in motion the jetty curls on her ivory brow, 
 and caused to g-ambol over their loved resting- 
 place the ringlets which flowed to her neck 
 — assuming, at the same time, a mock gra- 
 vity of aspect, and yet turning- the full 
 glory of her glance upon her impatient, 
 though obsequious, victim. " In good truth, 
 Mr. George Blundell, there is something 
 questionable in your conduct."
 
 14 THE MAYOR 
 
 "Something- questionable in my conduct, 
 beautiful Anny? Good heaven, — of what 
 
 can you suspect me, unworthy of the I 
 
 mean, do you suppose I could be capable, 
 in the slightest degree, of conceiving an 
 idea of acting, in the most trifling- matter, 
 so as to g-ive you — the least reason to — " 
 
 " Reason to think that you have been 
 stringing together the most ridiculous set 
 of words I have ever listened to? So that's 
 something questionable, is it not?" — And 
 she laughed. 
 
 He, too, tried to laugh ; and, "Anny," 
 
 said he, pathetically, "dear Anny, can you 
 be serious for one minute ? " 
 
 "Serious ? no, indeed ; serious I cannot 
 be — serious I will not be ; this is not the 
 season for being serious ; for hanging down 
 the head and looking dull. No, Sir ; come 
 to me, and ask me to be serious, when the 
 sky lowers — when the rough blast shakes 
 doors and windows — when the chilly sleet
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 15 
 
 darkens the cheery sun — when our poor cat 
 
 mopes at the hearth, and my little dog lies 
 
 shivering- on his cushion— (see how he frisks 
 
 before me jiow!) — Mr. George Blundell, I 
 
 am not made to be serious while the lark is 
 
 soaring above me, filling the air and my 
 
 poor ears with his trumpet-like melody ; 
 
 while the little bubbling billows of the 
 
 stream dance jigs and country-dances to 
 
 his music, in the light of the setting sun ; 
 
 while the swallow darts by me, twittering 
 
 out his evening song ; while the fresh breeze 
 
 flirts with my cheek — " 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed George Blundell, in a 
 very long sigh — "That's a happy breeze, 
 Anny— " 
 
 " To be sure it is ! and it is so, because 
 it is not serious ; — look. Sir, look V* — and 
 she touched his arm, and pointed across the 
 river to a sloping meadow, with such sud- 
 den and fresh and true energy, that not only 
 George Blundell, but also her faithful maid
 
 16 THE MAYOR 
 
 in waiting, close behind them, started and 
 looked frightened as if something was going 
 to happen to it. 
 
 " See, how it frolics yonder, through the 
 yet green hay ! That has always pleased 
 me, for it is always seen when lovely spring 
 is at her full. Do you know, to my fancy, 
 the in-earnest breeze sometimes appears in 
 positive shape, as it skims over the tender 
 meadow — '* 
 
 "Darling Anny ! — how beautiful and 
 true every thing is when you describe it." 
 
 She laughed again most cheerily, and 
 went on — 
 
 "And do you think, Master George Blun- 
 dell, so foolishly of us female creatures, as 
 not to have known beforehand that it was 
 to make you admire me, as well as the mea- 
 dow, that I described it so beautifully and 
 true ? Look again, Sir ! — I intend to make 
 you admire me a second time, in making 
 you condescend to admire what God has
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 17 
 
 here strewn around our path, for every one's 
 admiration. See those not -serious little 
 birds, hopping and chirping from bough to 
 bough — " 
 
 " Ah !'* again sighed George Blundell, 
 *' those little birds hop and chirp from bough 
 to bough, with nature's full permission to be 
 happy ; for, Anny, all those beautiful little 
 creatures, so frolicksome in the light of this 
 May evening, are happy lovers, with their 
 beloved ones — " 
 
 " And," said Anny, " they make love 
 merrily, do they not? Can you see long 
 faces on them? or can you call their accents 
 dolorous ?" — and to this little second appeal 
 her stupid companion was so insensible that 
 he only began to muster up one of his long 
 drawTi sighs, when Anny and he, suddenly 
 turning the elbow of the bank before alluded 
 to, came almost in personal contact with 
 Maurteen Maher, and she immediately ac- 
 costed him—
 
 18 THE MAYOR 
 
 "I wish you a good evening, Maurteen." 
 
 " Cead mille beeackus ! * my purty young 
 lady, and I wish for you that seventy-seven 
 May suns, like the pleasant sun of this 
 blessed evening, may put the white blossom 
 on the thorn-bush to give you pleasure, and 
 open the flowers under your feet ; and that 
 to the last minute of the time I say, you 
 may find it in your heart to be happy on a 
 May-path." 
 
 ''I thank you," said Anny, whole-laugh- 
 ing and half- crying, for old Maurteen's 
 address had pathos in it. " I thank you 
 heartily and sincerely, my good friend." 
 
 "Don't be thanking me at all, my bloom- 
 ing daisy ; an ould man's words, be them 
 ever so civil, are could and damp to the 
 heart of the young, and the good, and the 
 comely ; but the kind salutation from the 
 handsome lips of the young, and the good, 
 
 * A hundred thousand blessings.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 19 
 
 and the comely, cheers the heart of the ould 
 man, as if he sat forenent the breeze that 
 blows from the rose-bush.'" 
 
 " On my word though, you are a very 
 gallant, poetical old man, and know how to 
 flatter to some purpose." 
 
 " When the snow and the sleet falls, my 
 purty crature, I feel the years heavy upon 
 me ; when the May shines out, they are not 
 so weighty to my shouldhers ; and the smil- 
 ing of your cheerful face, blessing upon it, 
 is as pleasant to me as the blighthest 
 May-day." 
 
 " Positively, you will turn my head, good 
 Father." 
 
 "No danger in the world of that, my 
 purty crature ; the poor head, God help it, 
 thinks it's full of wisdom ; but the heart is 
 'cuter, and makes a fool of it, for all that ; 
 aye, and your own handsome head will be 
 going on turning to the side where your 
 heart turns, this moment, if every word out 
 of my mouth was a costly jewel."
 
 20 THE MAYOR 
 
 " Why, you seem skilled in things, 
 Maurteen." 
 
 " I'd make a wager of a silver sixpence, 
 you know right well I'm spaking the sound 
 sense, purty lady ; and if the brave young 
 gentleman who has won the prize, does'nt 
 jump sky-high for his fortune, Mastha ! 
 he's an ouldher man nor I am." 
 
 As Maurteen Maher said this, he glanced 
 archly at George Blundell, and, before the 
 blush had passed from Anny's face, the 
 angler cried out in the utmost ecstasy — "I'm 
 in him ! — I'm in him, your sowl ! — I'm in 
 him !" 
 
 Himself and the reel of his fishing-rod 
 seemed to have been seized with a sudden 
 frenzy ; the latter whizzed violently, as it 
 spun round and round, apparently of its 
 own accord, and its handle revolved so ra- 
 pidly that its motion was scarce percep- 
 tible ; and at the same instant Maurteen 
 Maher ran eagerly along the bank of the
 
 OF WI^D-GAP. 21 
 
 river, his distended eyes fixed on the water ; 
 anon he stopped suddenly, hurried back the 
 way he had come, then down again, then 
 up again, every muscle of his face and 
 person in twitching- motion. 
 
 Anny, who had never before seen an 
 angler engaged in the crisis of his sport, 
 thought Maurteen mad — poetical she had 
 before deemed him. Shortly after, she saw 
 a tish spring many feet out of the water, 
 near the opposite bank, and vaguely conjec- 
 tured that there must be some sympathy 
 between it and her late flatterer ; for Maur- 
 teen jumped high too, crying out in the 
 
 greatest glee — 
 
 ''A sieve-maker! by my conscience — a 
 
 sieve- maker, every inch of him !" 
 
 George Blundell, occasionally an angler 
 himself, knew more of those proceedings 
 than did his fair mistress, and, to her 
 increased astonishment, sympathised with 
 them. Hurrying to his brother of the art.
 
 22 THE MAYOR 
 
 he snatched the landing'-net out of his left 
 hand, ran after him as he ran up and down, 
 here and there — and with bent body and 
 eager eye, prepared to raise the trout from 
 its native element. The poor victim of 
 Maurteen's May-duke, while its strength 
 continued equal to its fright, fluttered or 
 darted through the river ; gradually ex- 
 hausted and passive, it opposed little resist- 
 ance to its captor's cautious effort to wheel 
 it nearer and nearer, till at length, quite 
 weary, and now lying close under him, it 
 seemed to invite George Blundell to put 
 forth the net. 
 
 " Be sure of what you are about V com- 
 manded Maurteen loudly. " Make no 
 plunges at him ! — Have a care there ! — have 
 a care, I bid ye !— Would he be off again ?— 
 troth, and I'll take care he shan't if I can 
 help it— Now he comes— have a caution 
 what you're at !— here he is, like a May- 
 IfQj — dip the net — dip it under him, I say —
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 23 
 
 no plunging at him — blur-an-ages ! if I lose 
 this sieve-maker by your botching-, I could 
 find it in my heart to sthrike you ! — aisy 
 now— aisy! — watch your work now, I tell 
 you ! — now — now — that's it V — and George 
 Blundell succeeded in getting into the net 
 he held a fine trout of five pounds' weight. 
 
 Anny approached as Maurteen Maher 
 flung the now^ lifeless fish on the grass ; — 
 " the beautiful creature ! the poor innocent 
 thing !" she cried. "Oh! how cruel is your 
 sport, good man." 
 
 " The poor innocent thing you call 
 him, my purty lady ? I never met a greater 
 rogue of a sieve-maker, since I first wetted 
 a line. Did ye mind how he strove by main 
 force to get me round that stump and make 
 geomethries of me ?" 
 
 '' To get you round a stump, and make 
 geometries of you ?" asked Anny. " Now, 
 that's something more abstruse than geo- 
 metry itself, to poor me/'
 
 24 THE MAYOR 
 
 " He means, Anny/' said George Blun- 
 dell, " that the fish, by his doublings and 
 twinings, had nearly fastened his line to the 
 stump of a tree ; which event, had it really 
 occurred, must have caused the line to snap, 
 and the trout to escape.'* 
 
 "I wish from my heart it had so happen- 
 ed,'' said Anny. " He calls it by a ridicu- 
 lous kind of name, a sieve-maker, I think — 
 I should suppose that means a large trout?'' 
 " And a large trout it is, Anny. But I 
 will explain our friend's terms to you, for 
 I have learned the vocabulary of the neigh- 
 bouring anglers. Once upon a time, a per- 
 son who followed the trade of a sieve-maker 
 was remarkably fortunate in taking the 
 largest fish on the river, and since his im- 
 mortal day, his professional name is given 
 to all trouts of an unusual size." 
 
 " You tould me, purty lady," resumed 
 Maurteen Maher, "that I have a cruel way 
 of divarting myself; now it's mighty plain
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 25 
 
 to know that a good throut, Avith a big body 
 and a little head, a broad back, and spots 
 on his side as wide as half-crown pieces, 
 makes very good food for poor christians ; 
 and besides, little and big as they all are 
 together, they were all bred and born and 
 brought up in this river for people to ate ; 
 and, moreover agin ; all living things make 
 out their life by ating one another, barring 
 they'd be sheep or cows, or bastes of that 
 sort ; and ice ate them that ate only the 
 grass ; and, as harmless as you take that 
 fish to be, there's more than two good hun- 
 dred of flies in his craw this moment, and 
 he swallowed them down alive as they sail- 
 ed on the w ather ; and, hearken to me ; he 
 was like many of this world's rogues, 
 enough would'nt satisfy him, but he must 
 be greedy for more—and so he thought to 
 plundher me of my poor May-duke; never 
 dhramin' that he'd swallow^ the hook along 
 with it." 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 THE MAYOR 
 
 " And these little things tied to your 
 line, you call them flies ? " said Anny. 
 
 " I call that tail-fly my desthroyer, purty 
 lady; that middle one my tongue-tickler; 
 and the next to that agin, my snout- 
 snapper." 
 
 Anny was engaged examining these 
 oddly named baits, when, at a little distance 
 down the river, where the rapid which rip- 
 pled by them terminated in a deep, still 
 pool, a heavy plunge was heard. A ragged 
 young urchin had ascended a tree which 
 overhung the Avater ; the branch on which 
 he would make an excursion snapped across, 
 and headlong downwards he was precipitat- 
 ed, shrieking vigorously as he fell. George 
 Blundell darted to the spot. On his arri- 
 val at the faithless tree, the boy was beat- 
 ing the water with his arms, gasping, and 
 at intervals, still crying out piteously — 
 suddenly, the water whirled round him, 
 and he disappeared beneath it. George
 
 OF TMND-GAP 27 
 
 only waited to pull off his coat and shoes, 
 and then dashed in. As he reached the 
 still circling surface of the spot where the 
 boy had sunk, the drowning creature sud- 
 denly emerged close to him, and at once 
 grappled with his self-destined preserver. 
 
 ''Knock him from you, or ye're both 
 lost ! '" shouted Maurteen Maher, from the 
 bank immediately above them, whither he 
 had followed, with the trembling Anny, and 
 her hand - clapping, and loud - screaming 
 attendant. 
 
 George Blundell was evidently conscious 
 of his danger ; he used every effort to dis- 
 engage himself; he succeeded in freeing 
 the ^^Tist which had been particularly seiz- 
 ed upon ; but, as the desperate boy again 
 was sinking, he locked his arms firmly 
 around the young man's legs ; and the sen- 
 sation produced by the act was terrible to 
 George Blundell. He felt himself dragged 
 downwards to his death ; he struggled with 
 
 c2
 
 28 THE MAYOR 
 
 all his force, but in vain ; the despairing 
 g-rasp still clutched him, like a paralysis — 
 he was sinking- rapidly : a cry of horror 
 escaped him — down, down he was drag-- 
 ged — he turned his look towards the 
 bank ; he caught a vague vision of Anny 
 stretching- her arms towards him ; in ano- 
 ther instant, he was lost to her view, and 
 he did not hear the low gurgling- shriek 
 which escaped his hitherto coquetting- mis- 
 tress. The water of the deep pool for an 
 instant quivered over him, and then settled 
 into its usual placid stillness, as if lyingly 
 innocent of the doom it had occasioned. 
 
 Scream after scream had burst from Anny, 
 and now she became at once motionless and 
 silent. The surface of the water was again 
 broken ; her lover appeared above it ; she 
 shouted out his name ; he looked hastily 
 and wildly around him ; he fixed his eyes 
 more meaningly upon her ; he waved his 
 right hand towards her, and dived down-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 29 
 
 wards, a second time disappearing-, but now 
 voluntarily, from her eyes. 
 
 Again she looked on the unbroken water 
 without uttering a sound. George almost 
 immediately re-emerged, squeezing tightly 
 to him, with one arm, the stiffened body of 
 the boy ; while with the other he struck 
 feebly for the bank. He reached it, how- 
 ever, safely. Old Maurteen Maher, bend- 
 ing down from its edge, lifted up, with 
 difficulty, the prize which his young friend 
 extended towards him. George himself 
 wearily scrambled to the green sod, and 
 there sunk down exhausted. Anny sprung 
 to his side ; knelt over him, rubbed his cold 
 and languid hands, and his cold forehead, and 
 pallid cheeks, nay, even kissed his forehead, 
 and, laughing and crying together, called 
 him "her own George, her own dear George,'" 
 and at last, " her own dear, dear, and dearest 
 George," and asked him to live, and " to live 
 for her sake ;" and, as the young man became
 
 30 THE MAYOR 
 
 feebler, she repeated these expressions again 
 and again in his ears ; now unconsciously- 
 resting on her knee his drooping, and in- 
 deed, his very dripping, head. He certainly 
 did not hear her first words ; but we half 
 suspect that George Blundell imitated in- 
 sensibility for a little time, after he had com- 
 prehended her repetitions of them. At all 
 events, he at last opened his eyes. Anny's 
 little hand touched his cheeks, and her 
 warm living tears dropped upon his chil- 
 led and half-dead face. He turned his eyes 
 to hers, and, in the idiom of a true young 
 Irish lover, of his years and time, said — 
 
 " Ever and ever, blessed be this evening ! 
 for it hears Anny tell me that she loves me ! " 
 Although blushing to the utmost tint of 
 a blush, Anny bent her lips to his ear, and 
 calling him brave, and benevolent, and 
 charitable, and generous, with many other 
 flattering epithets, repeated her assurances 
 of affection.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 31 
 
 George Blundell bounded to his feet, a 
 much more happy man than he had been 
 before he was half drowned. The birds he 
 had so lately envied for their "hopping" 
 and chirping," and so forth, he now seemed 
 to despise, by the superlative hopping and 
 chirping, and so forth way, in which he 
 walked homewards by the side of Anny 
 Kennedy. We wish to give a somewhat 
 more manly impression of the youth. 
 He felt that he had successfully ventured 
 his own life, to save that of a very 
 humble and insignificant human creature, 
 and this conviction did add elasticity to 
 his limbs, and triumphant brightness to 
 his eye. 
 
 Maurteen Maher, with the little tatter- 
 demalion in his arms, now also reviving as 
 well as he could, slowly advanced to the 
 young pair, and addressed them : 
 
 " May the good God give you his bless- 
 ing this evening, young gentleman ! you
 
 32 THE MAYOI 
 
 have a brave and a feeling heart — it will 
 never pass from my mind that I saw you 
 rising from the jaws of death, and then 
 diving into them again, of your own accord, 
 because you would not save yourself alone, 
 and lave this little crature to lie stiff on 
 the bottom of the river. He is the son of 
 a neighbour of mine — of one that's dearer 
 than a neighbour ; he left his home with me 
 this evening, to play at my side ; and I 
 b'leve I forgot him, when I hooked the sieve- 
 maker ; and t' would be a woful tale for me 
 to tell, among the people that love him, that 
 I left him a corpse under the water ; — I 
 strolled down here, this evening, may be, 
 to have an eye on you both, as well as to 
 thry the luck o'the Green-Duke ; and, may 
 be, for my own reasons. I had a regard 
 for one and the other of you, beforehand ; 
 but, from this evening out, I'll sthrive to be 
 your friend agin' the world. I won't put 
 the chill upon your young sperrits, by say-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 33 
 
 ing- that there's a danger upon your road ; 
 but if mischief or ill-fortune ever overtakes 
 you — listen to me : — at the very time you 
 want a helpin' hand, then bring- to your 
 minds the ould Fisherman you met here 
 this May-evening" ; and ye may have worse 
 friends, or ye may have as thrue friends, 
 but less able to do ye a sarvice, than Maur- 
 teen Maher, the Mayor of Wind-gap." 
 
 c 5
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In our first adventure before the awful world 
 of literature, we attempted a description of 
 the appearance, at some little distance, of a 
 certain city in Ireland, as seen by two mys- 
 tified lovers from a hill-side, early on a 
 summer morning. We wonder, does any 
 one now remember that sketch ? we wonder, 
 should we be able to try it, once again, 
 merely, as before, from our recollections of 
 a beloved place and prospect, even without 
 recurrence to any former attempt ? suppress- 
 ing, at present, the name of the city, we
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 35 
 
 wonder, will any one recognize in our 
 second outline, a likeness to our first ? We 
 wonder, too, have some ten long years, and 
 not all of them very happy ones, dimmed, 
 in memory's mirror, any of the chief fea- 
 tures of our dear, dear scenery ; and, above 
 all things, we wonder, will any living crea- 
 tures, but ourselves, go to the trouble of 
 making any comparison on the subject? At 
 all events, we hereby venture the experi- 
 ment, changing, for certain reasons, our 
 point of sight, yet in so unimportant a de- 
 gree that no considerable omission of ours, 
 should any such occur, can, on that account 
 be excused. 
 
 The two lovers, for whose particular 
 gratification we made our first picture, sat, 
 as has been observed, on a hill-side, which 
 fully commanded a view of the reality 
 sketched for them. We now ascend the 
 brow of that hill, almost in a straight line 
 from them; pass, by a stepping-stile, a
 
 36 THE MAYOR 
 
 wall which bounds it, and arrive on a road, 
 which, running down precipitously before 
 us, was, at the time of our present tale, 
 although it is now superseded by a more 
 level one, the only entrance from the me- 
 tropolis into our city. 
 
 The river is seen, a depth below, its 
 first appearance that of a darkened mir- 
 ror ; beyond, and high above it, towers 
 an old feudal edifice, almost of princely 
 structure, and in perfect preservation ; but 
 upon this feature, nearly the first in our 
 landscape, we cannot assure ourselves of 
 proving- perfectly true to an Irish tourist of 
 the present day and hour ; for we are told 
 that people have been pulling- down our 
 venerable old castle, and rebuilding-, or re- 
 modelling* it in some new fangled way or 
 other ; to our left, however, about fifty- 
 five years ago, it elevates, over a high pa- 
 rapet wall, and from green and glady lawns 
 higher still than that, its unique and sober-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 37 
 
 tinted front, flinging on the dim water the 
 subdued reflections of its bulk, and of its sur- 
 rounding- foliage and grounds ; — the gentle 
 stream, stealing and disappearing to our 
 right, round a grassy promontory, studded 
 with beautiful trees. The placid smoothness 
 of the river is formed, in this place, by a 
 semicircular weir over which the water 
 now comes towards you, first, with a slight 
 fall, then foaming, then Jess rudely broken, 
 and at last, again subsiding into a glassy 
 stillness, which reflects the sunny sky ; but 
 it is a second time obstructed by a barrier 
 similar to the former one, and hurries out 
 of your view, in noise, bubble and confu- 
 sion. The blue-slated houses of the town 
 are directly before the eye ; the mono- 
 tony of their appearance taken away by that 
 of the luxuriant foliage, in which they 
 seem embowered ; and the elegant, though 
 fantastic cupola of the town-house, the 
 steeple, (now a taper spire,) of the prin-
 
 38 
 
 THE MAYOR 
 
 cipal church, and the mitred and ivy- 
 covered castles of ruined monasteries 
 rising- up over them, or among- them, fur- 
 ther and peculiarly relieve the naked 
 idea of a mere ordinary haunt of men. 
 Our feudal building bounds, as has been said, 
 our picture to the left ; an old cathedral, 
 with its adjacent mysterious round tower, 
 both peering high above clumps of noble 
 lime-trees, performs the same office to the 
 right ; and then the sloping meadow land 
 rising to you from the near bank of the 
 river, and in the month of May, always 
 adorned with hedge-rows of flowery thorn ; 
 the cultivated grounds ascending and ex- 
 tending on all sides of the valley, through 
 which wanders our lovely river ; and the 
 frame-like line of hills, that surround almost 
 the whole of the view, some near and dis- 
 tinct, some more remote and misty, and 
 others, at a great distance, towering into 
 bold blue mountains— This is our promised
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 39 
 
 sketch, from memory. From treacherous me- 
 mory — now fast beginning" to refuse— (we are 
 sure of it, after our vague attempt,) to do jus- 
 tice, even a general justice, to those features 
 of places where childhood has run riot and 
 happy, which youth has observed and appre- 
 ciated with poetical fondness, and which con- 
 tain spots where moulder hearts of love 
 and goodness, and gentleness — the hearts 
 of old ! — ah, dreamy life ! — ah, dreamy, 
 dreary, life ! 
 
 But, to our business. The brow of this 
 steep descent of road, upon which we have 
 been standing, certainly commanded the 
 most attractive view of our city. This is 
 one eulogy for it. But every thing, in this 
 imperfect world, has its advantages and its 
 disadvantages ; and we cannot praise our 
 point of sight on another account. It was, 
 in truth, a very uncomfortable spot to live 
 upon, during the rougher seasons of the
 
 40 THE MAYOR 
 
 year. No matter from what point of the com- 
 pass the wind blew, whether from the gloomy 
 south, hurrying- along- with it the black rack, 
 sur-charged with vapour and rain ; or from 
 the boisterous north, whirling before it 
 sleet, or hail, or frost ; or from the pinching 
 east, scattering the snow-flake ; or from the 
 south-w est, sputtering forth a hurricane ; it 
 was all the same. Every blast was sure to 
 avail itself of this passage into the town, 
 and hence the place obtained the appellation 
 of the Wind-gap ; a name it still holds, 
 and must retain, until the various currents 
 of air cease to whistle, to howl, to puff* and 
 to bluster, from each nook and corner of 
 the earth's atmosphere. 
 
 Uninviting, however, as the situation 
 may appear, a range of thatched houses, 
 stretched up and over the ascending road ; 
 and, at the time of which we speak, in 
 greater numbers than even at the present day. 
 Why very sensible people should have chosen
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 41 
 
 Wind-gap as an abode, we are not exactly 
 aware. Perhaps they were Avilling to set off 
 the salubrity of their air, during some parts 
 of the year, against its roughness during 
 others. However this may be, the inhabit- 
 ants of Wind-gap Avere attached to their 
 boisterous suburb ; they even boasted that 
 it conferred the rare gift of longevity ; for 
 if their blasts chilled, they also braced ; 
 and, indeed, the place could number more 
 aged inhabitants than any other outlet, 
 even of a city proverbial for " air without 
 fog.'' 
 
 But the winter had now gone by ; 
 the spring too, had passed over, and mid- 
 summer was shedding its full effulgence on 
 the good people of Wind-gap ; and this 
 latter is the time of the year at which we 
 choose to make the reader better acquainted 
 with the more important personages among 
 them. 
 
 It was the eve of the twenty-fourth of
 
 42 THE MAYOR 
 
 June, about fifty - five years ago. All 
 Irish readers pretty well know that it has 
 been the practice, time immemorial, of the 
 humbler classes, to kindle, upon this night, 
 bonfires throughout the country. We have 
 read many learned discussions touching the 
 origin of this custom ; notwithstanding 
 which, and contrary indeed to the nature of 
 the theme, or at least, of its object, we 
 have been left as much in the dark as ever. 
 Whether the lighting of bonfires on St. 
 John's Eve be a remnant of Pagan rites, 
 by which our ancestors sacrificed to the 
 palpable deity of the earth, the dispenser 
 of light and heat ; or whether it be a 
 custom of more recent origin, we hon- 
 estly admit, we cannot say ; nor shall 
 we pause to submit any grave and erring 
 surmises on the matter ; the people them- 
 selves, who are the actual incendiaries on 
 those occasions, can give no rational 
 account of the meaning of what they do.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 43 
 
 The unexplained practice is, while we 
 write, lamentably fallen into decay, like 
 many similar and even more intelligible 
 ones — but the bonfires of the twenty-third 
 of June 1779, in and around our city, blazed 
 merrily and in great numbers. To whatever 
 point of the suburbs, or of the distant coun- 
 try, the citizen turned his glance ; along 
 the high road, or at the corner of cross 
 roads, or in the bottoms of the remote val- 
 leys, or upon the bosoms of still more 
 distant hills, columns of flame arose ; and 
 even in the streets of his town, the houses 
 seemed red-hot, from the flaming upon them 
 of vast fires, composed of furze, cows' horns, 
 bones, tar-barrels, sugar-barrels, trunks or 
 branches of trees, and all other combustibles 
 that could not be called staple consumption 
 for the thrifty domestic hearth of the place. 
 So, within and without, and far, far be- 
 yond our dear city, all was rejoicing glare ; 
 but to the honour of Wind-gap, be it re-
 
 "^^ THE MAYOR 
 
 corded, the bonfire upon its height was 
 brilliant beyond comparison ; and honour, 
 indeed, its inhabitants expected, and re- 
 ceived, from the circumstance ; a reflected 
 glory proportioned to the magnificence of 
 their conflag-ration. Many battles had been 
 fought between "the boys of Wind-gap," 
 (and the elderly men were termed boys, 
 along- ^^ith the rest,) and other boys of 
 other outlets, for necessary materials. In 
 all such rencounters, the former had been 
 victors, dragging- up with shouts of victory, 
 to the top-most point of their high ground, 
 abundance of every thing required for a 
 bonfire of gigantic dimensions. 
 
 The long-wished-for evening fell. The 
 pile was heaped, the brand was applied to 
 it, and as its flames shot up, " even into the 
 shkie," young and old, man and woman, 
 maid and widow, boy and girl, and child 
 of each sex, sent after it a cloud-cleaving 
 shout of exultation.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 45 
 
 iVt this crisis of the mystical festivity, a 
 fellow, uncoiithly swathed from his neck to 
 his heels in twisted straw ropes, wearing a 
 ridiculous mask, and wielding a stick, with 
 a puffed bladder tied to its extremity, flapped 
 and banged his way through the truly motley 
 crowd with as much agility as his cumbrous 
 clothing would permit ; indeed he resembled 
 a great half-tamed dancing bear. He was 
 followed by another man of proportions as 
 muscular as his own, fantastically dressed in 
 female attire, also wearing a foolishly ter- 
 rific mask, and armed in the same manner 
 as his supposed protector. This absurd 
 pair dashed through the shouting throng, 
 dealing indiscriminately their blows on every 
 head, which blows, like the words of a loudly 
 babbling tongue, were more noisy than mis- 
 chievous. The people, however, half of their 
 own accord, ran here and there, pursued by 
 their two grotesque sergeants at arms, until 
 the active police of Tv ind-gap had ranged
 
 46 THE MAYOR 
 
 them to their satisfaction. After a little 
 time, order was restored and the proceedings 
 of the night went forward with ojQftcial re- 
 gularity. 
 
 j\.t one side, where aline of temporary 
 benches covered with green sods had been 
 erected for the occasion, sat the more aged 
 portion of the men of Wind-gap. Squatted 
 on the ground below them, were ranged, 
 dressed in their best high-cawled caps, and 
 holiday garments, the as elderly females of 
 the principality. Half-a-dozen of sycanxore 
 chairs, placed near to the benches, were oc- 
 cupied by as many grey-headed, sage-looking 
 and very old men ; and opposite to those 
 gathered the promiscuous group of every 
 inferior age or degree (for age meant degree) 
 of the dwellers of the place. 
 
 The foolish fellow armoured in straw, and 
 the swaggering unfeminine would-be female, 
 his companion, strided up and down, pum- 
 melling all who did not assume, at least.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 47 
 
 attitudes and faces of the required gravity ; 
 at the same time that their own grotesque 
 tricks abundantly caused the loud merri- 
 ment they affected to discountenance. The 
 glare of the bonfire shot in between the 
 seated old men and women and the con- 
 fronting throngs, so that the faces of all 
 glowed like heated metal, while their backs 
 remained in black shadow. 
 
 The mumming fool in straw approached 
 the old men seated on the chairs, flourished 
 his stick with its appendage, struck the 
 latter against the ground, and attempted a 
 few unwieldy movements. An aged man 
 arose and came forward : — 
 
 " Neighbours all, both the ould and the 
 young o'ye, listen to the words from my 
 mouth. The fire is blazing for the mid- 
 summer ; the eve of St. John's day is come 
 round to us agin, praise be given above 
 for the blessin' of another year ; and we are 
 behouldin' to choose a Mayor of ^Tind-gap,
 
 48 THE MAYOR 
 
 for the year that's afore us. Fifteen mid- 
 summer nights are come and gone since the 
 same man first had the Mayorship of rule 
 and sway over us ; and to this hour he has 
 kept the pace an' the christian good-will 
 inside ourdours, and outside our thrasholds; 
 quashing- down scrimmages, and 'ructions, 
 an' makin' a settlement of all our quarrels, 
 an' keepin' us out of the law of the town 
 below there, that might bring the * Meeroch 
 on us, if we had any thing to do with it. 
 Honest neighbours, that hearken to me, 
 my word goes for it, that a more honester 
 or a more worshipfuller Mayor, nor Maur- 
 teen Maher, could'nt hould the sway on 
 Wind-gap." 
 
 Like other reporters of popular oratory, 
 we might have broken up this speech with 
 many parenthetical cheers ; for the spokes- 
 man and his subject are as much favourites 
 
 Ill-luck.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 49 
 
 of ours as any other public speaker ever 
 has been, in the eyes of our brethren. We 
 think, however, that we have better manag^ed, 
 and that we now show more real art by 
 keeping our whole volley of hurrahs for the 
 close of the oration; and by declaring; in 
 strict truth, that the air was rent, after our 
 friend sat down, with shouts of every calibre. 
 The next instant Maurteen Maher was 
 re-elected mayor, as popes are sometimes 
 chosen, by acclamation. 
 
 Maurteen had been seated on one of the 
 sycamore chairs before spoken of; he now 
 stood up; the oldest man of the assem- 
 bly, one indeed almost bent double with age, 
 came to his side, and placed a long- osier 
 
 wand, peeled white, in his worship's right 
 hand. 
 
 " Will you make promise before the neigh- 
 bours to be the honest, fair judge among us, 
 and to dale out the thrue justice on Wind- 
 gap hill?" queried his ancient installer. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE MAYOR 
 
 " I'll do my duty, like a thrue honest 
 man/' answered Maurteen Maher. 
 
 " Neig-hbours, do ye make promise to be 
 loyal and dutiful to your mayor?" demanded 
 the same aged person of the assembled crowd. 
 
 " Loyal and dutiful/' shouted all. 
 
 " The chair, the chair !" was now the cry. 
 
 A larg-e, two-armed, wicker chair was 
 brought forward. To its sides were nailed 
 loops of leather ; through these, strong poles 
 were put : with much gravity of manner, 
 Maurteen Maher took his seat, clutching in 
 his right hand his long wand of office, and 
 in the other a huge nosegay. His subjects 
 seized the poles, mounted them on their 
 shoulders, and, preceded by a piper and a 
 fiddler, the Mayor of Wind-gap was thrice 
 borne round the bonfire, to which, during his 
 progress, many faggots of furze, innumerable 
 cows-horns, half the trunk of a goodly tree, 
 and the entire skeleton of a horse, were 
 added, for the purpose of conferring a kind
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 51 
 
 of glory upon his inauguration, as well as 
 of exciting the new and excelling shouts 
 which attested it. 
 
 The mayor's chair was then placed on a 
 turfy eminence raised above the grassy 
 bench before described ; a foaming brown 
 pitcher of home-brewed ale w as handed to 
 him ; he quaffed it, wishing the " * sha- 
 dhurth," to all around him ; and then the 
 vessel was passed on, of course after having 
 been replenished, while each prayed a long 
 reign for their newly and indeed curiously 
 elected civic magistrate. 
 
 Maurteen Maher arose, and, amidst all 
 this half farcical, half serious scene, pro- 
 found silence ensued. 
 
 " It is in the knowledge of all o' ye, 
 neighbours," said he, "that sence the first 
 time ye made me Mayor of Wind-gap, 'tis 
 my rule to chuse my council, that wid their 
 
 t Good health. 
 
 d2 
 
 0. OF lU. UB,
 
 52 THE MAYOR 
 
 help, I may give good advice to ye, on hard 
 points ; and the same council that I called 
 the first year o' my Mayorship, I'll call this 
 present year ; and so, Shawn Leeach, ^nd 
 Gregory Roche, take your places/' 
 
 Shawn Leeach, the very old man who, 
 as it may be said, had sworn in the Mayor, 
 and Gregory Roche, one not much younger, 
 very demurely took their stations, the one at 
 his right hand, the other at his left. 
 
 " Shawn Leeach and Gregory Roche," 
 continued Maurteen, "ye are the Mayor's 
 council for the year to come ; and no man 
 is to gainsay our judgments, upon the 
 peril of being put out of good fellowship 
 with his neighbours. Come before my face, 
 Meehawl O'Moore." 
 
 The hitherto merely foolish fellow, in the 
 case of straw, waddled towards his worship's 
 chair. 
 
 " Meehawl O^Moore, I put you in the 
 post of the Mayor's bailiff; 1 give you the
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 53 
 
 power to disthrain and to make disthress, 
 under the ordher of the Mayor's Coort of 
 Wind-g-ap ; — are ye all content, and do ye 
 know your own minds, this St. John's Eve — 
 that Meehawl O^Moore should have this 
 place over ye, by ordher o* the Coort V* 
 
 It was curious that the boisterously 
 inclined crowd wore really serious faces, 
 while they affirmatively answered to this 
 question. 
 
 "Well, then,'' rejoined Maurteen, "my 
 hearty neighbours, let the dance go on, and 
 the *ShanfiaucIis be tould, and let the good 
 Sheebeen be dhrunk, till the fire burns down, 
 and the fcolloch's hour comes. Meehawl 
 0*Moore keep the ring* reg'lar ; keep the 
 gorsoons on their good beha'ver to the cal- 
 leens ; keep the Sheebeen rangin' its rounds 
 in rason ; let no one pass the gap widout 
 payin' the Jtowl; if there's any unruly 
 
 * Agreeable gosssip. f Old womnn's hour. 
 
 X Toll J— toll for the bonfire.
 
 54 THE MAYOR 
 
 doin's or pickin' of quarrels, or any uiida- 
 cent conduct, bring* the offendher before me ; 
 and so, neighbours, Sha-dhurth to ye agin ; 
 and hearty and prosperous may we all be, 
 man, woman, and child, ould and young, 
 until St. John's eve comes round to us the 
 next year." 
 
 The Mayor took another willing draught; 
 new cheers were given at the close of his har- 
 angue ; more faggots and other combustibles 
 were thrown on the fire ; the piper and the 
 fiddler, preceded and followed by the " boys 
 and girls," adjourned to an adjacent level 
 spot, under the clamorous direction of 
 Meehawl O 'Moore ; and the dance quickly 
 commenced with all the life and vigour for 
 which Irish "boys and girls" are so justly 
 celebrated. 
 
 Maurteen Maher possessed his osier arm- 
 chair in quiet dignity ; his council placed 
 their lesser chairs at his right and at his 
 left ; the other old men, and all the old
 
 OF WIND-GAP. OO 
 
 women, took their former stations ; the 
 iveenocks sat in a ring round the blaze, and 
 began plays suitable to their age ; whilst 
 over the whole Maurteen kept his eye of 
 authority, ordaining order, encouraging 
 amusement, talking "Shannachs;'' occasion- 
 ally tasting his sheebeen; commanding that 
 the same beverage should moisten the piper's 
 chanter, rosin the fiddler's bow, give to the 
 dancers' feet spirit for their pastime, and — 
 (superfluous injunction !) oil the well-prac- 
 tised tonsrues of the old women seated near 
 his chair. 
 
 We end the chapter by insinuating that 
 this local and absurd practise of electing a 
 " Mayor of Wind-gap," is only taken from 
 the traditional authority of the place, 
 (which however must not be questioned) 
 and can by no means apply generally to the 
 peculiarities of the Irish people.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Maurteen Maker was a man between fifty 
 and sixty ; an old bachelor, and otherwise 
 unburthened with family cares. During his 
 whole life he had never devoted himself to 
 any regular occupation, and yet he was 
 decently independent by his cleverness in 
 many ways. He could weave baskets, and 
 skeechs and kishes ; he cultivated a small gar- 
 den of osiers, to supply him with materials 
 for this branch of his handy-craft ; the shee-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 57 
 
 been, brewed from malt of his drying, 
 had a peculiar and highly-relished flavour ; 
 he was an eminent ornamental thatcher ; he 
 could mend shoes, make fishing-nets, and 
 fishing-flies and lines, and do an odd job 
 as a carpenter ; he could turn wooden trench- 
 ers, ^//«r^"e'e/?5, or *caulcannon-pounders, and 
 such household furniture ; and he professed 
 many other branches of artisan accomplish- 
 ments. 
 
 Yet to none of his avocations would he 
 continuously or diligently devote himself; 
 he took up all by fits and starts, and would 
 often abandon them altogether, when the 
 spring-breeze invited him to the river-side, 
 to pursue his favourite recreation of angling. 
 Of this sport he was passionately fond ; and 
 in the successful pursuit of it, not one of 
 his fishing brethren, who frequented the 
 banks of the clear stream, which flowed 
 
 * A mess of potatoes and other vegetables. 
 
 D 5
 
 58 THE MAYOR 
 
 through the valley, beneath his hill, could 
 compete with Maurteeu. His varied talents 
 necessarily claimed respect, and Maurteen 
 himself was by no means backward in as- 
 suming among- his compeers an air of self- 
 importance, proportioned to their admissions 
 of his superiority. He possessed, however, 
 a shrewd understanding, and, as the neigh- 
 bours said, had "dacent manners and a han- 
 dy tongue in his head." Such had been his 
 admitted character from youth to manhood. 
 As he advanced in years, he became still 
 more looked up to. On all knotty points his 
 opinion was consulted, and gradually be- 
 came decisive of the matter at issue. This 
 homage half spoiled Maurteen ; a real dic- 
 tator-ship of manner grew upon him. He 
 claimed the foremost place in all discussions, 
 no matter upon what subject ; domestic, as 
 regarded Wind-gap, or foreign as regarded 
 *'the town below," and which he was pleased 
 to consider as a mere appendage to his own
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 59 
 
 dominions. Sometimes, his loud and oracu- 
 lar delivery of himself became ridiculed, 
 but he looked superciliously on the scoffers, 
 and turned his back on them, as quite un- 
 worthy of notice. 
 
 Maurteen monopolised, among- other 
 thing's, the management of bonfires, of May- 
 bushes, of May-poles, and of all such illus- 
 trations of periodical festivities. Once, upon 
 a St. John's eve, while the bonfire blazed 
 brightly, partly as a frolic of the moment, 
 and partly as a real acknowledgment of his 
 great talents and eflicient services, the 
 " boys of the place" took him upon their 
 shoulders, pranced under him round it, and 
 appointed him to the mock ofiice of Mayor. 
 But Maurteen Maher's face was the only 
 one which wore no smile on the occasion ; 
 and it was soon perceived that he took 
 the freak more seriously than it had been 
 intended. 
 
 His people were surprised to find, that
 
 60 THE MAYOR 
 
 after tliis night, he poked himself more ac- 
 tively than ever into all their disputes and 
 sligfhtest differences ; arrog-ating, by virtue 
 of his recent appointment, the exclusive 
 right of deciding between them. And at 
 first they indulged the usurpation "for the 
 fun of the joke," at the same time being- 
 obliged to admit that Maurteen's verdicts 
 often saved them from law-suits in the town, 
 and from internal feuds and bickerings. 
 At the next bonfire, (but now as much by 
 matter of course as to renew the frolic) he 
 w as re-installed in office ; — and for this oc- 
 casion, his own hands had constructed an 
 awful-looking wicker chair — the same in 
 which, fifteen years after its manufacture, 
 we have just seen him paraded round the fire. 
 And it was now that he called upon the two 
 most intelligent men of his neighbourhood 
 to assist him with their advice in the dis- 
 pensation of his authority, and these he 
 styled "the Mayor's council." He also ap-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 61 
 
 pointed a bailiff to carry his and their de- 
 crees into effect ; and thenceforward, with- 
 out a sneer, or a witticism against him, even 
 from the most witty, or the most sneering, 
 Maurteen Maher obtained power, and pre- 
 served peace and good-^vill among his sub- 
 jects. If a debt were owing from one to 
 another, he arranged the time and manner 
 of its payment ; if the boundaries of a gar- 
 den were disputed between two neighbours, 
 a matter frequently occurring on an almost 
 unclaimed common, where no fences, nor 
 other lines of partition, had previously been 
 established, he called in "his council;" >^ith 
 them viewed the premises, and pointed out 
 to each claimant his decreed portion. If 
 trespass were committed by s^ine or cattle, 
 he assessed the damages perpetrated— and 
 all his judgments were at last acceded to, 
 not only submissively, but pleasureably ; 
 the good people of Wind-gap agreeing 
 among themselves that a man of clearer
 
 62 
 
 THE MAYOR 
 
 intellect, of more superior genius, or of 
 more impartial justice, could not preside 
 over their affairs ; and it became a matter 
 of course that his decisions were implicitly 
 obeyed, much to the diminution of the fees 
 of the real Mayor's office, legally established 
 in the city about half-a-mile distant. 
 
 If fines or debts were to be recovered 
 under his authority, and that payment was 
 not forthcoming, he never failed to exact it. 
 Meehaul CMoore, his bailiff, was a ranting, 
 rattling, laughing fellow, who obeyed the 
 Mayor's orders for the joke' sake, careless 
 of consequences. He would seize on some 
 piece of household furniture, and carry it 
 to his Worship the Mayor, who retained it 
 until it was redeemed. And another thing 
 may have confirmed Maurteen in his autho- 
 rity : namely, that the whole community 
 which he thus usurpingly governed, felt and 
 acknowledged his general utility, in handy- 
 craft pursuits, much too convincingly, each
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 63 
 
 in his own bosom, to offend even a public 
 tyrant, if such Maurteen Maher could have 
 been, at the risk of getting rid of the advan- 
 tages resulting from his individual talents. 
 
 His worship had shewn good discrimina- 
 tion in the choice of his council ; Gregory 
 Roche was the weaver of Wind-gap. Fifty- 
 six years ago, the woman who neglected ta 
 commence the manufacture of the linen of 
 her own household would have been deemed 
 an unthrifty person. In every dwelling the 
 buzz of the spinning-wheel was heard during 
 the long winter-nights ; and it was the com- 
 panion of the vanithee in the open air, outside 
 the door, on a summer's evening. The 
 weaver was therefore kept in good and res- 
 pectable employment, and could live rather 
 aristocratically. But, along with the con- 
 sideration due to him, as an expert and 
 cunning artist, Gregory Roche commanded 
 deference as a man of superior manners and 
 acquirements. He had read books, and was
 
 64 
 
 THE MAYOR 
 
 considered oracular on all grand historic 
 points. Polemic literature he had also 
 studied — we rather fear, however, only on 
 one side; but he could relate " how King 
 Harry had set up the Protestant religion — 
 became the Pope of Room, (the Heavens be 
 his bed !) — put his face totally agin the no- 
 tion of letting the baste have more nor 
 five wives at a turn" — and he would add 
 with a knowing wink — " that the one o' them 
 was one too many." It was clear, accord- 
 ing to Gregory's Church History, that ^^ be- 
 case the bould King Henry the Aigth was 
 a skhandle to christian people, in regard o' 
 the famale women, he gave to the sort o' 
 clargy livin' in his time, ache a wife a-piece, 
 and maybe sometimes more, according to his 
 own fancy, just that they should'nt be bring- 
 ing himself over the coals for his own 
 doin's." While pointing to the ruined mo- 
 nasteries of which we have elsewhere spoken, 
 in the town under his residence, Gregory
 
 OF WI?^D-GAP. 65 
 
 Roche could speak, whether truly, or roman- 
 cing-ly, we know not, of the different orders 
 of regular brethren who once inhabited 
 them— (after having- built them by the way), 
 in their full glory ; and he could expatiate 
 on their former palmy state, compared with 
 their present unheeded decay. Gregory's 
 person was neat, and spruce, arrayed in 
 snuff-coloured broad-cloth, a wig of three 
 buckles, a well-brushed, three-cocked hat, 
 and square-toed brogues. On all occasions, 
 when the Mayor of Wind-gap sat recognized 
 in full office, in his grand wicker chair, 
 Gregory sat at his left hand ; and it is worth 
 adding, that he was the collector of " the 
 dues" of the Priest of his parish, as well as 
 the Mayor's treasurer for whatever resulted 
 from importunately assailing, in the persons 
 of hundreds of ragged deputies, all passen- 
 gers going and coming along the Wind-gap 
 road, for contributions to the anniversaries 
 of St. John's eve. May-day, and so forth.
 
 66 THE MAYOR 
 
 The man sitting upon his Worship's right 
 hand, was, as has been said, the most aged 
 man in the parish ; the oldest of his neigh- 
 bours, under him, scarcely remembered him 
 with any other but a grey head ; at present 
 that head was white as snow, and his vene- 
 rable hairs fell in great profusion on his 
 shoulders. Hence the people called him 
 Shawn Leeach, that is Grey Jack, although 
 he had been christened John Morrison. — 
 His years were said to be one hundred and 
 ten, yet his intellect was strong, and his 
 memory unfaded. He took great pride in 
 walking to Mass on Sundays, the wrist of 
 one hand clasped by the fingers of the other, 
 and both resting upon the small of his back, 
 accompanied by a great-grandson and two 
 of his children, and a great-grand-daughter, 
 of marriageable years. The image sug- 
 gested to us by the appearance of this group 
 has, we fear, often been used ; yet we will 
 venture to say that, to a poetic mind, our
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 67 
 
 old friend and his companions might give 
 the idea of blooming Spring, mature Sum- 
 mer, with its fruit, and hoary winter, for the 
 once in company.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 After having* delivered the g-ood humour- 
 ed injunctions we have last reported of him, 
 Maurteen Maher sat in state, his council 
 at either hand. His upper house (we take 
 the liberty so to denominate all the remaining 
 old men of Wind-g-ap) collected around him ; 
 and his lower house, in the persons of the 
 ancient dames of his realm, squatted on the 
 ground before him ; and, however wide 
 may appear the distinctions between these
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 69 
 
 • 
 
 humble assemblies and those of the estates 
 of the nation, yet was there some degree of 
 similarity. It is needless to observe that 
 Maurteen Maher, such as we have sketched 
 his character, may answer sufficiently well to 
 shadow forth some royal personage; com- 
 pared with their contemporaries of the other 
 sex, the old men were sententious and grave 
 and imposing, and properly alive to the su- 
 periority of their nature, and should there- 
 fore be classed as the aristocracy of Wind- 
 gap ; and as for the old women, they so far 
 resembled " the people's house," that, what- 
 ever they lacked of the hereditary sapience, 
 the dignified demeanour, and the natural 
 station claimed by the lords of the creation, 
 they made up for, by an infinite dispropor- 
 tion of incessant gabble. 
 
 All these good folk sat fully within the 
 influence of the bonfire's blaze ; and while 
 the boys and girls danced merrily away at 
 some distance, the note of the music which
 
 70 THE MAYOR 
 
 set them capering came pleasantly to the 
 ears of the old people. It should be noticed 
 that, contrary to the usage in higher quarters, 
 king, lords, and commons, sat within speak- 
 ing distance of each other; all mingling in 
 general shannauchs, except when two or 
 three individuals chose to have a bye- word. 
 Nay, they quaffed their sheebeen in common ; 
 the same mug being sent from the throne to 
 the lords, and from the lords to the commons, 
 also, whenever the ancient throats of the 
 last-named assembly became thirsty from 
 smoking their pipes, or their tongues parched 
 from clacking. 
 
 *'Wheit* pishe-rogne story takes the rounds 
 among ye, f slianav granvh ?" asked his wor- 
 ship the mayor, addressing, in a condescend- 
 ing jocularity of tone, the seated matrons 
 before him — " by the wagging of them heads 
 
 * Pishe-rogue, a tale of the supernatural. 
 -f Shanav-granvh, old women.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 7J 
 
 of yours, and the long faces you're shaking 
 at one another, I've a notion the discourse 
 is runnin' on *Poochas, or on some Duoivh 
 tricks of a stormy night." 
 
 " Merry Easther to me. Mayor of Wind- 
 gap," replied one of the dames, " but tisn't 
 you I'd fancy to have for masther of my 
 house ; oh no — ; och, by no manes, a roon ; 
 why, a poor woman couldn't blink her eye 
 but you'd be at the bottom of the story." — 
 
 " And if I was goin' to make an f own- 
 sktick of myself, on that head, tisn't very 
 clear to me I'd be troublesome to you, at 
 all, Bridogue Mooney ; I'd get a young col- 
 leen to comb my grey head, as the song- 
 says."— 
 
 "There is such combs as three-legged 
 stools, to be found among the household 
 furniture," smiled Gregory Roche. 
 
 "And the colleen that would take wid 
 
 * Fairies. . f Fool.
 
 72 THE MAYOR 
 
 you would be at her last senses, though ye 
 are the mayor itself/' retorted Bridogue, 
 " and she'd often be axing why you hadn't 
 the mis?ioch* ijO thry your hand when you were 
 worth the having ; though, to spake the 
 honest truth, I believe that time is beyant 
 your own recollection, asthore." 
 
 " Och, Bridge, that was'nt always your 
 mind ; do you lose the thought of auld times? 
 but there's no use either in fretting or in tell- 
 ing on you ; what's to happen will happen ; 
 and I say, with a hearty good will, much 
 good may do the man that made his own 
 o' ye! — but ye're not sayin'amin to me, Ned 
 Mooney?" — he suddenly asked of Bridogue's 
 mate who sat near him. Ned expressively 
 and waggishly shook his old pate, turned 
 up his eyes, took the dudee?if from between 
 his teeth, and answered "Och! I was a 
 blessed bargain to her, praise be to God! — 
 
 * Luck. f Short pipe.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 73 
 
 and having said this, he replaced his dudeen, 
 and tightened his teeth and squeezed his 
 lips on it. 
 
 " But what would ye all do, only that 
 I'm a bachelor boy V continued the mayor, 
 *' and have no wife, like a mill-stone round 
 my neck, to keep me from minding your 
 concarns : is'nt it well for ye that I happen 
 to hould th« same belief wid the crature in 
 the cart, as ye all know, 'tis in the ballad."— 
 and the mayor sang forth : 
 
 ** There was a victim in a cart 
 
 A goin' to be hanged ; 
 When his reprief came from the King 
 
 The cart and crowd did stand : 
 But he must either take a wife 
 
 Or be content to die. 
 *' Och ! why, then, should I keep my life?" 
 
 The victim did reply : 
 *' There's people here from every place. 
 
 Why should I spile their sport ? 
 The bargain's hard in either case — 
 
 But come ! drive on the cart." — 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE MAYOR 
 
 To this not very elegant version of a not 
 very original witticism, there was the contri- 
 bution of what the author of " The Man of 
 Refinement" considers a vulg-ar evidence of 
 the feelings of human nature; namely, a 
 laugh; accompanied by what is deemed 
 not out of the way, in the boxes of the 
 Italian Opera, namely, clapping of hands. 
 
 "^ Bridogue,'' resumed the mayor, " ye 
 know^ ye were a comely crature, in the time 
 we spake of, and used to dance, "cover the 
 buckle," so as to take the light out of my 
 eyes ; and ye know, more betoken, that it's 
 not my own fault that I'm a lone man, but 
 because Ned Mooney was a claner boy ; 
 howsomever, as I said afore, or something 
 like it, a pottle of frettin' doesn't sell for 
 a groat." 
 
 Ned Mooney puflfed forth a volume of 
 smoke, which he had been inhaling during 
 the mayor's last speech, and hi If laughed 
 and half whispered, into his sovereign's ear.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 75 
 
 " Mostha! bud ye were born with a silver 
 spoon in ye're mouth to be quit of her ! " 
 
 "Well, Bridog-ue," the mayor went on, 
 " tell us what ye'were colloguing- about ; 
 for our own discourse here is reeled off to 
 the bare spindle." 
 
 "When ye said we were tellin' of duowl's 
 doin's, Mayor of Wind-gap," answered Bri- 
 dogue, " the guess ye made was almost the 
 right one ; we war talkin' about The Strange 
 Man o' the Inch," she added in a low con- 
 fidential and now serious voice, to which all 
 who heard her, except Maurteen, responded 
 with looks of almost frightened attention. 
 
 " And if I did*nt care much what I was 
 sayin', I'd lay a wager you were givin' him a 
 nice purty character?" smiled the mayor, 
 with seeming indifference. 
 
 " Och ! in honest truth, a good name is a 
 bright jewel," remarked Bridge, unconsci- 
 ously half quoting Shakespear, "and 'twould 
 be the same pity to cock it up in the cap of 
 
 e2
 
 76 THE MAYOR 
 
 the strange man o' the Inch ; and for the 
 best o' rasons in the world, because he never 
 cared for it, his own self." 
 
 '' And what's ye're own notion about him, 
 a-vanithe« ?" 
 
 " Sence ye have the likin' to hear to it, 
 I'll rehearse it for you, what our notion is. 
 We were a sayin' that, if ever there was 
 a cloven-hoofed duowl, that pawned himself 
 on people for a dacent-looking- man— (though 
 he has a little halt in his g-ait, too,) — and sich 
 things happen oftentimes, they say — the 
 sthrange man o' the Inch is just that sort 
 of a body." 
 
 " 'Twas well I did'nt pass my word for 
 your civility to him, Bridogue." 
 
 " Och ay ; and we were sajin' no more 
 nor what his doin's give the warrant for ; 
 and there's more nor that; I'll make my words 
 good agin him, or 111 give you lave and 
 license to say I hav'nt such a thing at all 
 as a tongue behind my teeth."
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 77 
 
 '* Whatever way the story turns up, the 
 mayor won't say that o' ye, any how/' re- 
 marked the experienced Ned Mooney; "for 
 if he took his oath of it on the mass book, 
 there's another one livin' in Wind-gap could 
 tell him what would give him his doubts, 
 for all that." 
 
 " My speech is to pleasure the mayor, 
 Ned Mooney." 
 
 " Faith, and sure I don't begrudge it to 
 him ; there will be enough left for us all." — 
 Ned Mooney was a laughing philosopher, 
 and jested with his misfortunes. 
 
 ''Well, Bridogue," resumed the mayor, 
 '' we are longin' to know the rason why ye 
 put hoofs on the strange man o' the Inch ?" 
 
 Bridogue pulled down, with a sudden jerk, 
 her petticoats over her shins ; tucked all her 
 clothes under her ; shifted her position till 
 she was poised to her satisfaction ; stretched 
 her hands towards the blaze and rubbed 
 them well together ; and smacked her lips.
 
 7^ THE MAYOR 
 
 and protruded her chin towards the mayor. 
 Amongst her sister dames, similar movements 
 were made to fix themselves confortably and 
 lastingly in their sitting positions; most of 
 the old men rested their chins upon their 
 sticks, and bent themselves towards her, half 
 smiling, yet staring inquisitively ; the pipes 
 rf male and female were hastily replenished 
 and vigorotisly relighted, as if to lay in 
 sea-storage for a long and important voyage 
 of gossip ; and Bridogue then went on with 
 her shannauchs. 
 
 '•'Isn't it a thing known to every one 
 fcearkinin' to me, that ever sence the doin's 
 that happened there, down at the Inch, 
 now more nor twenty years a gone, no 
 crature, that was a livin' christhen at all, 
 would go to live in that oold hotise ; — becase 
 the speirit o' the lady that died in it, and 
 the sperrit o' the young man, through whose 
 manes the life left her, goes thrampaging 
 through the rooms, by night ; screeching
 
 OF WIND-GAP. ^y 
 
 and sthru^gling most frightful for to hear. 
 Isn't that thrue forme, I'd be glad to lam ?" 
 
 This question, though put generally, was, 
 after a pause, replied to only by Gregory 
 Roche. "I b'lieve," he said, "there's no one 
 you might ask about that house could tell 
 ye more of it nor our mayor his own self." 
 
 " To be sure I could say something of it," 
 observed the mayor, with a half laughing, 
 unsuperstitious, superior kind of expression, 
 *'but 111 keep my knowledge to myself, 
 Gregory Roche ; and in the main time, for 
 the rason that you are not tongue-tied, ye 
 can tell the neighbours what happened to us 
 both, the night we went to the Inch." 
 
 " I often tould all that came to my know- 
 ing about that night; so that 'twould be 
 no story to any one," answered Gregory ; 
 and this was literally true; there were none 
 present who had not heard of the visit paid 
 by the mayor and his younger council to 
 the abominated house of the Inch ; and yet
 
 80 THE MAYOR 
 
 such is the love of the marvellous, amon^ 
 people who purposely set themselves down 
 to listen to a recital of it, that every voice 
 cried out either that the circumstance had 
 not been fully related, or that it had been 
 quite forgotten : and an encore was loudly 
 called for. A first singer could not have 
 been more obliged than was Gregory Roche 
 for the request made of him. 
 
 " Well, neighbours, well ; 'twould'nt be 
 a mannerly turn to say the No to ye, and 
 so spile the discourse, when we are all socia- 
 ble together of a St. John's eve. There's 
 never a one here that's not ould enough to 
 bring to mind when the house at the Inch 
 was shut up, and the rason why its dours 
 and windows were all boulted and barred." 
 
 " Och ! and sure we do remember it well," 
 interrupted Bridogue Mooney, snatching the 
 narrative from Gregory's mouth, with as 
 much eagerness as a starving dog might 
 seize a bone from the jaws of another ;
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 81 
 
 '' myself has the whole story on the tip o' 
 my tongue." 
 
 " Then tell it, Bridog-ue, in St. John's 
 name," said the Mayor, — " you'll sleep the 
 asier for it, and poor Ned will pass the night 
 quieter ; besides, you're so handy at the 
 speech, Bridogue, that ye'll be at the end 
 of your journey before Gregory could ^et 
 to the first turnpike." 
 
 Bridogue gave her person a pert move, 
 while Gregory smiled ; but at the bottom 
 of his appearance of complaisance, there 
 was a gravelly sediment. The raconteuse 
 started forward on her narrative, with an 
 avidity that fully bore out the Mayor's asser- 
 tion of her professional capacity ; and taking 
 the liberty to recur to our elegant simile of 
 the rjfled bone, her haste was doubled, at 
 once to satisfy her own appetite, and prevent 
 the possibility of a reprisal. Yet, first-rate 
 as was esteemed Bridogue's gossipping ta- 
 lent, she committed, to our taste, so many 
 
 E 5
 
 82 THE MAYOR 
 
 digressions from the main point— such a 
 scaling of the genealogical tree of every 
 creature mentioned in her Shannauchs — that 
 we will endeavour to condense her matter, 
 according to our own notions of the requi- 
 site compactness of story-telling. 
 
 The garrulous old body has fixed the 
 period of her tale at twenty-one years, or 
 thereabouts, previous to the time of its rela- 
 tion. At that epoch it was known to " all 
 the world [the world of Wind-gap we pre- 
 sume she meant], that ould Harry Stokes- 
 bury," the proprietor of the house at the 
 Inch, and of considerable property beside, 
 " had been as wicked a sinner in his time 
 as ever broke the commandments,'' — that is, 
 he had led a self-indulging, irregular life. 
 It was equally well known that, like all 
 roues, he had been an unreasoning tyrant 
 to his family ; and that when, from the in- 
 roads made on his constitution by excesses, 
 as well as by years, he became no longer
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 83 
 
 able to pursue his former courses, he con- 
 tinued just as intolerant at home, as if he 
 had been a voluntary ascetic. 
 
 To his only son, the " young Harry 
 Stokesbury," now a man, in the prime of 
 youthful vigour, and who shewed every pro- 
 pensity to follow the example given him by 
 his sire, he was, with a most ungenerous 
 want of sympathy, particularly severe and 
 oppressive ; fuming, and cursing, and rav- 
 ing at his imitator's follies and crimes. But 
 the younger Harry, laughing at the idea 
 that his father, the most thorough-going 
 rake of his own day, should turn moralist 
 upon him, merely in spite that his descend- 
 ant could eclipse him, took little heed of the 
 parental lectures thus lavished upon him ; 
 in fact, it was visible to every one that Henry 
 the second had resolved to prove himself "a 
 chip of the old block," whatever the old 
 block itself might choose to think about the 
 matter. But the " ould fellow" began to
 
 84 THE MAYOR 
 
 keep a firmer gripe of his money than he 
 had hitherto done : " Like the dog in the 
 manger,** thought his son, " he can't use it 
 himself, and won't give it to those who can.'* 
 Young Stokesbury soon wanted, in fact, the 
 means of pursuing what he called his plea- 
 sures ; in consequence of unsatisfactory 
 payments, people began to refuse him new 
 credit, and to become troublesome to him 
 about old scores. He sent them all to his 
 father (after first sending them all to the 
 devil, — " and there's little in the difference" 
 remarked young Harry to himself). " Ould 
 Harry" ordered them, however, to be chased 
 ofi* his premises ; and some, who insisted 
 strongly on their claims, were compelled, 
 in consequence, to fight their way to the 
 high-road, through two or three house-dogs, 
 and four or five servants — glad to escape 
 without very material personal injury. 
 
 "The young fellow" inherited his father's 
 passionate temper, as well as his taste for
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 85 
 
 pleasant pursuits ; it was well known, in- 
 deed, that, in the first-mentioned instance, 
 he even excelled his prototype ; his torrent- 
 like nature becoming quite turbulent and 
 destructive when attempted to be curbed in 
 its career. He demanded money from *'the 
 ould fellow," but not only got none, but was 
 met with showers of oaths and vituperation. 
 " The young fellow" recriminated as well 
 as he knew how: and at the scenes of alter- 
 cation which took place between them, and 
 at the sound of their maniac voices, rising- 
 high in mutual and unbridled passion, 
 every soul under the same roof with them 
 shuddered. 
 
 " Well," (and here the reader must ima- 
 gine Bridogne piquantly smacking her lips) 
 " the young fellow" seized whatever he 
 could lay hands upon, either in the shape 
 of money, or of articles convertible into 
 money, and rioted away as long as the sup- 
 plies, so gained, lasted ; but long they did
 
 86 THE MAYOR 
 
 not last ; and he was again in necessity ; 
 and another fearful contention took place 
 between him and his unhappy parent ; and 
 another ; and many others ; (Bridogue's 
 manner of relating these facts was solemn) 
 until at their last interview, the father struck 
 the son, and the son raised his sinewy arm, 
 and felled his father to his foot ; and from 
 that day, until he got an unchristian grave 
 under the waters of the sea, a curse fell 
 upon and followed young Harry Stokes- 
 bury ; nor did the listeners of Wind-gap 
 see any thing extraordinary in this fact; 
 for, to their primitive hearts, it seemed an 
 immeasurable sin, that, even with provoca- 
 tion, the child should commit outrage on 
 the person of the father. 
 
 It was reported at the time, as Bridogue as- 
 serted, that " the young fellow," after having 
 fled the house, to escape death at the hands 
 of his father, who, in his rage, armed him- 
 self with a weapon to inflict it, became very
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 87 
 
 sorry for his abominable act ; and, when he 
 had cooled, was penitent, and did all in his 
 power to make peace at home. But " the 
 ould fellow" would never set his eyes upon 
 him ; and at his dying" hour left him nothing 
 but his curse. 
 
 Still, according to our narrator, and in- 
 deed, the general credence of the country, 
 the young man was as much to be pitied 
 as blamed. To be sure, no one could help 
 calling him wild, and wayward, and pas- 
 sionate ; nor was it any very great wonder 
 that he felt inclined to tread in the paths 
 that had been well beaten for him by his 
 father ; yet, many good christians said 
 that he was affectionate and generous, and 
 Bridge insisted that to those below him, 
 who wanted and claimed his assistance, he 
 had shewn a liberality so extreme, that it 
 almost atoned, in the world's eye, for his 
 ' youthful indiscretions : she particularly in- 
 stanced the following case.
 
 88 THE MAYOR 
 
 While yet but a boy, he discovered a 
 near relation of his deceased mother in 
 the most abject distress. This person he 
 instantly snatched from penury, called him 
 his brother, and, at his intercession, the 
 elder Stokesbury consented to receive the 
 new comer as an inmate of his family. The 
 lad was educated along with young Harry ; 
 ate with him ; was clothed as well ; sported 
 with him ; in fact, was treated, in every 
 respect, as a brother, indeed. 
 
 The characters and even appearance and 
 manners of the two youths were very dis- 
 similar. Young Harry was a strong-fea- 
 tured, yet fine-featured, boy, with super- 
 abundant spirit; his poor cousin, so che- 
 rished, was as handsome, but mild looking, 
 and with the expression of even a want of 
 spirit upon his countenance ; yet, Harry 
 seemed to love him better because of this 
 contrariety; it made him more positively the 
 protector and patron of his timid relation.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 89 
 
 " But smooth water runs deep, and the 
 duowl lies at the bottom of it," was Bri- 
 dogfue's sag-e commentarv on this soft seem- 
 ing^ individual. Younj^ Henry Stokesbury 
 soon experienced cause to repent that he 
 had ever rescued the lad from starvation. 
 Old Stokesbury had under his roof a ward, 
 an interesting young g"irl. Her dower, 
 when she arrived at a disposeable age, was 
 to be a large one, and her father had willed 
 that she should espouse her guardian's son, 
 on the promise that the guardian consented 
 to the match. It was said that the young 
 man loved most enthusiastically his betroth- 
 ed bride ; and no wonder that he should ; 
 for she was generally allowed to be beauti- 
 ful ; and, like the lamb, even too mild and 
 gentle : the very opposite indeed, as was 
 his cousin, to her intended husband. 
 
 Shortly after the deadly feud with his 
 father, young Harry left his native place, 
 and went, no one knew whither. Three
 
 90 THE MAYOR 
 
 months after, his detesting parent died. It 
 was generally supposed that, notwithstand- 
 ing his father's will, and even curse, the dis- 
 inherited heir would immediately return home 
 to survey his chances of fortune. But, twelve 
 months elapsed before Harry's re-appear- 
 ance at the house of Inch, and then his 
 visit was known by its consequences. 
 
 During his absence, it had become whis- 
 pered about that the person whom, from 
 early boyhood, he had cherished, had behaved 
 most foully and treacherously to him ; that 
 he had inherited young Harry's paternal 
 property ; and that, for the accomplishment 
 of his views, he had kept up the father's 
 rage against the son, and that, therefore, 
 the old man's curse had been his only legacy 
 to his only child ; but, worse than all this, 
 rumour now told that the traitor was, at 
 Harry's return, the husband of the beautiful 
 and wealthy ward of Old Stokesbury. 
 
 As evidence to a jury, perhaps there
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 91 
 
 might have been nothing certainly proved 
 on these points, but appearances bore out 
 suspicions. The usurper lived in the Inch- 
 House, and the fair young- girl lived there 
 with him, and the closest observers could 
 only conclude that they were man and 
 wife. 
 
 Upon a dark night, the house was at- 
 tacked by a band of armed men, broken 
 into, and at once given up to pillage. 
 Harry Stokesbury's treacherous cousin fell, 
 covered with wounds, inflicted by Harry's 
 own avenging hand, near to the bed, on 
 which lay his faithless mistress — a shriek- 
 ing witness of this, perhaps, rightful retri- 
 bution. The general story went, that she 
 had become a mother only a few days be- 
 fore, and that, when the terrible young 
 Harry, after his sanguinary deed, turned 
 to her to reproach her with her infidelity, 
 he found that, with her last, long scream, 
 her young spirit had passed away.
 
 9^ THE MAYOR 
 
 While yet grimly standing- over the bleed- 
 ing- and senseless victim of his revenge, he 
 was seized upon and conveyed to prison. The 
 authorities of the neig-hbouring town had 
 received private intimation of the intended 
 attack on the house at the Inch, and, al- 
 though they had been too officially precau- 
 tious, or perhaps lazy, to anticipate it, they 
 at last sent overpowering numbers, to en- 
 sure to the law vengeance upon the law's 
 aggressors. 
 
 The now only living Harry Stokesbury, 
 arrested on the very scene of his crime, was 
 tried at the bar of justice, and condemned 
 to death. Yet, tremendous as had been the 
 result of his rage, the provocations to it, 
 according to general report, were mercifully 
 taken into account, and eventually, he was 
 only transported from his country ; — trans- 
 ported from it, as soon appeared, never to 
 reach the shores of another ; for authentic 
 intelligence reached Ireland that the ves-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 93 
 
 sel ill which he sailed, had foundered 
 in open sea, and that all on board had 
 perished. 
 
 Althousrh, as the savage youth stood over 
 the stiffening body of his relation, he had 
 thought him dead, his victim lived on ; and 
 after twenty years and upwards, still con- 
 tinued to be a breathing man, upon the very 
 evening of Bridogue's narrative ; " lading, 
 to be sure," added Bridog*ue, " a very quiet 
 life, in the town at our feet — but who can 
 forget, for all that, his airly villainy ?"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The house at the Inch, thus marked by the 
 assertions of Bridogue, and the assent of her 
 neighbours, who, by the way, were the near- 
 est populous community to it, as the scene 
 of a hideous tragedy, had indeed been 
 shut up and unoccupied for many years, 
 until within the last three months, when it 
 was taken by the object of the old woman's 
 present animadversions. Bridogue closed 
 her story with this remark : —
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 95 
 
 '' An' its a thruth, afore ye all, that no 
 right body would ever venter to go live in 
 such a place, where the sperrits of Harry 
 Stokesbury and the young- woman, that 
 died there, haunt the place the whole night 
 long- ; an' if 'twas a thing," she added, 
 " that the house at the Inch had never been 
 a place of ill luck, or Meeroch, both the one 
 and the other, were in it now, for it covered 
 the head of the wickedest man the world 
 ever gave birth to ; not barrin' ould Harry 
 Stokesbury, or even young Harry him- 
 self." 
 
 We have before surmised that all the 
 assembled sages of Wind-gap, male and 
 female, were well acquainted, previous to 
 this night, with the story of Harry Stokes- 
 burj^ ; but Bridogue was peculiarly remark- 
 able for her powers of newly aranging 
 and combining the incidents of a tale, no 
 matter how often she repeated it ; so that, 
 even prolix as she had proved in the present
 
 96 THE MAYOR 
 
 instance, none of her auditors seemed fa- 
 tigued ; on the contrary, throughout her nar- 
 rative, and most emphatically at its conclu- 
 sion, the old dame was greeted with various 
 exclamations, of wonder, pleasure and ap- 
 plause ; all which testimonies of her talents 
 she accepted as matters of course. 
 
 One only of her auditors wore a face of 
 indifference, on the occasion, and even osten- 
 tatiously displayed it; and this was Ned 
 Mooney, the good dame's spouse, who quietly 
 contented himself with ejaculating, " Thanks 
 be to the blessed St. John, she has done ! " 
 It need not be observ ed, that this circum- 
 stance went most bitterly to Bridogue's 
 heart ; want of interest in any one is cer- 
 tainly the keenest offence the story-teller 
 can receive ; what must it be, when it comes 
 from one's own husband? 
 
 Different remarks circulated among the 
 old people, upon the matter under discus- 
 sion ; until at length it was recollected that
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 97 
 
 Gregory Roche had been interrupted in his 
 modest attempt, to relate an anecdote, con- 
 nected with the house at the Inch ; and he 
 was now requested, by all, to resume. It was 
 not, however, an easy matter to prevail on 
 the weaver of AVind-gap to take up the 
 snapped threads of his intellectual loom ; 
 another artist had been publicly preferred 
 to himself. But the Mayor knew the weak 
 point of the man, and whispered him, that 
 what had occurred, was only according to 
 " good manners ; " that, merely through 
 gallantry, women must have their way, all 
 the world over ; that he w as assured, Gre- 
 gory Roche, whom everybody regarded, as 
 the " patthern of Wind-gap, in regard of 
 mannerly conduct,'' w ould not, for the first 
 time in his life, be forgetful of " dacent be- 
 haver." Gregory was conciliated ; and, 
 when all were again fixed in attitudes of 
 attention, the " patthern of Wind-gap," be- 
 gan his anecdote. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE MAYOR 
 
 " All that the plasing* vanithee, Misthress 
 Mooney by name, tould to ye, neighbours, 
 was a thrue story, and well reharsed over. 
 Everybody said, after the house at the Inch 
 was shet up, that sthrange cries used to be 
 hard there in the ni^ht time, and sthrange 
 lights seen in the upper windies. Misthress 
 Mooney related for you that 'tis more nor 
 twenty years sence the young woman died 
 there ; by coorse of nature, the Mayor of Wind- 
 gap and myself were younger people that day 
 than we are now at the present time, forenent 
 ye ; we had no Mayor at all over us then, more 
 be token ; Maurteen Maher was only Maur- 
 teen Maher, in them days. Well ; Maurteen 
 brought me down by the river side a-fishing-, 
 of a very fine evening-, moreover, that would 
 tempt any one to take a slope to himself 
 by the green bank, where the flowers were 
 blooming" to the eye sight. Ye all know, 
 neighbours, that the house at the Inch is 
 near to the wather's side. We were a com-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. yy 
 
 ming' our way home, and now and then we 
 stopped in our discoorse, and turned our 
 looks to the house, for we bethought ourselves 
 of the story that was going ; it was a good 
 two hours after the night-fall. 
 
 "Says Maurteen Maher, to me, (remem- 
 ber he was only Maurteen Maher at that 
 time neighbours, or I'd call him the mayor, 
 to be mannerly) — * Gregory,' says he to me, 
 ' as sure as the fishing-rod is in my hand, I see 
 light in the top windy of the place' — and 
 neighbours all, I looked myself, and light 
 there was. We held our tongues for a while, 
 like people sthruck with amaze; till at last^ 
 says Maurteen to me agin, 'Gregory, I'll 
 see what's in the house, if 'twas the Duowl 
 runnin' with his lantern through it ; will 
 you come with me?' 
 
 " No, Maurteen, no, I made answer 
 to him; the heavens be our safeguard, we 
 shouldn't meddle or make with things of 
 
 that sort. 
 
 F 2
 
 100 THE MAYOR 
 
 " ' Come near to the house, Gregory 
 Roche/ '' Maurteen said to me. Myself de- 
 murred, good neighbours ; myself demurred 
 to Maurteen Maher ; but he took me by the 
 arm, and by main force brought me with 
 him ; for he was a sthronger boy nor I was. 
 
 " We got very near to the house ; the 
 light of the windies blazed brighter and 
 brighter ; and we hard, aye, as positive sure 
 as I'm a livin' sowl, this St. John's eve, and 
 as sure as the saint's good fire is burnin' 
 before me, and as sure as ye are all hear- 
 kenin' to me, we hard a pitiful, doleful 
 screech, that stopt us as if we were shot ; 
 'twas like the screech of a woman in her 
 sorest throuble ; neighbours, neighbours, it 
 was ; only more dolefuller, by far, by far/' 
 
 Gregory Roche here paused. It was not 
 without intention that, with due solemnity 
 of voice, shaking of his head, and impressive 
 mysteriousness of visage, he had managed 
 to bring his story to a certain pitch of in-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 101 
 
 terest. To measure the success of his art, 
 therefore, Gregory paused ; and anon he 
 grew pleased with his observations ; the usual 
 marks of deep sympathy with the narrator 
 were fully displayed. ToAvards Maurteen 
 Maher indeed, Gregory did not venture to di- 
 rect his eye ; for, as he had sometimes expe- 
 rienced before, he feared to find on the mayor's 
 lip a half waggish smile ; nor would he have 
 been at present disappointed in his appre- 
 hensions ; tho' perhaps his worship was 
 only amused with his councirs rhetorical 
 decorations. 
 
 "Neighbours, neighbours," resumed Gre- 
 gory, not yet quite satisfied with the strong 
 impression he had made ; " Maurteen Maher 
 that was, and the mayor that is, will bear 
 me out in what I say ; it was indeed, it Avas 
 a very mournful screech we heard." 
 
 " You're tellin' the story mighty well, 
 Gregory Roche," said the mayor, " 'twas 
 plain to know that a livin' christhin couldn't
 
 102 THE MAYOR 
 
 baul out that way, through his teeth, if they 
 made a King of England of him." 
 
 " No, neighbours, no ; not a livin' chris- 
 thin sowl would screech that a way. 
 
 "'Come into the house, Gregory Roche,'" 
 says Maurteen Maher, to myself, very wick- 
 edly. 
 
 " Into the house is it, Maurteen Maher?" 
 — I made answer to him; and I shook my 
 finger at him, the way I now shake it, 
 neighbours; I did— I shook my finger at 
 him. 
 
 " No, Maurteen Maher, says I, I will 
 not darken the door-stone of that house ; 
 'tis no place for honest, livin* people, says 
 I to him, 
 
 "' I'll go by myself then,'" says Maurteen 
 Maher, pushing me away from him. Didn't 
 ye push me from you. Mayor of Windgap, 
 that was Maurteen Maher then? didn't you?" 
 
 " I did in good troth," answered his wor- 
 ship, smiling quietly.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 103 
 
 " Take my advice, says I to him, and I 
 shook my finger at him again ; take my 
 counsel and don't enter there ; lave the dead 
 to their doom; to their doom, says I. ' I will 
 go in, says Maurteen Maher, over again.' 
 Neighbours, I was the image of one thunder- 
 struck, by rason of his bouldness : there was 
 no fear upon him: 'here is the fish and the 
 fishing-rod,' says he, to myself — 'it would 
 be a pity to have them good throuts lost;' aye, 
 indeed neighbours, all he seemed to think 
 about was the losin' of the throuts. * If they 
 brake my bones, and that I can't come back 
 to you,' says Maurteen, ' If I dont come back 
 to you, in an hour's time, go home, Gregory 
 Roche; go your ways home, and send the 
 throuts to Mr. Kelsham at the gazebo ; I 
 promised them to him, and, dead or alive, 
 I'll keep my word ; send them to him, Gre- 
 gory Roche, and make sale of this fishing- 
 rod, and of every thing you'll find in my 
 house, and give the money to the poor, for 
 the good o' my soul/
 
 104 THE MAYOR 
 
 "I was amazed beyant the world, neigh- 
 bours ; I was like unto a body turned into a 
 pillar of salt, after a manner ; and while I 
 was in this sort o' way, Maurteen Maher 
 left me. He staid away near to an hour ; 
 and he came back with a sarious face, I'll 
 pledge myself to ye, but what he seen he 
 never tould of." 
 
 "Would ye have my face turn round to my 
 back, Gregory, or would ye have me be wi- 
 thered intoa^sthagown for letting my tongue 
 run away with my brains V 
 
 Gregory Roche was fully satisfied at 
 perceiving that his contribution to the won- 
 ders of the night was well received, quite as 
 well, indeed, as the more lengthened one of 
 Bridogue Mooney, and therefore it did not 
 come into his head to reply to the mayor's 
 last observation. Many comments and sur- 
 mises followed, which we will pass over, 
 only noticing the more material topics. 
 
 * Sthagown, a frost-bitten potatoe.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 105 
 
 " It was a thrue remark for Bridg-e Moo- 
 ney to make," said a woman with a palsied 
 head, every shake of which threw a very 
 effective hiatus into her speech, "'tis misrhty 
 thrue for Bridogue Mooney to say that no 
 right body would go to live in such a house 
 as the house at the Inch." 
 
 " Right body, inagh !" cried Bridge, smartly, 
 " He's no right body, as sure as I'm an auld 
 sinner, he is not. I'm tould he's mighty ill- 
 favoured to look on, and elderly into the 
 bargain ; and if he hadn't witchcraft on his 
 side, is it to be believed that an auld ugly 
 off'ender of a man, 'ud be able to over per- 
 suade so many young creatures ? " 
 
 " I believe, beyant any doubt," observed 
 one of the old men of the company, " that 
 such sin and shkandle was never known to 
 happen in a neighbourhood as fell upon the 
 counthry round the Inch house, since the 
 sthrange man came to live there." 
 
 " There was never the like known in the 
 
 F 9
 
 106 THE MAYOR 
 
 world wide," answered Bridogue — "and if he 
 was a sightly young blade, that'udbe plasing 
 to the eye, and carried a coaxin' smile upon 
 the lips, and had a sugary tongue in his 
 head, there wouldn't be half the surprise; but 
 take my word over again for it, it's by witch- 
 craft, and witchcraft alone, he comes round 
 them. Isn't Nelly Darcy, the smith's daugh- 
 ter, ashamed to shew her head ? isn't there 
 Doran's crature of a colleen, not over sixteen 
 years auld, turned from the door by her own 
 father and mother ? and isn't there Mahony's 
 wife, that wint by the name of purty Peggy, 
 afore Tim Mahony brought her home. — (Tim 
 Mahony ye know, keeps the sign of the 
 '' Tumblers " at the cross roads, beyant the 
 Inch house) and wasn't she sent to her father, 
 by rason of her husband's displeasure ? and 
 ochone! ochone!" continued Bridge pathe- 
 tically, " the shkandle is brought on us all, 
 on account of the unsightly auld man o' the 
 Inch ! I'tell ye, onstforall, he gives draughts 
 to us all, some way or other."
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 107 
 
 " There's such things done of a certain," 
 said auld Daddy Leeach, "every body can 
 spake of what the shoolui Bacchos * brings 
 upon young cratures, by manes of bewitched 
 pins, and heribs, and dhrinks, sweet and 
 plasing to the mouth, though bitter for the 
 heart, and bad for the poor sowl; and I knew 
 in my time, sthrange things to be used for the 
 makin' of the love draughts. They say that 
 the young ones of them f faidhogues that 
 flies through the air from the morning till 
 the night, taken from the nest afore their 
 feathers grows, and the nest they're found in 
 taken at the same time — they say that if the 
 bird, and nest, and all is biled up together 
 for the wicked purpose, the broth it makes 
 will force a girl to run after a boy, or a boy 
 to run after a girl, for the mere love, the 
 
 world over." 
 
 " Is it the swallows ye made mention of, 
 
 Shawn Leeach," asked another very old man 
 near him. 
 
 * Wandering beggars. f Swallows.
 
 108 THE AIAYOK 
 
 "Aye, in good thruth, Meehawl — 'twas 
 about them swallows, the youngest of 'em, I 
 mane, that I made mention." 
 
 *' And faiks," resumed Meehowl, " the 
 rason I put the question to ye, on that head, 
 is this ; very airly of a hazy morning-, I was 
 passin' by the house at the Inch — the Lord 
 stand between us and all harm," and here 
 the narrator piously crossed himself: '* when 
 what should I see, lookin' towards the house, 
 but the sthrange man himself, standin' out- 
 side of a windy, and he was pullin' down a 
 swallow's nest." 
 
 " And ye seen him doin' that, Meehowl ? 
 then its likely enough that BridogueMooney 
 is right in her sayin'." 
 
 " I'll stand up for my sayin'," replied 
 Bridge Mooney, " he puts the charms on us, 
 howsomever he finds manes to do it." 
 
 ••' I'll tell ye what I hard of them swal- 
 lows, neighbours," said Daddy Leeach: " them 
 swallows and them birds, too, that goes by
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 109 
 
 the name o' willy wagtails, I'm toiild for 
 sartain has three drops o' the Devil's bloud 
 in them. Lord be g-ood to us." 
 
 " 'Tis often and often I took notice of 
 both kinds of them birds, the foulhogues, and 
 the spiddogue coppel ; the spiddogue coppel is 
 never known to sing- his varse of a song-, 
 only when the day is bitther could, and 
 dripping wet ; and then it's a mournful thing- 
 to hear him, and to look at him, standin' on 
 a could wet stone, by the road side, and by 
 the river side, liltin' his bit of a croo?iaicn, and 
 lookin' about him so 'cute, and waggin' his 
 long tail, for all the world as if he gloried 
 in the dark rainy-day, that puts a cloud 
 over the mind of all christhin cratures ; and 
 them swallows, agin, they skim about, from 
 the risin' to the settin' of the sun, and they 
 never put foot to the ground like our own 
 birds ; but, when the storm is comin* to vex the 
 earth, they all get in a row, together, upon an 
 ould wall, or on the top of a body's house, and
 
 110 THE MAYOR 
 
 they sing", and they sing-, all of them at once, 
 and as loud as ever they can, makin' merry at 
 the doleful change, that's comin' on, and that 
 they know is comin' on, more be-token, better 
 nor the people themselves ; and moreover 
 there's not one among us can tell how they 
 come here to Wind-gap, or where they come 
 from, or where in the world they go to in 
 the winter-time ; and I often hard it said as 
 well as our neighbour, Shawn Leeach, that 
 the three dhrops o' the Devil's blood is in 
 them, and in the willy-wag tails." 
 
 These comments on the recipe for the 
 manufacture of love powders ; the undeniable 
 fact that the strange man at the Inch had 
 been seen in the act of pulling down SAvallows 
 nests ; his morose and yet popular character 
 (in a certain way) ; his want of personal re- 
 commendation, and yet his personal success ; 
 all this put together, left our lords and com- 
 mons of Wind-gap in little doubt as to the 
 means by which his indescribable triumphs
 
 OF WIND-GAP. Ill 
 
 had been won. Nor, indeed, must we much 
 wonder at the conclusion to which our good 
 folks have arrived ; for, according to their 
 primitive ideas, nothing but witchcraft could 
 account for the Turk-like sway of their ab- 
 horred neighbour ; the want of good conduct 
 in any one of the young girls of their com- 
 munity being looked upon as a kind of 
 mysterious visitation. 
 
 It was, however, mentioned that, sometimes 
 when by chance his charms ceased to in- 
 fluence, the strange man of the Inch did 
 not stop short of secondary, human means. 
 A tale of violence was added, according to 
 which the precincts of the garden of the 
 Inch house was looked upon as banned and 
 unholy ground, although the hero had been 
 disguised beyond the possibility of recogni- 
 tion. On all hands, it was admitted that the 
 strange man o' the Inch had "a sort o' look," 
 a baneful, baleful look, which, if it once 
 rested on a comely girl of any rank, ensured
 
 112 THE MAYOR 
 
 her eventual perdition, or was to be averted 
 only by a miracle. In fact, Bridog-iie Mooney 
 clearly made out her proposition, which had 
 opened the conference round the bonfire, 
 namely, that, "the sthrange man 'o the Inch 
 was a cloven hoofed duowl, passin' himself 
 for a dacent elderly man." 
 
 We extract from bye conversations of 
 our good friends of Wind-gap some assertions 
 that did not tend to set up the character of 
 the subject of their shannauchs. It was vouch- 
 ed that the only person known to live with 
 him was a wrinkled haggard woman ; and 
 yet many figures were seen after twilight 
 going' to the house and coming- from it; and 
 at hours of the night, when well conducted 
 people ought to be at rest, that uproarious 
 rioting was known to continue under his 
 roof till day-break. " Boys of the neigh- 
 bourhood" had once been venturous euough, 
 during one of these commotions, to approach 
 the premises. It was very dark, and they
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 113 
 
 were moving" stealthily onward, when sud- 
 denly they heard a fearful, hellish shout ; 
 the lights, they had previously seen so vivid 
 within the house, became extinguished; 
 before they had time to advance, or recede, 
 each in his consternation was seized, as all 
 averred, by a "horned Divil," for the group 
 was young and strong, and could not other- 
 ^vise have been so overcome ; and, thus mas- 
 tered, they were urged supernaturally along-, 
 " in sich a hurry, that they had'nt time to 
 bless themselves ;" until they arrived at the 
 river's bank, which as has been mentioned, 
 flowed near the house ; and into the river they 
 were plunged, and out of the river they barely 
 escaped, although good swimmers, with the 
 wise resolution never again to oppose earth- 
 ly prowess to fiendish agency. 
 
 " Be him a sinful christin, bought and 
 sould, or be him a duowl in earnest, may the 
 heavens keep him from our road," ejaculated 
 Bridogue Mooney.
 
 114 THE MAYOR 
 
 " Amin, and amin over agin, gossip/' as* 
 sented the dame, with the pendulating head ; 
 " from evil doin's, and evil doers, the Lord 
 deliver us ! " 
 
 A rather violent stir here took place, 
 among the dancers at a little distance ; and 
 six or eight stout young fellows, heralded by 
 the man of straw, and his Herculean help- 
 mate, dragged towards the Mayor's chair 
 two individuals wearing large outside coats, 
 and broad-brimmed hats. As the parties con- 
 fronted the judgment seat, hat and cloak were 
 torn from the person of the foremost culprit ; 
 and, almost in the middle of the gossip, 
 which had occupied itself about him, " the 
 sthrange man o' the Inch" stood fully in 
 view. His nom de guerre was shouted by 
 more than one voice, and immediately those 
 who had held him loosed their grasp ; and he 
 stood in the blaze of the fire, laughing loud- 
 ly at the ludicrous confusion which his 
 presence created.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 115 
 
 Among the old women, there ensued a 
 hidious discord of screams, and they tum- 
 bled over each other, in their hasty, though 
 not successful, attempt to avoid the neigh- 
 bourhood of one whom they themselves had 
 magnified into a very formidable being ; 
 and, in a few seconds, those amongst them 
 who could run, ran with all their might, 
 and those who could only hobble, hobbled 
 with all their energy ; Bridogue Mooney 
 leading the cohort, with the loudest screams 
 oflfended virtue could put forth, while at 
 each inch of their way over Wind-gap hill, 
 every echo of his devilish laugh added im- 
 petus to the hearts and heels of the scan- 
 dalized fugitives. 
 
 The strange man of the Inch, now that he 
 could be really looked upon, seemed to be 
 about forty -five ; though he might be less, 
 for his face, that is, as much of it as was 
 fully visible, had become disfigured by ugly 
 gashes, which probably added to it an
 
 116 THE MAYOR 
 
 appearance of age. Over half of his 
 features he wore a black handkerchief; 
 and of the one eye left exposed, scarce any 
 thing worse than power and brilliancy of 
 expression could be conjectured. An air of 
 lofty command ran through his bearing. He 
 was clad in a full skirted coat of blue cloth, 
 richly laced ; a vest of embroidered silk, a 
 small-clothes of blue plush, and silk stock- 
 ings, and square - toed shoes, with silver 
 buckles in them. 
 
 After the retreat of the old women, his 
 shocking laughter suddenly settled into a 
 bold imperious manner, and his single ob- 
 servable eye flashed fiercely, and his brow 
 knit deeply above it, as he looked on every 
 side at the gaping crowd. 
 
 " Come, make way here, fellows," he 
 said, " I have a strong inclination to punish 
 a score or two of you, for your rough hand- 
 ling, now that you have dared to rob me of 
 my cloak and hat ; make way I say, or I will
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 117 
 
 score some ugly marks on your foolish 
 faces ;" and he tapped the short crooked 
 sword at his side. 
 
 All the old men around Maurteen, and 
 all the young people who had followed from 
 the place of the dance, were receding to 
 make way accordingly, when Maurteen 
 Mahcr clutched his osier- wand, and, sitting 
 very upright in his chair, cried out in a 
 sonorous voice — 
 
 " Stop ! stop aAvhile, genteel, and give 
 an account of yourself." 
 
 The strange man of the Inch turned 
 suddenly round, and glared at the ques- 
 tioner. 
 
 " Yes," resumed Maurteen, '' I'd have 
 a word or two wid ye, afare ye lave our 
 place." 
 
 The summoned person was evidently 
 much surprised and offended at this inter- 
 ruption. He walked rapidly over to his 
 worship, fixed a stern look upon him, was
 
 118 THE MAYOR 
 
 silent for an instant, and at last, burst forth 
 in a question : 
 
 "Who the devil are you, that stops me V 
 
 Maurteen Maher did not wince before 
 the strange man of the Inch. He held his 
 head loftily, and his tone was bold without 
 being* arrogant, as he answered, 
 
 " / am the Mayor of Wind-gap, far above 
 the Mayor of the town below us ; as you 
 may larn by lookin' on the hoight of this 
 place, and how low the town lies at our 
 feet." 
 
 " Take your foolish mummery to some 
 other market, you old ridiculous Irish fel- 
 low :" said the strange man of the Inch, 
 again vehemently turning to go away. 
 
 " There's no mummery about me,'' said 
 Maurteen. " I govern the people here by 
 their own free will and consent; and I 
 govern them for their good." 
 
 "You're an old grey-headed idiot, I 
 take it ; and ye look d — d impertinently at
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 119 
 
 me, and I've half a mind to change your 
 tone," continued the " sthrange man/' 
 
 " Tisn't by fighting- with the swoord, I 
 should be able to rule over my neighbours ; 
 but for all that, I'm not afeard o'ye, as wick- 
 ed as they say ye are, and as fierce as your 
 one eye burns upon me ; so you need not lay 
 your hand upon your crooked hanger ; the 
 odds o'the battle 'ud be agin' ye ; but I 
 don't want any thing but pace and quiet. 
 Listen to me ; I'm tould ye said evil words 
 into the ear of a young girl at the dance, 
 and put your arms round her, when she 
 did'nt want them, and for that offence on 
 Wind-gap, you are brought before me, the 
 Mayor. It is time for you to give over 
 fooolish and sinful notions and behaver. The 
 snow of age has not fallen on your locks as 
 thick as it has upon mine ; but still I'd have 
 you be thinkin' o'your grave. 'Tis a shkandle 
 to us on Wind-gap to see a middle-aged 
 man runnin' the race o''the wicked ; and I
 
 120 THE MAYOR 
 
 say to you, repent o'your sins, and larn to 
 be a christhin." 
 
 This magnificent address, though full of 
 never-to-be-forgotten morality, to the ears 
 of Maurteen's neighbours, seemed to strike 
 the " sthran^e man " as something- emi- 
 nently ridiculous. He burst into a renewal 
 of his former fit of laughter, and hurried, 
 now unobstructed, from the presence of his 
 lecturer. 
 
 The chief offender's companion had stood 
 apart during* the scene we have described ; 
 he moved after his principal. 
 
 The Mayor advanced hastily towards 
 him, seized his cloak, suddenly dragg-ed it 
 open and glanced into his face ; it was 
 but a momentary view he could have gained 
 of the person's features, who recoiled, and 
 drew his disguise closer round him. But 
 there were others besides the Mayor who 
 imagined they had recognized the second 
 domino, as will soon be seen.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 121 
 
 '' I had a notion who was hid under that 
 cloak," said the Mayor privately to this 
 individual. 
 
 " I promised to stand your friend, and 
 'twas plain to me, and now 'tis plainer than 
 ever, that a friend you will want to g-ive 
 you help when you are not thinkin' you need 
 it. Poor boy ! I hard it long- ago, and I 
 b'leve at present that there is a doom upon 
 you, and that ye must work your way through 
 it. Go then, in heaven's name, and face it. 
 I'll keep my word to you all the same ; the 
 Mayor of Wind-gap will be your friend." 
 
 The person he addressed hastened away 
 in the path of the strange man of the Inch, 
 as if glad, like him, to be freed of Maurteen's 
 sermons. 
 
 It was some time before the sensation, 
 created by this commotion at the bonfire, 
 became appeased. Little bare-legged scouts 
 were sent out after the old women, who 
 slowly returned, upon the strongest assur- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE MAYOR 
 
 ancesy on the part of the Mayor, of their 
 personal safety. Terror may be an im- 
 pulse, particularly acting- upon the delicate 
 constitution of the nervous female system ; 
 but above even terror, is to be ranked the 
 nervous curiosity of the softer sex ; so that, 
 according" to these two rules, the old sister- 
 hood of Wind-gap may be permitted, after 
 the allaying of their mortal fright, to re- 
 assemble once more round the bonfire, and 
 its sovereign. Nay, they even squatted 
 down again on the very spot they had 
 lately abandoned, brim-full, every one of 
 them, of most fruitful subjects of conversa- 
 tion. Above all other things, the Mayor's 
 bold and magisterial bearing drew forth 
 their unlimited eulogy ; and we suspect 
 that Maurteen had intended it should have 
 produced such an effect ; at all events, 
 he felt his character to be considerably 
 elevated this night, in the eyes of his 
 subjects.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 123 
 
 His worship continued calmly to preside 
 over the renewed gossip, and answered in 
 good-humoured loftiness to the adulation 
 showered upon him. And we believe that 
 the old women of Wind-gap could have 
 remained for a week sitting on their heels, 
 so highly did they relish the music of each 
 other's tongues, had not the Mayor remind- 
 ed them that the hour for the display of 
 their activity was come ; at which intima- 
 tion, the aged belles and the grey-headed 
 beaux of his jurisdiction joined hands, and, 
 forming a circle, set to dancing with all 
 their possible agility, round and round the 
 glimmering remnants of the bonfire ; those 
 who could boast the greatest strength of 
 limb supported others whose sinews refused 
 to bend with sufficient flexibility, and whose 
 joints had become rusty in their sockets. 
 In this career of crippled movements ; in 
 the grey locks set floating by their motion ; 
 and in the wrinkled visages of the perform- 
 
 g2
 
 124 THE MAYOR 
 
 ers, there was a semblance more to a crowd 
 of witches and wizards, enjoying the see- 
 thing of their spells in a cauldron, than to 
 that of earthly people, engaged in an earth- 
 ly pastime ; while the Mayor, with his white 
 wand presiding over the rite, was no unfit 
 representative of the requisite enchanter, 
 and while the grotesque figures of Meehawl 
 O'Moore, and of his gigantic mate, might 
 be interpreted into two very ungainly imps, 
 attending upon him. 
 
 When the red embers had been nine 
 times encircled by the new dancers, each 
 crone secured a portion of them, and took 
 it carefully home, as one security against 
 charms for the ensuing year ; and we may 
 safely close this chapter with the assertion 
 that they all wended towards their beds 
 heavily laden with the shannauchs and 
 occurrences of this " prasent blessed St. 
 John's Eve." 
 
 After the close of every festivity, it was
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 125 
 
 the custom of the Mayor of Wind-gap to 
 patrol with his bailiff his circuit of autho- 
 rity ; accordingly upon this night, when it 
 was time for all to be a-bed and quiet, he re- 
 newed his customary precautions, and went 
 to his own pillow assured that all his people 
 were " safe and sound,'* and, against all 
 chances, certain of continuing so till the 
 morning. But, for once in his life, at least, 
 the Mayor of Wind-gap was wrong.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 There may be some long-lived persons yet 
 in existence, bred and born even out of the 
 salubrious air of Wind-gap, who remember 
 Roger Divey. He was best known in his 
 day by the title of " yallow Roger," — a sur- 
 name derivable from the sooty-safFron hue 
 of as much of his real surface as could be 
 seen — namely, his large, lank, parchment- 
 covered countenance, his hands and his legs. 
 He was a tall, gaunt man ; his trunk of
 
 WIND-GAP. 127 
 
 heavy bones, loosely strung- together, sup- 
 ported by extremities, not much thicker, nor 
 better shaped from the knees to the ancles, 
 than the huge cudgel he always carried. At 
 the time of our history, Roger was serjeant 
 of the real Mayor of our town and its 
 suburbs, including, of course. Wind-gap it- 
 self; and it was pretty well known that 
 dame justice had no retainer in her service 
 more mercenary than he. 
 
 If one might judge by his external as- 
 pect, he was a man of sedate gravity; appa- 
 rently somewhat stupid ; and honest, with- 
 out the slightest shrewdness, or design. — 
 Herein, however, lay Roger's talent ; for, 
 under the disguise of a sage and very un- 
 comely owl, he hid the raven's cunning and 
 rapacity. A lofty, pompous personage, 
 withal, was Roger ; slowly and solemnly he 
 strode along the streets, his head erect, and 
 his every action full of that "pride of place'' 
 which he felt marked him as the holder
 
 128 THE MAYOR 
 
 of a station of much power and import- 
 ance. 
 
 The morning after the bonfire on Wind- 
 gap hill, Roger Divey was seen pacing 
 through a certain street in the town, in 
 which he officiated ; and those in the habit 
 of observing his outward expression, un- 
 derstood, by the settled dignity of his brow, 
 and the severe and ominous protrusion of his 
 nether lip, that he was proceeding on some 
 errand of moment, connected with his call- 
 ing. Opposite neighbours met half-way 
 in the street, and put their heads together 
 to express their conviction that he had 
 w eighty matters in hand ; and passengers, 
 as they encountered him, stopped short, 
 and turned their eyes after the imposing offi- 
 cial, each endeavouring to enlighten the 
 other as to his probable destination. 
 
 Fully aware of the many enquiring looks 
 directed towards his movements, Roger did 
 not, however, vouchsafe to shew the slightest
 
 OF WIND -GAP. 129 
 
 consciousness of the important curiosity 
 he excited. Filled with his own greatness, 
 he strode onward ; paused at the end of the 
 street, and surveyed, with a deliberate tra- 
 versing glance, a certain house ; then nod- 
 ded his head sedately to itself; moved three 
 stately steps to the hall door ; and calcu- 
 latingly raised its knocker ; and in his own 
 good time, banged it down with such force 
 that one might think the lion's head, moulded 
 on it, had sent forth a roar. 
 
 After this tremendous challenge, Roger 
 drew back some paces ; hit the head of his 
 gigantic shillelagh against the paving- 
 stones ; stretching forth his right arm at 
 full length, rested the palm of his right 
 hand upon it ; fixed his left arm a-kimbo ; 
 boldly advanced his right leg before his 
 person ; threw back his head ; and in this 
 position awaited the result of his summons. 
 The door was opened by a frightened- 
 looking serving wench, and the figure of 
 
 G 5
 
 130 THE MAYOR 
 
 the landlady of the house appeared at some 
 distance behind her. 
 
 " I say, you girl, you/' demanded the man 
 of authority, " would ye have one Masther 
 George Blundell on the premishes, here V 
 
 " E — ah !*' was the only reply of the as- 
 tonished and true Irish girl. 
 
 "Ye slut, ye !" continued Roger, "make 
 thrue answer to sich custions as shall be 
 demanded o' ye, at your peril, do ye see me?" 
 
 " What may be your business with my 
 lodger, Mr. Blundell ?" questioned the land- 
 lady, coming forward. 
 
 " That's his own consarn, Misthress of 
 the house, d' ye see me ? Make known to 
 the young gintleman, i' ye plaze, that w'd 
 discoorsc with him ; we don't have a call to 
 people for no rason." 
 
 '* Mr. Blundell isn't yet up, I b'lieve," 
 said the landlady. 
 
 " That makes no maxim. Marram ; up 
 or down, its all the same to us. Jest give
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 131 
 
 him to undherstand that w'd hould some 
 speech with him." 
 
 " You cannot see him now, you must 
 call another time, my good fellow." 
 
 " Ha, hum, good fellow ? who is it you 
 affront by the name of good fellow ? Mar- 
 ram, we must see him, and we shall see 
 him, or we'll know for what." 
 
 Roger having spoken these words in a 
 loud infallible voice which filled the whole 
 street, cast his eye towards a window over 
 head, and at it perceived the object of his 
 enquiry looking down at him : he waved 
 his arm magisterially, and continued — 
 " Walk ye down here to us, young Master, 
 walk down here to us, d'ye see me ? " 
 nor was this command given in a puny 
 accent. 
 
 George Blundell was shortly on the 
 threshold. 
 
 " What have you to say to me. Sirrah ? " 
 
 " Ah, hum. Sirrah ? we are no Sirrah,
 
 132 THE MAYOR 
 
 my youth, we are no Sirrah ; isn't these purty 
 doin's ? purty doin's isn't they ? by ye're 
 lave, here, all o' ye, by your lave, d'ye see 
 me ? " and Roger jostled through the group, 
 which his bellowing and other noises had 
 created, strode to the door - way, and, 
 passing George Blundell, entered the hall 
 of the house. 
 
 " What's to get ye clear out o' this pro- 
 secution, young master? there isn't a bail 
 bond to be taken, if we don't give in to 
 take it for ye ? " 
 
 " Why are you disturbing the house, 
 fellow ? let me know your errand at once, 
 or I will thrust you into the street." 
 
 '' Ha, hum, this kind o' talk won't sarve 
 ye, while ye're afore his worship, and my- 
 self ; its a burglary matther, let me tell ye, 
 many a stout fellow has died without being 
 sick for a less charge, d'ye see me ? " 
 
 " Explain yourself, or begone " — 
 
 *' Begone ! ha, hum ; would nothing do
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 133 
 
 your turn, my young- masther, but to make 
 a burglary on the dwellin" house, ichi/ at 
 arums, and to brake dours, and to take, force, 
 and carry away a man's daughter from him ? 
 and wid sticks, stones, and staves, to say 
 nothing o'swoords and pistols, to make salt 
 and butthery on a man ? Let me tell ye, 
 d'ye see mc, that we know how to dale wid 
 sich doin's ; and barrin' there's one to 
 make the case clear for ye, ye'll be hard 
 run to keep away from the hill beyant the 
 river, where some people dance upon no- 
 thing, to save their shoes." 
 
 " You are under some mistake, fellow ; 
 leave the house, and do not make a crowd 
 round the door." 
 
 " Hem, lave the house ! is that all I'm 
 to get for my warning ? " 
 
 " Leave it instantly ! " and George looked 
 dangerous. 
 
 " And who's to stand for ye, when ye're 
 afore the Mayor and me, d'ye see me ? "
 
 134 THE MAYOR 
 
 George took the man by the collar, 
 and, without much exertion, led him to the 
 threshold, and pushed him over it. At that 
 moment, his eyes rested upon a certain 
 face and form in an opposite window, he 
 bowed confusedly, retreated quickly, and 
 shut the door on the outraged dignitary. 
 
 Roger had paid this early visit, in the 
 way of pecuniary speculation. He calcu- 
 lated on being retained by George Blundell 
 as an advocate, and had hoped to pocket 
 by his services a good round sum. Now, 
 it might have been supposed that in propor 
 tion to his seeming failure, would be his 
 wrath and disappointment. But, he not 
 only felt no passion, but did not lose sight 
 of his main object. He was not a hasty 
 man, and he had his wits sufficiently about 
 him to reckon that, with proper manage- 
 ment, this assault on his sacred person, 
 might eventually increase his profits. For 
 Roger had never much objection to a slight
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 135 
 
 drubbing ; on the contrary, he considered 
 such little events as among his means of 
 gaining an honest livelihood. We have seen 
 him put forward his as yet unofficial charge, 
 against George Blundell, in the highest tone 
 of exaorsrcration. This was also his uniform 
 practise ; for the greater the terror he in- 
 spired in a guilty breast, the more heavy 
 would be the retaining fee, for his pleading 
 before the Mayor ; or if he thundered forth 
 his accusations and threats upon an inno- 
 cent person, the more likely would be the 
 accused to fly out into a passion and break 
 Roger's pate, and in that case, although the 
 original process fell to the ground, he would 
 be sure to make money by the " salt and 
 butthery business." 
 
 To the mansion of the Mayor, (by the 
 way, we have lately sketched a Mayor of 
 a town and his sergeant, but trusting to the 
 total dissimilarity between them and our 
 present subjects, we cannot resist the temp-
 
 136 
 
 THE MAYOR 
 
 tation of presenting- our readers with a com- 
 panion-picture to the former one,) to the man- 
 sion of the Mayor, Rog-er wended his way. 
 It was at that time the good old practise of 
 the chief magistrates of the city to hold their 
 court wherever they pleased, and their pri- 
 vate dwellings were, during their term of of- 
 fice, often transformed, therefore, into halls 
 of justice. Wind and weather permitting, our 
 present Mayor decided all cases in the open 
 air, at least, so far as regarded the positions 
 of the plaintiffs and defendants before him. 
 The house, occupied about fifty-five years 
 ago by his worship, is now in existence, and 
 whatever might then have been thought of 
 it, appears to us a very mean edifice, only 
 two stories high, and the whole of its first 
 floor, as was also the case in Roger Divey's 
 day, used as a shop ; of which the little 
 bow-window still holds, we are assured by 
 very old people, the self-same (to all ap- 
 pearance at least,) red - herrings, tallow
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 137 
 
 candles, rows of tobacco, decanters of spi- 
 rits, tea-cannisters, and so forth, and so 
 forth, which it did in the eig-hteenth cen- 
 tury. 
 
 One half of the Mayor's shop-door was 
 raised up on hinges, and hooked ag-ainst 
 the ceiling ; the top edge of the other half 
 served as a resting-place for his round 
 elbows, when in an attitude half-standing, 
 half-bending, and mainly supported by those 
 elbows, he discharged his judicial functions ; 
 the complaining and the answering parties 
 being assembled meantime, as we before 
 premised, in the street. By the charter of 
 the city we treat of, it is decreed that " wise 
 discreet citizens " shall be chosen to fill the 
 several municipal ofiices ; but unluckily, the 
 instrument gives no datum by which one 
 may ascertain what is to be considered 
 wisdom and discretion in the said city ; so 
 that these qualities, legally specified as 
 indispensible, have from time to time been
 
 138 THE MAYOR 
 
 very differently exemplified, in very differ- 
 ent individuals. 
 
 Roger Divey had been dubbed, '^ yallow 
 Roger ;" his worship the Mayor, who, on 
 the arbitrary word of the interpreters of the 
 charter, was a " wise and discreet citizen," 
 had also received a surname, that of " alder- 
 man split-fig : " because, when weighing a 
 penny-worth of figs in his shop, he would 
 divide one of them into four parts, rather 
 than give weight beyond the legal comple- 
 ment. He had contrived, however, to amass 
 a considerable sum of money, (consider- 
 able, according to his time and position,) 
 chiefly by these very saving talents ; and we 
 will at once admit that there canlbe no 
 more valuable quality than the aptmide to 
 get rich ; and that it is our belief tfi^t, by 
 the sense of all the world, as well as by that 
 of his constituents, our present Mayor gave, 
 in the length of his purse, proof positive 
 of " wisdom and discretion."
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 189 
 
 When Roger Divey arrived at the Mayor's 
 place of audience, a crowd of suitors had 
 assembled in the street, around the half- 
 door, or hatch-way. At the appearance of 
 the influential officer, all instantly flocked 
 to him, and all began, in the same breath, to 
 relate their difi'erent grievances, or put for- 
 ward their difi'erent defences. Roger authori- 
 tatively silenced this clamour ; singled out 
 the opposing parties, and led them, each 
 in turn, into a lane that turned ofi" at the 
 corner of the Mayor's dwelling. There he 
 listened to charge and reply ; cried Ha ! ha ! 
 hem ! at proper inters als ; occasionally 
 nodded his sage head ; most condescendingly 
 glanced out of the corner of his eye, into 
 the palm of his hand, to ascertain the re- 
 lative amount of each fee ; for Roger was 
 always retained on both sides ; and the 
 cases in this initiatory court were adjourned 
 in the first instance, to the greasy counter 
 in the Mayor's shop, where, before real trial,
 
 140 ,THE MAYOR 
 
 Roger further received from each disputant 
 a little conciliation, in the shape of a oflass 
 of the peculiar kind of spirituous liquor 
 which, by anxious calculation, could be 
 concluded most acceptable to his palate ; 
 one giving him half a " noggin' " of gin 
 and bitters, another a dram of brandy, an- 
 other a modicum of purl and gill, and so 
 on ; and all this while Roger left his group 
 of clients doubtful of the side he should 
 ultimately take. 
 
 There was a second adjournment into the 
 street ; the half-door was again closed and 
 bolted, and at length his Worship ap- 
 peared to his crowded court, leaning over 
 it. His wig not being ready dressed, a red 
 woollen night-cap covered his bald head, 
 and an ample outside coat, sufficiently ample 
 even for his dimensions, hung cloakwise from 
 his shoulders, its sleeves falling down his 
 back ; and we vault over his hatch-way, 
 and land in his shop, to add that the knees
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 141 
 
 of his black plush breeches were, even at 
 this hour of the morning', yet unbuttoned; 
 that his broad red garters, which lapped 
 over and over in many foMs, to tighten his 
 light blue stockings, were visible a little 
 above the round of his leg ; and that his feet 
 were in comfortable listen slippers. 
 
 His worship was stricken in years ; low, 
 stout, and indeed undignified, in figure ; the 
 opposite, in fact, of his chief ofiicer ; and a 
 pair of large grey protruding eyes, a broad 
 flat nose ; an under lip so conveniently push- 
 ing out, as to afford a comfortable resting 
 place for its upper one, and ^altogether a 
 round plump face, shewed little of a phy- 
 siognomonical corroboration of the evidence 
 supplied, on a certain point, by his long 
 purse. 
 
 Giving his loose outside coat a twitch, in 
 order to settle it round his shoulders, and 
 then folding it comfortably under his arms, 
 he leaned, as usual, both his elbows on the
 
 142 THE MAYOR 
 
 edge of the half-door, and quietly turned 
 his leaden eyes up and down the street. 
 
 " The top o' the mornin' to your Wor- 
 ship " — began Roger, snatching oiF his 
 three-cocked hat, scraping his hob-nailed 
 Drogues along the pavement, and accom- 
 panying this movement by a corresponding 
 bend in his lathy figure. 
 
 " A good morning to you, kindly, Roger," 
 answered his worship, his gurgling voice 
 making way with difficulty through his short 
 round throat, " and what thrials comes' on 
 to-day, Roger ? " 
 
 In practical answer to this query, Roger 
 at once proceeded in his accustomed capa* 
 city of counsel for and against. He brought 
 forward plaintifi*s and defendants in turn ; 
 he detailed, with great deliberation, and 
 much ostentation of manner, various cases, 
 with the replies to each ; and now it was 
 that the amount of a fee had due effect. If, 
 during his recital, the party whose advocate
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 143 
 
 he had for the moment become, found him- 
 self misrepresented, and endeavoured in 
 consequence to interrupt the statement, his 
 Worship interposed, saying, with great 
 quietude and complacency, " Asy now, asy ! 
 and let Roger tell it " — occasionally, how 
 ever, the Mayor turned his eye heavily upon 
 Roger's client, with an expression which in- 
 dicated a sluggish wish to comprehend the 
 orator's entanglement of a plain story, had 
 heaven but blessed him with a due quantum 
 of " wisdom and discretion." But if, in reply 
 to such mute appeals, the plaintiff began to 
 speak, the defendant was sure to start against 
 him at the same moment, with the utmost 
 power of his lungs and ingenuity ; at which 
 his Worship's perplexity becoming trebled, 
 he was glad to fall back upon Roger's single 
 puzzle ; and his " Asy, asy now, good people, 
 lave it to Roger '' — would soon stop all cla- 
 mour ; for Roger scarce ever failed to impose 
 silence under the good magistrate's authority.
 
 144 THE MAYOR 
 
 "Well Roger, and what do you think 
 about it ? " his Worship would ask, when 
 both stories were recapitulated over and 
 over ; and Roger, summing up evidence, in 
 a masterly style, gave a decision, which the 
 Mayor instantly adopted as his own. If 
 any aggrieved person happened to expos- 
 tulate — " Go your ways, go your ways, my 
 good man*' — was the signal for Roger to 
 force off the grumbling suitor. Nor could 
 the Mayor be in any instance accused of in- 
 justice ; for, although his judgments were 
 most frequently absurd, his intentions bore 
 him harmless. It was not his fault that 
 Roger's superior genius should keep his 
 mind in leading-strings ; and we must there- 
 fore in candor visit upon Roger exclusively 
 the faulty administration of justice, in this 
 rather slovenly court. 
 
 One man, amongst the complainants of 
 the morning, seemed bursting with the mag- 
 nitude of the case he had come to put for-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 145 
 
 ward, and with the intensity of the feeling- 
 it excited in his breast. Frequently he ad- 
 vanced to begin his story ; but Roger in- 
 variably thrust him back, to make way 
 for others. In fact, whether from indigence, 
 or because he regarded his g-rievance as 
 sufficiently great to command immediate 
 and full attention, this person had given 
 Roger no retainer. But at length, every 
 excuse for further delay was exhausted, and 
 Roger could only look up and down the 
 street in expectation of George BlundelFs 
 appearance ; and, finally, as that young gen- 
 tleman chose to absent himself altogether, 
 very contrary to the hopes of the venal ad- 
 vocate, the Mayor's sergeant determined to 
 plead forcibly against him, merely that his 
 services might in future be more properly 
 estimated. 
 
 " Plaze your worship," said Roger, 
 " there is one Juff Carroll, d'ye see me ; and 
 he's from the Wind-gap abroad there, your 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE MAYOR 
 
 worship ; and he lives in his little cabin 
 there, indhusterin' for his bread, d'je see 
 me ; and we can put in bail, your wor- 
 ship, that he's an honest hard - working- 
 crature of a man ; and, by coorse, 'twas last 
 night your worship" — 
 
 '' Jest an hour afore the dawn of day," 
 cried the applicant, " when my darlin' 
 Pegg-y and myself came home from the bon- 
 fire on Wind-gap hill ; and we sed our little 
 prayers, and we went to our beds." 
 
 " Wisht, wisht, JufF Carroll," interrupted 
 Roger. 
 
 '• Asy, asy now, my honest man ! and let 
 Roger tell it to me," decided the Mayor : 
 we would vary his phraseology, but that 
 by so doing, we should not be true to our 
 original ; for he invariably made use of the 
 same words, on similar occasions ; as if 
 life, time, breath, and above all things, 
 intellect, were things too precious to be 
 squandered on the vain attempt of trying
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 147 
 
 to express the same thought in two different 
 ways. 
 
 " This poor honest Juff Carroll/*' resumed 
 Roger, "who is here standing afore your 
 worship, in the hoight of trouble, d'ye see 
 me — he has a purty daughter, a purty 
 honey, d'ye see me, your worship." 
 
 " Is she a purty honey, indeed, Roger ? " 
 his worship was always moved when Roger 
 became oratorical. 
 
 "Oh! Where's my Peggy now?'' ejacu- 
 lated the bereaved parent, " where have they 
 dragged her, from the father that doated on 
 her, in his heart within him !" 
 
 " And you were fond of her in your heart, 
 my poor man ;" demanded the mayor, surpris- 
 ing all who heard him with the abundance of 
 his speech ; but he had a daughter too. 
 
 " Why shouldn't I, your Worship ? she 
 was my only child ! and the mother of her 
 left her to me on the bed where she was 
 
 h2
 
 148 THE MAYOR 
 
 born ! the light o' my eyes she was upon my 
 flure, the comfort of my days !'' 
 
 '' Whist, whist now, JufF Carroll," — in- 
 terrupted the sergeant, getting- jealous of 
 Nature's spontaneous eloquence. 
 
 " Yes, asy my good man, asy now," added 
 the mayor, brushing the tears from his eyes, 
 " asy and let Roger tell it." 
 
 Accordingly Roger resumed, "T'was last 
 night, d'ye see me, your worship, that the 
 burglary and threspass was done on poor 
 JufF Carroll ; they broke open the dow r of 
 his cabin, why at arums, d'ye see me, your 
 w orship, and the little daughter w as taken, 
 forced, and carried away from him." 
 
 "Dear me, dear me," sympathized the 
 mayor, "and tell me, Roger, does this honest 
 poor man know the people that done the 
 burglary and the ^threspass on him ? hey, 
 Roger?" 
 
 " I do, I do know," answered the father, 
 too rapidly for Roger's interference ; " I'd
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 149 
 
 all as one swear my book oath that the man 
 that sthruck me down was the sthrange 
 man o' the Inch, and amon^ the other men 
 that were helpin' him, I'll swear there was 
 one man, wearin' the same cloak and the 
 same hat that young George Blundell had 
 upon him, when I saw him in the sthrange 
 man's company at the bon-fire ; the time 
 that the sthrange man frightened my poor 
 Peggy, by his unmannerly behaver to her, 
 and by his evil words in her ear." 
 
 "What does he mane by the sthrange 
 man o' the Inch, Roger? " asked the mayor. 
 
 "Why, your worship, tisn't out of your 
 knowledge that there is one dangerous 
 tory of a man livin' at the wicked ould 
 house at the Inch, abroad there ; and he's 
 an ould oflfender, d'ye see me — we had him 
 up more than oust, afore your worship: and 
 since then, he goes on with more wickeder 
 plottin's and doin's than ever, out at the 
 Inch, and" —
 
 150 THE MAYOR 
 
 A smart" tap from an open palm on 
 Roger's shoulder interrupted his narrative. 
 Offended and angry at the freedom, he turned 
 quickly round ; the strange man of the Inch 
 was at his elbow. The father of Peggy 
 Carroll, without power to utter a word, stared, 
 gaped, pointed, and chattered his teeth at 
 the dreaded visitor. — 
 
 The strange man was now dressed dif- 
 ferently from his costume of the preceding 
 night. A black silk handkerchief yet covered 
 indeed, one eye and part of one cheek ; over 
 the other side of his face fell the peak of his 
 laced cocked hat; and, to the fancy of some 
 detesting observers, seemed to borrow a cor- 
 responding fierceness, and to become some- 
 how frightfully indentified with the flaming 
 ball which it shaded. His coat was of scarlet 
 cloth embroidered with gold lace, his small 
 clothes were black satin, his stockings 
 black silk, and his well polished shoes were 
 adorned with sparkling silver buckles.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 151 
 
 There was a malicious, confident jocu- 
 larity of manner about the strange man, as 
 he moved into the lane, at the corner of the 
 Mayor's house, beckoning- Roger Divey to 
 follow him. Roger, comprehending, at a 
 glance, the meaning of his invitation, in- 
 stantly accepted it. For a few moments he 
 and his formidable confidante stood there 
 within the recess of a gate - way. The 
 strange man did not re-emerge into the 
 main street, but Roger duly re-appeared 
 before the Mayor. Peggy Carroll's father 
 was disjointedly proceeding in his tale of 
 grievance. 
 
 " Jufi" Carroll, hould your tongue," in- 
 terrupted Roger, and the Mayor pronounced 
 his usual command for silence. Roger 
 gravely addressed the chief magistrate : 
 
 " Your Worship, poor Jufi* Carroll, that's 
 here to the fore, and an honest crature of 
 a man he is, d'ye see me, has a bad case to 
 argufy afore your Worship — an' we'll all
 
 152 THE MAYOR 
 
 do our endavors to rightify him, and to bring 
 the offendhers undher the law, and why not, 
 d'ye see me. More be token, since they 
 made salt and butthtry agin the person of 
 Juflf Carroll hisself— not to talk of the bur- 
 glary and of the carrying away, by force 
 and arums, o' the poor purty dhaughter of 
 him, — 'twas the greatest murdher, ever you 
 seen, your worship, that he hadn't the light 
 o' the day, or even a bit of a candle, or a 
 rish-light itself, or a thing o' the kind, that 
 'ud help him to see and to 'dentify the house- 
 breakers that sthruck him down on the flure 
 of his own little cabin, into a swoon, like, 
 in sich away, (the villains !) that he couldn't 
 see 'em if he had the full light o' the day 
 itself, because people's eyes are shet, when 
 there's a wakeness on them ; an' 'twould be 
 against the law to let wicked people be 
 free that brake the pace a second time, for 
 poor Juff Carroll, and dhragged his dhaugh- 
 ter, as aforesaid, over her father's threshold.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 153 
 
 afther committing burg-lary upon the dour 
 of the cabin ; all the while that the poor 
 sufferin' man couldn't tell from Adam who 
 made him fall down into the swoon." 
 
 " He that forced off my Peggy," cried 
 out Juflf Carroll, " was here a moment agone 
 — that was the robber of my child, and 
 young Blundell was helpin' of him." 
 
 " Asy now, asy, poor man, God help ye ; 
 but you'll put Roger out : let Roger tell it 
 to me ; well, Roger ? " interposed the 
 Mayor. 
 
 "There's foolish people, plaze your 
 Worship, that talks o' the jontleman livin' 
 in the ould house at the Inch, abroad there ; 
 bud we'll put in good 'sponsible bail for him, 
 afore your Worship, that he's nothin' but 
 a quiet, dacent man, and that he'd no more 
 commit a burglary on poor Juflf Carroll's 
 dour, why at arums, no more nor we'd do it 
 ourselves, afther a manner, d'ye see me, 
 your Worship. But if we can come, by 
 
 h5
 
 154 THE MAYOR 
 
 hook or crook across the bad boys that have 
 done the harum to this crature o' a man, 
 (poor JufF Carroll that's to the fore,) won't 
 we lay the heavy hand on 'em, and for why 
 not, d'ye see me, your Worship ? " 
 
 There were violent efforts, on the part 
 of the agonized father, to fix his charge on 
 the person now praised in the speech of the 
 mercenary ofiicer ; but peace and quiet 
 were placidly recommende.d by the Mayor, 
 and obstreperously insisted on by Roger. 
 
 *' Ah, your worship, he's a very, very 
 honest jontleman, livin' quiet and asy at 
 the Inch ; a nate paceable house, your wor- 
 ship, all alone by itself, out of harum's 
 way ; and, as for young Masther Blundell, 
 if the cratur of a daughter belonging to this 
 poor honest man was to stay in poor JufF's 
 cabin till she ran to seed into an ould gran- 
 ny, he's never the boy that 'ud lay a finger 
 on her ; for he's the most modestest of all 
 the boys, gentle or simple, that your wor-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 155 
 
 ship and I has the throuble of lookin' afther. 
 And so, your worship, d'ye see me, we'll do 
 our endavours to saize the raal ofFendhers, 
 or by this stick in my hand, JufF Carroll," he 
 continued, turning to the now desponding 
 parent — " we'll see the just thing done by 
 you, in time and rason ; for his worship, 
 the Mayor, does right and thrue by every 
 sowl that comes afore his face, d'ye see 
 me." 
 
 The case was decided. In vain did Juff 
 Carroll aver that he was " a' most proof 
 positive," that the strange man of the Inch 
 w as the ruffian that plundered him of his 
 child, and that George Blundell was one of 
 his disguised accomplices. Roger still con- 
 tended, and very plausibly too, according 
 to the Mayor's opinion, that Juff could not 
 at any period of the affray have distinguish- 
 ed the persons of his assaulters and de- 
 stroyers, because, eventually, he had lain 
 insensible under their hands : and poor
 
 156 WIND-GAP. 
 
 JufF at last plodded his way homeward, to 
 Wind-g-ap, comforted solely by the slender 
 shadow of promise given by Roger Divey, 
 to see justice done to him. The last words 
 which struck his ear, while turning- his 
 back on the judgment seat, were those of 
 his worship the Mayor : 
 
 " God help ye, poor man ! g-o your ways 
 now ; 'tis a very sorrowful thing for ye ; but 
 don't ye hear what Roger says? go your 
 ways, go your ways."
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 We are sorry that there hang-s over George 
 Blundell, according- to his own account, at 
 least, some of the old thread -bare mystery 
 of parentage, and so forth, and wish that 
 we could, as faithful historians, skip it 
 altogether, or else give him at once in the 
 eyes of the world, a respectable house-keep- 
 ing father and mother. Against our will, 
 however, we are bound to report of him the 
 morsel of romance which he asserted about
 
 158 THE MAYOR 
 
 himself. From his twelfth year, to his twen- 
 tieth, (he was now nearly twenty-one,) he 
 had been receiving- his education in the emi- 
 nent seminary of the town where he at pre- 
 sent resided, and his remittances had been 
 invariably liberal. When questioned by his 
 class-mates, in the bold intrusive way in 
 which boys will question one another, as to 
 who, and what he was, George Blundell stated 
 himself to be the son of a wealthy merchant, 
 a native of Ireland, who resided in a fo- 
 reign country. At first this brief explanation 
 appeared satisfactory ; but, unfortunately 
 for his quiet, the lad distinguished himself 
 by the intensity of his application to his 
 studies, and in consequence by extraordi- 
 nary progress and scholastic superiority ; 
 and now it was found out that his station 
 in life, or his social position, was sufficient- 
 ly doubtful to alarm his aristocratic young 
 school - fellows, and George was insulted. 
 But those who outraged his feelings suffered
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 159 
 
 for their temerity ; he proved himself a 
 fierce fighter, as well as an eclipsing stu- 
 dent ; in fact, when his passion was roused, 
 he took any odds in years, weight, or height, 
 and always thrashed his man. 
 
 One or two other features of his charac- 
 ter at school may be noticed. In the athle- 
 tic sports of his companions, such as foot- 
 ball, wrestling, and so forth, he did not 
 often join. Most frequently while they ran 
 riot over the beautiful lawn that stretched 
 from the academy to the water's edge, he 
 sought a quiet nook, with his favourite 
 authors. And yet, occasionally, when the 
 game or pastime of the day was particular- 
 ly exciting, he would start up from his lone- 
 liness, fling aside his books, enter into the 
 contest, for agile superiority, as eagerly as 
 if it were a question of life and death ; and 
 when the palm of excellence became unwil- 
 lingly ceded to him, he would again quietly 
 and gravely, and with all his previous de-
 
 160 THE MAYOR 
 
 votedness, return to his voluntary studies. 
 And thus his boyish days promised a man- 
 hood of deep enthusiasm, no matter what 
 might prove to be its momentary object, 
 while his talents for attaining any thing, 
 coupled with his fiery and overbearing 
 spirit, swept all competition before him : 
 and such a character bid fair for eminence, 
 either in vice or in virtue, according as it 
 might be directed. Now we turn to other 
 matters. 
 
 Peggy Carroll, whom we have just seen 
 carried off by, according to her father's ac- 
 count, the man of the Inch, was the foster- 
 sister of Anny Kennedy ; and in many points 
 poor Peggy was as dear to Anny as if 
 they had really been sisters. The news, 
 therefore, of the girl's abduction greatly 
 afflicted Anny Kennedy ; and with her young 
 attendant, a first cousin of Peggy, she shed 
 many tears over the misfortune. But those 
 tears flowed, perhaps, as readily on another
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 161 
 
 account. It was soon no secret, all over 
 the town, that Juff Carroll had charged 
 George Blundell as an accomplice in the 
 outrage which deprived him of his child : 
 Anny could not close her ears against the 
 rumour ; and although his worship, the 
 mayor, had decided that it was only a mis- 
 conception, yet, did fear and doubt and 
 terror, possess the young girl's heart ; the 
 more particularly as she had been an eye- 
 witness of Roger Divey's visit to the house 
 of her lover, and of George's violent ejec- 
 tion of him into the street — a piece of 
 bravadoism, by the way, which, in Anny's 
 estimation, he need not have enacted, had 
 he felt himself calmly innocent of the serious 
 accusation laid at his door. 
 
 Jeffery Carroll lived down by the river- 
 side, and his cabin was the very last with- 
 in range of the jurisdiction of the Mayor of 
 Wind-gap ; and moreover, it stood not more 
 than a quarter of a mile from the widely
 
 162 TflE MAYOR 
 
 celebrated house of the Inch. In JcfFery's 
 humble abode, Anny and her maid Grace 
 had spent many happy days of their in- 
 fancy ; thither, about the noon of the morn- 
 ing of the investigation before the Mayor, 
 they bent their steps ; and there, from poor 
 Jeffery's own tongue they received a confir- 
 mation of all they had previously heard. 
 Nay, the afflicted and loquacious man, 
 talking himself, hour after hour, into cer- 
 tainty upon points which he had before but 
 strongly believed, at present averred that, 
 beyond all doubt, George Blundell was one 
 of the ravishers of his daughter. And now 
 Anny's grief and despair at least equalled 
 his. After some time spent in vain endea- 
 vours to console Juff Carroll, the two young 
 women began to retrace their way home- 
 ward. They were close to a lane which, 
 shaded by bushes on either hand, led direct- 
 ly to the water's edge, and v/ere about to 
 enter it, when Anny Kennedy drew back
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 163 
 
 in terror, for within it she heard the accents 
 of George Blundell, although she could not 
 see his person, and he was engaged in con- 
 versation with another man, whose harsh, 
 abrupt tones conveyed a frightful anticipa- 
 tion to Anny's heart. 
 
 " One word more, one sound more, from 
 your lips. Sir, and you shall repent it," said 
 the strange bad voice, in a most dictatorial 
 tone — " from that instant I throw you upon 
 your own flourishing resources ; you must 
 wait my time. Sir, and nothing else will I 
 hear on the subject." 
 
 " And while I wait your time, she may 
 be lost to me for ever," replied George 
 Blundell. 
 
 "That is nothing to the purpose. Sir; — 
 but tell me. Sir, what like girl is this, who 
 has so caught your foolish fancy? this Anny 
 Kennedy?" 
 
 " She is such, even in person, that words 
 of mine would fail to describe her."
 
 164 THE MAYOR 
 
 Notwithstanding her terror, and all her 
 agonizing misgivings, the true woman flut- 
 tered for an instant at these words in Anny's 
 heart, and she felt rather obliged to George 
 Blimdell. 
 
 " Snap her up. Sir — snap her up ; it can 
 only be herself you want, and herself is 
 easily had for a little courage ; let me tell 
 you, boy, that a woman is like a gallant 
 vessel on the sea, though still weaker than 
 the ship that encounters her, and the sooner 
 you come to close action, the sooner she 
 strikes her colours ; and for this you may 
 take the word of one who knows both 
 the ship at sea, and woman in every 
 clime." 
 
 '' I fear," resumed George, "that the ac- 
 cusation in which I am involved may have 
 reached her ears — If I might only explain 
 to her, or try, ever so confidentially, to — 
 
 " Tut, tut, Sir ! not a syllable, — Never 
 shall she be yours, that is, with my assist-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 165 
 
 ance, if you open your lips to her on the 
 matter." 
 
 Auny stood pale and breathless at these 
 \vords — It suddenly occurred to her, to avoid 
 the observation of George Blundell and of 
 this unknown arbiter of his destinies, and 
 the w ish was fearfully increased, v> hen she 
 heard their footsteps approaching. Her only 
 mode of retreat, however, was along the 
 field-path by which she had approached the 
 lane ; and this w as unprotected by any co- 
 vering or screen ; so that she could hope to 
 remain out of their view only for a few 
 moments. While hesitating and trembling, 
 George Blundell and his companion, sud- 
 denly issuing from the lane, w ere close to 
 her. At sight of Anny, the former seemed 
 overwhelmed \\ith amazement and confusion ; 
 the latter started into an attitude of bold 
 and intrusive interest, and fixed a daring 
 look upon her face. 
 
 "Thesthrange man! — the sthrange mau
 
 166 THE MAYOR 
 
 o' the Inch !" whispered Anny's attendant, 
 grasping her mistress by the arm ; and, agi- 
 tated as Anny herself was, she felt that 
 poor Grace Carroll shook in a very palsy 
 of fear. 
 
 But Anny took her resolution and her 
 course at once : onward she hurried, in as 
 quick a pace as she could command, Grace 
 Carroll still holding her arm, and trotting at 
 her side. George Blundell addressed her, 
 but she had passed him before the words 
 reached her ear ; she heeded him not, but 
 hastened onward — He called her by name ; 
 she did not notice him. She heard his foot 
 behind her ; Anny, identified as he now 
 clearly stood with the evil person in whose 
 company she had found him, felt an impulse 
 to run w ith all her might from her lover ; 
 but she checked the nervousness, by a recol- 
 lection that such an act would be beneath 
 her. 
 
 " Dearest Anny, why do you shun me
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 167 
 
 thus ?" asked George Blundell, when he had 
 come up with her — she again tried to quick- 
 en her pace, but did not answer him. He 
 kept close at her side, and besought her to 
 speak. She glanced hastily behind her ; the 
 strange man was not in view— a turn in the 
 lane had hidden him from her. She felt 
 somewhat relieved, yet could not, without 
 an effort, command her breath to say — 
 
 " Mr. Blundell, I had rather walk alone." 
 
 "Anny, adored Anny, what can be the 
 meaning of this? Why do you shun to-day 
 the man you did not shun yester evening ?" 
 
 Anny was again silent, and still walked 
 briskly on — her movements a little retarded 
 by the way, in consequence of the heavy 
 weight, in the shape of Grace Carroll, which 
 dragged down her arm. 
 
 " Anny, is it possible, Anny, you can give 
 credit to those absurd rumours raised against 
 me? and do you really think me guilty, 
 Anny, of all they lay to my charge ?"
 
 168 THE MAYOR 
 
 She stopped suddenly, and looking down 
 for an instant, answered him, for a girl, 
 sternly — 
 
 *' Mr. Blundell, I will not pronounce an 
 opinion on your guilt, or your innocence ; 
 but, as calmly and as firmly as my foolish 
 fright, and my true indignation, permit, I 
 tell you that, even with the bare imputation 
 on your character of the crimes to which 
 you allude, it is more than presumptuous in 
 you to address me at present, as you do." 
 
 " Presumptuous, my own darling Anny ? 
 presumptuous, did you say ?" whined forth 
 the unintelligible George Blundell. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, presumptuous ; for do you 
 suppose that I can ever again speak with a 
 man, even in the coldest intercourse of so- 
 ciety, who has violated the sanctity of a 
 virtuous roof, and dragged a daughter from 
 a father's arms ? Or, Sir, do you suppose, 
 have you dared to suppose, that I ever 
 could have interchanged even the slighest
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 169 
 
 intimacy with him, had I imagined he was 
 capable of such an act ?" 
 
 " My adored Anny, I swear to you by 
 the—'* 
 
 " Fie, Sir, ^e — your coming oath is a new 
 aflront — I am a woman and a lady, and not 
 yet at your mercy, to listen to it." 
 
 " Oh Anny — most beloved Anny — I know 
 not what to say — " 
 
 " Neither do I know. Sir, ^^ hat you may 
 say ; but I know perfectly well what you 
 ought to do. Listen to me, Mr. Blundell — 
 I loved, and I love my foster-sister, Peggy 
 Carroll ; although a humble girl, she was a 
 very good - hearted one — to say nothing of 
 her being very lovely ; she was a sensible 
 and discreet girl too, and used to act as a 
 kind of elder sister towards me : — Go, Sir, 
 to your bad companion — the disreputable 
 man you have just parted from — go to him. 
 Sir, and persuade him to restore my poor 
 Peggy to her agonized father ; let her be re- 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE MAYOR 
 
 stored, Mr. Blundell, as you found her, and 
 as I knew her ; but at all events. Sir, — Oh 
 do restore her to her father !" and the once co- 
 quetting- Anny wept bitter and beautiful tears. 
 " God !" groaned Blundell, " I see I am 
 lost for ever !" 
 
 There was seemingly deep affliction in 
 the tones of his voice as he uttered these 
 few words ; they struck like a knell on 
 Anny's ear; she could not avoid glancing* 
 up into his face, and its expression touched 
 her heart. Woe, and despair of the deepest 
 hue, racked over it. It claimed even com- 
 mon compassion ; and the good, the pure- 
 minded, and the gentle-hearted Anny invo- 
 luntarily afforded it her full pity. For in- 
 deed, she argued — if argument she could be 
 supposed to have made — it did not express 
 callous profligacy, but only spoke of an 
 intense, inward suffering. 
 
 " Well, well, George,— Mr. Blundell, I 
 meant to say — what is your answer to me
 
 OF WIND-GAP. ' 171 
 
 at last ? ' Her beautiful little lips were now 
 pale, and convulsed with an effort to cease 
 from her weeping-. 
 
 "Anny/'he answered, "you are right; 
 I do not blame you ; I blame, no matter 
 whom — or what — and — but that you are 
 present, I could curse my fate, and the day 
 of my birth. And it is true, very true, 
 that you should not hold the most ordinary 
 intercourse with a person accused as I am ; 
 I will not, therefore, intrude upon you ; but, 
 at a future time, perhaps, when I may pos- 
 sibly be able to cast the imputation from 
 me, your first scorn may abate, and — " 
 
 " Will you restore Peggy Carroll to her 
 father?" interrupted Anny. 
 
 " At present," answered George Blundell, 
 " I make but this simple declaration — I am 
 guiltless of the young woman's abduction. 
 Professions of principle are nothing. It 
 will, and, under my circumstances, it ought 
 to avail me little to say, that I contemn 
 
 I 2
 
 172 THE MAYOR 
 
 and detest such proceedings ; for I ought 
 to be able to prove my g-eneral assertion, 
 in the particular case you speak of, or my 
 words are as the wind. I only add, my 
 adored, and respected Anny, that if it be in 
 my power to restore Peggy Carroll to her 
 father, the good deed shall be done." — 
 He took off his hat, and bowed low and 
 solemnly. 
 
 Even against her sense of all the pro- 
 prieties, Anny felt half inclined towards a 
 longer parley, but she resisted the tempta- 
 tion, and ceremoniously returning his salu- 
 tation, passed sagely on. Turning the last 
 point of a curve on her path, she happened, 
 almost without her own wish, to glance 
 back ; George Blundell was standing mo- 
 tionless on the spot where she had left him, 
 his hat yet in his right hand ; his eyes fol- 
 lowing Anny, and his left hand pressed 
 across his temples. It was very uncalcula- 
 ting of Anny, that at this sight her com-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 173 
 
 passion outweighed her sense of injury, and 
 that fresh tears — but now not for Peg-gy 
 Carroll — g-listened in her eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Anny !" said Grace Carroll, 
 as they proceeded along, "did you ever 
 know such loock as Ave had this day, to get 
 clear of them so well ?" 
 
 "Very true, Grace, very true," the young 
 lady answered, scarcely knowing the nature 
 of the question she replied to. — On she walk- 
 ed, her eyes cast down, and her thoughts 
 absorbingly occupied. Her companion 
 continued — 
 
 " Did a livin' look ever rest on so terri- 
 ble a man, as that sthrange man o' the Inch, 
 Miss Anny ? Och ! its a mercy there's but 
 one eye in his head, or nobody at all would 
 stand before him, they say; there's not a 
 young crature he stares at that doesn't come 
 to sorrow by him — Poor cousin Peggy, poo^ 
 cousin Peggy, what a lot is yours !— But — the 
 Lord above be our guard and protection,"
 
 174 THE MAYOR 
 
 she suddenly added, pulling at the arm she 
 still held. Anny was startled; she raised her 
 eyes : they had just turned another quick 
 curve of the path-way, which led them home- 
 ward ; the man they so much disliked and 
 feared was again before them. The green 
 lane barely allowed two persons to walk on 
 abreast ; had they gone on, they must, there- 
 fore, have separated, and each in turn have 
 come alone into close contact with the per- 
 son of the strange Man o' the Inch ; who, 
 as if to increase their difficulty, stood in the 
 middle of the way. The terrified girls neces- 
 sarily paused ; Grace Carroll's feet scarce 
 able to support her, and Anny, though endea- 
 vouring to summon up her utmost courage, 
 did not feel much calmer. 
 
 " Will the beautiful Anny excuse me for 
 waylaying her in this manner?" said the 
 intruder, while the eye which Grace Carroll 
 so much dreaded, seemed to shoot fire on 
 the young lady he addressed. — *'But one
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 175 
 
 glance of such beauty as your's only 
 arouses the wish for a second." 
 
 " Allow us to pass on, Sir," said Anny. 
 
 " I perceive, fair lady, that fools have 
 been filling" your head with silly stories 
 about me ; in fact, the good folks of these 
 parts want to make a kind of buggaboo of 
 me, to frighthen their children, and grown-up 
 young- people with ; but I should expect more 
 sense, as well as more charity, from such a 
 countenance as yours. Miss Kennedy ; doubt- 
 less you can laugh, as I assure you I do, 
 to my great amusement, at those absurd 
 stories ; for," advancing on her, " I swear 
 by this fair hand" — 
 
 " Back, Sir !" interrupted Anny, herself 
 recoiling^ — " Dare you insult me ?" 
 
 " Insult you ! By the fire under ground, 
 beautiful Anny, 1 would not stand by and 
 see the shadow of an offfence offered to you ; 
 but, being beautiful, how can you avoid 
 paying its penalty of a little sincere ad- 
 miration ?"
 
 176 THE MAYOR 
 
 Anny's feeling-s were such as we may 
 suppose to agitate one suddenly thrust into 
 a wild beast's den, who is afraid to arouse 
 the animal's savage nature, even by a single 
 movement. 
 
 *'Well, Sir, I suppose I ought to feel 
 thankful for your flattering opinion ; but. 
 Sir, we are strangers to each other, and — " 
 
 " I know that" — interrupted this cer- 
 tainly strange man, " and my business here, 
 therefore, naturally is to try for the honour 
 of your acquaintance." 
 
 " Sir, the impropriety of such a thing 
 must, I should hope, be very evident ; I 
 would pursue my way with my maid, if it 
 please you — " 
 
 " Your maid ? — Oh — aye — " and here 
 Grace Carroll came in for her passing share 
 of the regards of the one eye which she 
 held in much more abhorrence than ever, we 
 are sure, did the sage Ulysses that of the 
 chief Cyclop. Instantly she dropped on her
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 177 
 
 knees ; hid her face in her hands, worked 
 the points of her brogues into the dust of 
 the path, and cried ont — " Och ! Sir — no — 
 not me — not me — and the Lord be good 
 to ye." 
 
 "Get up, you foolish wench, and run 
 home as fast as you can," resumed the 
 strange man, whose interest seemed not 
 very much created by the plain, though 
 good-natured, features of poor Grace. 
 
 "Ah then, won't I Sir, and thank ye!" 
 shouted the consternated girl, feeling the 
 touch of his hand upon her shoulder ; and, 
 every thing forgotten, even the safety 
 of her idolized mistress, up to her feet 
 sprang Grace, and onward she went, loudly 
 yelling and clapping her hands. 
 
 " This is too insolent," said Anny — try- 
 ing to pass her tormentor, by almost imita- 
 ting Grace's example, and running — 
 
 "Your hand, then, at least, to say 
 Good - bye," continued the strange man, 
 
 i5
 
 178 THE MAYOR 
 
 endeavouring to suit his action to his 
 word. 
 
 " Touch me not, fellow ! " cried Anny, 
 snatching* away her hand, and bounding 
 backwards — " Oh God ! is there no resource 
 against an insult like this ? '* 
 
 " Your sarvant. Miss Anny — and your 
 sarvant again, my good Sir ;" said Maurteen 
 Maher, close at the strange man's back. 
 Anny darted to him, and seized one of his 
 arms, whispering, " save me ! oh ! save me, 
 good father ! " 
 
 '' Well, Miss Anny, well," said the May- 
 or of Wind-gap, affecting a simple jocu- 
 larity of manner : " I often hard it said, 
 and now its the b'lief I'll die in, that you 
 are the most free-hearted, comical young 
 lady, that ever we had among us ; sure it's 
 a high joke to see ould Maurteen Maher 
 made prisoner by the purtiest crature the 
 sun shines on. Did ever sich thing come 
 to your knowledge a/ore. Sir? Maurteen
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 379 
 
 continued appealing- very innocently to the 
 strange man. 
 
 " Faiks, and surely I ought to cock my 
 head higher than ever I did. But, Miss 
 Anny, I'll tell you how 'tis to be, this pra- 
 sent time — the road is too narrow for three 
 of us, and so we must take our way down 
 the hill, over the river — " and, almost while 
 he spoke, the Mayor of Wind-gap suddenly 
 assisted Anny from where they stood, and 
 half ran with her down the hill of which he 
 had spoken. 
 
 Strange to say, the strange man, strange 
 as he was, did not attempt to follow them ; 
 only gaining a point from which he could 
 note the progress of the old beau, and his 
 charge ; and, during his retreat, Maurteen 
 would occasionally look up, and address a 
 word to his strange-ship, while under his 
 breath he encouraged his companion, telling 
 her to fear nothing. 
 
 At about the midst of the descent of the
 
 180 THE MAYOR 
 
 hill, there were high clumps of wild furze 
 and young- trees — and^ notwithstanding the 
 Mayor's exhortations, Anny's courage began 
 again to fail her, as she heard issuing 
 from the obscurity they made, a wild 
 wailing voice. 
 
 " Come out o' that, you poor frightened 
 crature," said Maurteen, " and thank God 
 that gave me the sense, when it pleased him 
 to lave you without any, to find you runnin' 
 away from your poor misthress, and to hide 
 you where you could meet her again. Arn't 
 ye sorrowful, ye poor skreed * of a crature ?" 
 continued Maurteen, as the half-calmed girl 
 appeared — " arn't ye sorroAvful, in your 
 heart, for havin' desarted your darlin' young 
 misthress, in her sore need ? " 
 
 "Oh then, indeed and indeed I am — " 
 sobbed Grace, but now more tranquilly 
 than before, as she a second time fell on 
 
 * Atom.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 181 
 
 her knees, and clasped and kissed her 
 mistress's hand. 
 
 Maurteen, doubly charged, a girl hang- 
 ing upon each arm, continued his way to- 
 wards and by the river side. He thought 
 he might now have escaped the observation 
 of an eye v. hich he did not ahvays wish to 
 follow his notions, but seeing the strange 
 man still within view, though at a distance, 
 he resumed with a very primitive laugh, 
 " Now ar'nt they merry souls. Sir ? see here. 
 Sir ; see how they're makin' their own sport 
 of the ould man. Bonnacth lath, * Sir. God 
 be wid ye. Sir." 
 
 ^' And now. Miss Anny," continued the 
 Mayor of Wind-gap, when they had really 
 lost sight of their bugbear, " hould your- 
 self up, and never be daunted. 1 thought it 
 the best way to come off quiet and aisy ; 
 its ever the wisest plan ; he saw well enough 
 
 * Good bve.
 
 182 THE MAYOR 
 
 that you were frightened out of your seven 
 senses at him ; and I have a notion — for he 
 sees far with his one eye — that he guessed 
 I was no fool, though I spoke so simple. 
 But no matther. It wouldn't answer either 
 him, or me, to come to cross purposes, 
 at all." 
 
 *' I suppose, my good friend, it was not 
 by accident you came to our relief? " asked 
 Anny. 
 
 " And indeed you suppose the truth, my 
 purty lady. Do you remember that, of a 
 May evening, I promised you I'd be your 
 friend ? and I didn't lose sight of that 
 promise. People told me that you came to- 
 day, out o' good nature, to poor Juff Carroll's 
 cabin ; and when I hard that, I was watchin' 
 after you, for some time ; and I saw that 
 ould fox makin' a short cut to be afore ye, 
 on your path : and, as I knew more about 
 the short cuts, in these places, than he could 
 know — ^he being only the sthrange man at
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 183 
 
 the Inch, after all, I thoug-ht I could fore- 
 stal him ; and so. Miss Anny, at the time 
 I came up wid ye, there were five or six 
 sthrong- young men from Wind-g-ap, lying- 
 in the ditch, that's now over your head. 
 For although I always had a mind to thry 
 aisy manes', I thought, at that present time, 
 that if the sthrange man shewed any fight 
 against me, in your regard, one whistle on 
 my finger would make him be tumbled head 
 over heels into the river. But we were not 
 called on to attempt that; and we have 
 our own way, any how, widout it ; and 
 that's the aisiest way ; and the best way, 
 too ; for as I often said afore, the aisy way 
 is the best way." 
 
 " Good old man," cried Anny, " I could 
 almost kneel to you, to thank you." 
 
 " And very sorry I'd be," said Maurteen 
 Maher, " to see you spiling your nice 
 white gownd, goin' on your knees wid it, 
 on the grass, for a sarvice not worth a thraw-
 
 184 THE MAYOR 
 
 neen, Eut you, Grace Carroll, have 1/011 
 never a word for me ? " suddenly asked the 
 Mayor. 
 
 " Me ! me ! Maurteen Maher — me ! 
 Mayor o' Wind-gap — " cried Grace, not yet 
 quite unpuzzled from her late dilemma — 
 " Och ! what can I say or do ? what can I 
 do wid myself at all ?" 
 
 " Well, well, don't thry to spake a word, 
 a cuish-la, if that's what plases you best ; 
 and don't be so foolish either, ma colleen ; 
 sure he couldn't ate the two o' ye, at the 
 one meal, any how ; you may b'lieve my 
 word, tisn't yourself he'd choose to begin 
 with, if he was ever so hungry." 
 
 " Night an' day, noon and mornin', I'll 
 be offerin' up my prayers for you, Misther 
 Maher," said Grace Carroll. 
 
 " That same will do me no harm, a cuish- 
 la ; but now I'll tell ye both what I think ; 
 we are nigh hand to the houses, an' there 
 would be a hulloloo, and a high clappin' of
 
 OF WIND-GAP. J 85 
 
 hands over all Wind-gap, far and near, if 
 I was fool enough to shew my face among 
 the people with Miss Anny Kennedy hoiild- 
 ing one of my limbs, and Grace Carroll 
 amost pulling the other out o' my body ; let 
 me see if ye can stand alone." 
 
 " Oh ! do not leave us, my good friend ! " 
 besought Anny. 
 
 " I'll hould my hould ;" said her com- 
 panion. 
 
 " By the thruth o' a man," smiled Maur- 
 teen, " I wish in my heart I was young an' 
 well lookin', for your sake, Grace Carroll ; 
 and I wish I was the same, over again, and 
 dhrivin' a gilt coach and six, for 5 our sake. 
 Miss Anny. I have no notion at all to go 
 ^from ye, my darlins ; but, let me tell ye, 
 I must mind myself well, because people 
 look up to me ; and I never could hould rule 
 in Wind-gap, if the neighbors were to see 
 me, walkin' in among 'em, gall-vantin' the 
 both of ye, in this manner. I'll stay wid
 
 186 THE MAYOR 
 
 ye, ma-vourneens, only I'll be a little way, 
 off ; there's nothing to be afeard of now ; 
 and if ye can walk widout stagg-erin' like 
 people in liquor. 111 go on afore ye, an' ye 
 can follow in my steps." 
 
 The experiment was tried, and mistress 
 and maid discovered that they could get on 
 very well without support; they entered a 
 suburb street, at the foot of the ascent to 
 the Mayor of Wind-gap's dominions. 
 
 " Come after me, if it be plasing to ye. 
 Miss Anny," resumed his worship, " and you 
 too, Grace Carroll, come after me into the 
 house you'll see me enter, I've something to 
 say to the both o'ye." 
 
 They obeyed his directions ; half way up 
 the hill, he led the way into a very comfort- 
 able looking cabin ; and here Gregory 
 Roche, the junior Mayor's counsel, welcom- 
 ed them with many bows and scrapes, and 
 dusted, with his weaver's apron, two chairs, 
 and placed them for the visitors.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 187 
 
 " Now, Gregory, g-o into your work — I 
 want to have some discoorse, here, with 
 Miss Anny ; and when I cough, come out 
 again, and shew us your manners, if nothing 
 else, as well as you know how." 
 
 " Mayor of Wind - gap, I'll be led and 
 said by you, and for why not ? Young lady, 
 I wish health an' happiness to you ; Jeflfery 
 Carroll's niece, God be wid ye;" and the 
 mannerly Gregory bowed himself away. 
 
 "An' now. Miss Anny," continued Maur- 
 teen Maher, " I brought ye here for two 
 reasons ; first, that ye might rest yourself ; 
 rest will be good for you, before you go 
 through the to^n ; for I saw you were sorely 
 frightened a little while agone — " 
 
 "Oh indeed, indeed I was," assented 
 Anny. 
 
 " And I don't wonder ; and it isn't to 
 frighten ye more, that I am goin' to spake 
 further to ye ; but I want to put you on your 
 guard, Misg Anny— You'd do a right thing
 
 188 THE MAYOR 
 
 to stay within your dour, for the present. 
 You are not the kind of a body that would 
 come to much good, by often crossin' the 
 path o' the sthrange Man o' the Inch, or to 
 let him be crossin' yours." 
 
 " What can you mean ? This is very fool- 
 ish, or very terrible indeed." 
 
 " Don't let the words give ye terror. 
 Miss Anny, for all that — for I'll tell ye some- 
 thing more ; you may place your depend- 
 ence on me ; I have knowledge over him, 
 and I have power over him ; and I'll use 
 the one, and the other, in such a way that he 
 can never do you a harm. But we'll have 
 some speech on this head another time ; and 
 that time must not be far off neither. But 
 for the present time, there's other business. 
 The second reason why I brought you in 
 here was, because I had some news to tell 
 ye. Miss Anny, and you too, into the bar- 
 gain, Grace, on the head of one Peggy 
 Carroll.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 189 
 
 The two girls started, and put many 
 questions to Maurteen. 
 
 " She is safe, and sound, and well," — 
 answered the Mayor, smiling ; without hurt 
 or sorrow, beyond the fright she got ; only 
 thafs enough to make her remember the 
 Man of the Inch, to her dyin* day ; and it 
 will give you faith in me, on your own ac- 
 count. Miss Anny, and 'twill make ye b'lieve 
 I can do things other people cannot do, when 
 I tell ye the Mayor of Wind-gap saved Peg 
 Carroll from that very man." 
 
 Grace Carroll asked no questions, utter- 
 ed no words, but ran to the Mayor, threw 
 her arms around his neck, and kissed him 
 until he was tired of the pastime. 
 
 "Come, come, Grace," he said, "we 
 must behave ourselves dacent — you'll get a 
 disrespectful name among the neighbors ; 
 there, ma-colleen, sit down, and listen to 
 all about it." 
 
 And poor Grace resumed her seat, wiping
 
 190 THE MAYOR 
 
 the tears from her eyes with her apron, and 
 gig-gling-, blushing, and ashamed of her 
 ecstacies. 
 
 In great astonishment, Anny Kennedy 
 enquired how he had been able to accomp- 
 lish his good work ? 
 
 " I have a notion," answered Maurteen, 
 " that Peggy Carroll will tell her own story 
 in the best fashion, and more to your likin' 
 than I could." 
 
 " She is here ! she is in this house !" cried 
 Anny, springing from her seat, while Grace 
 pranced wildly round and round her mis- 
 tress, laughing loudly, and of course clap- 
 ping her hands. 
 
 "She is undherthis roof, of a sartainty," 
 answered the Mayor ; " before it came to 
 my knowledge that you and Grace there — 
 (Grace, you big omadhoun, behave yourself 
 quiet, I bid ye) — were goin' to Juff Carroll's 
 cabin, it was my mind to be wid him afore 
 ye, and let him into the sacret ; but ye 
 put the thought out o' my head, for that
 
 OF WIND-GAP 191 
 
 present time, and thoug-h Pegg-y slept here 
 the best part o' last night, I wouldn't unde- 
 caive Juff airly in the morning-, because he 
 would then go wid his complaint to that 
 ould gommulagh the Mayor o' the town, and 
 so the Man o' the Inch would guess JufF 
 knew where she had been taken to, and that 
 wouldn't be the safest way — howsomever, 
 poor JufF will soon larn all about it, and 
 his ould heart set at ease — and it would 
 never do to take Peggy to her father, for 
 there might be a watch set for her, there- 
 abouts, and she can keep close here for a 
 while, and no one the wiser." 
 
 The sage Mayor coughed twice, very 
 audibly, as he finished this explanation ; 
 and the mannerly Gregory Roche accord- 
 ingly re-appeared, ushering in the emanci- 
 pated damsel, who was instantly in the arms 
 of her foster-sister, and nearly as instantly 
 in those of her real blood relation, Grace. 
 
 " There's a kind of a bird," the Mayor
 
 192 THE MAYOR 
 
 went on, when the simple transports of this 
 re-meeting" had been interchanged — " that 
 tells me of many things that happen, and 
 many things that will happen — whether its 
 a jackdaw, or a magpie, or a shawneen-black- 
 cajy, makes no maxim ; but I knew before it 
 came to pass what was to happen to poor 
 Peggy" — (here, even his faithful historians 
 half doubt the assertions of the Mayor of 
 Wind-gap — but let that pass) — " and to be 
 sure, if I had a likin' for such kind o' ways, 
 I might have got some of my boys together, 
 and given a good ^lamh-basting to some of 
 the people that wanted to take her away — 
 and so have kept her from their hands by 
 main force, in the first going off. But 
 Maurteen Maher has a way of his own, in the 
 doin' of these things ; any fool can fight ; but 
 the plan that does what you want without 
 fighting, and in an aisy, quiet way, with a 
 
 * Thrashinsr.
 
 OF wi:nd-gap. 193 
 
 little thought in it, is more to my notion. 
 And so, now, Peg-g y, malurna, tell all about 
 your misfortunes and your scrapes.'* 
 
 A few words are enoug-h to condense 
 Peggy's recital of her adventure. She 
 went homeward from the excelling bonfire 
 at Wind-gap, still agitated even to fear, 
 by the actions, and more particularly by 
 the words, of the strange Man of the Inch. 
 At the moment of offence, she did not recog- 
 nize the person of her tormentor, as a uni- 
 versally dreaded individual ; but the strange 
 man, upon occasions when he had encoun- 
 tered her near her father's house, at the river 
 side, had previously expressed himself in a 
 similar way ; and Peggy, therefore, con- 
 cluded that the individual who broke up 
 the enjoyment of her dance on St. John's 
 Eve, could be no other than the way-layer 
 of her private walks ; for, to aid her opinion, 
 although his face and person were well dis- 
 guised, some tones of the voice carried 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE MAYOR 
 
 conviction to her heart. Therefore she had 
 screamed aloud, during the festivity of the 
 bonfire, but she mentioned no name ; and 
 when the Mayor's bailiff, and his attendant 
 came to her assistance, she could identify 
 her troublesome neighbour only by point- 
 ing- in a terrified manner at him ; so that 
 when the strange Man of the Inch, and with 
 him his most zealous associate, were taken 
 before the judgment-seat of the Mayor of 
 Wind-gap, no one, before his disguise fell 
 off, imagined whom they had to deal with, 
 in the person of the chief prisoner. 
 
 Peggy and her father had just retired 
 to rest, after the excitements of the evening, 
 when the door of the cabin was broken 
 open, and four men, disguised in masks and 
 cloaks, bore her forcibly away. 
 
 Her eyes were uncovered, so that she 
 could distinguish the road along which she 
 was carried. — She arrived at the house of 
 the Inch, but was not immediately conveyed
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 195 
 
 into it. A door, in one of the enclosing 
 walls of its premises, opened for her ; she 
 entered a garden, and was locked into a 
 turret, or summer-house, as it was called, 
 immediately over the river. In this position, 
 Peg-g-y abandoned herself to despair ; when 
 she heard a key turn in the lock of a door 
 opposite to that through v/hich she had been 
 pushed into her unwilling retreat. The 
 well-known voice of the Mayor of Wind- 
 gap called upon her ; she committed herself 
 to his care ; he locked his own door, as he 
 called it, after him ; descended three or 
 four steps to the water ; placed Peggy in a 
 very small boat — indeed, a kind of Indian 
 canoe ; paddled silently and swiftly across 
 the stream, to the opposite bank; hurried 
 her through a long public promenade, at 
 this time of night quite deserted; walked 
 her through the whole of the town again, 
 one side of the river to the other, and at 
 last deposited her in the safe and respect- 
 
 K 2
 
 196 THE MAYOR 
 
 able place of refug-e in which our other 
 friends have found her. 
 
 And, indeed, the Mayor of VYind-gap 
 seemed not a little vain of the admiration 
 of his tact, and ingenuity, and prowess, 
 which this histoiy impressed upon the minds 
 of his hearers. Like most ambitious men, 
 he wished to creep on, step by step, through 
 society ; and in the same way that he had 
 at first puzzled the brains of the g-ood peo- 
 ple of Wind-gap, he seemed now delighted 
 to astonish the comprehension of Anny 
 Kennedy. Nor, if this were truly his view, 
 can it be said that he was unsuccessful ; for 
 Anny had received as much proof of Maur- 
 teen's power to counter act, on the occasion of 
 Peggy Carroirs abduction, the wiles and 
 villainies of the strange Man of the Inch, 
 as she could hope to have of his capability, 
 according to his promise, of assisting her- 
 self in any case of emergency. 
 
 *' And, oh ! Mayor of Wind-gap," said
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 197 
 
 Grace, " whenever we g"et up in the mornin* 
 from our beds, and whenever we lie down 
 at night, it is we that will always be re- 
 turnin' our thanks to you, and our prayers 
 too, above, for your good health, and your 
 long reign over Wind-gap ! — and if there's 
 ever a thing to do us hurt or harm in the 
 town below, it*s to you we'll come, and not 
 to the foolish ould Mayor, that has only the 
 name of a Mayor in that place."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Mr. Connor Kennedy, a man of very con- 
 siderable property, " in the town below," 
 wished to have it understood that Anny 
 Kennedy was the daughter of a distant re- 
 lation, who had died in another country, 
 leaving" her to his care. But his tale was 
 very generally discredited ; and whispering 
 rumours would say, that Mr. Connor Kennedy 
 was himself the father of the fair Anny — al- 
 though we regret to add, according to the
 
 WIND-GAP. 109 
 
 same authority, he had never been married 
 to her unknown mother. 
 
 It will be recollected that the old story- 
 tellers at the bonfire, at Wind-gap, spoke 
 of one, who, having been rescued from pen- 
 ury by young Harry Stokesbury, had con- 
 trived to inherit the young man's paternal 
 property, and also to espouse for himself 
 the young lady intended as Harry's bride. 
 The tragedy attending this double deception 
 has also been talked over by the old people ; 
 and the needy cousin, reported to have acted 
 so treacherously to his violent-tempered 
 patron, was no other than Anny's guardian, 
 or, as the case might really be, Anny's 
 parent. Connor Kennedy recovered very 
 slowly from the wounds inflicted on him 
 by the outrageous Harry Stokesbury ; but 
 the shock sustained by his nerves, never of 
 a strong texture, he was not able to throw 
 off*, Ever since, however, he had enjoyed 
 the undisturbed possession of the wealth
 
 200 THE MAYOR 
 
 SO unfairly come by ; to all of which, it was 
 said, Anny was heiress apparent. 
 
 Notwithstanding his dreadful retaliation 
 for the wrongs he had suffered, young 
 Stokesbury's banishment from his home, 
 and his subsequent trials, and miserable 
 death, created considerable sympathy in his 
 favour. Many indeed thought that the 
 treachery to which he had been a victim 
 gave ample warrant for any species of re- 
 venge on the person of its author ; so that 
 Connor Kennedy was scarce regarded, by 
 the generality of his neighbours, in any 
 other light than that of a wily, ungrateful, 
 and perhaps only sufficiently punished, man. 
 It was now twenty years since Stokesbury 's 
 last fearful visit to his cousin ; and, during 
 the whole of this long period of time, Con- 
 nor Kennedy had lived on, under the odium 
 attached to his name, without any effort to 
 win the world's better opinion. He had no 
 friends, he had not even acquaintances, he 
 gave no invitations, and he got none ; he sel-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 201 
 
 dom stepped over the threshold of his door, 
 even for the purposes of exercise ; his domestic 
 habits, so far as they could be known, were 
 gloomy, ascetic, and very frugal : and from 
 this last circumstance — his expenditure being 
 so far within his income, it was conjectured 
 that, apart from the proceeds of his rent 
 roll, he had been annually acquiring per- 
 sonal property to a great amount. 
 
 Upon the evening of the day during 
 which the occurrences last related had 
 taken place, George Blundell sought ad- 
 mission at Connor Kennedy's door. His 
 features, generally pale, were now pallid ; 
 much suffering was marked upon them, and 
 his movements displayed that languor which 
 proceeds from the mind, and which not the 
 most painful bodily fatigue can occasion. 
 He enquired if he could see Miss Kennedy, 
 and, without receiving a direct reply, was 
 shewn into an empty parlour. Here he con- 
 tinued for some time alone, now pacing 
 
 K 5
 
 202 THE MAYOR 
 
 about the apartment, now abruptly flinging 
 himself into a chair, and now standing 
 up, again, to repeat his impatient tour 
 round a table, which stood in the middle 
 of the floor. The door at length opened 
 — George Blundell started, in great agita- 
 tion : a blush of eagerness overspread his 
 face, but soon subsided, and his brow dark- 
 ened with displeasure, as Connor Kennedy 
 half crept in, peering around him, in his 
 usual nervous and suspicious manner. 
 
 Connor Kennedy was tall and thin ; pale 
 and sharp featured ; stooped in the shoul- 
 ders ; and characterised by a weak half-shut, 
 unsteady eye, and by an almost cringing 
 of step and action, which, to many, indi- 
 cated the mean stealthiness of his nature, 
 and illustrated his capacity for committing 
 the crimes laid to his charge. But, not- 
 withstanding his present appearance, Con- 
 nor Kennedy was known to have been very 
 handsome in his youth.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 203 
 
 George Blundell was not ignorant of the 
 character attributed to the man now before 
 him; and, in reference to the subject which 
 engrossed the lover's mind, had been prepared, 
 from the moment he entered the parlour, to 
 regard him with doubt and suspicion. Yet 
 he bowed low to Mr. Kennedy ; and Mr. 
 Kennedy, with a drooping of the eye, seem- 
 ingly most melancholy, and with his habit- 
 ual, though tepid smile, which had neither 
 mirth nor happiness in its meaning, bowed 
 even more profoundly, and even humbly, to 
 his visitor. 
 
 " I wish you a very good evening, Mr. 
 Blundell," he said, in a voice so low, though 
 it was his common one, that it scarce rose 
 above a whisper, " will you take a chair, 
 and be seated." 
 
 George Blundell silently obeyed. Con- 
 nor Kennedy took another chair some dis- 
 tance from him, placed the palms of his 
 hands on his knees, to support his droop-
 
 204 THE MAYOR 
 
 ing* person, and fixed his eyes on the 
 carpet. 
 
 There was an embarrassed pause, as if 
 both felt unwilling" to commence a disagree- 
 able discussion : at length Mr. Kennedy 
 spoke, but without glancing at the person 
 he addressed. 
 
 " I believe, Mr. Blundell, your visit was 
 not particularly meant for me — '' yet still 
 he smiled, in his habitually timid way. 
 
 " In entering- your house, sir," answered 
 George Blundell — " I always feel of course 
 the greatest pleasure when we meet ; yet, 
 on this particular occasion, I will not deny 
 that my first object was to have the honour 
 of speaking- a few words with Miss Ken- 
 nedy.*' 
 
 " Yes — ay — so I have learned ; that is 
 — the servant — that is — I mean — Miss Ken- 
 nedy — that is — Mr. Blundell — I am sure 
 you will agree with me — one is sometimes 
 obliged to discharge rather unpleasant duties
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 205 
 
 — and in fact, Mr. Blundell — you are your- 
 self aware — that — '* 
 
 Mr. Kennedy stopped speaking altogether 
 —George Blundell, in expectation of some 
 distant remark or proposition, remained as 
 silent as he. There was another long and 
 disagreeable pause ; Mr. Kennedy chose to 
 resume. 
 
 "But, Mr. Blundell, although duties 
 are unpleasant — they must be fulfilled, Mr. 
 Blundell ; — and it gives me the greatest 
 pain — indeed, Mr. Blundell, it does pain 
 me exceedingly — to be obliged to say — 
 that—" 
 
 He stopped a second time, as if at a loss 
 for words, or as if too physically nervous 
 to summon them up at his will, and for his 
 purpose i 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Kennedy ? " 
 at length demanded George Blundell, in a 
 sonorous voice, tired as well as agitated 
 with his host's hesitation. " Do you wish
 
 206 niE MAYOR 
 
 to tell me that Miss Kennedy will not see 
 me ? is that, sir, the intelligence you want 
 to communicate ? '* 
 
 " Exactly so, Mr. Blundell — exactly 
 so—" 
 
 " And 1 thought as much, Mr. Kennedy, 
 when you first came into the room " — 
 
 " I am sorry, very sorry indeed, Mr. 
 Blundell ; as by the tone of your voice, I 
 judge that her wish may prove disagreeable 
 to you— but, Mr. Blundell — *' 
 
 " Well, sir, well ? " — demanded George, 
 getting very impatient. 
 
 '' That is— Mr. Blundell — I hope and 
 trust that you will see yourself— that Miss 
 Anne — should — ought to come to this de- 
 cision." 
 
 '' What decision, Mr. Kennedy ? tell me 
 really what you mean ? " 
 
 "Why — Mr. Blundell— you see — by my 
 appearing here for her — that Miss Anne 
 does not wish to see you herself."
 
 OF WIND GAP. 207 
 
 " And why, Mr. Kennedy ? why ? " and 
 George's voice began to rise, and his eyes 
 to open more and more. 
 
 " I declare," said Mr. Kennedy, very 
 mildly, '' I have nothing very particular to 
 say upon that point, that is — I suppose — 
 Miss Anne would have come to you, if 
 that is — if she really wanted to come — 
 that is, Mr. BlundcU, I mean to say — but 
 — in the meantime, I beg* leave to observe 
 that — I have really nothing to say upon my 
 own account, on the occasion." 
 
 " Pooh, sir, you know you represent 
 Miss Kennedy here this evening." 
 
 " No, now, indeed, Mr. Blundell — I can- 
 not in this instance, call myself — Miss 
 Kennedy's representative ; — and I beg you 
 will understand that, very distinctly — if — 
 Miss Kennedy acts at all expressively, in 
 not seeing you, during this present visit of 
 yours, it must be, I assure you, according 
 to her own free choice; for I am but — a
 
 208 THE MAYOR 
 
 — a weakly man, unfit for contests of any 
 kind." 
 
 " Then, sir, in what light am I to con- 
 sider you, appearing* as you do for Miss 
 Kennedy, if you do not appear as her re- 
 presentative '? " 
 
 "Mr. Blundell — in that case you will 
 please to consider me as something in the 
 light of the young lady's confidante.'' 
 
 " Sir — I can see only a difference of 
 terms ; — Well, sir — apart from the business 
 of this evening, I need not remind you that, 
 as Miss Kennedy's corifidante, you have 
 always been quite aware of the understand- 
 ing upon which you allowed my visits to 
 your house?" 
 
 " Of course, Mr. Blundell — of course." 
 
 *'Then, sir, upon what grounds do I so 
 suddenly find my visits unwelcome ? " 
 
 "I declare, Mr. Blundell, upon no 
 grounds, that — to my own knowledge — I
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 209 
 
 can sufficiently explain but you may be 
 aware that — " 
 
 "Mr. Kennedy" — interrupted Georg-e, 
 "There is but one word can get us out of 
 our present dilemma ; she or you, or both 
 together, have heard something to my 
 disadvantage — have you, or have you 
 not ?" 
 
 "Why, Mr. Blundell, I declare to you"- - 
 
 "Have you, or have you not, sir?" re- 
 peated George, warmly. 
 
 " Oh, now, Mr. Blundell, pray do not 
 agitate yourself; but — perhaps I may as 
 well own to you that something of the 
 kind, though I do not know exactly what, 
 has been spoken of through the house." 
 
 " And what is it ? " demanded George. 
 
 " Oh — Mr. Blundell — you know I before 
 told you that I did not quite understand its 
 nature." 
 
 " Very well, sir — but are you then asto- 
 nished that I should want to come to the
 
 210 THE MAYOR 
 
 question with Miss Kennedy, if you chose 
 to evade it? Mr. Kennedy," he conti- 
 nued, almost with an air of distraction, you 
 know, or you ought to know, that my 
 preservation, or destruction, depends upon 
 you/' 
 
 " Oh, now, young gentleman, do not be 
 so impetuous, I pray you ; impetuosity often 
 leads to very dreadful consequences." 
 
 " I do not intend, Mr. Kennedy, to be 
 impetuous — I should not wish to be so, for 
 your sake — but I plainly see that some slan- 
 der has done me wrong in this house ; and 
 here you come as the only person to meet 
 me beneath its roof; and, now, I only im- 
 ])lore you, most anxiously and humbly, to 
 gain me one moment's interview with Miss 
 Kennedy — Listen to me, sir, a little farther, 
 before you answer ; — age must ice my man- 
 ner, and manacles must confine my limbs, 
 before I could quietly rest one instant under 
 Miss Kennedy's unfavourable opinion."
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 211 
 
 " I am a man of a Aveakly constitution, 
 Mr. Blundell ; violence always makes me 
 nervous ; be patient, my good young gentle- 
 man, be patient." 
 
 "Mr. Kennedy — I have spent many 
 hours, trying to temper down the very vio- 
 lence of which you speak, and I am sure, 
 I am at last patient, and not violent ; but 
 if I am now denied the opportunity of vin- 
 dicating myself, in Miss Kennedy's opinion, 
 against an unknown — that is against an 
 unadmitted charge, should you wonder, 
 sir, if my naturally hot temper, as you all 
 call it, should cease to be patient ? " 
 
 "Truly, truly, Mr. Blundell— I do not 
 know how to act." 
 
 "Act then, sir, as any man ought, who 
 feels for the real unhappiness of another. — 
 Mr. Kennedy," he continued, becoming, 
 perhaps, absurdly energetic, as he knelt on 
 one knee — " I humble myself to you, as I 
 thought I never could to mortal man, and
 
 212 THE MAYOR 
 
 I implore you, sir, not to permit me to leave 
 this house mthout the explanation I ask 
 you for ! " 
 
 Mr. Kennedy glanced upward one in- 
 stant from the carpet, '' Rise, Mr. Blundell, 
 
 rise, I beseech you, sir " he touched 
 
 George's hands, and feeling- their resistance 
 to his appeal, again looked into the young 
 man's face ; and now so intently, that 
 George, from all his previous appreciation 
 of the recluse's character, was struck with 
 the expression of his glance. 
 
 " If your heart has not been hardened 
 from your birth, sir, you will pity me," re- 
 sumed George. 
 
 " Oh God forbid, that such a heart, or 
 such a nature, were ever mine ! ejaculated 
 Mr. Kennedy. " But go to your chair, Mr. 
 Blundell, or we can never continue our con- 
 versation." — George re - seated himself. 
 " Mr. Blundell, I do not bring any charges 
 against you — understand me in that, I beg
 
 OF WIVD-GAP. 213 
 
 of you ; but candidly do you thiuk — and 
 answer me candidly, I know you will, — that 
 under present circumstances. Miss Kennedy 
 ought to meet you ? 
 
 *' Oug-ht to meet me, sir ? ought to meet 
 me ? — but all these words are idle. You of 
 all men, Mr. Kennedy, should not — but no 
 I will not retort. I am hot-headed, sir, if 
 you wish ; forgiye me. I will be quite can- 
 did with you. — I do suspect, notwithstanding 
 all you say, that your opinion has influence 
 over Miss Kennedy — and that you have ad- 
 vised her to deny herself to me this even- 
 ing ; your very manner tells me so ; and I 
 can only again beg of you as the most hum- 
 ble beggar could for a half-penny, to gain 
 me ten minutes' conversation with her." 
 
 Mr. Kennedy rose from his chair, much 
 agitated ; — he perceived that it was by a 
 great eflort that the young man curbed his 
 impassioned feelings. 
 
 *'Well then, I will go to Anny, Mr. 
 Bluudell, and "
 
 214 THE MAYOR 
 
 " You will use your influence in my 
 favour ? say you will !" cried George once 
 more impetuously. 
 
 '' Now, Mr. Blundell, you alarm me ; I 
 cannot tell why ; but I am not a strong 
 man, and you alarm me ! " 
 
 ^' It is not my intention to do so, sir ; I 
 would rather again supplicate your compas- 
 sion in the most humiliating way — but tell 
 me, sir, am I to see Anny ? for" — George 
 muttered, or rather growled, " I do not 
 know how I may abide a refusal '* 
 
 " Well, Mr. Blundell, — if my interfe- 
 rence can avail, Anny will come to you ; 
 and so, a good evening — a very good even 
 ing to you, Mr. Blundell." 
 
 " You promise me, sir, do you not? " 
 
 '' Why yes, if she come at my bidding. 
 I do promise you — " and Mr. Kennedy 
 timidly bowed himself out of the room. 
 
 This was palpably a constrained con- 
 sent, whether against his conviction of
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 215 
 
 Avhat was right, or from some other cause, 
 we do not say. After his agitated and al- 
 most trembling exit, George Blundell fixed 
 his eye upon the door, which he had cau- 
 tiously closed after him, and strained his 
 ears, listening to every step and noise 
 through the house. A full quarter of an 
 hour elapsed, and still he was alone. At 
 length the door briskly opened ; an elderly 
 woman who, as George was aware, filled a 
 confidential situation in the Kennedys' es- 
 tablishment, came courtesying towards him, 
 evidently under the influence of terror. 
 George Blundell frowned again, confronted 
 her, and looked his enquiry. 
 
 " My young mistress bid me say to you, 
 sir," hastily began the messenger of bad 
 tidings, and she, like her master, hesi- 
 tated and stopped. 
 
 *'Say what to me? that she will not come 
 to see me ? is that your message V 
 
 " Mr. Connor Kennedy — "
 
 216 WIND-GAP. 
 
 "Go on, woman, — what of him?" 
 " Why, sir, if Miss Anny came at all, 
 sir, it wouldn't be to her own liking that 
 she'd come." 
 
 "But she would come, only for Mr. Ken- 
 nedy?" 
 
 " It isn't all on't, that, sir ; but " 
 
 " No matter," interrupted Georg-e Blun- 
 dell, " I see there is equivocation on all 
 hands : tell Mr. Kennedy, and tell Miss 
 Kennedy — but, no ; say nothing" to them— ^ 
 they shall hear of it in another way." And 
 he hurried out of the house.
 
 CHAPTER Viri 
 
 The morning after this occurrence, Anny 
 Kennedy was formally summoned to a con- 
 ference with the Mayor of Wind-gap, upon 
 very important business, as the messenger 
 informed her. Immediately descending, she 
 found his Worship in the same parlour 
 whence George Blundell had so hastily made 
 his departure the evening before. 
 
 " A bright good morning to your hand 
 some face. Miss Anny," he began, smiling 
 very cordially. 
 
 VOL. I. I-
 
 2] 8 THE MAYOR 
 
 " Good morning to you, my honest 
 friend/' answered Anny. 
 
 " Och ! there's a cloud darkening your 
 young brow/' continued Maurteen ; " and 
 there's a blight stealing on your young 
 heart, and more's the pity ; but never give 
 grief the mastery over ye, my purty young 
 crature : it would be a sore thing to see the 
 may-bush withered in its blossoming.'^ 
 
 Anny sighed dolefully, but made no 
 other answer. 
 
 " If it could be helped. Miss Anny, I'd 
 go a good long way, afore I'd add any thing 
 to your throuble." 
 
 " Is it of that evil man at the Inch 
 that you have come to speak to me, good 
 father? I understood from you that we 
 were soon to have more explanation about 
 him ?" 
 
 " In thruth, then, it is to spake consarn- 
 ing him that I am here to the fore this 
 morning, Miss Anny."
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 219 
 
 " Go on, then, at once, I beseech you," 
 cried Anny, eagerly. 
 
 " Don't give up to greater fear than there 
 is a need for, my purty young lady ; the big- 
 gest reason why I did not like to open all 
 my mind to you yestherday, was, because 
 something I had to say was for your own 
 self alone." 
 
 " Oh ! I have not slept last night, think- 
 ing and dreaming of him ! every time I 
 closed my eyes his disagreeable image was 
 before me." 
 
 '• People is fools enough to say. Miss 
 Anny, — though I don't think, in my own 
 mind, there's much sense in the saying, that 
 the young girl his look fixes on ought to 
 be on her guard." 
 
 " What can you mean ? " demanded Anny 
 slowly ; " do you suppose he would dare 
 to " 
 
 " In thruth I don't. Ma lannaj' resumed 
 Maurteen, as she paused, answering her un^ 
 
 L 2
 
 220 THE MAYOR 
 
 expressed meaning- ; — " but, Miss Anny, 'tis 
 an ould maxim with me, this many a year, 
 to make provision against the worst that 
 can come round ; and when I go according to 
 the maxim, my mind and myself, of course, 
 along with the mind, then jogs on asy and 
 quiet, ever and always. But it's my hope 
 and belief that nothing like the worst, or 
 half of the worst can come next, or nigh, 
 you ; for, as I tould you, undher the roof of 
 my counsel's house, on Wind-gap hill, I 
 have the power to make that man, wicked as 
 he is, and much as he frightens other peo- 
 ple, give you up into my hands, even though 
 you might be in his " 
 
 " Yes, I remember you said so." 
 " Well, my purty Miss Anny, I could say 
 no more till we were together, and nobody 
 by. Now I'll say that more — d'ye see this 
 paper. Miss Anny ?" he continued, holding 
 before her eyes something like a sealed 
 lettei.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. ^1 
 
 " I certainly do see it," assented Anny. 
 
 "The writing that is inside of this I 
 penned down with my own hands ; and 
 there's no one in the world wide knows what 
 the writing manes, but myself only ; and 
 the writing is for you. Miss Anny." 
 
 ** But what are the contents of the pa- 
 per ?" she asked. 
 
 "That you are not to know, my purty 
 lady : but I'll tell you what use you're to 
 make of it ; only, afore I do that, you must 
 give me a vow ; aye, as binding a vow as if 
 you swore upon the blessed book !" 
 
 " This is very strange ! what is the na- 
 ture of the vow ?" 
 
 " You must vow to me before the good 
 heaven that loves you, and takes care of 
 you, my purty child, — that no eye but your 
 own shall ever see this paper, even the out- 
 side of it, barring the time comes to put it 
 to a right use ; you must vow to me that 
 you will never open it yourself, nor give it
 
 222 THE MAYOR 
 
 any other to be opened, barring you give it 
 to the only one I penned it down for ; and 
 you must vow to me, too, that if a time never 
 comes to hand it over to that one, you will 
 return it to me, safe and sound, as I will 
 give it to you.'* 
 
 *' And who is it for, and to whom am I to 
 deliver it ? and when am I to deliver it ? " 
 
 " It is for the sthrange Man o' the Inch, 
 ray purty lady, and no other eye but his is 
 to see it, outside or inside ; and no hand but 
 his is to touch it, except your own : and you 
 are never to deliver it to him until you're 
 alone with him, much against your will, 
 and in some fear and trembling of him ; 
 and when it's come to the last moment with 
 you, and when no door is left open for 
 you ; and it's then you are to deliver it to 
 him, with mannerly compliments from 
 Maurteen Maher, the Mayor of AVind- 
 gap." 
 
 " My good man, how you confound and
 
 OF WIND-GAP. S23 
 
 terrify me ! is it indeed possible that you 
 can calculate such a situation for me ?' 
 
 '^ The Lord above keep you far from it !*' 
 answered Maurteen ; '' and in thruth, no. 
 Miss Anny, I don't talk of it at all as a 
 thing that's sartain sure to happen ; and 
 you'd obleege me by not given' yourself dis- 
 tress by taking" me up in a mistake ; — but I 
 tould you my maxim, — ' fore- warned, fore- 
 armed.' Be ready for an evil day, and an 
 evil day will most likely keep from you. So, 
 take the paper,— it won't hurt or harm you; 
 it won't bite, or bruise, or burn you. And 
 there's another maxim I go by, — that as 
 long as there's a purse in the chest, the 
 owner of it need'nt go without his dinner 
 barrin' he's mighty fanciful intirely." 
 " Well, then, give me the paper." 
 "Give me the vow first, my purty hony. " 
 " The vow ! I really forget it now." 
 " Well, and it won't take much breath 
 or time to put it into your head again;"
 
 224 THE MAYOR 
 
 and Maurteen, in a most distinct tone, re- 
 peated the terms of the proposed engage- 
 ment. 
 
 *' Put your little white hand over the 
 good little heart that's beating in your body, 
 and promise me, as you're God's own child, 
 and hope to find favour in his sight, that 
 you will observe every word of that vow." 
 
 Anny Kennedy performed the action, 
 and gave, solemnly, the solemn promise re- 
 quired of her. 
 
 " Here, then. Miss Anny, take the paper 
 into your keeping at last ; and remember, 
 of all tilings, that it comes back to my 
 hand, if the time never falls out for giving 
 it as 'tis directed. Cast your eye over the 
 writen' on the outside." 
 
 Anny did observe the superscription on 
 the rudely - folded and clumsily - sealed 
 packet, hoping to learn the name, at least, 
 of a dreaded person ; but she only read, 
 to " The sthrange man of the Inch," in-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 225 
 
 scribed on the official document in very stiff 
 and formal characters. 
 
 " Hide it. Miss Anny, and hide it up 
 safe ; who knows but it may be worth more 
 nor a sack of goold to you, if the need 
 comes to part with it !" 
 
 " Heaven defend me !" resumed Anny, 
 still gazing on the strange credentials in her 
 favour ; " it is very alarming, that a man of 
 sense, like you, Maurteen Maher, should 
 really think such precaution necessary on 
 my behalf." 
 
 " There is an ounce, or so, of sense in 
 our head, we b'licve, according to what the 
 neighbours say ; but, have a reliance on 
 me. Miss Anny ; remember what I have done 
 for Peggy Carroll, and 'twill go hard if I 
 don't do more for your sake. Depend upon 
 it, I'll keep my little Birdeen flyin' to and 
 fro, for the bare life ; and I'll twist the neck 
 of him, — and, by coorse, the head follows 
 the neck, — if he does'nt do his duty by you 
 
 l5
 
 220 THE MAYOR 
 
 and by me. When your affairs ought to 
 keep me waken', there will be no sleep on 
 my eyes, any how." 
 
 Anny, still much puzzled and alarmed, 
 renewed her expressions of thanks to his 
 mysterious mayorship. 
 
 " Well," continued Maurteen, rubbing 
 down his knee with his hand ; " now that 
 we have that matther settled, sure there's 
 another little thing I want to be spaking 
 about. Miss Anny ; for it was'nt intirely on 
 the head o' the paper and the sthrange man, 
 that I made so bould as to sit down all 
 alone wid you, this morning." 
 
 " I know you are my friend, Maurteen," 
 answered Anny, " and I will attend, care- 
 fully, to whatever you have to say to me. " 
 
 " Listen, then. Miss Anny. The even- 
 ing o' yestherday was a very fine evening, 
 about Wind-gap ; the smell o' the new hay 
 would have refreshed your heart, young and 
 fresh as it is, already, not to say as if it was
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 227 
 
 as ould as mine ; and there wasn't a breath 
 of wind stirring the laves upon the threes ; 
 and the sun, when he was setting, made the 
 sky, to the west, look as rosy as the bloom- 
 ing on your own soft cheek. Well, when I" 
 am a walking down by the river side on 
 such an evening as that was, with my fish- 
 ing rod in my hand, I have no envy to the 
 greatest king that ever sat upon a throne. 
 Of a surety, there isn't over much care to 
 my lot, — I give thanks for the same ; but, 
 whenever care or throuble does come to me, 
 it goes away, somehow, from my side, as I 
 saunther along by the banks of the paceful 
 wather ; and it's a thruth. Miss Anny, take 
 it from my lips, that a sthroll along that 
 grassy bank, about the hour o' the sunset, 
 will do more than make a sorrowful heart 
 happy ; it ^vill make a happy one happier — 
 aye, and still more than that, 'twill smooth- 
 en the wrinkle on the angry man's brow, 
 and it will stale out of the breast of the
 
 228 THE MAYOR 
 
 worldly man, in a long sigh, his envy, or 
 his ill-will to his neighbour. 
 
 " Well, again. Miss Anny ; we had a 
 fine soft summer's evening, the last evening 
 that's gone by ; there were children laughing 
 out loud and playing about on the hill side, 
 and there were ould people a-sitting down to 
 rest themselves ; and they looked for all the 
 world as if the evening of their life was the 
 evening that the heavens sent shining and 
 smiling all around them in pace, and in 
 quiet, and in pleasure. But there was one 
 man. Miss Anny, and he was a young man, 
 into the bargain ; and he ought to have 
 been singing with the birds, and jumping 
 through the grass, like the grasshoppers ; 
 but he hurried along as if he was runnin' 
 from himself ; and he was heedless of what 
 was givin' the heart's joy to all others, and 
 his brow was as dark as if a tempest had 
 been peltin' on it ; and, when I looked upon 
 him, I thought he was the more and more
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 229 
 
 angry, because the sunny sky did not look 
 miserable, like himself. Can you g-ive a 
 guess, Miss Anny, who that young man 
 was V 
 
 " Indeed I — I really do not know," 
 Anny blushed and stammered. 
 
 " \Yell, and I won't ask of you to make 
 the guess, my purty lady. I'll only tell you 
 myself. That young man was Masther 
 George Blundell. I went along in his steps 
 when he thought no eye was on him ; and 
 he flung himself down on the grass ; and he 
 threw out his arms from him, and he 
 moaned, and he sobbed so pitifully that it 
 would put affliction on your young heart to 
 listen to him ; and afther I watched him 
 some time, he bounced upon his feet, and he 
 looked with an evil eye upon the deep 
 wather ; and there was a sickness came over 
 me, Miss Anny ; for I guessed his meaning." 
 
 " What ! " cried Anny starting up with 
 clasped hands, and looking even more pale
 
 S30 THE MAYOR 
 
 and terrified than ever she had done at the 
 strange man of the Inch. 
 
 Maurteen did not very immediately 
 reply ; at length he condescended to re- 
 join — '' No, Miss Anny — my honey child ; 
 no ; he did not make away with himself that 
 time, praises be given. I went up to him, and 
 I spoke to him. At the first he was angered 
 against me ; he commanded me to continue 
 on my way ; he said he knew nothing about 
 me, and that he wanted to know nothing 
 about me, and that he liked to be left alone. 
 But I didn't quit him. Miss Anny ; I spake 
 softly to him, with a little sense, too, may 
 be ; indeed, and in thruth, I spoke to him 
 like one who had a feeling for him ; and I 
 had the feeling for him : and so we sat down 
 at last, on the soft sunny bank ; and he took 
 my twoould, hard, withered hands in his : and 
 he tould me his griefs, and then he cried 
 like a foolish little child, and I cried too, 
 like a more foolish and a bigger one, — just 
 to keep him company, I suppose.''
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 23L 
 
 " God bless you, good man ! " murmured 
 Anny. 
 
 " Miss Anny, there is a doom before that 
 poor boy ; and he must meet it, and soon 
 too : but if he gets bravely through it, 
 there's happiness in store for him at last, — 
 and for some one else with him into the 
 bargain." 
 
 " A doom, Maurteen ? what doom ? " 
 " Och ! I said what was wrong — but the 
 word came from my mouth without thinking, 
 and I can't tell any more, only this ; he 
 was near his doom yestherday evening, 
 but the heavens forbid that his death should 
 be laid to you, Mavourneen ! " 
 
 "His death ! his death, laid to me?" 
 " Masther Blundell is a youth that has 
 hot blood round his heart. Miss Anny ; with 
 some people the grief that falls on them 
 falls like the spring shower, and they're the 
 better for it when it has passed away ; but 
 this isn't the way with Masther George :
 
 232 THE MAYOR 
 
 the grief comes to him like a winther tem- 
 pest. His love is a scorching fire ; and I'm 
 thinking that if ever his hatred falls on any 
 one, t'will be a witherin' blast. And so. 
 Miss Anny, while we were sitting together 
 by the river side, he made acknowledgment 
 to me, that when I came up, his thought was 
 tempting him to take one good jump into 
 it : for he was disthracted, like, because you 
 refused to see him, and to listen to him. 
 Miss Anny ; there was grief upon him, be- 
 fore he knocked at your dour, yesther- 
 day evenin', but when your word turned 
 him away from it, it grew too much in- 
 tirely for his nature to bear, although 
 another body might be able to submit, like a 
 christhin." 
 
 "But, Maurteen, I think I was right in 
 refusing him, yesterday evening/' 
 
 " I won't say all out, but that you did 
 the right thing. Miss Anny; because all 
 icoks black against him ; only, that is the
 
 OF WTND-GAP. 233 
 
 very rason why your anger came the sooner 
 and the heavier on his heart. It is a great 
 misfortune when the world turns against a 
 man ; but when our nearest and dearest 
 turn with the world, och ! my purty child, 
 that's the heart-scalding, in downright, 
 good arnest." 
 
 " Are you sure, asked Anny, unconsci- 
 ously wrought upon by Maurteen's plausible 
 pleadings, "that none of the wicked idea 
 of yesterday evening remains in his mind ?" 
 " I am, my purty young lady ; he pro- 
 mised me that he'd pluck it up by the roots, 
 and throw it from him — and I have a re- 
 liance on any promise out ol George Blun- 
 dell's lips. But I made him a promise, in 
 return, howsomever ; I promised him that 
 I'd gain your lave and license for him 
 to come to you, all alone, and to sit with 
 you, all alone ; that he may tell you some- 
 thing ; and when I gave him my hand in 
 pledge that I'd bring this about, he wanted
 
 234 THE MAYOR 
 
 to go down upon his knees to thank me, and 
 to pray for me ; and in thruth I was ashamed 
 to behould a gentleman like him goin' to 
 demean himself before the likes o' me." 
 
 "Mr. Maurteen Maher," remarked Anny, 
 now shaking* off in a degree the effects of 
 his worship's oratory, " it is my opinion 
 that you might have condescended to con- 
 sult me, as a party slightly concerned, 
 before you gave that promise, and that 
 pledg-e, so very confidently." 
 
 "Not a bit, my darlin' young- lady — I 
 knew well that you'd have the pity, if no- 
 thing else, in your heart for him, this morn- 
 ing- ; and that you'd g-ive him the time and 
 the place to say whatever he can in his own 
 defence, in your hearing ; for I knew you 
 used to be just in your mind, as well as 
 good in your nature ; and you owed me al- 
 legiance, more betoken, as the Mayor o' 
 Wind-gap; for though you are now livin' 
 in the bailiwick of that poor soft-headed
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 235 
 
 cratur, in the next sthreet, you passed the 
 airliest and some of the happiest of your 
 days undher my rule, when you were/osther- 
 child to Juflf CarroF's good woman, that's 
 now no more, and fosther-sister, into the 
 bargain, to little Peggy Carroll, the purtiest 
 and the best girl I govern over, except your- 
 self. Miss Anny, and that I saved for you 
 only the day afore yestherday, because she 
 let me take my own way ; the same that I 
 ask you to let me do, this present moment.'* 
 " Well, Mr. Mayor," answered Anny, 
 gloomily smiling at this transcendently in- 
 genious personation — " I yield you my alle- 
 giance, at least ; but still I am convinced 
 that I ought not, under present circum- 
 stances, to hold intercourse with Mr. George 
 Blundell. Apart from the undefended 
 charges against him, he has given me new 
 cause for displeasure and estrangement ; 
 yesterday evening, here in this very parlour, 
 he insulted my guardian, Mr. Kennedy."
 
 236 THE MAYOR 
 
 " My darlin', purty young- crature, the 
 scalded heart makes a fool of the poor 
 young" head. When you refused to come 
 down to him, the boy did not know what 
 he was sayin' or doin' ; moreover, how do 
 you know but what he wants to say to you, 
 quite alone, between yourselves, may have 
 something to do with them charges you 
 spake of?" 
 
 " It would be wrong — very wrong to see 
 him," deliberated Anny. 
 
 And what has further been predicated of 
 the woman who deliberates ? Maurteen 
 Maher knew, though he had never read the 
 Poet's line ; — and when he saw that he had 
 thus virtually gained his point, he did not 
 go on arguing after convincing ; he did not 
 enter into the question of the propriety or 
 impropriety of granting the boon he so- 
 licited, he only appealed to her compassion, 
 representing the consequences likely to en- 
 sue should she persist in her refusal ; and
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 237 
 
 finally, he obtained her full consent to a 
 private interview with George Blundell ; 
 and left the house to communicate to his 
 young proteg^, his good tidings, with as 
 brisk a step, and in as high spirits, as if he 
 had succeeded in gaining, after a hard 
 battle, some great personal favor for himself. 
 Declare, oh Rochefaucauld ! how much, 
 or how little of poor old Maurteen Maher's 
 vanity, in his diplomatic talents, mingled 
 with his feelings of justice and of benevo- 
 lence, on this occasion !
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It is evident that the circumstances under 
 which the young people once again saw 
 each other alone, were embarrassing. Anny 
 felt it to be her duty, in the fullest sense a 
 woman can do so, distinctly and unequivo- 
 cally to dismiss George Blundell ; for as 
 she has herself said, the associate of a des- 
 perate libertine, nay, the partaker of his 
 guilt, ought not for an instant to continue 
 to be to her even as an acquaintance. Yet,
 
 WIND-GAP. 239 
 
 poor Anny's heart sickened at this convic- 
 tion ; and final separation did not promise 
 a less severe pang, because it became ne- 
 cessary to inflict it on herself. 
 
 Anny was seated, of course, at a small 
 work-table, with an open book upon it, 
 when George Blundell entered the room, 
 the same, by the way, in which Mr. Kennedy 
 had given him an audience. Immediately 
 withinside the doorway, the young man 
 paused, and looked deeply at her. Their 
 eyes met. Anny had Jicver seen her lover's 
 face under the expression of every day mer- 
 riment ; she had beheld it, indeed, subdued 
 into the gentle tenderness which her smiles 
 could always induce ; nay, when the fulness 
 of his joy glowed in every feature she had 
 called it in her own mind more than sunny 
 radiant indeed, with the consciousness' of 
 a delightful interchange of undoubting af- 
 fection. And, once before this day, she had 
 even witnessed it clouded with suffering.
 
 240 THE MAYOR 
 
 But, during the look which they now gave 
 each other, the deep-seated agony expressed 
 by George Blundell's countenance shocked 
 her. As he advanced, she trembled, and 
 was unable to rise from her chair, in the 
 formal, yet easy, manner which she had 
 planned. 
 
 George Blundell's words came in slow 
 and melancholy, yet not inharmonious, ca 
 dences on her ear, like the music of a 
 dirge. 
 
 " I perceive," he said, " my presence is 
 painful to you ; and I must therefore be the 
 more grateful for the charity shewn me, in 
 this permission to wait on you. However, 
 as it is very probably the last time I shall 
 so afflict you, I crave your indulgent hear- 
 ing to what I have now to say. You 
 reproach me with — " 
 
 " Mr. Blundell, it is not I who reproach 
 you ; nor is it my intention to do so even 
 now ; but — *' she hesitated.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 241 
 
 " What would you say ? go on, dear 
 Anny — but I am too bold in addressing- 
 you as familiarly as you have hitherto al- 
 lowed me to do — am I not ? I did not intend 
 it, however, and I cannot help it; there 
 A\ould be something- so hopeless in the 
 sound of your name, uttered bv my voice 
 with a merely polite title before it, that my 
 tongue refuses to make the attempt. But 
 I ask your pardon — you stopped short in 
 what you wished to say." 
 
 " Mr. Blundell, can you prove — fully 
 prove your innocence of the things laid to 
 your charge ! " 
 
 " Anny Kennedy, I cannot," he answered 
 slowly and miserably. ^' I can but make 
 assertions to you." 
 
 " Then, sir," she resumed, rallying into 
 spirit, " you will yourself admit the neces- 
 sity of an immediate and final separation 
 between us." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE MAYOR 
 
 '' Alas, Anny ! you can find no one more 
 ready to make that admission than I am — 
 I do not blame you, Anny ; far from it ; I 
 only blame my own fate, when I agree in 
 the justice of the wretched sentence you 
 pass upon me ; when I myself declare that 
 it is fit and proper you should draw back 
 from me." 
 
 Now, although Anny had quite resolved 
 to be stern and unflinching in her decree, 
 it is singular enough that this ready acqui- 
 escence in it did not fail to pique her. 
 As a matter of strict propriety, our gentle 
 Anny determined upon dismissing her lover 
 for ever; but her pride, and perhaps her 
 vanity, were wounded at the thought that 
 he allowed her manacles to drop too willing- 
 ly from his hands ; an argument, by the 
 way, which did not shew that her own fetters 
 were as loose as she might have chosen to 
 imagine they were. 
 
 '' So, sir, we have quickly come to an
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 243 
 
 understanding* ; and what necessity is there 
 for a prolong-ed conference on this subject ?" 
 Anny was now able to stand up. 
 " Do not so suddenly turn from me, 
 Anny ; permit me to fulfil the purpose for 
 which I have intruded on you — I sought 
 this meeting" with one particular object in 
 view ; pray sit down again — or — you tacitly 
 refuse me an opportunity for uttering a 
 last word to you." 
 
 " Well, sir : for that alone — " and Anny 
 resumed her judgment-seat mth the severe 
 dignity of a young " second Daniel/ — 
 
 " I will begin by saying, that I knew I 
 never could be worthy of your love — " 
 
 '' Indeed, Mr. Blundell ? and should I 
 then feel complimented that you have at- 
 tempted — particularly since we all know the 
 recent occurrences that surround you — to 
 call forth my affection ? " 
 
 " When I sought your love, my own 
 dearest Anny, there was no stain upon me 
 
 M 2
 
 244 THE MAYOR 
 
 — I could therefore not have doubted my- 
 self on that account. But this one point 
 we will defer, if you please. Now I repeat, 
 you act as you ought to do in receding 
 from me. But, although I admit the jus- 
 tice and the necessity of my rejection, be- 
 lieve me, I shall experience no self-reproach 
 in the agony to which for my life it must 
 doom me. And Anny, dearest, it would be 
 impossible I could live at all — indeed, life 
 would be too oppressive a burden for me — 
 did I not entertain the hope that your good 
 opinion, your esteem, and your compassion 
 will accompany me through my despair. 
 No — indeed, Anny ; nothing* can soothe the 
 peculiar misery of my lot, except the cer- 
 tainty that not only you do not think me the 
 villain the world would represent me to be, 
 but that you will pity me as the victim of 
 that cold world's hasty opinion." 
 
 " Mr. Blundell, you have said you could 
 give me nothing* but assertions ; well, sir ;
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 245 
 
 do you assert yourself to be innocent of, — 
 I must call them, — the crimes you are ac- 
 cused of?" 
 
 " Innocent ! innocent ! my beloved An- 
 ny, innocent!'' he exclaimed. 
 
 *^ Then why are you the companion of 
 that degraded man? why have I seen you 
 in his company? why have I heard words 
 pass between you? answer me," cried Anny, 
 in rising" hope. 
 
 " Anny," he replied, " you yourself 
 have accused me, and I have been publicly 
 accused, in this town, of having been a 
 party to the abduction of your foster-sister, 
 but, so help me heaven ! I am as guiltless 
 of that charge as yourself can be. As to 
 the words you overheard, I was certainly 
 presumptuous enough to speak of you, but 
 without levity ; without — " 
 
 " And you spoke of me to that man ? 
 you could mix up my name with his ? how 
 can you be connected with him, and still
 
 246 THE MAYOR 
 
 expect to be known to me ? Mr. Blundell, 
 the recollection of that is sufficient to call 
 on me, really, to end this irksome inter- 
 view." 
 
 "All will be best understood, Anny, 
 A\hen you have heard a plain story; the 
 story I am come here to tell." 
 
 " You have taken some time to intro- 
 duce it, sir," she remarked, (little vixen). 
 
 "That's very probable," said George; 
 " but now , not to tire you farther, I begin 
 it, and, I hope, with it, my vindication/' 
 
 "At my tenth year, I recollect myself 
 living- in a peasant's cottage. I was brought 
 up with the children of the family, and after 
 the same manner in which they were, except 
 that I experienced a more embittered infancy 
 and childhood. It was not concealed from me 
 that a paternal roof did not cover me ; but 
 where I was to seek that roof no one would 
 tell me. Before I w as ten years old, I some- 
 times used to ask who were my father and mo-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 247 
 
 ther ? but the unkindly people at the cottage 
 only laughed, at first, at my enquiries, or beat 
 me for making them ; until, at length, when 
 I had tormented them beyond patience, they 
 replied, to my young ears, that I was a child 
 of whom my parents were ashamed, and 
 whom they brought up for charity. In fact, 
 Anny, I was considered as an incumbrance, 
 in even that lowly house ; and worse, they 
 branded me with a disgraceful name : I was 
 ill-treated by the old ; I was scorned by the 
 young. My nature was made morose, my 
 temper sour, and often savage. My tender 
 days were spent in ^vretchedness ; and never 
 since have I been able wholly to free my 
 mind of the premature gloom and bitter- 
 ness cast upon it by those early scenes. 
 
 " One lad only, in my neighbourhood, 
 treated me with kindness ; and I have often 
 since thought that the heart within me must 
 have become dead, as a kind of moral pe- 
 trifaction, but that it expanded to him, in
 
 248 THE MAYOR 
 
 return for his gentleness to me. Upon one 
 occasion, when some four or five other boys 
 were at play, and when I looked on, as was 
 my custom, without playing with them, my 
 generous friend was attacked, upon some 
 misunderstanding*, by a lad, stronger and 
 older than himself. I took his quarrel upon 
 me ; and, although my antagonist was also 
 my physical superior in every way, I had 
 not time to count odds. Before that day, I 
 had scarce ever stood up, on my own ac- 
 count, against an insult, because the con- 
 sciousness of my humiliating position weigh- 
 ed me down like lead. But," continued 
 George Blundell, interrupting himself, " I 
 fatigue you, Anny ?" 
 
 " No, no, no ; — pray go on," she said. 
 
 " Well, I became the conqueror on this 
 occasion ; but I was sorely bruised and bat- 
 tered ; and the little fellow, for whom I had 
 fought, attended on me to cure my wounds. 
 The other boys envied me for my success^
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 249 
 
 and, still retaining their malevolent uncha- 
 ritableness against me, would provoke me 
 into fresh quarrels. My blood got up, and 
 I offered to encounter them all, one by one ; 
 but, out of their virtuous detestation, I sup- 
 pose, they, at last, fell upon mc, nearly all 
 together, and I could only defend myself 
 as well as I was able, against their united 
 blows. 
 
 " During this unequal contest, I was un- 
 conscious that a stranger had been looking 
 on, an unbiassed witness of the tyranny 
 practised upon me, and of my vain efforts 
 to resist it. But that stranger, to my asto- 
 nishment, suddenly became my protector, 
 judiciously using his cane to disencumber 
 me of my cowardly assailants. 
 
 " When they had retired, and that we 
 were alone, he enquired my birth and pa- 
 rentage. At first, I would not reply to him 
 at all ; gradually he drew reluctant and 
 tearful, though true, answers from me. At 
 my account, I saw him start and frown ; 
 
 u 5
 
 250 THE MAYOR 
 
 and then he took my hand, and asked me to 
 lead him to the house where I resided. I did 
 so, — we entered the mean abode. I was in 
 rags, and otherwise very badly taken care 
 of. I heard my mysterious protector dis- 
 puting angrily with the proprietor of my 
 churlish place of refuge. I heard my name 
 mentioned, and understood that I was the 
 subject of their debate. Finally, the stran- 
 ger called me — his son ! his lawful son, he 
 said I was ! Oh, Anny ! when I heard this, 
 I cannot tell you how my young- heart ex- 
 ulted ! and well do I remember the boyish 
 assumption of lofty demeanour which I put 
 forward, after /had summoned suflScient 
 courage to call him father. Little shew of 
 fatherly kindness did he then afford me ; 
 but his mere countenancing the poor des- 
 pised boy was sufficient to arouse all the 
 dormant fondness of my nature for him; 
 and when he told me that his name was 
 Blundell, and that I must forget that by
 
 OF UlND-GAP. 251 
 
 which I had hitherto been called, (the name 
 of the family with whom I had been living) 
 and assume his, I thought myself absolutely 
 ennobled. 
 
 " My father immediately had me con- 
 veyed into a neighbouring village, and there 
 he clothed me well, and fed me daintily ; at 
 his departure, which shortly after occurred, 
 he placed me at a respectable school ; and, 
 two years afterwards, in my twelfth year, 
 I was removed, at his command, though he 
 did not then come back to me, to the college 
 of this to^vn. At our first meeting, he had 
 told me he was a merchant, possessing great 
 wealth in a foreign country ; that he had 
 left Ireland, while yet young, in conse- 
 quence of my mother's death ; that he had 
 no child but me ; and that I was to be the 
 sole inheritor of a large fortune. I never 
 questioned the truth of this story ; and the 
 liberal supplies of money regularly remitted 
 to me, in his name seemed fully to prove it.
 
 252 THE MAYOR 
 
 ^' For many years I did not again behold 
 my parent ; not, in fact, till about three 
 months ago. Then, however, Anny, I re- 
 ceived a message to attend him, at a house 
 which he had just taken, in the neighbour- 
 hood of this city ; and now, Anny, do you 
 begin to pity me ? " 
 
 " Are you at liberty to declare who he 
 is ? " asked Anny, growing very pale. 
 
 " I will declare it to you, Anny, at any 
 risk," answered George Blundell, most sor- 
 rowfully, tears trickling from his eyes — 
 ''^The strange Man of the Inch,' is my 
 father." 
 
 " Dear George, I do — I do, indeed, pity 
 you," resumed Anny, suddenly extending 
 her hand, and more than responding to the 
 measure of his tears. 
 
 " God bless you, Anny," cried George, 
 as he almost reverently touched her hand 
 with his lips — "but you perceive at once, 
 that on this wretched fact, I rest my vindi-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 253 
 
 cation against the foul calumnies cast upon 
 
 J? 
 
 me. 
 
 " I understand it clearly, dear George." 
 '* You may have overheard us speaking- 
 tog-ether in the lane, near his house. I was 
 conscious that you must have known of the 
 imputations in question ; and I was praying 
 of him to permit me to confide to you the 
 secret of my birth, in order that you might 
 understand vvhy I had been discovered in 
 his company at the bonfire. He sternly 
 and threateningly repelled my prayer ; but 
 I now make the disclosure, in the teeth of 
 his commands ; because it is of less conse- 
 quence to me to inherit his wealth, did he 
 possess the produce of all the mines hid in 
 the bowels of this round world, than, for 
 one single day, to sink in your estimation. 
 And I sought a private interview with you, 
 because I durst not tell my secret to any 
 other person." 
 
 *' He wishes, then, that your consangui-
 
 254 THE MAYOR 
 
 nity shall remain unknown?" demanded 
 Anny. 
 
 " He does. Three months ag-o, when 
 for the second time in my life I met him, we 
 had not been many minutes together before 
 he gave me to understand as much ; adding, 
 that the fact of even ordinary intimacy be- 
 tween us must be hidden from the world, 
 and that, whenever we saw each other, it 
 must be without witnesses, or else person- 
 ally disguised." 
 
 " Did you ask liis reasons for this un- 
 accountable mystery ? " 
 
 " 1 did, Anny — over and over — in vain. 
 I found him a rough, peremptory man ; he 
 said the measure was necessary ; was his 
 will and pleasure, and that he should be 
 obeyed ; nor did he fail to remind me that 
 even for my very bread I was at his mercy, 
 and that disobedience on my part, and aban- 
 donment on his, should be cause and con- 
 sequence."
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 255 
 
 There is self-evidence in the accents of 
 truth ; there is a blandness about sincerity, 
 which is its own guarantee against doubt 
 and disbelief in the hearts of those to whom 
 it addresses itself. — Anny fully credited 
 the story she heard, and her looks and man- 
 ner towards the narrator were almost as 
 kind as ever. 
 
 '^ Anny, behold the situation in which 
 I am placed," the young man continued. 
 *' Although a stern and a dictatorial father, 
 he has been a kind and liberal one to me, 
 ever since the moment he rescued me from 
 poverty and degradation ; and, exclusive 
 of my gratitude to him for having given me 
 a station in the world, with education, and 
 means to support it, it is my creed, my reli- 
 gious, conscientious creed, that, except for 
 the commission of an evil act, we are bound 
 to yield honour and obedience to — no matter 
 what may be his private character, — a pa- 
 rent. To you indeed, Anny, I break the
 
 256 THE MAYOR 
 
 commands laid upon me, in the present in- 
 stance, because I feel, because I am sure, 
 that the loss of your esteem were a warrant 
 for self-destruction. But you will guard 
 my secret; it is unnecessary for me to 
 remark that you will — " 
 
 " I will, George Blundell," she said, 
 "since I ought to do so for your interests." 
 
 " Putting' completely out of view all 
 worldly interests," he resumed, " 1 am 
 bound to keep my father's secret, because 
 he has commanded me to do so — am 1 not, 
 Anny?" 
 
 *' I should think so," she replied, though 
 with a little hesitation, " yet in what fearful 
 difficulties does it involve you!" 
 
 " Yes, Anny ; I must be content to bear 
 even infamy, while I do my duty." 
 
 " Tis all very strange, and very unfor- 
 tunate, dear George — may I ask you one 
 question ? do you think that public report 
 wrongs your father?"
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 267 
 
 " I have dared to -speak with him on the 
 subject — he says he is not guilty of the 
 things laid to his charge — he has stormed 
 and raved at me for supposing the contrary 
 to be the case ; and, he adds, that his. ne- 
 cessarily mysterious mode of life has sub- 
 jected him to the gossip of the censorious 
 and foolish vulgar, and that the misdeeds 
 of others are undeservedly heaped upon him." 
 
 " Do you believe him ? " again question- 
 ed Anny. 
 
 " Oh ! that I could answer you that 
 I did, Anny — but alas ! alas ! facts tend- 
 ing to disprove his words have come to 
 my knowledge ; deep, deep, in my bosom, 
 I feel a horrid misgiving that report speaks 
 truly of him ; and that my father, mi/ father, 
 Anny, is a man of evil ways. And, taking 
 this to be the fact — supposing it for an 
 instant to be the fact, observe, Anny — ob- 
 serve how I am situated — as I am, must 
 either submit to be considered as the accom-
 
 258 THE MAYOR 
 
 plice of a man who, in this little quarter 
 of the world, is openly called a desperado — 
 I must do this, not admitting the connection 
 of father and son between us ; or, admitting 
 it, I must abandon him, and say to the 
 world, ' You are all right ! this is the bravo 
 and the evil man — ' and, to save myself 
 from social disgrace, I, his son, cast him 
 off ! " — again the young man became deeply 
 affected and silent. 
 
 •* Fearful indeed, dear George," said 
 Anny, again giving her hand. 
 
 '' And what should T gain e\ e* by this 
 last course ? what should even you gain, my 
 adored Anny, supposing my lot and yours 
 to go hand in hand, after it ? why, I gain 
 nothing but the base reputation of being 
 the son of a depraved and detested individ- 
 ual ; and you, nothing but the sharing of 
 that reputation — if indeed I could ask you 
 to encounter it. But I am here at present 
 to tell you that I ^vill not ask you to en-
 
 OF WI^D-GAP. 259 
 
 counter it ; to tell you that George Blun- 
 dell's heart will eat itself away, in hopeless 
 agony, before he asks you to change, for the 
 worse, your present position of honour, of 
 good and of virtue." 
 
 *' Thank you, George — thank you, dear, 
 dear George," sobbed Anny. 
 
 " No- dearest — I would not afford to 
 the world, even at the risk of all my own 
 worldly happiness, the opportunity to point 
 one little finger against you ; yet, you see 
 to whichever side I turn, that world has the 
 power, and indeed, according to its own 
 laws, the right to scorn me. Oh, Anny, 
 Anny, I have been foolishly proud of my 
 own good name ! and I have exulted in 
 the consciousness of possessing, from the 
 hand of God, a mind stored with many of 
 the treasures which the poet, the historian, 
 and the sage, offered to me for the gather- 
 ing I Yes, Anny, and I have idolized the 
 lovelv forms of nature, and the lovelier
 
 260 THE MAYOR 
 
 features of virtue : all displayed before me 
 by the hand of that God; and I have 
 turned with loathing from (I will only call 
 it now) the disagreeable front of vice — and 
 yet, at last, to be, without fault of mine, 
 levelled with the vicious; to be classed 
 with those minds which are made up but 
 of a mass of sluggish matter, or of mere 
 matter of a worse kind ; to be classed with 
 those who can laugh when they commit sin 
 and outrage — and, by the indulgence of 
 habits equally common to them and to the 
 terminable brute, plodding with prone vis- 
 age over the earth — who live themselves 
 with that brute — nay, sink below him ! 
 Oh Anny, dearest Anny, this is affliction, 
 indeed ! " 
 
 " It is indeed, dear George," she said, 
 in a voice of deep commiseration ; " but, 
 do you not think that you at present ex- 
 press yourself as if the mere name of vir- 
 tue, and as if the mere reputation of 
 high attainment, were equally important
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 261 
 
 as those qualities themselves ? do you not, 
 in the present instance, seem to set as 
 hig-h a value upon the shadow as upon the 
 substance ? " 
 
 " You speak to me," answered George, 
 "as you have always done, my o^vn dear 
 Anny, like a soothing-, and yet a correcting-, 
 angel. I do not know what to say further. 
 I will, however, recur to one thing that I 
 glanced at, when we first began this con- 
 versation. You remember I told you that 
 from the very commencement of our ac- 
 acquaintance, I felt I never could be 
 worthy of your affection ; and indeed, 
 Anny, that's true ; for there was about you 
 a something of nature, and of goodness, 
 and of purity, which surrounded me like 
 a clear spring atmosphere — giving me 
 the power to admire and to enjoy, but find- 
 ing me deficient in any equivalent return. 
 And it was therefore only that I always 
 feared I could never obtain your love.
 
 262 THE MAYOR 
 
 But when T did obtain it ! Oh my God ! 
 what a change came over me ! — what 
 a change for earthly happiness ! all that, 
 however, has passed away. I may still 
 continue to believe that you love me ; but, 
 as I have more than once said, I must, for 
 your own dear, dear sake^ reject that love, 
 even though you were about to renew its 
 promise to me. You shall not, Anny, pass 
 along the streets of this town, and encounter 
 a single human being who could say of you, 
 ' That is the wife of the son of the bravo.' 
 Anny, I do not yet understand my father ; 
 and in this avowal, perhaps, exists the full 
 force of my present despair. For, Anny, 
 disreputable as we all know him to be, here, 
 in this neighbourhood, I have deeper fears 
 of him. I have fears that extend beyond 
 this place ; nay, beyond our native country : 
 I have fears of him, that I dare not express 
 even to myself ! and therefore, Anny, I say 
 over again, and I say it more decidedly than
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 263 
 
 ever, from this moment you can have nothing- 
 to do with me — you must have nothing* to do 
 with me, except the affording me your full 
 belief in my innocence, and in all the facts 
 I have submitted to you ; and then your 
 full pity for my future lot — when, in conse- 
 quence of those facts, and indeed, even of 
 that innocence, I shall be for ever separated 
 from you." 
 
 George Blundell, who had been standing 
 up, during- the latter part of his speech, 
 sunk down exhausted and spiritless on a 
 chair. 
 
 Anny had shed tears during his recital 
 — at present she did not weep. She looked 
 upon her old friend with uncurbed admira- 
 tion ; with admiration of his sentiments, 
 of his principles, and we fear, indeed, of 
 the graceful energy of his expression of 
 them, as well as of the alternate flashing 
 and sinking of his bold manly eye. Even 
 after he had ceased to speak, she seemed to
 
 264 THE MAYOR 
 
 listen to him. In an instant, however, she 
 leaned her forehead upon her hand and, half 
 turning from him, bent herself towards the 
 table ; the deep-black, glossy ringlets that 
 had previously half- covered her throat and 
 neck, now hanging perpendicularly and 
 veiling her countenance. The young pair 
 were for some time silent. At length, J^nny 
 quickly raised her head ; tossed her hair 
 back again upon her shoulders, and spoke ; 
 at first in a tremulous voice, then firmly, 
 and eventually with intense pathos. 
 
 *' George — " she said, and the young 
 man bent eagerly towards her — " I give full 
 belief and credit to every word that you 
 have spoken in your vindication — " 
 
 " May God bless you, Anny, for that 
 word!" 
 
 '' And I think it necessary to state my full 
 belief as a kind of necessary preface to what 
 I must further declare. I have endeavoured 
 to follow a certain train of thought, and as
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 265 
 
 you have been candid, and have expressed 
 yourself most distinctly towards me, I may 
 surely take up the same tone towards you. 
 Dearest George — you sought my love — I 
 gave it to you ; and when I did so, no 
 thought of mine w as influenced by w orldly 
 considerations. Indeed, George, in it you 
 had a gift as unsophisticated, as warm, and 
 yet as pure a gift, as ever a young girl gave to 
 man, while, for the first time, yielding up her 
 heart's affections. I am not ashamed to say, 
 nor do I fear to flatter you, when I declare 
 that I bestowed that love upon virtue ; 
 upon high-mindedness ; upon talent ; upon 
 genius ; to say nothing of personal recom- 
 mendation, or of your most sincere attach- 
 ment to me. Xay, hear me out, George 
 Blundell, for, I repeat, I do not speak to 
 flatter you. Before these last few black 
 days, nothing could have changed me towards 
 you, except a discovery of your being less 
 w orthy than 1 supposed you to be of my 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE MAYOR 
 
 deeply - trusting- partiality — since then I 
 have doubted. But, upon this day I dis- 
 cover nothing that can give me a disagree- 
 able impression of you — and, therefore, I 
 am, as I have been ever towards you, 
 dearest George.'* 
 
 George sprang from his seat, and was 
 getting himself into some dilemma of grate- 
 ful gallantry. 
 
 " No, no — " she said, " stand up — take 
 a chair and sit by me if you will — " (what 
 did he do ?) " I have now candidly told you 
 the opinions of my mind, and the feelings 
 of my heart ; and if they are any consolation 
 to you, remember them and accept of them. 
 But I cannot disguise from myself, mean- 
 time, that a woman has other duties than 
 those of love to perform. I must not too 
 hastily sink myself in the world's esteem — 
 there, dear George, I agree with you, though 
 you have manfully anticipated me. No ; 
 you are right — no — we must not be hasty—
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 2G7 
 
 you have said that, on my account, you 
 would not enter the world with me, an 
 object of neglect — I say for you, that I will 
 not allow you, from this hour, any oppor- 
 tunity to tempt me to do so ; — while the 
 present cloud hangs over you, we must 
 cease to be even private acquaintances — 
 But rest satisfied with this assurance, I have 
 loved you for you own qualities — and I will 
 not now change towards you, because un- 
 merited misfortune has placed you in 
 questionable circumstances. I will not, 
 now — I will not ever. I will love none 
 other but you ; I mil wed none other but 
 you. Brighter days must surely beam on 
 us at last, and leave us free to smile at the 
 social usages which at present doom our 
 separation. I cannot, ^^ill not, believe but 
 that you will soon become enabled to re- 
 assert 3 ourself in your own true character. 
 But if," continued Anny, "and let my 
 last words sink deepest in your memory, 
 
 N 2
 
 268 WIND-GAP. 
 
 " if time does 7iot stand your friend ; if you 
 are too long kept down by the necessity 
 of your strange lot, then, George Blundell, 
 come to me again, and again call me your 
 own, own Anny.'*
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The house at the Inch, the scene of the tra- 
 gedy, with which we are becoming more 
 particularly acquainted, was an old family 
 mansion, built in the graceless style of 
 architecture pretty generally adopted in 
 Ireland in the beginning of Elizabeth's 
 reign ; a square structure, of which each 
 side terminated in a pointed and towering 
 gable, while each gable was surmounted by 
 a formidable chimney. At that side, where
 
 270 TFIR MAYOR 
 
 the stone-jambed, massive, hall-door gave 
 entrance to the dwelling, the windows had 
 been placed with some degree of uniform 
 arrangement ; but at its other sides they 
 were up and down, here and there, great 
 and small ; as if, after the first construction 
 of the house, whim or necessity, rather than 
 pre-concerted design, had dictated their rela- 
 tive positions. The walls were very massive, 
 and all the principal rooms wainscoated. 
 
 Into the largest room of the second story 
 of this famous house, we now enter, upon 
 a visit to its as famous present proprietor. 
 
 The furniture around us is old, lumber- 
 ing, and much decayed. The walls and 
 floor of the apartment itself have been but 
 indifferently reclaimed from a former state 
 of almost dilapidation ; and, although four 
 large wax tapers burn on a carved table 
 in its centre, there is the uncomfortable 
 air of a mixture of luxury and unfit- 
 ness, of ornament and blemish, nay, even
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 271 
 
 of the want of order, or of common atten- 
 tion to order, visible at every side. 
 
 " The strange Man of the Inch" sat 
 alone at the massive carved table. A half- 
 drained silver goblet, richly chased, was 
 before him. The bottle from which he had 
 filled it, and another, which he had pre- 
 viously emptied, were to his hand ; and a 
 delf mug, with a handle near the neck — 
 one of those called a " grey beard" — stood 
 in the middle of the board. 
 
 An embroidered purple velvet cap, sat, 
 not inelegantly, on his head. He was re- 
 galing himself with a gigantic pipe, which, 
 after many convolutions, rested on the floor 
 at his feet ; it was indeed a machine of 
 exotic fashion, and formed, in the eyes of 
 his neighbours, one of the objects which, 
 taken as appendages to him, challenged 
 their curiosity and enquiry, if not their 
 fears. His brow was closely knitted over 
 his deep, black eye, as if, even in solitude.
 
 272 THE MAYOR 
 
 it would hide and concentrate its own mean- 
 ing- ; while, ever and anon, he puffed from 
 his curving- lip, the vapour of perfumed 
 tobacco. 
 
 The door of the apartment slowly, and, 
 it might be said, sneakingly opened. " The 
 strange Man" turned towards it his keen, 
 searching eye. A tall and bulky fellow, 
 enveloped in a large, loose wrapper of blue 
 freize, which disguised his person, stood be- 
 yond the threshold. 
 
 " So, Bourke ! — is that you ? — Advance ;" 
 said the *' strange Man," sonorously. 
 
 His clumsy visitor, plodding forward 
 with a heavy step, removed his slouched 
 hat from his bushy broAV. 
 
 " Sit you down, sit you down, Bourke," 
 continued the " strange Man," pointing to a 
 seat distant from the table ; — " Sit down, 
 and make love to ^grey beard.'" 
 
 *' Dhar-a-loursa ! * an' who'll say it isn't 
 
 * An imprecation.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 273 
 
 the mouth -wather that hasn't its match ?" — 
 the man remarked, after he had applied the 
 mug- to his lips, and gulped a sufficient 
 quantity of its contents : — " An' I'll let out 
 the thruth ; the love an' the likin' that I 
 have for it, * bates Baiinachar' — and to ex- 
 emplify his statement, he once more pressed 
 his lips to the lips of the " grey beard." 
 He then rested the vessel on the table, em- 
 bracing it with his great hands as if he 
 claimed it as his own, smacking his mouth, 
 and grinning hugely and hideously. 
 
 The " strange Man" smoked on, without 
 a change of countenance, as if abstractedly, 
 or indifferently, or perhaps contemptuously, 
 though without the expression of that feel- 
 ing. Bourke fixed his large grey eyes upon 
 him, and, by degrees, also grew serious. 
 There was silence for some time. At length 
 the '^ strange Man's" glance suddenly en- 
 countered that of the other, and in a loud, 
 
 * Goes beyond expression. 
 
 N 5
 
 274 THE MAYOR 
 
 sharp voice, while he struck his foot upon 
 the floor, he as suddenly demanded — 
 " Bourke ! is there a traitor among- ye?" 
 
 " By the gor," answered the fellow, col- 
 lectedly, although at first he had been ra- 
 ther startled — " not to my knowin,' or to the 
 knowledge of me, masther." 
 
 " Not to your knowing ! — Are you not 
 certain? — positively certain, one way or 
 the other ? " ^ 
 
 " I'll take book-oath on it, — an' may this 
 ^lauchy liquor be my pison, afore I close 
 an eye, if I'm tellin' you a word of a lie, 
 at the prasent time." 
 
 "And you have not discovered who 
 pirated the girl from the summer-house, 
 in the garden, where she had been so safely 
 stowed away ?" 
 
 " No, masther ; we lost all marks and 
 tokens of her in the town. But wait a bit, 
 wait a bit ; all is not lost that's in danger ; 
 
 * Lovely — generous.
 
 OP WIND-GAP. 275 
 
 and what a body can't see a good way off 
 to-day, bccase there's bad weather between 
 a body and it, a body may be able to see 
 to-morrow, when the sun takes away the 
 clouds, and lets a body's eyes do their 
 naathral business." 
 
 " Bourke — there is some one on the 
 watch, that we don't count among ship's 
 crew. There is some stranger, I tell you, 
 knows more of our tacks than he ought to 
 know. I ask you again, sirrah, — and now 
 have a care of your answer — Is there, or is 
 there not a skulking traitor amongst you ? " 
 " Dhar-a-loursa — A thraithor ! — What 
 business would such a one have to be rub- 
 bin' to us? — Would he see the sun two 
 mornin's afther we found out w hat he was, I 
 wondher? " And, to intimate his meaning, he 
 slowly took out of his bosom a large, clum- 
 sily-shaped pistol, laid it on the table, and 
 scowled at it : — " And let him be ould Nick, 
 or ould Nick's mother, or even a christhin.
 
 276 THE MAYOR 
 
 of any sort, that is lookin' too close at us, 
 I'd have him be on his guard, masther, 
 honey." 
 
 " Bourke ! had I time to spare for him, 
 he should not, whoever he is, long^ remain 
 hidden from me, were the earth heaped five 
 fathoms above him. But for the present we 
 must content ourselves with knowing that 
 there is some meddling- eye fixed on us, and 
 watching our motions; that there is some 
 clever hand, — (or at least some hand that 
 thinks itself clever) — interfering in our 
 affairs ; and that is quite enough to make 
 me push on the matter we have last been 
 speaking about, with the more speed and 
 spirit. Bourke, I can afford no longer 
 delay. By the time I have mentioned, that 
 one must be safely conveyed to the place 
 you know of.'' 
 
 " I'd wager a silver shillin against a 
 brass farthen," answered Mr. Bourke, "that 
 the boy that 'ud thry to keep her from us
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 277 
 
 might have a chanch of getting his garthers 
 knotted round his throat, instead of above 
 his knee, jolly masther." 
 
 " Well, then ; be prepared, all of you, 
 ye scoundrels ; and, mind me ; there must 
 be no bungling this time, if you wish to walk 
 about the world with your heads on your 
 shoulders ; — do you hear me ? " 
 
 " I do ; and, by this blessed mouth-w a- 
 ther," pursued Bourke, again kissing the 
 lips he adored most — " you may sleep asy 
 on id, I tell you." 
 
 " And / tell you, man, that on this occa- 
 sion I will not endure disappointment. I 
 did not care a great deal for the loss of that 
 other, whom ye all let slip through your 
 fingers so confoundedly ; and, therefore, I 
 half forgave ye, and let ye go unpunished ; 
 but, at your peril, let me find neither treach- 
 ery nor mismanagement in the business now 
 in hand ; if I should detect any such thing, 
 it is not merely the loss of my bounty you
 
 278 WIND-GAP. 
 
 shall have to dread ; but were there a dozen 
 of you, each armed with a pistol, like that 
 before you, loaded to the muzzle, and the 
 muzzles of all pointed to my breast, every 
 man of you should feel that I was still your 
 master, and able to be quits with you." 
 
 " Shadhurth ; — I'll dhrink to you on the 
 bargain." 
 
 And here, because we do not very much 
 relish their society, we will leave "the 
 strang-e Man of the Inch'* and his worthy 
 associate to arrange their plans ; and with 
 the reader's permission, change the scene.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Anny Kennedy had not the slightest recol- 
 lection of her father ; and of her mother but 
 a very dreamy one remained on her mind. 
 She remembered a weeping, delicate female, 
 taking care of her early childhood, whom 
 she used to call mamma, and her most vivid 
 reminiscences of this individual were mixed 
 up with painful and mysterious feelings. 
 She could relate her eflforts to scramble up 
 upon a bed, in which the lady lay, as it had
 
 280 THE MAYOR 
 
 been her wont to do ; her agonies at having 
 been held back by a mild, compassionate- 
 looking man, whose kindness of manner, 
 and whose endeavours to soothe her childish 
 grief, partly reconciled her to the opposition 
 she experienced from him. And Anny's 
 memory was further strongly impressed 
 with the mode finally adopted to console 
 her: having succeeded in pacifying her a 
 little, the gentleman led her back, repress- 
 ingly, however, to the bed she had vainly 
 tried to scale, and the person resting in it 
 placed a ribbon round her neck, to which 
 was attached a shining bauble that pleased 
 her childish eye ; nor did Anny, at this day, 
 forget the fervent kiss, and the straining 
 embrace accompanying the gift. 
 
 Soon after this, she was led by the mild- 
 looking man to a strange residence, of which 
 the novelty, and, indeed, the splendour, de- 
 lighted her ; but she grew tired of the ex- 
 citement, and cried to be taken back to her
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 281 
 
 mother. This request was not, however, 
 complied with; and she experienced, for 
 some time, much misery ; but, at last, she 
 became unconsciously reconciled to the idea 
 of a final separation. Anny yet wore the 
 little present she had received from her dy- 
 ing- parent : it was a very small double mi- 
 niature, having on one side, as she had 
 since been told, the portrait of her father, 
 and, on the other, that of her mother ; and 
 she now" distinctly understood that the 
 placid man, who had gained such influence 
 over her, at the moment of her infantine tri- 
 bulation, at the bed-side of her dying mother, 
 was Mr. Connor Kennedy, ^4th whom she 
 had since lived, who had adopted her as his 
 daughter, and to whose considerable pro- 
 perty she was to be sole heiress. 
 
 \\Tiat object beneath the blessed sun is 
 more lovely, more endearing, than that of a 
 little child, bustling about, no matter how 
 imperfectly, as to its success, but still con-
 
 282 THE MAYOR 
 
 fidently full of a belief of its power to ren- 
 der to middle ag-e its little services, in proof 
 of its great love ? If not the truest, is it 
 not the purest, proof of the heart's affec- 
 tion ? is it not an evidence, bursting out of 
 the bosom of that child, of the great princi^ 
 pie of its creation, and, only let the world 
 not spoil it, of its eternally-willed destiny ? 
 If love be not the sole, true motive for our 
 genuine attentions to one another, why 
 should that little child so powerfully exem 
 plify the fact that it is ? The fairy creature 
 is not yet tutored upon a necessity for pleas- 
 ing ; — it pleases because it is pleased : its 
 little spirit is fresh from the impress, the 
 caress, the embrace, of its God ; — its God 
 of love immeasurable ! — that is, immea- 
 surable by our mere human feelings of what 
 we call love. Answer us, any one who is a 
 parent, what love, at any more advanced 
 period, is equal to the love of that little 
 child ?
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 283 
 
 Oh ! it is indeed delightful to behold the 
 innocent eyes, beaming with affectionate 
 earnestness ; the other little features so- 
 bered into business-like gravity, full of the 
 importance of being occupied for one it 
 loves ; and then playing in brilliant joy 
 when the labour of love is applauded by a 
 kiss. 
 
 ;Much of this rather egotistical eulogy of 
 childhood has been called forth by Anny 
 Kennedy, and is, in a great degree, applica- 
 ble to her. Even in her earliest days, the 
 patient melancholy of Mr. Kennedy's coun- 
 tenance, its expression of a calm endurance 
 of misfortune, excited Anny's unconscious 
 sympathy, and her young heart felt, un- 
 knowingly, a claim preferred upon it for 
 consolation. She would even now call to 
 mind that the chief happiness of those days 
 used to be caused by seeing her guardian's 
 sad features relax into a smile, as the result 
 of her efforts to soothe and please him.
 
 284 THE MAYOR 
 
 As she grew up, Anny took delight in 
 the performance of little personal services 
 for him. She would be sure to run about 
 the house to find his night-cap, and would 
 arrange it on his head with her own little 
 hands ; she would kneel down and lit on 
 his slippers ; and, in her opinion, no one 
 but herself could settle the cushions of his 
 arm-chair, or place it in the exact spot he 
 liked, 'either by the fire in winter, or near 
 the window, overlooking the garden, in 
 summer. 
 
 Upon the evening of the day of George 
 Blundell's visit to her, as related in the last 
 chapter, Anny and Mr. Kennedy were, as 
 usual, enjoying each other's society ; and 
 they had been for some time discussing the 
 nature of the present new position of her 
 and her lover. 
 
 Even on this delicate topic, Anny saw 
 no reason for disguising her thoughts from 
 her guardian. There was something so soft
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 285 
 
 and touching" about his manner and charac- 
 ter, something- so nearly resembling the gen- 
 tleness of her own sex, that a confidence of 
 a most unqualified nature had always ex- 
 isted between them. And, to assist in esta- 
 blishing this understanding-, never had Mr. 
 Kennedy used a word or a sound of harsh- 
 ness towards Anny ; and the idea of being 
 reserved with him could not enter into her 
 thoughts. 
 
 From the beginning of her intimacy 
 with George Blundell, her guardian had 
 scarce ever hesitated to question her upon 
 the state of her feelings^ nor Anny to ex- 
 press them. The last remarkable interview 
 between the lovers was, therefore, talked 
 over by Kennedy's fire-side, without, as we 
 have before intimated, the slightest reser- 
 vation, except, we are bound to admit, in 
 one instance. 
 
 Anny had given her solemn promise that 
 she would guard the secret of George Blun- 
 dell's explanation of his intimacy with the
 
 286 THE MAYOR 
 
 disreputable person lately come into their 
 neighbourhood ; and was compelled, there- 
 fore, to conceal the mystery from her old 
 confidante. 
 
 "And yet, Anny, although you will not 
 account to me why it is you are so satisfied 
 of his innocence, yet you will have me go 
 the full length of agreeing with you in your 
 conviction of it." 
 
 " Exactly so, my dear sir." 
 
 " He has bound you to honourable se- 
 crecy ?'* 
 
 '' He has, Sir : in my mind and heart I 
 rely upon the statements George Blundell 
 has made ; and even if he had not wished 
 me to guard his secret, there is that about 
 it connected with my good wishes towards 
 him, which I believe would seem to compel 
 me to be as prudent on the matter, even 
 with you, as you now find me." 
 
 " Anny, his wishing you to remain silent 
 is, in itself, a circumstance full of suspicion.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 287 
 
 in the young man's conduct. If his excul- 
 pation will bear scrutiny, why is it to be 
 hidden from every one, except the person 
 most likely to take it upon mere trust ?" 
 
 '' Should I attempt to give you any an 
 swer, " said Anny, " I must run the risk of, 
 at all events, hinting what I am bound not 
 to breathe a word of.'' 
 
 "Well, Anny, perhaps you can satisfy 
 me upon one single point ; — did Mr. Blun- 
 dell make it appear quite satisfactory to you 
 that he had no intimate connection with 
 that very doubtful character, called the 
 strange Man of the Inch ?" 
 
 " My dear sir," continued Anny, after a 
 short pause, " I am sure that, without the 
 slighest breach of trust, I may reply to your 
 present interrogatory. Instead of denying 
 an intimate connection Tsith this man, he 
 openly avowed it to me ; yet, upon the na- 
 ture of that connection he rests his chief 
 defence against the charge of participation
 
 288 THE MAYOR 
 
 in the acts in which they are supposed to 
 be jointly concerned ; and here, again, I 
 must add, I am not at liberty to explain 
 further." 
 
 "Very, very strange, indeed," mused Mr. 
 Kennedy. 
 
 " I admit it is, sir ; yet, if my judgment 
 be not very shallow, I think I thoroughly 
 understand the case ; and, indeed, I can 
 confidently say that, to my own mind, 
 George's acquittal is not pronounced by me 
 on a hasty examination, or upon untenable 
 grounds." 
 
 *' You may feel all this to be very true, 
 Anny, as matters appear to you, and 
 as you feel they ought to be ; but, dear 
 child, your heart has not been unemployed 
 in forming your decision ; and I fear, much 
 fear, that the pretending head is more fre-r 
 quently its partizan, than its judge, when 
 appealed to, perse veringly, by that coura- 
 geous little tempter."
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 289 
 
 *^*^ Indeed, sir, and is this the case ?" 
 ^^Anny,dear Anny, I vouch to you my own 
 experience in proof of my assertion. Alas ! 
 too well I know how unnerved the reason- 
 ing power becomes, when the heart tampers 
 with its decisions. Oh ! how filmed and 
 warped then is the vision of the understand- 
 ing ! how inevitably does it deceive itself! 
 Oh, Anny ! it w ill deck the brow of a barren 
 precipice with flowers, to hinder itself from 
 seeing the gulph below, as well as to entice 
 itself to its edge ; and on — on — its dupe will 
 rush exulting in a certainty of his clean- 
 sightedness, until he reels and falls, for ever, 
 ever falls, in his eagerness to pluck the 
 visionary decoration ! Anny, my dear child, 
 I have, as I intimated to you, experienced 
 something like this : forgive me, then, if I 
 impugn your young judgment until I can 
 examine, with my own eyes, the foundation 
 on which it rests ." 
 
 ''Dear sir," resumed Anny, "though, 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 THE MAYOR 
 
 perhaps, not now with as much firmness of 
 manner as she had hitherto displayed, '* I 
 can only repeat that, were I at liberty to 
 detail his defence, you w ould deliver, with 
 me, a verdict of acquittal in favour of 
 Georg-e Blundell/' 
 
 ** And, Anny, / can only repeat, that un- 
 til I know his defence as intimately as you 
 do, I must withhold my verdict. I believe 
 you will not call me an uncharitable man, 
 and yet this is my conclusion/* 
 
 "My dearest friend," cried Anny, with 
 tears in her eyes, " what living* creature can 
 call you that ? to me you are charity per- 
 sonified." 
 
 "My poor child!" answered Mr. Kenne- 
 dy, mournfully, "even the fervour of the 
 flattery you now offer me is proof that the 
 affectionate little tenant of your bosom is 
 more than a match for your too complying 
 reason. Ever do you over- rate my claims to 
 any thing like good qualities, and you have
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 291 
 
 no eye for the deep and visible blemishes of 
 my character. Listen to me, dear Anny, 
 even yet I am unwillingly bound to say that 
 I consider this young man as an unfit visitor 
 here.'* 
 
 " I have, myself, told him the same, sir ; 
 he is not to visit me at all ; nay, communi- 
 cation of every kind is to cease between us, 
 until he shall be able to prove his innocence 
 to the world's full face." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear, thank you — " 
 Mr. Kennedy took her hand. 
 
 "Or until, sir," — Anny blushed and he- 
 sitated. 
 
 " Well, my dear child ? or until " 
 
 " That is, sir, unless the world continue 
 to condemn him, without reason, for an un- 
 reasonably long period ; and, in such a case. 
 Sir, and when there is no friend left to him, 
 but myself," — she paused again. 
 
 " O my poor Anny ! I thought as much — 
 heart, heart alone, child, has been your 
 
 o 2
 
 292 THE MAYOR 
 
 counsellor. I admire the noble confidence 
 of your nature. I acknowledge the great 
 value of your sentiment, in the abstract ; but 
 I fear its present prudence. You will believe 
 me, Anny, I can have nothing- but your 
 dear happiness in view ; but I will demon- 
 strate to you, Anny, that the heart's prompt- 
 ings alone are not to be taken as guide 
 to the right and the fit : and I will do this 
 by laying before you the example of one who 
 has been their victim, their most miserable 
 victim. — Dear child, in the hope that I may 
 be your warning, I will give you the history 
 of my own secret griefs, although the recital 
 of them may inflict a first keen wound on 
 your affectionate heart ; and although it 
 probe anew those which, for half my life, 
 have been festering in mine." 
 
 " Dear, dear sir," pleaded Anny ; " I 
 have always forborne to question you on 
 this subject, because, giddy as I am, I could 
 just discriminate enough to perceive that 
 the retrospect would be most distressing to
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 293 
 
 you ; and do not now, I entreat you, my 
 friend and my father, cause yourself pain 
 on my account. Whatever your counsel 
 may be, I will follow it merely because you 
 offer it, assured as I am that you will never 
 advise me against my affections, if those 
 affections deserve your sanction." 
 
 'f My good and sensible child, notwith- 
 standing- my long repugnance, evident even 
 to yourself, to enter into the secrets of the 
 dark past, I have lately begun to feel, while 
 thinking it might be necessary for your in- 
 struction, that the effort might prove pleas- 
 ing as well as painful to me. Besides, the 
 making you my confidante, now, in your 
 mature years, appears as a promise of some 
 late consolation to me. Moreover, when 
 friendship lends us an ear, it may, perhaps, 
 be selfish and wrong for ever to hide even 
 our misfortunes ; and well I know, dear 
 Anny, that a commiserating friend is to 
 listen to my disclosures, — a true, a commi- 
 serating friend."
 
 294 WIND-GAP. 
 
 Anny, her tearful eyes resting upon his, 
 raised his hand to her lips. 
 
 " Yes, yes, my child ; — no use of words 
 to give me an assurance. Indeed, for some 
 years I have had the intention of confiding 
 my cares to you, and what time for doing so 
 can be fitter than the present, when I see a 
 probability of your suflfering from causes 
 resembling those to which I owe my own 
 wretched earthly lot?"
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 *' You are not ignorant, my child, of the 
 light in which the world regards me. While 
 you were yet a little girl, I well remember 
 your running home to me one day, with 
 flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, after 
 your defence of me against the charges of 
 a young companion, and I remember, too, 
 that the moment you saw me, you not only 
 repeated all that had been said, but pro- 
 claimed your own generous disbelief of the
 
 296 THE MAYOR 
 
 caJumnies ; and on that occasion, Anny^ 
 I declared to you that I had been much be- 
 lied, and now I solemnly repeat the asser- 
 tion. You know by whom I was rescued 
 from poverty and neglect; and you also 
 know that the world accuses me of the 
 blackest ingratitude and of the most hideous 
 treachery, in return for the obligations 
 heaped upon me by my cousin, Harry Stokes- 
 bury. Anny, the world seldom sees but the 
 surface of things. Motives for actions, it 
 will scarce g-o to the trouble of calculating ; 
 and where there is room for conjecture, 
 condemnation follows, instead of extenu- 
 ation — no matter — with that hasty and un- 
 charitable world I have had for twenty 
 3 ears no communication. It has judged me 
 as it thought proper, and I have remained 
 silent towards it, and secluded from it, 
 with you, at our little hearth. Its sympa- 
 thy I could not expect to find ; its pleasures 
 had no attraction for me ; in a word, I have
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 297 
 
 left it to deal with me as it pleased, and 
 very, very hardly it has dealt with me. 
 
 *' Henry Stokesbury most generously res- 
 cued me from early distress ; and, indeed, 
 with his patronage, he gave me his affection. 
 Did I only hate him in return ? No — my 
 dear child — he had my love for his love ; 
 and although in one lamentable instance 
 I accuse my weak nature of having done 
 him wrong — yes — a wrong it was, however 
 unwilled or unintended by me — yet in all 
 others I was his true, loving cousin, and 
 grateful friend. 
 
 It is said of me that I fomented the 
 quarrel between my benefactor and his 
 father, for the purpose of grasping my 
 cousin's patrimony. Oh ! dear Anny — that 
 is very, very untrue. I declare to you, my 
 child, and it is the first time that I have 
 ever opened my lips in self exculpation, that 
 whatever human ingenuity could devise, 
 whatever the most ardent friendship could 
 
 o5
 
 298 THE MAYuR 
 
 suggest, I tried in order to reconcile the 
 father and son. But all my efforts were 
 unavailing ; the old man died in his rage ; 
 and, as evidence of its uncooled force, dis- 
 inherited his only child — bequeathed his 
 property to me, comparatively a stranger, 
 and, frightful to add, Anny, with almost 
 his last breath, cursed his offspring. But, 
 my child, from the moment I became pos- 
 sessor of that property, nothing was ever 
 farther from my thoughts than to take ad- 
 vantage of the angry bequest, which legally 
 made it mine. — The vengeance of my cousin 
 burst on me unawares, before explanation 
 could be offered to him ; had this not been 
 the case, he would have learned that every 
 shilling of his own had been treasured up 
 for him; it was, in fact, my intention to 
 have put into his hands an authenticated 
 account, after having burned his father's 
 will in his presence. But he had scarce 
 heard one sound of my voice, when he left
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 299 
 
 me unable to utter another — nay — he parted 
 from his country before I was sufficiently 
 recovered to speak with him, or even to 
 write to him. For even, upon the unhappy 
 public occasion which doomed his expatri- 
 ation, I could not appear. Thank God, at 
 any rate, for having- been saved from such 
 a terrible exhibition of my feelings ! 
 
 " The world wonders, Anny, why I have 
 lived, and why I do live, so much within my 
 apparent income. But to this hour, never 
 have I applied to my own uses one penny 
 of Harry Stokesbury's fortune ; and when I 
 am gone, it will be seen that I have stored 
 up its annual produce, encreasing it, even, 
 by every means ; and that the manner of its 
 final appropriation cannot be called unjust : 
 on account of our humble expenditure in 
 this house, dear Anny, I have not, in truth, 
 dispensed more than half of the interest of 
 my wife's fortune. And for all this, you 
 have nothing but my word, Anny ; but I am
 
 300 THE MAYOK 
 
 assured that, with you, my word is sufficient 
 warrant of the truth. 
 
 " But there is another matter, my child, 
 regarding" which, I wish my conscience 
 could bear me out as courageously as it 
 does upon the subject I have just spoken 
 of; and here it is that, by continuing my 
 story, I hope to instruct your heart, Anny, 
 and to warn it to examine carefully the 
 present state of its inclinations. 
 
 " By a clause in old Mr. Stokesbury's 
 will, I was to be his heir, only on the con- 
 dition of espousing his ward, Mary Bryan. 
 My censurers assert that when the will be- 
 came declared, I wedded her, in order to 
 ensure her guardian's property, as well as 
 her own. But such was not the case, and 
 I have more than my assertions to offer at 
 present, Anny. The registry of this parish, 
 compared with the date of the will, proves 
 that I was Mary Bryan's husband two 
 months before that will was known to be 
 in existence.
 
 Of WIND-GAP. 301 
 
 "Now, Anny, give me all your attention. 
 As the ward of the elder Stokesbury, poor 
 Mary Bryan lived under the same roof 
 with him, young Harry and myself. Oh ! 
 Anny — if ever an angel's spirit animated 
 a most beauteous human form, it did that 
 of Mary ! All mildness and all gentleness, 
 all goodness and all loveliness, were ex- 
 pressed by her heavenly blue eyes — kind 
 as it was radiant, her smile ever beamed 
 on ; so soft, and thrilling was her girl's 
 voice, that it came upon your ear with the 
 witching influence of that of the fabled 
 syren's. And this glorious young being 
 was, by her father's dying command, to 
 wive with her cousin, Harry Stokesbury. 
 
 " Harry may have loved her, — nay, it 
 is impossible but that he must have loved 
 her ; but to tell you that I loved her, Anny, 
 would be a foolish endeavour to define, by 
 cold words, the perfect prostration of heart 
 and soul, of mind and existence, with which
 
 302 THE MAYOR 
 
 I bowed me down before her. But, Anny, 
 I do most solemnly and most sincerely 
 asseverate to you, my good, dear child, as 
 well as to the face of my God, who hears 
 me, that, day and night, hour by hour, 
 with incessant effort and effort, I struggled 
 and struggled to repress every, the slight- 
 est, symptom of the gigantic passion which 
 devoured me ! For, first, it appeared to me 
 the wildest presumption to calculate even 
 a remote possibility of winning from such 
 a creature a return of love ; — and then came 
 the sense of what an atrocious sin it would 
 be in me to tempt even that impossibility, 
 by the manifestation of a thousandth, thou- 
 sandth part of what I felt for her. In- 
 deed, indeed, Anny, to this hour, after the 
 most careful, and, God knows, frequent ex- 
 amination of myself, I am quite sure that, 
 until a certain period to which I must shortly 
 refer, I never gave her cause by act, word, 
 or look, to suspect my attachment.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 303 
 
 " But oh ! Anny, — the tortures of that 
 time of self-repression ! In the silence of 
 the night, in my bed ; in the solitude of 
 nature, at mid-day, I have experienced 
 over and over, the desolating contest of 
 duty with love, of smiting conscience with 
 raging passion ! Tears, bitter tears, always 
 proclaimed, however, at what side victory 
 declared herself — and then I have lain, 
 bodily-exhausted, as I was heart-hopeless. 
 
 '* Some of the temptings of my spirit 
 prompted me to ask myself the question — 
 " Does Harry indeed love her ? " — and I 
 would foolishly, perversely answer — " No — 
 he does not ! — Where are the proofs of his 
 affection? — of such an affection as Mary 
 ought to command from all — of such an 
 affection as she commands from me ? " And 
 then I would go on, idiot-like, till I had 
 half convinced myself that he cared nothing 
 for his affianced bride. "He at all times 
 accosts her freely," I continued, " and never
 
 304 THE MAYOR 
 
 is embarrassed in her presence ; I tremble 
 from head to foot, not daring- to raise my 
 eyes to hers, if occasion requires that we 
 converse together — Nay, his conduct to- 
 wards her is scarcely respectful ; I have 
 seen him act similarly to many other wo- 
 men, for whom he professed no particular 
 regard." And thus, Anny, — observe me 
 well — impotently, as well as impatiently, 
 reasoning, because I thought only, by the 
 heart — because, in fact, I did not think at 
 all — thus, Anny, in spite of, I will say, 
 virtuous wishes and intentions, at the bot- 
 tom of my soul, I allowed to continue 
 within me, the whisperings of a delusion 
 which, at last, plunged me into irremedi- 
 able ruin. 
 
 "Never had I dared to exchange with 
 my idol even the few casual words rendered 
 as matter of course by our relative situa- 
 tions, without marking, at the same time, 
 by my manner, the distance due from one
 
 OF ^yI^-D-GAP. 305 
 
 in a dependant station, towards a superior 
 person. But whatever might have been 
 my cousin Henry's feeling-s for Mary Bryan, 
 it was quite evident to me that the young- 
 girl herself regarded him, not only with 
 indifference, but aversion. She was not igno- 
 rant of his wild habits — (perhaps they might 
 deserve a worse name); — indeed, he made 
 no great secret of them even to her ears ; 
 and she would weep at what I could per- 
 ceive was her sense of his rudeness ; and 
 at other times I have seen her shrink and 
 shudder, when she witnessed the violent alter- 
 cations which frequently took place between 
 him and his father : for, dear Anny, both un- 
 fortunately had very violent tempers ; and I 
 fear neither was good christian enough to 
 curb the impulse of his passions ; and very 
 often when, after leading the disputants 
 into another room, and there partially suc- 
 ceeding in reconciling them to each other, 
 I have returned into her presence, I used
 
 306 THE MAYOR 
 
 to find her in utter misery, writhing under 
 the effects of present alarm, and of antici- 
 pation of future wretchedness, at the pros- 
 pect of becoming- the wife of one so totally 
 different from her own dispositions, tastes, 
 and sentiments. Anny, I will not disguise 
 from you — for why should I do so — that it 
 was not always by mere observation of her 
 conduct and manner, that I came to these 
 conclusions ; she has distinctly avowed to 
 me, on those occasions, her thoughts and 
 her feelings. Oh! how heavenly dove-like 
 was Mary ! and Avhen I would respectfully 
 endeavour to give her a more cheerful view 
 of things, and to hold up to her what I 
 believed to be a bright side of my cousin's 
 character ; when I painted it as distin- 
 guished for generosity, and noble feeling, 
 notwithstanding all its lapses, into thought- 
 less folly ; when I represented him to her 
 in the light I was sure he deserved to be 
 shewn in by me ; then, Anny, she more than
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 307 
 
 once timidly approached me, and, placing her 
 hand on mine, said, in atone of voice and with 
 a look absolutely entrancing-, " How can you 
 advocate the cause of a man so unlike your- 
 self ? " Anny, my child, from time to time, 
 such indications of a return of love for the 
 love I bore to her heightened the battle 
 between my sense of duty and the impulse 
 of my weak heart, to something beyond my 
 powers of description. 
 
 On the very last occasion upon which 
 my cousin and his father contended together 
 — that dreadful day, when the son in his 
 heated passion, although tempted by his 
 parent's hand, outraged that parent beyond 
 extenuation ; when he w as obliged to fly 
 from the house to avoid the shedding of his 
 blood, by his father, and, indeed, it was 
 myself who by w^eak struggles with Mr. 
 Stokesbury, succeeded in securing him the 
 time necessary for his escape ; upon that 
 day when I returned to the drawing-room.
 
 308 THE MAYOR 
 
 I found Mary Bryan lying- insensible on the 
 carpet. She had been a witness of the 
 terrible scene I have alluded to ; had faint- 
 ed during its enactment ; had been over- 
 looked by us all, and now lay before me, 
 not yet recovered from her swoon. With- 
 out the necessary reflection on what I was 
 about to do, I impulsively caught her up in 
 my arms ; and while my heart throbbed, 
 and my limbs trembled with fearful appre- 
 hensions, I used every means at hand to 
 restore her to her senses. 
 
 " She opened her beautiful eyes ; she 
 glanced round in affright; her look then 
 met mine, and instantly changed into an 
 expression of such bursting confidence, of 
 such melting appeal, that, together ^^ith 
 the former fluttering state of my feelings, 
 it deprived me of all presence of mind, all 
 self-controul. 
 
 " ' My adored ! ' I cried, dashing myself 
 at her feet, as she reclined on a sofa — ^ my 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 309 
 
 life*s queen ! my love ! my love ! ' I lay 
 prostrate and covered my face with my 
 hands, while the sobs choaked me. I heard 
 her start, and feebly raise herself, as she 
 whispered — ' Connor Kennedy, what have 
 you said to me ? — stand up and let me hear 
 you, distinctly.' 
 
 " I could not now interpret to my own full 
 satisfaction the tones of her voice ; and 
 her words might mean either displeasure, or 
 the contrary ; and I therefore answered — 
 
 '' * Forg-et my words. Miss Bryan ! my 
 presumptuous, my criminal words ! put them 
 out of your mind, as if you had never heard 
 them ! ' 
 
 " But Mary spoke again, and not as if 
 she would forget ; and I replied ; and — but 
 why lengthen out the story of my fate ? — 
 oh ! Anny, in that moment of deep affliction 
 — in that moment of utter terror of the cha- 
 racter and temper of my cousin, and of horror 
 at the prospect of being united to him, Mary
 
 S10 THE MAYOR 
 
 Bryan told me that she loved me ! that she 
 had loved me as long and as well as I had 
 loved her ; that no force on earth should ever 
 compel her to become the wife of Harry 
 Stokesbury ; that, to avoid him, she would 
 resign wealth, station, independence — every 
 thing but honour; that she would willingly 
 abandon the fortune he was to receive with 
 her hand ; that she had rather — a th ousand 
 times rather — live with me in poverty, than 
 with him, or with any man like h im, on the 
 world's throne ; nay, that she would cheer- 
 fully work for her daily bread, for me and 
 for herself, sooner than encounter the de- 
 tested lot of a life at his side. 
 
 " Anny, my child, here was a trial for 
 me ! — the heart-tearing contest in my bosom 
 I remember well to this very hour ; — here 
 was a happiness I had never even dreamt 
 of offered to my hand ! here was a bliss, 
 beyond all imagination, placed within my 
 reach ; how did I act ? to my Maker, who
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 311 
 
 hears me, I declare that I did not, as might 
 be supposed, say to Mary that I accepted her 
 love. Xay, I tried all in my power to make 
 her believe that the unwilling words which 
 had so lately escaped my lips were words of 
 folly and of madness, and contained no 
 applicable meaning. I could not, indeed, 
 force myself to assert that I loved her not ; 
 conscience itself w as not able to make me 
 belie my affections ; but, with miserable 
 tears, I sought to point out to her how 
 treacherous would be my conduct, did I dare 
 to avow my passion ; I insisted upon the 
 gratitude which I owed to my cousin ; I de- 
 scribed how base would be my return for all 
 his bounties, were I to rob him of the trea- 
 sure he had so long regarded as his own ; 
 and, when she insisted that Harry Stokes- 
 bury loved only her wealth, I endeavoured 
 — feebly perhaps, because my conviction, I 
 should rather call it my perverted impress- 
 ion, went the contrary way — but I did endea-
 
 312 THE MAYOR 
 
 vour to convince her that Henry Stokesbury 
 really loved her for herself, and that she 
 would be happy as his wife. And in fact, 
 Anny, I left her presence, on that occasion, 
 without renewing" any declaration of the 
 feeling-s that preyed on me — that lacerated 
 the heart to which I pressed them for con- 
 cealment, even as the cloaked animal fed 
 upon the vitals of the Lacedemonian boy. 
 
 " Nor did I, upon the morrow, seek oc- 
 casion to ensure her love ; nor upon the 
 next day, nor upon the next ; and for some 
 time, Mary and I met as strangers, — alas! 
 more strangely and embarrassedly than 
 strangers could meet. But, at last, I per- 
 ceived that the beautiful idol of my adora- 
 tion began to droop ; that her cheek was 
 fading ; her eye narrowing, and losing its 
 lustre ; and that her whole air and manner 
 were weighed down. And then, Anny, how 
 often, oh ! how often, did I detect myself in 
 the impulse, almost in the act, of casting
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 313 
 
 myself before her, and proclaiming, with 
 ecstasy, the love which I nurtured for her ! 
 But still, and still, I could hold myself back 
 by the withering recollection that, by so 
 doing, I should stamp and seal to all eter- 
 nity my own character, as an ingrate and a 
 traitor. Oh ! that this stern sense of duty 
 had never quitted me ! Oh ! that it had 
 ever, ever stood erect at my side, like a 
 mail-clad and frowning sentinel, watching 
 over my moments of human weakness ! 
 Above all things, O that my insidious 
 thought of my cousin's indiflference to Mary 
 had never taken possession, — tempting, 
 fiendish possession, of my breast, — my ha- 
 rassed and my frail heart ! My child, let 
 my fate, I say it again, be your warning. 
 
 " Anny, I fell at last. She heard from 
 me renewed expressions of my love for her; 
 and, with my arms around her, we knelt 
 and vowed, in the face of heaven, a mutual 
 vow. And then, for a short time every 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 THE MAYOR 
 
 thing" was forgotten by me. In the intoxicat- 
 ing- consciousness of interchanged affection, 
 between Mary Bryan and me, all possible 
 consequences, all possible remorse, vanished 
 from my view. But even the roaring drunk- 
 ard, in the midst of his orgies, will some- 
 times feel, shot through him, an icy and 
 sickening conviction of the crime, as well 
 as the hollowness, of his self-forgetting* and 
 annatural joys ; and I, Anny, I, before we 
 entwined each other's arms that day, I was 
 a most miserable human being; and I start- 
 ed away from my paradise of enjoyment, 
 to seek the deepest solitude, like the ambi- 
 tious, fallen angel, hurled at once from hea- 
 ven into hell. I well remember the place, 
 out of doors, into which, after running fast 
 from the house, I plunged myself. It was a 
 thick, though small, clump of trees, sur- 
 rounded by 'a paling in the paddock ; no 
 space for reclining, or even for motion, had 
 been prepared within it ; yet into it I turn-
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 315 
 
 bled, I may say ; and there, scratched and 
 stung- by the thorns and the nettles, its sole 
 obscure brushwood, I lay, so far as regarded 
 my bodily sujQferings, as if I had reclined 
 upon a couch of regal down. But oh ! the bed 
 for the mind and the heart ! there was none — 
 there was none. My very ears throbbed ; and 
 throbbed to the echo of the infelt accusation 
 of traitor ! traitor ! the black sin against the 
 charge of which universal human nature is 
 said to rise up in arms ! — that sin, — the sin 
 of ingratitude, the certain presence of it, 
 rose up and wound within me like the coils 
 of a hideous serpent ! I had betrayed my 
 benefactor ; the benefactor of my earliest 
 years ! — the man, the relation, and the friend 
 who had saved me from absolute squalid- 
 ness ! — who had put shoes on my bare feet 
 in childhood ! who had given me education, 
 or, at least, some of the opportunies for ac- 
 quiring it ! — who, at least, had taken my 
 mind out of that quagmire state of inferi- 
 
 p2
 
 316 THE MAYOR 
 
 ority in which it mig-ht have been self-neg- 
 lected, or else trampled down ! — who, along 
 with all that had afforded me abundant 
 means of superfluously luxurious enjoy- 
 ment ; — and who, far above all, all that, had 
 Oh ! I was very sure of it ! — confer- 
 red upon me his heart's affection. Oh ! 
 
 Anny, my child, my child ! I could do no- 
 thing but hide my face, even, I may say, 
 from myself, and cry, — cry, Anny. 
 
 " Oh Anny ! there is no real misfortune, 
 but the conscience that accuses of crime ! 
 — A man may be plunged to the chin in 
 apparent wretchedness ! — poverty, sickness, 
 long and racking pains may assail him ; 
 torturing pains, which seem to wrench his 
 bones out of their joints, and to tear each 
 little fibre of his nervously-constructed body 
 into tatters ; and, worse than this, even 
 worldly neglect, — even the avoiding of you 
 by one of your species, who imagines he 
 has a cause of anger, or of superiority over
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 317 
 
 you ; — all this, Anny, is nothing, nothing* 
 compared with one pang of an unquiet 
 conscience ! 
 
 " I still lay prone in my solitude, when 
 I heard voices around me calling out my 
 name. I appeared to one of those who 
 sought me ; he introduced me to another 
 man, a messenger from my cousin, Harry 
 Stokcsbury. I stood before that obscure 
 person weighed down with a sense of shame 
 and degradation. With almost a felon's 
 trepidation, and, I suppose, with almost a 
 felon's look, I received at his hands a letter 
 from his employer. 
 
 " Henry had now been absent from his 
 home more than three months. During that 
 time, his own man, the individual who at 
 present confronted me, had been a confiden- 
 tial agent between us. We had, therefore, 
 kept up a constant correspondence. His de- 
 mands for money were incessant, yet I found 
 means to supply them. His father had be
 
 818 THE MAYOR 
 
 stowed considerable sums on me, for the 
 purpose of proving, as he gave me to un- 
 derstand, that his refusal of the constant 
 demands of his son did not arise from a 
 parsimonious disposition, but rather be- 
 cause he would not encourage Harry's 
 spendthrift habits. Anny, every shilling 
 thus received by me was transmitted 
 through his favourite servant to my cousin. 
 When such sources failed, I borrowed for 
 him, wherever I could obtain credit ; and I 
 even requested and took loans from the 
 gentle Mary, who never refused my appli- 
 cations, because I imagined I was only 
 anticipating a resource which would ulti- 
 mately become my cousin's undisputed 
 right. 
 
 " The note which the confidential messen- 
 ger now put into my hands contained only a 
 few words, merely intimating that Harry 
 was upon the point of setting off for a very 
 distant residence ; that urgent necessity
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 319 
 
 compelled his immediate departure ; and 
 that the bearer would verbally convey to me 
 a request which he required me to fulfil, if 
 I cared for him or loved him. 
 
 " I demanded of the man the nature of 
 the service I was to perform ; and learned, 
 in the first place, that a sum of money, of 
 which the amount surprised me, was neces- 
 sary ; but, Anny, how shall I express to you 
 the eflfect produced on me by the communi- 
 cation of the second portion of the courier's 
 intelligence ! In the strictest confidence, 
 on the part of Harry Stokesbury, I was in- 
 formed that my cousin had been recently 
 married ; and the name of his bride was 
 supplied to me. For some time before, I 
 had been aware that Harry had occasionally 
 visited the young person in question; and, 
 to my mind, there was, therefore, proba- 
 bility in the servant's statement. Proba- 
 bility to my mind, I say, Anny ; but, mark 
 me still, — to my weak and credulous heart
 
 320 THE MAYOR 
 
 there was, what there oug-ht not to have 
 been, — certainty ! — Yes, my child ; and even 
 when my reason proposed a close and cau- 
 tious investigation of the subject, that de- 
 ceitful heart, panting- with selfish exulta- 
 tion, turned me aside from my purpose. Oh 
 Anny! I wanted to be deceived! that was 
 the real truth. I wanted to believe myself 
 made free, by Harry Stokesbury's own re- 
 nunciation of her, to espouse Mary Bryan, 
 and the most loose evidence of such an act, 
 therefore, satisfied me. And when thus re- 
 lieved from the tortures of conscience, 
 which, but a few moments before, had been 
 fastened upon me like gnawing: reptiles, can 
 you not imagine, Anny, the wild turbulence 
 of joy which I, at length, experienced ! 
 
 "The sum of money required of me, very 
 cdnsiderable as it was, I soon made up ; 
 with it in his possession, the man went 
 away ; and next day I became, in secret, 
 Mary Bryan's husband.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 
 
 321 
 
 ^^ For more than nine months afterwards 
 I did not hear of or from my cousin. He 
 had not intimated to me the place of his in- 
 tended new residence, and I could not, 
 therefore, expect that a letter from me would 
 directly reach him ; and although I did fre- 
 quently write to the not remote retreat he 
 had chosen, when first expelled from home 
 by his father's violence, no answer ever 
 came to my hand. But we met again, and 
 that meeting was terrific. 
 
 " Two months after my marriage with 
 his ward, old Mr. Stokesbury died ; and, 
 died, too, ignorant of that circumstance, 
 although his last will proved that he had 
 wished it. In vain did I assail, with entrea- 
 ties and prayers, his death-bed, in order to 
 prevail upon him to forgive his erring son, 
 and call him home to receive a last blessing. 
 
 '* Mary and I lived on together, under 
 the roof which had now become Harry 
 Stokesbury's, the two happiest of God's 
 
 p5
 
 2Q2 THE MAYOR 
 
 creatures. I longed for the presence of my 
 generous cousin to witness, and I was sure, 
 to enjoy, our bliss ; but he came not ; and 
 still I had no tidings of him, directly, or in- 
 directly. My wife made me the father of 
 a glorious boy. Unable, herself to nur- 
 ture her baby, it was given in charge to a 
 young married woman, residing in the 
 neighbourhood. She was yet confined to 
 her bed, slowly regaining her strength ; the 
 infant's nurse suddenly burst, in distrac- 
 tion, into her chamber, and told the mother 
 that her first-born child had been torn away 
 from her arms ; and that, with curses and 
 with threats of destruction towards it on 
 his lips, Henry Stokesbury was the ravisher. 
 " This fearful and abrupt announcement 
 threw my poor Mary into a dangerous 
 fever. My fears and agonies for her were 
 intense. And so, too, were my misgivings, 
 on another account. Then first did I begin 
 to doubt my former belief that Harry was
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 323 
 
 indifferent to Mary Bryan ; then did I trem- 
 ble at the thought that the last message I 
 had received from him might have been a 
 fabrication ! 
 
 " I was not long left in uncertainty. 
 The terrified young nurse had made her ap- 
 pearance towards night-fall. That same 
 night I heard the house tumultuously 
 broken into. My wife had fallen into a fitful 
 slumber. I was sitting at her bed-side. The 
 door was kicked open ; Harry Stokesbury, 
 with all the rage of a maniac in his look 
 and manner, dashed into the room. Sud- 
 denly feeling certain of the supposed 
 grounds for his coming violence, in vain 
 did I start up to ofier him an explanation ; 
 in vain did I implore him to listen to me, 
 but for an instant. He beat me do^vn with 
 his powerful hand ; with his foot he crushed 
 me and trampled upon me, till I lay almost 
 insensible. Loud and long shrieks from my 
 wife partly recalled my fluttering mind.
 
 324 THE JMAYOR 
 
 Ghastly and bleeding as I was, I staggered 
 up and cast myself upon the bed. In an 
 instant she was dead in my arms. 
 
 " Consciousness now quite forsook me ; 
 and indeed, as 1 have been informed, did 
 not, during a long, long period, revisit me. 
 In fact, my child, and do not let me startle 
 you by the avowal^ — for many blank and 
 dreary years, 1 was a melancholy madman." 
 But poor Anny did start and shudder, 
 too. Her guardian continued : 
 
 " When, after the long night of forget- 
 fulness, reason's blessed rays again dawned 
 upon me, I learned that Harry Stokesbury 
 had been prosecuted and convicted for 
 the commission of the acts I have de- 
 scribed to you. Oh, Anny ! had I been, at 
 that time^ a conscious creature, never should 
 he have been questioned on the matter ! — 
 sooner would I have seen my adored wife 
 die again — sooner, sooner should my own 
 heart's blood have flowed, than that Harry
 
 OF W[ND-GAP. 2'25 
 
 Stokesbury should have stood before the 
 world as a culprit ! I would have acknow- 
 ledged the justice of his vengeance. T would 
 have cast my wi-etched life, a thousand 
 times, were it possible, between him and 
 public disgrace ! 
 
 " Yes, Anny ; and I would have given up 
 to him his right — his inheritance ; I would 
 have resigned to him even my Mary's dower 
 — oh, I would have endeavoured in any 
 way to prove to him that I was not the very, 
 very ungrateful wretch he supposed me to 
 be ; and then 1 would have hidden my ill- 
 starred head from the world, and lived — if 
 that were practicable, upon my recollections. 
 Oh, Anny, Anny, I learned that my loving, 
 and my beloved, cousin had been convicted 
 as a felon, on my account, and banished 
 from his country — and then, that he had 
 found a grave under the roaring sea ; and 
 I regarded myself, from first to last, as his 
 destroyer !
 
 62{y THE MAYOR 
 
 " It was only very lately that I discover- 
 ed the fatal error, to which 1 must imme- 
 diately attribute my misery. You know 
 Kynan Donnelly, Anny. A short time ago 
 I employed him as a helper about this house 
 — he had been the bearer of my cousin's 
 last note to me. He it was who had feigned 
 that damning message, from Harry Stokes- 
 bury, which informed me that he was mar- 
 ried. Some months since, Kynan appeared 
 before me very penitent ; acknowledged his 
 former crime, and seemed to me so truly 
 contrite, as the unintentional author of my 
 misfortunes, that I took him into my service 
 — particularly as I understood that he was 
 in great distress ; and most particularly 
 because, notwithstanding any former wrong 
 against myself, I knew him to have been in 
 early days the favoured servant of the ill- 
 fated Harry Stokesbury. 
 
 Donnelly's motive for his conduct, upon 
 the miserable occasion of all our sorrows.
 
 OF WIND-GAP. i327 
 
 seemed to me to be high-minded, and I could 
 not blame him. He really did suppose that his 
 master was the husband of the young person 
 whom he had mentioned to me ; he had not 
 been unaware of the state of Mary Bryan's 
 feelings ; and, under the impression that he 
 was doing a service to both parties, he gave 
 to me, as direct information from his master, 
 what was but the result of his own invention. 
 I forgave him, too, on another account. I 
 recollected that I should not have received 
 his fatal message without rigorous examina- 
 tion, and I said to myself, that since I had 
 taken it on trust from my treacherous 
 heart, I was much more guilty than the 
 bearer of it. Well — no matter — I have 
 forgiven poor Donnelly — resentment, now, 
 is not in the slightest degree a quality of 
 my nature. Indeed, it is quite dead within 
 me ; and for nothing that has happened to 
 me, do I reproach any body but myself 
 " Anny — you have heard the history of
 
 S2S THE MAYOR 
 
 my life. You now understand why, since 
 you have known me, from childhood up to 
 womanhood, I have hidden my head from 
 the world. That world bestows upon me 
 many hard names ; well ; perhaps it pun- 
 ishes me only as I deserve. At all events, 
 I have bidden adieu to it without a mur- 
 mur, and still in charity with it ; because, 
 thoug-h not as guilty as it would make me, 
 still I know that I am very guilty. 
 
 " And you will now also understand, my 
 dear Anny, why you have never seen the 
 cloud of sorrow pass from my brow. You will 
 now understand why I have so seldom 
 smiled upon the sports of your childhood, 
 the witcheries of your girlhood, and I may 
 say the graces of your womanhood." 
 
 "Dear, dear friend,'* said Anny weep- 
 ing-, and again kissing his hand, " I do not 
 recollect that I have ever, ever yet, wanted 
 the encouragement, or the cheerfulness, or 
 the sympathy of your beloved and respected 
 smile/' 
 
 I
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 329 
 
 " Well, Anny — I have only to thank you, 
 over and over again for that generous asser- 
 tion. But, I must continue to say, that you 
 will now understand why I have scarce ever, 
 ever, seemed cheerful in my own house ; 
 why, even my own servants look upon me 
 with coldness, with affright perhaps ; cer- 
 tainly with want of interest, and sometimes 
 with rudeness ; why I am not able to assert 
 myself sternly and openly as a man ought 
 to do, even upon the slightest occasion of 
 annoyance. In fact, you will understand 
 why I am the nervous, the shivering-, the 
 almost unmanly creature you know^ me to 
 be ; — why a loud word makes me start ; — 
 why the appearance of violence makes me 
 recoil ; — and, I wish particularly to say, 
 why this day, this very day, I avoided the 
 presence of our friend, Mr. George Blundell, 
 when I saw, or when I thought I saw, his 
 passion boiling for vent, against any oppos- 
 ing obstacle.
 
 330 THE MAYOR 
 
 '* Anny, it is not courageous to admit 
 what I am about to add — but I have never 
 boldly raised up my head since I was left 
 trampled down, and disfigured in my own 
 blood, at the bed-side of my departed Mary. 
 Before that, I had had strong* moral courage 
 and, without boasting, I could prove the 
 assertion ; although I never was a strongly 
 built man : and certainly never a brawling 
 one ; and it may be, that all I have suffered 
 has weakened the nerves of my body — so as 
 to give me the semblance of almost a trem- 
 bling girl — when I see the least threat of 
 approaching turbulence. 
 
 *' Anny, you have early given away the 
 affections of your young and generous 
 heart. Mine is a history of the heart. 
 Oh ! profit by my example, dear child. 
 Under your present circumstances, let not 
 the mere impulse of your bosom determine 
 you in the way you have to go. Do not
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 331 
 
 act because you want to act. Listen to the 
 whisperings of affection, to their blandish- 
 ments and their sophistry, with suspicion, 
 nay, with alarm. In a word, keep my fate 
 before your mind, and then I shall not have 
 told my sad tale in vain." 
 
 We have followed 3Ir. Kennedy's nar- 
 rative without interruption, because it seem- 
 ed unnecessary to break it up by mentioning" 
 the agitated and frequent pauses he made 
 in his discourse ; or by describing the effects 
 it produced, from time to time, upon his fair 
 auditor. And now it is sufficient to say 
 that, at its close, the gentle Anny felt most 
 strongly for the sufferings of her guardian, 
 exerting all her powers to bind up and re- 
 vivify his bruised spirit ; and that, before 
 they separated for the night, Mr. Kennedy, 
 while impressing upon her cheek a parting 
 kiss, acknowledged, in an affectionate whis- 
 per, how much more endurable he now
 
 332 THE MAYOR 
 
 felt, in consequence of her sympathy, the 
 pressure of his griefs. 
 
 The same night, at a late hour, Anny 
 and her attendant, were seated in the sleep- 
 chamber of the former. They had been 
 engag-ed in very earnest conversation, and 
 had not therefore noticed how the time flew. 
 The other members of the household had 
 long- before retired to rest, and all was 
 dully silent around them ; 
 
 The slumbering pulse of night stood still ; 
 
 and, but for the low whispering's of Grace 
 Carroll's voice, the fairy flutter of the moth's 
 wing, as it whirled round the candle, might 
 almost have been heard. 
 
 It was the nature of her theme, as well 
 perhaps as the solemn midnight hour, and 
 the awfully congenial silence, which sub- 
 dued to a murmuring cadence, Grace's 
 usually vigorous tones. She had been de- 
 scanting at great length on the supernatural 
 endowments of the strange Man of the
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 333 
 
 Inch. She had been telling of his foul 
 nightly revels, amid blazing lights, shouts 
 of laughter, and sometimes, very strange 
 to say, shrieks of seeming agony, with the 
 devil and his imps : and of the spells 
 which he cast on ill-starred females ; and 
 Grace stated, as a well - received opinion, 
 nay, as an uncontroulable truth, that an 
 impress stamped by the enemy of man, 
 disfigured that side of his face which he so 
 carefully kept concealed ; and she was most 
 eloquent on the nature of the unholy fire 
 which burned in his uncovered eye. 
 
 Had Anny been uninfluenced by a pre- 
 occupation of mind on the present subject, 
 she might have smiled at all this improba- 
 ble exaggeration ; but she could not forget 
 her own disagreeable encounter with the 
 strange Man, nor the painful warnings 
 of the Mayor of Wind-gap ; besides this 
 individual, so universally dreaded and 
 detested, was the father of George Blun-
 
 334 THE MAYOR 
 
 dell. She listened therefore, attentively, 
 and all but assentingly, to every thing Grace 
 Carroll was saying-, or could say ; bending 
 down towards the girl, who sat on a foot- 
 stool, some distance from her, in the atti- 
 tude of one who is distressingly interested. 
 
 Suddenly she laid her hand upon the 
 shoulder of her humble companion, and, — 
 *' Stop Grace," she said, " do you not hear 
 a foot on the stairs ?" 
 
 Unable to utter a word, Grace gazed at 
 her in gaping terror. 
 
 "There certainly is some one creeping up 
 the stairs," continued Anny, turning deadly 
 pale, " and my door remains unbolted, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 With the speed of great fear, agitated 
 and trembling as she was, Anny tripped to 
 wards the door ; but she had not reached it, 
 when the handle of its lock turned ; it 
 swung wide open ; and, before she could 
 effectually cry out for assistance, she was
 
 OF WIND-GAP. 335 
 
 seized, and her voice stifled. Four men, 
 carefully, though ridiculously, disguised, 
 had entered the room, at once ; and Grace 
 Carroll, simultaneously with the measures 
 adopted towards her mistress, was bound 
 hand and foot, and also well gagged. 
 
 " One word louder than your breath," 
 said a growling voice in the girl's ear, " and 
 I'll slit your wind-pipe, as nate as ever 
 the little cook in the kitchen done it for 
 the turkey." 
 
 They rummaged the apartment for 
 articles of outside dress ; and as many as 
 they could find were hastily forced upon 
 Anny's person, by the rough hands of her 
 not gentle attendants. This done, she was 
 borne away with well arranged silence and 
 celerity. Through the open hall-door of 
 the house, they conveyed her into the street ; 
 then rapidly to the nearest suburb ; there 
 they placed her on one of those small 
 " cars," used by the peasantry of Ireland ;
 
 336 THE MAYOR 
 
 and, two of her captors holding her secure- 
 ly in it, drove it with the utmost speed of 
 which such a machine is capable. 
 
 THE END OF VOL. I. 
 
 B. BENSLEY, PRINTER.
 
 > '^.''x^t^ff v ' -^ "".f'^pirr^k: ^ 
 
 -f