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 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 IRISH LIFE. 
 
 MRS. S. C. HALL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE BUCCANEER, " UNCLE HORACE," " SKETCHES 
 OP IRISH CHARACTER," &C. &C. ^ 
 
 " Erin ! the tear and the smile in thine eyes, 
 Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies." 
 
 Moore. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1838.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PUINTKD BY IB0T80N AND PALMER, SAVOY STREET, STRANO.
 
 vl. 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. GROGAN MORGAN, 
 
 JOHNSTOWN CASTLE, WEXFORD. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Morgan, 
 
 I inscribe these Volumes to you, not so much 
 in testimony of private friendship, as because 
 I have been enabled to estimate the excellent 
 example which Mr. Morgan and you give to 
 the gentry of your country. • 
 
 That you may find many imitators, and your- 
 selves long continue a blessing to your tenantry, 
 — receiving your reward in finding the good 
 seed you have sown perpetually springing up to 
 recompense your unceasing labours for their 
 moral and social improvement— is the fervent 
 prayer of 
 
 Your attached Friend, 
 
 ANNA MARIA HALL. 
 
 Old Brompton, 
 April \2th, 1838.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Seveeal of the stories in the second and third 
 volumes of this work have already courted 
 public favour in Periodical Works conducted 
 by my husband. I hope I may consider my- 
 self justified in collecting them ; and that, in 
 their present form, they will not be deemed an 
 unworthy contribution to a class of literature, 
 which is designed to convey information while 
 affording amusement. 
 
 The title was suggested by the publisher : I 
 adopted it with some reluctance, as too nearly 
 resembling that which belongs to one of the 
 most exquisite volumes of modern times. Those,
 
 VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 however, who have read the " Lights and Sha- 
 dows of Scottish Life," will not, I trust, be 
 displeased with me for following, though at a 
 respectful distance, the example of the eloquent 
 and accomplished Scotchman, and endeavouring 
 to do for my country that which he has done 
 for his; — to make the character of the Irish 
 more extensively known and better understood, 
 to excite a generous sympathy for their suffer- 
 ings, a kind indulgence towards their faults, 
 and a just appreciation of their virtues. 
 
 I have been told, somewhat reproachfully, 
 that I write only of the humbler classes — that 
 my sketches are of peasants and their cabins — 
 and that I neglect altogether the Irish gentry. 
 I can but urge in excuse, that it is only among 
 such we must look for original character ; at 
 least, among such only have I found it. The 
 gentry of Ireland differ little, if at all, from 
 that of England. If those who wrote half a 
 century ago were true in their statements, and 
 faithful in their portraits, the habits of the 
 Irish gentlemen have entirely changed ; and 
 
 '^i
 
 INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 with respect to Irish ladies, my readers do 
 not require to be told of their beauty, goodness, 
 and virtue. 
 
 It has been always impressed on my mind, 
 that I ought to write for the Irish, as well as 
 for the English, reader ; with this feeling I have 
 never hesitated to exhibit and condemn in my 
 countrymen and countrywomen, that which I 
 considered wrong and capable of alteration. To 
 praise is always easy — to censure, seldom agree- 
 able; if I have, at times, seemed to adhere but 
 slightly to the old caution, " be to their faults 
 a little blind," I trust it cannot be said of me, 
 that I have been aught but " to their virtues 
 ever kind."
 
 The songs in this volume have been set to music by 
 Mr. Alexander D. Roche in a manner that does him 
 the highest credit, and entitles him to the warmest 
 thanks of the writer. They are published by Messrs. 
 Duff and Co., 65, Oxford Street.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY, 
 
 PART I. 
 
 *' The groves of Blarney^ they are so charming." 
 
 I TAKE it for granted there are few persons in 
 our English world, who have neither seen nor 
 heard of " The Groves of Blarney," so cele- 
 brated in history and song. Their celebrity, 
 however, is mainly derived from the virtue pos- 
 sessed by the famous " stone" — which I, by 
 virtue of my privilege, may safely describe 
 as THE GREAT Irish smoothing-iron. This 
 magic slab is perched upon the most inacces- 
 sible part of the castle; and many risk their 
 necks with a view to polishing the most un- 
 ruly of all unruly members. Indeed, it would 
 be an admirable speculation to bring over 
 a fragment of the wonder-working granite to 
 
 b2
 
 4 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 the good city of London, where it would no 
 doubt effect a desirable change in the habits and 
 manners of society in general. After saluting 
 the precious relic, husbands would become po- 
 sitively polite to their wives — and wives would 
 continue as gentle as if still unwed ; at pub- 
 lic meetings, speakers would greet each other 
 with a " Save ye, sweet gentleman ;" and there 
 would be no end to the compliments paid by 
 blustering citizens to their opponents, at Hall 
 or Common Council. Ladies of a certain age 
 would eulogise the loveliness of their younger 
 sisters ; men would confess each other hand- 
 some ; and the streets would resound with the 
 compliments of cads and coachmen. Critics 
 would learn politeness, at the expense of jus- 
 tice ; and members of parliament, even in 
 the House of Commons, would remember they 
 were, or ought to be, gentlemen. But as it 
 is probable the stone would lose its power 
 if removed, we venture to recommend that all 
 rude people be compelled by act of parliament 
 to visit it, at least once in their lives and imbibe 
 its virtues. 
 
 The following tale is one of strictly domestic 
 interest, and derives its title from an occurrence 
 which took place in the village of Blarney, as 
 nearly as 1 can ascertain, about the year 1812.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 5 
 
 Yet my readers (long acquaintance has made 
 me consider them my friends) may like to know, 
 that Blarney Castle, its groves, and its once 
 picturesque and beautiful village, are about 
 four miles north-west of Cork 
 
 For the history and character of the place, I 
 refer them to the details of my friend Mr. Crofton 
 Croker — to whom Ireland is so largely indebted. 
 He has employed rare talents and industry in 
 her cause ; and was among the first to direct 
 the attention of England to the vast stores 
 which she possesses, — stores from which profit, 
 information, and amusement may be largely 
 drawn. His name is intimately and honourablj^ 
 connected with his country. 
 
 And now to my story. In the immediate 
 neighbourhood of the village of Blarney, there 
 resided a gentleman of large property, who, 
 anxious to promote agriculture, and improve the 
 condition of his tenants, brought over an intel- 
 ligent and industrious Englishman to superin- 
 tend his farms, cultivate his lands, and watch 
 over his hot and green-houses. 
 
 Mr. Francis Russell had received an excel- 
 lent education, and understood the habits, feel- 
 ings, and prejudices of the people, without which 
 knowledge, I very much doubt whether any 
 practical agriculturist can be useful in Ireland.
 
 6 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 Moreover he was a Roman Catholic, without 
 being a bigot. The gentleman who had secured 
 so excellent and useful a person to superintend 
 the management of his estate, considered it an 
 advantage that Russell was of the same reli- 
 gious persuasion as those it was his duty to 
 oversee ; and he had been long enough in Eng- 
 land to know that English Catholicity is 
 divested of all the bitterness with which it is 
 unhappily so frequently associated in the sister 
 country. Francis Russell brought over his 
 wife and two young daughters, the youngest 
 almost an infant, to a very pretty cottage 
 ornee on his employer's estate, adjoining the 
 village, and for a time every thing went on 
 astonishingly to his satisfaction. But, alas ! 
 for poor Ireland ! I said the gentleman had 
 a large property in the neighbourhood — and 
 so he had ; but it was dreadfully embarrassed 
 — not irretrievably so, if he had taken the 
 bee's motto, " economy " — followed Russell's ad- 
 vice, and retrenched : but prudence unhappily 
 formed no part of his kind and generous 
 nature. Nothing could restrain his perverted 
 desire for improvement. He opened mines 
 which he had not the means to work ; built 
 a factory — that was never roofed — at the time, 
 too, when the house of his ancestors was
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 7 
 
 tumbling about his ears ; projected roads — saw 
 company — and for every hundred he really re- 
 ceived spent a thousand. When he engaged Mr. 
 Russell, he had just raised several thousand 
 pounds by " custodiams," and money was flying 
 in all directions ; but days of reckoning came 
 and nothing to reckon with. As if to increase 
 the unfortunate gentleman's difficulties, his 
 valuable overseer died suddenly, and his wife 
 and their children were left totally without 
 provision ; for, relying on his patron's false (un- 
 intentionally so) representations, he had given 
 up all other prospects to settle at Blarney. The 
 only thing the ruined gentleman could do, he 
 did — he executed a deed of gift at a peppercorn 
 rent of the pretty cottage (which Russell had 
 fancifully christened " Bee's Nest") to the 
 widow and her girls. Poor man I he did not 
 live very long to see the final result of his misma- 
 nagement ; and, as if a blight was over all he 
 touched, sickness, aided by sorrow, brought 
 Mrs. Russell to the brink of the grave before 
 her eldest daughter, Margaret, had completed 
 her eighteenth year. Margaret was a genuine 
 English girl, fair and lovely to look upon — 
 gentle and fervent, docile, yet deep-hearted, 
 skilled in the arts of thrifty housewifery, and 
 managing their still pretty cottage and the two
 
 8 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 acres of land attached to it with the wisdom of 
 an experienced farmer. The fairy estate chained 
 them to the village of Blarney ; and the warm 
 affections bestowed on them by their neighbours 
 rendered the place very dear to the widowed 
 mother. Still poverty came — the cow died ; — 
 in truth, I must give another reading of the 
 old tale of " Auld Robin Gray.'^ Margaret 
 — poor Margaret — was at once the sacrifice 
 and the heroine. For the " Jamie" of the 
 song, who would have made the " crown a 
 pound,*' read that Connor O'Gorman, a hand- 
 some Irish youth of twenty, would, in the en- 
 thusiastic phraseology of his country, " have 
 walked barefoot through the world to sarve 
 her ;'* and yet saw her the wife of Hector Lee 
 — a Robin Gray — rich, if not well-favoured, 
 and one whom the " Flower of Blarney" would 
 have been well satisfied to call father. The 
 preface to my tale is little more than a record 
 of deaths. Margaret had hardly written her 
 name Lee instead of Russell, when the parent 
 for whose dear sake she had apparently sacrificed 
 her all of happiness in this world was called to 
 another, and she was left with the charge of a 
 child-like sister, wild as a young fawn of Kil- 
 larney, and obstinate as a mule. 
 
 Flora was sparkling and pretty, and if good-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. V 
 
 man Lee (as she always called him) had not 
 been a farmer of as much courtesy as wealth, 
 she would have stood a fair chance of being 
 exiled for her mischief ; but the old man bore 
 with everything for the sake of her he loved — I 
 might almost say, worshipped ; and when at 
 the end of two years Margaret presented him 
 with a young Hector, it would be utterly im- 
 possible to describe his joy. To oblige his wife, 
 he had left his old farm-house, and resided in 
 the cottage she so much loved ; and when 
 his child began to walk, he would sit for hours 
 under the shadow of a bower she had trained 
 with English skill, from whence he could seg 
 through the deep arch of Blarney-bridge the 
 towers of the old castle. But it pleased God 
 to call the gentle, kind old man to himself be- 
 fore his boy was two years old ; and " well- 
 knowing,**- to use his own words, " that his 
 warnings were for death," after he had received 
 the extreme unction enjoined by his religion, be 
 desired that Margaret might remain with him 
 alone, and taking her soft hand within his 
 horny and withered palms, he said, 
 
 " Shade back the curtain, Peggy bawn, for 
 my eyes are dim ; there, now I can see ye'r 
 face, just the same as ever, God bless it ! My 
 will is made, gra ! you have a hundred good acres 
 
 B 5
 
 10 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 at a nominal rint, and not an acre of touch- 
 laivns on the whole — thanks to you for that and 
 everything ; two cows and the horse, besides the 
 mare — for your life, and to your own blessed 
 child afther— at your disposal till then, my 
 Peggy ; and the long acre fields, as good as 
 twinty acres, at your disposal for ever. But it 
 isn't about that I wanted to spake. My soul is 
 made, and but for the panting of my heart, like 
 an ould eagle struggling with the chain, I'd be 
 bravely still; 'tis about yerself, Margaret; 
 you'll be the flower of Blarney again in yer 
 widow's cap— just three-and-twenty— and the 
 sun nor the storm never dare look in yer face 
 since I had ye— did they, Peg ? 
 
 But Peg, as he loved to call her, could not 
 answer for her tears. 
 
 " Crying for the ould man ?" he continued, as 
 she bent to kiss him ; " bless you, darling, bless 
 you ! it's the first time the sight of yer tears ever 
 did my heart good. I'm glad you can shed a tear 
 for the ould good man Lee, for Pve seen yer tears 
 before, Peggy, when ye didn't think I did, and 
 they scalded my hearty for I knew what they were 
 shed for ; there was no sin in them, darlint— no 
 sin, only sorrow — that the May-meadow sweet, 
 and the ould winter ivy, should twist on the 
 one stem ; — but, reach me a drink; — thank and
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 11 
 
 bless you, honey dear. Now, as to yerself; 
 there's Ulick O'Sullivan, Ulick Rhu, and faith 
 (God forgive me for swearing) his head is not 
 redder than his hand, if he had an opportunity 
 — have nothing to say to him, Margaret. I've 
 got my prosperity by minding the laws, and if re- 
 port speaks true, he's got his by breaking them. 
 He'll want you to marry him — I know he will ; 
 — but shun him, for the sake of yourself and our 
 child, Margaret dear ; shun them all — all but 
 one — I needn't name him ; I don't say, Peggy, 
 that while you were a wedded wife, you thought 
 of him ; no, no, he might cross your memory 
 sometimes as a shadow crosses the sky ; hut 
 when I am in my grave, it is only natural that 
 a young thing like you should take another hus- 
 band. Connor O'Gorman, dear, loved you — I 
 don't think he loved you as well as I did — I 
 don't think, but I don't know — even now, when 
 the thickness of death is over my eyes, I look 
 at you, and the blessed Virgin, (blessed saints 
 forgive me if I spake sin !) she could hardly be 
 more beautiful or pure than yourself. You 
 were too good for me, and I think you far, far 
 too good for him ; and yet, if you love hin), 
 you ought to have some reward for spending 
 the flower of your youth with an ould man." 
 Margaret (and she spoke as she thought at
 
 12 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 the time) said she would never marry — never. 
 She had her child to love; she would love no- 
 thing else. 
 
 But the dying man prevented her continuing 
 in such a strain. 
 
 '* It would ill become me, Peggy, to be 
 selfish on my death-bed : you have been not 
 only a blessing to me but to the town land, and 
 to every one you came near; and I hope, at 
 the end of a twelvemonth and a day, you'll 
 be quick about thinking of another hus- 
 band. And, Peggy, Connor loves you, and if 
 you could lay any law upon him, to keep quiet 
 and steady — the sort of thing you like — he 
 would make a good husband. He could have 
 had his pick of the girls in the barony, if he 
 had liked, but, sure, any one who once thought 
 of you could think of no one else ! It's a hard 
 thing to part ye, Peggy, if it wasn't God's will ; 
 but as it is, why you have my leave and 
 blessing to make yerself happy ; only, darlint, 
 the boy — our child — but I needn't tell you to 
 take no one who in the way of all kindness and 
 goodness would not be a father to him. And 
 the ould mare— grey Nelly — don't let Flora 
 taze the life out of the beauty, as she does out 
 of everything else. The hundred pounds Fve 
 left her, will buy the neat and tidy odds-and-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 13 
 
 ends for a house when she marries, which you 
 English-born think so much of. And when 
 I'm gone, Peggy, I wouldn't like you to forget 
 me — that I would not — and should like you to 
 spake of the ould man by the fire of an evening, 
 or about the farm, and to be kind (as, indeed, 
 you always war) to anything I liked — to think 
 and speak of me, Peg, as of one whose dying 
 breath will be spent in blessing you, and who 
 only wishes he had been more near your own 
 age, that he might have been left long on the 
 world to make you happy. I trust we shall 
 meet again above, jewil. And Margaret, dear, 
 in regard of the funeral, let the people — m^ 
 people, avourneen — have their own way. You're 
 all for quiet and that, in England, and you 
 don't like the wakes, I know ; but somehow, I 
 think it would make all belonging to me very 
 quare and uncomfortable, if I could not go the 
 way all my people did, and have Kate Harring- 
 ton, the finest and most ancient keener in Cork 
 county, to keen me, — and plenty of every- 
 thing ; — and, dear, don't be hurt at the noise, 
 for it's the more noise the more respect. At my 
 father's funeral (heaven be his bed !) there were 
 more games of ' the walls of Troy'* and ' short 
 castle' played than had been known at any 
 * Peculiar to wakes.
 
 14 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 wake in the country for many a year. And 
 mind, dear, that my head 's turned to the foot 
 of the bed, for your sake, to keep misfortune 
 from the family. I know, Margaret, you've 
 no favour towards these things, but, O think of 
 the ould man, and forgive it — it's the last time 
 hell trouble you." 
 
 Margaret promised, and faithfully performed, 
 all he requested; and having in broken sen- 
 tences repeated his desire, that at the end of a 
 twelvemonth and a day she should begin to 
 think of another husband, and murmured 
 prayers on prayers for her happiness, and 
 kissed his child, he sunk into a sleep, from 
 which he awoke in about two hours to repeat 
 his blessing on the head of his young wife, and 
 to assure her with his feeble and dying lips 
 that she had never once angered him during 
 their marriage. Flora was then called for and 
 knelt by his bed-side; loudly did she weep, 
 for he had been like a fond father to her ever 
 since her mother's death. 
 
 " You give breath to your sorrow, and it 
 flies, Flory," he said ; ** but my young wife's 
 sorrow settles in her heart. Mind all she says, 
 for I was like an ould red deer of the moun- 
 tains laming from a little lamb. And remem- 
 ber I bare witness that a loud or sharp word
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 15 
 
 was what I never heard from your lips, or 
 felt on my heart, Margaret Lee, since the 
 hour the priest — God help him ! — declared 
 May and January to be the one month. And, 
 Flora, merry maid," continued the old man, 
 smiling in death, *' that's more than your hus- 
 band will be able to say when ye'r only a day 
 married." 
 
 Again the old man slumbered even while the 
 slight jest passed from his lips; and long did 
 Margaret watch him, and more than once move 
 from his cheek the silver hair which the light 
 summer breeze that entered through the case- 
 ment had disturbed. He laid quite still, and the 
 beams of the setting sun entered the chamber 
 with that noiseless joy which steeps the green 
 hill and valley in hues of happiness. " When 
 he awakes I should like him to see how bright it 
 is," thought Margaret, and she removed the cur- 
 tain : the eye-lids were half open, the — but de- 
 tails of the gentlest death are painful. Old good- 
 man Lee awoke no more. 
 
 Margaret obeyed her husband's desires in all 
 things touching the funeral. Mr. Lee's relations 
 were all more or less disappointed, as relations 
 always are when they are not mentioned accord- 
 ing to their own estimation of their own deserts 
 in " the will ;" though he had left many small
 
 16 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 tokens of regard to those he considered worthy, 
 of course they were not satisfied. But the libe- 
 rality of the funeral arrangements were such 
 as to admit of no complaint ; the favourite 
 keener exerted her talents to the uttermost ; she 
 seated herself on the floor, closed her eyes, 
 clasped her hands round her knees, and began 
 first, in a low and monotonous tone, to set forth 
 the domestic and neighbourly virtues of the de- 
 ceased. Her Irish poetry would bear the fol- 
 lowing translation: — 
 
 " Kind and gentle were you, and lived through 
 frost and snow — sorrow and tears — with an open 
 house and an open heart ; the sun of heaven 
 shone on you, and you reflected its beams upon 
 others ; the Flower of Blarney saw and loved 
 you ; — and though she is of a strange country, 
 you taught her to love the green and weeping 
 Island — to dry the widow's tears — to feed the 
 orphan, to clothe the naked. — 
 
 " Oh ! why did you die, and leave behind you 
 all the good things of life, — the big barn, the 
 grey mare, the high-trotting horse, the most ele- 
 gant farm of the town-land, and, above all, the 
 beautiful boy, who will be the young oak of the 
 forest yet. Oh ! thejusticeand themildnesswere 
 you of the country's side ; and while grass grows
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 17 
 
 and water runs we will cry for goodman Lee. 
 The beggar walked from his door with a full 
 sack, and he turned wormwood into sweetness 
 with his smile. 
 
 *' But now his wife is desolate, and his full and 
 plentiful home has no master/' — 
 
 I know nothing more picturesque than an 
 Irish funeral, when viewed, as all picturesque 
 objects ought to be, in the distance. Mr. 
 Lee had been respected by rich and poor; 
 his good-nature, good-humour, and punctua- 
 lity in the discharge of his business, had 
 brought their sure reward ; and it certainly waSi» 
 with a feeling of pride that Margaret looked, 
 with weeping eyes, from her curtained window, 
 upon the crowd of horse and foot that attended 
 her true and generous friend to his grave. The 
 coffin was placed, after the fashion of the coun- 
 try, on an open hearse, with a coarse canopy, 
 supported by four pillars; the famous keener 
 was seated by the side of the body enveloped in 
 her blue cloak, — and when the motley procession 
 moved on, she commenced her wild chaunt, bend- 
 ing over the coffin, her hood concealing her 
 features with its heavy drapery, her action 
 expressive of the wildest grief, and her voice at 
 times swelling into loud and powerful tones,
 
 18 THE GllOVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 which were repeated at intervals by the crowd. 
 When they reached the cross-road, such being 
 considered symbolic of their creed, the proces- 
 sion stopped ; the men uncovered their heads, 
 and the priest said a few words of prayer for the 
 repose of the soul of the deceased. Then again 
 Margaret's ear caught the chorus of the death- 
 song, and, in a few more minutes, all view of the 
 funeral was obstructed as it wound round the 
 hill ; then Margaret caught her child to' her 
 bosom, and wept over him long and bitterly.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 " Flora, will you hold your tongue ?*' 
 " Margaret, you have just told me you do not 
 mind a word I say ; so what harm can there pos-. 
 sibly me in my talking ?" 
 
 " Oh, none in the world, if it amuses you." 
 '* But it amuses you, sister," persisted Flora 
 Russell; — "it amuses you, I am sure it does. 
 What would you do without me ? It is now 
 more than eleven months since we have been 
 living in this blessed cottage, like two nuns in a 
 cell, with nothing to enliven us but little Hector ; 
 I should have died only for Hector and" — 
 " Marcus Roche," put in Margaret. 
 " Well, sister, — there, I do not blush, not one 
 bit, you see — not one bit of blush ; and I do con- 
 fess that Marcus Roche is, as old Monica calls 
 it, * very divartin.' In the first place, you know
 
 20 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 he must be very learned, or Squire Callaghan 
 would never suffer him to instruct his sons, as 
 he does, in English, and French, and writing, 
 and — what is it they call it ?— the round thing, 
 you know — oh, the use of the globes, and all 
 that. Then he has taken such pains with me ; 
 I really write a very beautiful hand now ; and 
 as to accounts, indeed, sister, I can sum up" — 
 
 " What ! Cast up this for me, to prove your 
 skill," said Margaret, pushing that rare thing in 
 an Irish house of any grade, an account-book, 
 towards the giddy Flora; — "here — the profits 
 on the dairy during the past month. Norah 
 O'Brian says our butter is the best in the mar- 
 ket, and really the three cows have turned out 
 so well — " 
 
 " Thanks to your management." 
 
 " And Norah," continued Margaret, "now 
 manages the poultry so cleverly." 
 
 " Only it is so hard to make her keep them 
 clean. What do you think she told me ? — that 
 none of the O'Briens were born with brooms in 
 their hands to go sweeping afther the bastes of 
 the creation." 
 
 " If you would let her alone about trifles she 
 would do much better. Flora. My dear father 
 always said that Irish reform ought to be read 
 Irish alteration; you must effect the change
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 21 
 
 little by little, nor attempt too much at once, 
 but go cautiously and gently about your im- 
 provements, not startling, but undermining their 
 prejudices, and never quarrelling with them ; 
 for, if you observe, Flora, they are so ready- 
 witted, that in a quarrel they have always the 
 best of it, catch you up in no time, and overturn 
 all your wisdom by a merry laugh. There, give 
 me the book now, the casting up is done, I sup- 
 pose; — give it me. What is this ? Well, Flora, 
 you are really too bad ; you have written " Mar- 
 cus Roche" three times across the pounds, shil- 
 lings, and pence— that's a pretty way of casting 
 accounts." 
 
 " The pen did it of itself, sister Margaret," 
 said Flora, with a penitential look; "it was one 
 Marcus made — it did it of itself." 
 
 " You are very silly. Flora, and I must say 
 you do not try to improve." 
 
 ** I know one who does not say so," observed 
 Flora, and her mobile features assumed a very 
 arch expression ; " some one told me yesterday, 
 as I was coming from chapel, that I was very 
 much improved, and growing very like you." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Margaret. 
 
 " Why do you not ask who it was ?"" said 
 Flora. 
 
 " Because — because — '*
 
 22 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " Because, Madam Margaret, you know very 
 well it was Connor O'Gorman. I wonder who 
 blushes now." 
 
 " Flora, you are both thoughtless and unfeel- 
 ing ; and if Connor O'Gorman has desired you 
 directly or indirectly to" — Margaret paused. 
 Ever since her husband's death the conduct of 
 Connor O'Gorman towards one he so deeply and 
 dearly loved had been marked by the most es- 
 pecial reverence ; he seemed to regard the young 
 English widow as if she were his patron saint, 
 and they had rarely met, except at chapel. Mar- 
 garet felt this delicacy, and loved Connor ten 
 times the better for it ; it spoke to her heart far 
 more eloquently than words could have done ; 
 and when contrasted with the coarse impatience 
 of those who thought they could not speak too 
 soon, Margaret felt that he had more delicacy of 
 mind than she supposed, and came to the very 
 just conclusion, that Irishmen often, and Irish- 
 women always, have sensitive and delicate per- 
 ceptions. 
 
 *' But I am sure," Margaret added, after her 
 brief pause, " that Connor did not authorise 
 you to deliver any message for him — he would 
 not do so." 
 
 *' Not a message, Margaret, but I told him 
 we were very dull and lonely — and he carried
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 23 
 
 Hector in his arms — and said Hector must be 
 dull too" 
 
 " Who said Hector was dull?" 
 
 " Why, how particular you are. I said Hec- 
 tor was dull, and so Connor said, would he like 
 a little puppy to play with — if it was mine — and 
 I said I would like it, and so Connor is going 
 to bring the puppy here by'n-by ; and now," 
 added Flora sulkily, " the murder's out, and 
 I'm in for a scolding." 
 
 Margaret looked annoyed, very much an- 
 noyed ; Flora's unceasing activity of mind was 
 a source of perpetual trouble to her. No Irish 
 mountaineer was ever more wild or wilful than 
 her generous, inconsiderate sister. " You 
 know," she said, " how anxious I have been not 
 to receive Connor here — at least not yet ; be- 
 sides, he may have altogether changed ; he has 
 rather avoided me, though I like him the better 
 for it. Your accepting his gift is a sort of en- 
 couragement — in short, you have done very 
 wrong." 
 
 " Shall I send him word that you will not let 
 me have it .?" inquired Flora. 
 
 " No, that would be giving his visit an im- 
 portance it does not deserve." 
 
 " You never forbade Ulick O'Sullivan, nor 
 Terence Dacey, nor the Cork attorney, whose
 
 24 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 love was so very energetic, from coming — 
 though to be sure one visit always settled their 
 business ; but that fine noble fellow, who has 
 behaved so delicately (for I know he loves you 
 a hundred times better than you deserve) — " 
 " He has not told you so, has he ?" 
 " Law, sister, a person need not speak out 
 the words; do you think I don't know when 
 a man's in love, and who he*s in love with ? 
 Well, here's Marcus Roche; I am sure I don't 
 want the puppy, and he can tell Connor O'Gor- 
 man that I'm not to have it" 
 
 It was impossible to look at Marcus Roche 
 without feeling interested ; he was slight, rather 
 under the middle size, of dark complexion, and 
 that Spanish form and expression of face which 
 is almost peculiar to the people of the county of 
 Kerry. He had received the education sup- 
 posed to qualify men for the Catholic priest- 
 hood, in France: but, unfortunately (for his 
 mother had promised him to the Church) he, as 
 they term it, " lost his vocation^^ — fell abso- 
 lutely in love with Flora Russell, but, with 
 more prudence than belongs to the generality 
 of his countrymen, resolved to wait until one or 
 two events, likely to occur, had taken place; he 
 had some rich relations and really very good 
 prospects. In the meantime he gave lessons in
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 25 
 
 French and tolerable Latin to several respectable 
 families, and bestowed his leisure on the im- 
 provement of his future bride. He loved Ire- 
 land with all the unspoiled enthusiasm of an 
 Irish heart, and, in the simplicity of his earnest 
 and confiding nature, believed every tradition 
 of the ancient grandeur and learning of his 
 "darling country." He was a tolerable anti- 
 quarian, and so anxious to discover anti- 
 quities that he not unfrequently committed 
 blunders, which were a source of perpetual 
 amusement to Flora, who loved to banter and 
 plague him in every possible manner. His edu- 
 cation had given him habits of retirement which 
 young Irishmen seldom possess. In that respect., 
 and in the gentleness of his disposition, he dif- 
 fered essentially from his friend Connor, who 
 was worthy of being considered an Irish Dan- 
 die Dinmont. Having said so much in fa- 
 vour of Connor O'Gorman, I must only add 
 that in him Dandie's perfections and Dandie's 
 faults were exaggerated ; and that, moreover, he 
 was as handsome a fellow as ever twirled a shil- 
 lelagh, or danced at a fair. His deep blue eyes 
 were full of expression, and could sparkle with 
 either love or anger, as occasion required. 
 He did not deserve the stigma of imprudence, 
 for his ancestors, once possessed of much wealth, 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 left him but little to squander, and ^^a^ little he 
 had rather increased than diminished. His 
 farm, if not neatly, was vigorously managed ; 
 and he was, in the expressive phrase of the 
 country, " horn to good luck,'''' for whatever he 
 undertook prospered — except, indeed, his love. 
 
 It was certainly a smiling fortune that 
 sent Marcus to the Bee's Nest. Margaret re- 
 spected young Roche, and, without aifectation, 
 told him of Flora's imprudence, at which Marcus 
 shook his head, and Flora pouted over her work. 
 He, however, seized the opportunity to tell Mar- 
 garet how devoted his friend was to her, and 
 how fondly he hoped, that at the expiration of 
 her year of widowhood, he might be permitted to 
 address her in the language of love. He spoke 
 of his delicacy, of his bravery, of his fidelity, of 
 his uprightness ; told Margaret how perfectly 
 just it was for her to return to the object of her 
 first affection, and pleaded Connor's cause if not 
 as warmly, more eloquently, than Connor could 
 have done himself. 
 
 Flora was secretly delighted, though she had 
 the good sense to hold her tongue, judging 
 wisely, that her sister was still displeased with 
 her. But then Margaret told Marcus, that 
 supposing the year of widowhood expired, sup 
 posing that she really liked Connor, supposing
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 27 
 
 he really loved her, she had made up her mind 
 that he (Connor O'Gorman) must serve a s<jrtof 
 apprenticeship to peace and quietness ; that he 
 must, in fact, before she consented to think of 
 him as a husband, during a period of twelve 
 months abstain from everything bordering on a 
 FIGHT ; that he must avoid altogether, or 
 dwell in peace and quietness with Ulick O'Sul- 
 livan, when the said Ulick got from under the 
 cloud that overshadowed him, and leave the 
 O 'Sullivan faction and the O'Gorman faction to 
 settle their disputes, which one would ima- 
 gine had been decided long ago ; (for they had 
 quarrelled at every fair, pattern, and wake, dur- 
 ing the last two hundred years ;) that he must 
 deprive the O'Gormans of his counsel and pre- 
 sence; that during the same period he must 
 not taste whiskey, which Margaret, like all 
 sensible women, considered the curse of Ire- 
 land ; and that, moreover, he must break him- 
 self of a foolish trick he always had — (and Mar- 
 garet almost smiled as she spoke it) — a foolish 
 trick of laughing and jesting with all the pretty 
 girls in the parish ; upon these terms only 
 could a notion of the contract be entertained ; 
 but after making the declaration, Mar- 
 garet drew herself up in all the dignity of 
 second mourning, and told Marcus that even 
 
 c2
 
 28 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 the7i she would not bind herself to marry 
 Connor. 
 
 ** Then,"" said Flora, " Connor is not the man 
 I take him to be, if he consents." 
 
 " Consents !" repeated Margaret, with the air 
 of a queen ; " consents ! Flora, pray mind your 
 work, you have put the hooks of Hector's pin- 
 before on the wrong side." 
 
 " There's a wrong and a right to everything," 
 said Flora, tartly, for she did not like to be re- 
 proved before Marcus ; " but at all events, here 
 comes Connor and the puppy; am I to take 
 it?" 
 
 " I have nothing to do with it," replied Mar- 
 garet; "but, Marcus, I can trust to your 
 honour; I am not authorized — I" — and Mar- 
 garet, in greater confusion than she had ever felt 
 since the time when that same Connor breathed 
 ^ into her ear the first love vows she had ever 
 neard, left the room, followed, however, by the 
 trusty Marcus, who gave her a letter from her 
 old lover, which he had at all risks promised to 
 deliver. 
 
 The letter may possibly exist in the Chro- 
 nicles of Blarney, and some other Crofton 
 Croker, assisted by the extraordinary kindness 
 of '* the good people," may hereafter find and
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY, 29 
 
 bring to light its contents ; but if truth 
 must be told, I confess I have never seen the 
 original, and can therefore only form an opi- 
 nion as to the nature of its contents from the 
 subsequent conduct of Mistress Margaret Lee. 
 Collecting herself — which means summoning 
 her courage — she entered the room where Con- 
 nor waited to know his doom, at one door, just 
 as Flora's pretty figure disappeared at the other. 
 She was quite right in the belief that Mar- 
 cus, and Flora, and Connor, had all conspired 
 against her; and that, delicate as Connor's con- 
 duct had been, he was, nevertheless, determined 
 to renew his suit, and have a direct answer as to 
 its probable termination- 
 Margaret had nothing to urge against his 
 love, except the fear that habits, which, being 
 an Englishwoman, she considered wild and 
 reckless, would militate, not only against her 
 own happiness, but prejudice the well-doing 
 of her child ; *' Had I no one but myself to 
 think of," she said, " the case, Connor, would be 
 different ; but I have my duty as a mother to 
 perform: and though I might be justified in 
 giving my hand with my heart, had I, as I say, 
 no one but myself to think of, I owe it as a duty, 
 an imperative duty to my child, to give him no 
 father, as God has taken his, unless it be one
 
 30 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 who will keep him free from the faults which 
 mar the noblest natures in the world. It rests 
 with yourself to say whether you will or will 
 not comply with my — what shall I call it ?" 
 
 " Say it'*s your wish, just say it's your wish,"" 
 exclaimed Connor, " and then the only sorrow 
 ril have will be, that instead of one year you 
 did not say a hundred, so that I might prove 
 my love and constancy by waiting all that time. 
 Oh, Margaret, the hope that was frozen in my 
 heart has burst into life again, and is destroying 
 me entirely. I — I — " and, overpowered by his 
 feelings, the stout and true-hearted man rushed 
 out of the room to conceal his emotion. He 
 soon returned, however, and, truth to say, Mar- 
 garet did not see him enter without a gush of 
 proud and happy feeling, clouded, but not over- 
 cast, by a fear which it is difficult to overcome 
 when you feel there is a want of stability 
 in the person upon whom your heart reposes. 
 He looked so handsome and so animated ; his 
 lithe boyish figure had ripened into such full 
 and graceful proportions ; his manner, so soft- 
 ened by disappointment, was now buoyant with 
 joy, and the tones of his voice, despite the deep 
 rich brogue (in which after all there is some- 
 thing heart -warming) were so full of fervour, 
 so cheering — the sort of voice to hasten on the
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 31 
 
 morning — to call hope from the deptlis of de- 
 spair — to wake the echoes of an enchanted cave — 
 to talk love in — whether in sport, or the soft, low 
 whispers of confidence and joy. His voice, I 
 say, was the perfection of Irish voices, and no 
 one with a heart can have listened to the rich- 
 ness of a well-toned Irish voice without feeling 
 its power; at least, such as have ear for music 
 and heart for affection ; Margaret had both 
 an ear and a heart, and, in good truth, if 
 truth must be told, she felt quite as happy 
 as her lover, and, during the remainder of the 
 day, did not think a great deal of the obliga- 
 tion he had taken on himself to abstain from 
 fights and whiskey. Margaret did not persist* 
 in her desire that he should refer to his love- 
 making propensities in the resolution, " feeling,'* 
 Flora said, " perfectly conscious of the influence 
 of her own charms, as far as that went." Connor 
 would not be satisfied with a simple promise ; 
 no war-horse ever manifested so much delight 
 in the trappings of his slavery as did Connor 
 O'Gorman. Margaret assured him that his 
 word of honour would be sufficient, that she 
 only wanted to be convinced he had the power of 
 forbearance. But Connor knew it would be a 
 much easier task for him to refrain altogether 
 than to forbear, and so he determined to put
 
 32 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 it, as he termed it, " out of his own power 
 to do wrong." The next morning Father Hor- 
 ragan, the best-hearted and most jovial of 
 priests, registered an oath on behalf of Connor 
 O'Gorman, which he would have been sorry to 
 take himself — against whiskey and fighting. In 
 his zeal to prove to Margaret how gladly he 
 would do anything to obtain his long-courted 
 prize, he added various items, so as to show 
 how joyfully he would rest her bondsman. 
 
 There was no loop-hole in his oath — no way 
 of escape — no possibility of drinking with one 
 foot inside and the other outside the door, so as 
 to be neither in nor out ; no saving clause by 
 which he might soak bread in the spirits and so 
 eat the liquor he did not drink ; no mode of 
 avoiding his '^ obligation" not to touch a drop 
 on earth, and then climbing into a tree with his 
 bottle. Such devices for cheating themselves 
 are by no means uncommon with those who, in 
 a fit of repentance, have sworn against the be- 
 setting sin — the darkest and deepest curse under 
 which Ireland labours — the enemy they are al- 
 ways ready to put into their mouths to take 
 away their senses ; " the drop of drink " is to 
 tlie Irish peasant a far more bitter draught than 
 *' the draught of slavery." Connor was too right- 
 minded, too anxious to be what his long-loved
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 33 
 
 Margaret really wished, to condescend to stra- 
 tagem. He had never been what in Ireland 
 would be called '"' over-fond of his tumbler/"* 
 but he had liked it well enough to know that he 
 would miss the " warm drop of comfort" his 
 pale and gentle sister Alice never failed to mix 
 for him every evening. Still, what was that — 
 what was anything to the chance, the almost 
 certainty, of obtaining one known all through the 
 province as the *' Rose of Blarney" — the fair and 
 rich young widow" who had refused such a power 
 of men" — who was the best match in her sphere, 
 ay, oraboveit, in the barony — the woman upon 
 whom he had lavished the earliest and strongest 
 affections of his young impetuous heart — whose 
 determination to sacrifice herself for her mo- 
 ther's sake would have driven him to despera- 
 tion, had he not resolved that he would at least 
 make Margaret respect him. Marcus Roche 
 had watched Margaret closely since her widow- 
 hood, and frequently told Connor he was 
 convinced she loved him, and both Marcus 
 and Flora laboured unceasingly to keep up a 
 feeling, which, if they had known the depths 
 of Margaret'*s heart, they might have been 
 assured would have ceased only with her ex- 
 istence. 
 
 Connor's delight was so overwhelming that 
 
 c 5
 
 34 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 he never fancied the second clause in his " ob- 
 ligation" would be more difficult than the first. 
 The O'Sullivans and the O'Gormans were, as 
 we have said, perpetually quarrelling, and a 
 quarrel in Ireland invariably terminates in a 
 fight. Nothing could exceed the dismay of 
 the O'Gorman faction when they found that 
 Connor was " book sworn '' against any sort 
 of a fight for a year and a day ; they declared 
 unanimously that *' the back-bone of the 
 country was broken,*' and hinted that none 
 but a weak-minded " Sassenach" would think 
 a man worth having who did not twirl a shil- 
 lelagh and break a head. 
 
 Margaret, when her promise to Connor was 
 known, received a just proportion of that sort of 
 advice which is so often given and never fol- 
 lowed; her prudent friends, who had other 
 views for her, shook their heads, and said she 
 was throwing herself and her lands away ; her 
 English relations wrote remonstrance on re- 
 monstrance, declaring their belief that he would 
 never keep his oath, to which Margaret replied 
 with a sigh, the bitterness of which was only 
 known to herself — that if he did not, she was 
 absolved from her promise. On the other hand, 
 Connor's '• people," who were as proud as pos- 
 sible of their descent, thought Margaret Lee,
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 35 
 
 the daughter of an humble English agricultu- 
 rist, in '' the very height of good luck" to get 
 such a " fine, handsome, respectable 3'oung man 
 as Connor O'Gorman, with the best blood of 
 the O^Gormans in his blue veins ;" and more- 
 over, they thought her " proud and overbear- 
 ing, to be setting herself against the customs of 
 the country, and she only an Englishwoman, 
 without a hack ; and no great things of a Ca- 
 tholic either, consorting with Protestants, and 
 taking tea (if you please) with the minister's 
 wife, and singing, a Protestant hymn betimes of 
 a Sunday evening; and she afther soothering 
 Father Horragan, so that he doesn't heed it — 
 not he.'' 
 
 Connor did not meet the reproofs and sneers 
 of his former companions in arms and whiskey as 
 philosophically as Margaret encountered those 
 she received from her friends ; and had he not 
 sworn against single-stick, I very much doubt 
 if, at the end of three months, his head would 
 have been in a state of perfect preservation. 
 He, however, shunned all public gatherings 
 of the people, set his house and farm in order, 
 and almost worried his sister Alice to death 
 with plans and improvements. 
 
 " Brother dear, let the chickens eat the two 
 or three grains of stirabout as they always used,
 
 36 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 out of the saucepan, it's more natural to them 
 — they're not acquainted with the trough, and 
 are losing flesh. O my ! 'twould be no wonder 
 if my head was grey with the new fashions — no 
 wonder in life, Connor; but I'll try and get into 
 them if I can." 
 
 " That's a good girl, and a dear sister," was 
 Connor's reply ; *' and Alice, the pigs got out 
 of the sty yesterday— there are no pigs in the 
 country, though I say it, that have so comfort- 
 able a home as ours, and yet they're the most 
 unruly bastes in the town-land." 
 
 " Ah, Connor, it's hard to get over old cus- 
 toms, and Nelly never was contradicted till you 
 put a door up in her face ; it's hard to bear the 
 craythur's grunts when she looks at the cause of 
 her sorrow. She's a beautiful mother to the 
 bonneveens, and never did hurt nor harm to 
 mortal— barring now and again when she'd 
 sweep up a young duck or a gosling — the 
 chickens were always too nimble entirely for 
 her — but Fll fasten the sty; and, brother, Mick 
 says there need be no hurry in life about the hay, 
 that there's no sign of rain." 
 
 " Now," said Connor, " it's true what Mar- 
 garet Lee says ; that unless you watch the 
 people, the hay-harvest goes to destruction, 
 just as as if we war waiting for bad weather
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. d< 
 
 when God sends us good. She got in every 
 blade of her hay-harvest last week." 
 
 " The Griffin was here this morning," said 
 Alice, doubtful as to how her information would 
 be received ; *' and she says " 
 
 " What does she say ?" demanded Connor, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Why, she says, that the farmering boys 
 find it hard staying with Mistress Margaret." 
 
 " What do they mean by hard staying? 
 Where every one else pays a tenpenny, she 
 pays a shilling; she gives them full and plenty 
 of oaten and barley-bread, good stirabout, 
 and never asks them to eat potatoes more than 
 once a-day ! O the ingratitude of the world,* 
 to call that hard staying. The upper servants 
 at Squire Callaghan's hav'n't better food, nor, 
 maybe, as good ; indeed, I know it. What else 
 did the Griffin say? Speak up, Ally." 
 
 " She said nothing in the world against her 
 on that account, brother dear. Only, ye see, 
 you can maybe put in a word that Mistress 
 Margaret would heed, and not worry the boys 
 so about being exact to time, and finishing the 
 work what she calls neat. She sent poor Jimmy 
 Casey off his job." 
 
 " Because,'' said Connor, " he never came to 
 it sober."
 
 38 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " But he meant no harm," observed Alice; 
 '* it IV as his luck, poor boy.^* 
 
 " Margaret Lee spakes a true word," conti- 
 nued Connor, while he tied a green silk hand- 
 kerchief round his throat, in a style very be- 
 coming, if not very fashionable. '* Margaret 
 Lee says very truly that it's hard to know how 
 to serve the lower orders of the people. 1 see 
 it very plain now. Margaret has a way of 
 making everything plain ; they won't thank you 
 to serve them in your way, and would rather 
 have a coiiple of noggins of whiskey (Ally, I 
 don't feel the want of the tumbler at all at all 
 now) than a weight of potatoes or half a loaf of 
 bread to take home to their children. It's true 
 I'm saying. And everything she does, and 
 everything she says, is for the good of the 
 country, if they'd only think so. Sure, if she 
 hadn't a heart in it, she need not have remained 
 amongst us, nor — but I'm ashamed of you, 
 Ally, to let the lies and the tittle-tattle of that 
 ould, heartless bogthrotter, Mabel Griffin, that's 
 neither a witch nor a wizard, but part of both, 
 take hold of such as you. She's eating the 
 heart out of that marauding scoundrel, Ulick 
 O'Sullivan, who's afeard to show his face in the 
 valley these two months: onedaysootheringdown 
 his faction, and then buttering them up, and abus-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY 39 
 
 ing US, and then the next she's down the Bograh 
 Mountains oiling you ; and if she darent speak 
 out against the Rose of Blarney under this 
 roof, (I only pray, if she did, that the wattles 
 would knock her down of themselves,) she 
 comes with a tail of one story, and the head of 
 another, and then she fits the right tail to the 
 wrong head, and the wrong head to the right 
 tail, and so she goes on ; and that's the birth of 
 mischief all over the world. Only, Alice^, I've 
 not been a bad brother to you, and I take it 
 very unkind to me, and very unjust to her, 
 that was, as you well-know, and ever will be, 
 the light of my eyes, the joy of my heart — my 
 delight — my life — my heart's blood. Ally, — I 
 take it not right of you to let the first breath of 
 a May morning touch your cheek, if it whis- 
 pered a word against Margaret Lee. I'm out 
 with you. Ally." And so saying, Connor 
 threw that heavy accompaniment to a re- 
 spectable Irish farmer, a •' top-coat," over his 
 arm, and was about to sally forth, when Alice 
 clasped her arms round his neck, and kissing him 
 affectionately, begged his forgiveness with many 
 tears. 
 
 " You know," she said, " I love Margaret 
 with all my heart. I'm proud ye'r likely to 
 win the Rose of Blarney that you thought of 
 so long, and I'*m proud that now you can put the
 
 40 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 first rose of summer in yer hat, mid not a man 
 dare lift his finger aginst it ; but somehow, 
 brother, ye seem altogether gone from every- 
 thing but her, and that's always hard upon a 
 sister, and the reason, maybe, why sisters-in- 
 law, are seldom sisters in love." 
 
 " But you will be so, Ally — I know you will ; 
 it's the prate of that Griffin, that spreads as 
 much disunion in the country as foxes with 
 firebrands would in a field of wheat; and that 
 being the case, mavourneen, why don't have any- 
 thing, good, bad, or indifferent, to say to her — 
 that's the best way." 
 
 " Well, indeed, Connor,' replied Alice, *' I'm 
 thinking ye'r right, only what am I to do ? If 
 a woman crosses our own hearthstone, what can 
 we say but ' kindly welcome ?' Sure there's not 
 an O'Gorman on earth who'd say an unkind 
 word in his own house, even to the Griffin, 
 And then the woman (if woman she is) is con- 
 vanient, with her knowledge of England and 
 foreign countries ; and a little morsel of finery, 
 dog chape, and quite new, and willing to take 
 anything in exchange ; and if a body takes a 
 fancy to a shawl, not tormenting for the money." 
 
 " Ay, Ally dear," said Connor, kindly, 
 while he pushed the hair from his sister's pale 
 forehead, " Margaret says that's what ruins 
 the principles of half the girls in the country ;
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 41 
 
 the egg-women and basket-women taking any- 
 thing, even to a handful of whate, from the 
 colleens, in exchange for a bit of riband or a 
 crooked comb, or anything that way ; and the 
 girls taking the whate unknown from their 
 parents, — it isn't the value of the thing, but the 
 desate — (Connor did not observe that his sister 
 looked confused) — and so, dear, when you see 
 the Griffin coming, just shut the front door, 
 and slip out at the back — there's one use I've 
 found for the back-door you hated because it 
 was an English fashion — and then you're not at 
 home, you know, like the quality ; and if you 
 meet her outside the house, why there's no 
 harm in life, then, in your looking distant, and 
 so drop her easy/' 
 
 " Drop who asy ?" inquired a voice at the 
 door. 
 
 Connor turned round, and there, fully equip- 
 ped, stood the very " Griffin" of whom he had 
 been speaking. Her appearance was striking, 
 and yet she might have passed in a crowd 
 without exciting observation, — but when once 
 you had looked on, you could not easily forget 
 her. She wore the long blue-hooded cloak 
 peculiar to the south of Ireland ; and those 
 who knew her longest, never remember the hood 
 drawn over her head, or her grizzled hair de-
 
 42 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 fended from sun or storm by any better cover- 
 ing than a white muslin cap — very white — with 
 a high crown or cawl, and a double border of 
 what, even in those tasteful days of long ruf- 
 fles, would be called magnificent lace ; the cap 
 was bound round the head with a broad ri- 
 band, and by the colour of the riband it was 
 easy to determine what party the Griffin wished 
 to please. If she was on the forage amongst 
 the country-people, she invariably mounted one 
 of green, tied at the side in a Jlahoulagh bow ; 
 if she had something to tell, or show, the gentry, 
 she pinned on one of a dainty blue or pink, 
 and took good care to say that " indeed she 
 was a paceable craythur, who never made or 
 bothered with politics, or troubled about reli- 
 gion, madam !" No one doubted the truth of 
 the latter assertion. Her eyes, or rather eye — 
 for one of them she had lost — was small, bright, 
 black, and restless, and certainly did double 
 duty in "right good style.'' Her hair hung in 
 spiral and abundant ringlets at each side of her 
 face. Her upper-lip was shaded by a dark 
 line, resembling a moustache. Her features, 
 though large and heavy, were decidedly ex- 
 pressive of two feelings, however opposite : 
 when bent upon cajoling, or insinuating, there
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 43 
 
 lurked an infinite fund of humour about the 
 corners of her mouth ; but when contradicted » 
 or annoyed, nothing could exceed the deadly 
 expression of revenge that contracted her brows, 
 and flashed from beneath their penthouse. 
 Sometimes a large pedlar's pack was strapped 
 under her cloak, across her brawny shoulders; but 
 more frequently she apparently contented her- 
 self with a basket slung on her arm, and well- 
 filled with Birmingham finery, and the fag-ends 
 of antiquated ribands. She was gifted with 
 extraordinary aptness and quickness of percep- 
 tion, and if she had had the power of command- 
 ing her temper, she would have been as com- 
 plete a rustic Machiavel as ever plotted or* 
 executed plots. Nobody exactly knew what 
 part of the country she came from, or seemed 
 to remember when she came. She said she was 
 a sailor's widow, and she was very fond, like 
 too many in the polite world, of interlarding 
 her conversation with scraps of what certainly 
 were foreign tongues. Her fingers were always 
 adorned with thick brass rings ; her high shoes, 
 clasped over her instep by square silver buckles, 
 and her throat encircled by coral beads. She 
 had an air half-savage, half-cunning, and though 
 universally disliked, was received with more 
 than usual courtesy by the always courteous
 
 44 THE GROVES Ob' BLARNEY. 
 
 peasantry of Ireland, who applied to her the 
 various epithets of " a knowing woman," " a 
 grate card," " a fine woman with rayther more 
 laming than a quiet God-fearing man would 
 like in a wife;" while others hardly dare whisper 
 lest she might hear it, " that she was no 
 better than she should be, was up to all sorts of 
 smuggling and deceiving, and the country 
 would have a good riddance if she was out 
 of it." 
 
 " Drop who asy ?" she repeated, while her 
 hands rested on the top of an iron-shod staff 
 with which she occasionally assisted her speed. 
 " Who do you want her to drop asy — is it 
 me ? for here I've been standing for more than 
 a minute, the Avind blowing away my gray 
 hair, the way the w^orld blows off ould friends. 
 Mounseer — as the Frinch say — neither you 
 nor Ma'mselle have offered ' Kindly welcome, 
 Mrs. Griffin,' or the Griffin, as they calls me, 
 the sons o' Cain, out of a left-handed compli- 
 ment to my beautiful fingers ;" and she stretched 
 forward her expanded hands, showing that each 
 digit was armed with a hooked nail, more re- 
 sembling the claw of a kite, than the nail of a 
 woman." 
 
 " I never refused the welcome at mv own
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 45 
 
 door-stone to friend or foe," said Connor, not 
 with a good grace, certainly ; " so if you come 
 in ye'r welcome/' 
 
 Alice advanced a chair, and then asked the 
 pedlar if she would like to step into " the 
 room," meaning the parlour, which, however 
 excellent in the house of an Irish bachelor 
 farmer, would have been little thought of in an 
 English cottage ; still, the clay floor was free 
 from holes, clean swept, and v/ell sanded ; there 
 was a picture of the Virgin over the chimney — 
 a corner-cupboard, filled, or nearly so, with 
 delf and china, the broken portions of which 
 were not always turned to the wall — six chairs, 
 — a dark mahogany table, above which, on an 
 antique bracket, was placed a due an durras 
 glass, a relic of Irish hospitality that had been 
 in the family for I dare not say how many years. 
 The table was covered with a piece of good 
 stout frieze, being what the honest tailor gave 
 up out of " the makings" of Connor's last " top- 
 coat," and on it, in solitary grandeur, stood 
 an old filagree tea-caddy, that some priest or 
 friar had bequeathed to Honor O'Gorman, 
 Connor's mother ; coloured prints of the saints, 
 in black frames, hung upon the walls, and the 
 window was adorned, if not shaded, by a white 
 dimity curtain.
 
 46 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 The Griffin accepted the offer, " swayed" 
 herself into the room, and placing her basket 
 on the floor, repeated her question ; to which 
 Connor replied, " Faith, ma'am, I was only 
 giving a piece of advice to Ally, that when 
 anything is neither useful nor ornamental, it's 
 better to drop it." 
 
 '' And am I neither useful nor ornamental, 
 Mr. Connor O'Gorman, tell me that ?" persisted 
 the virago. 
 
 " Sure, Mrs. Griffin, I wasn't spaking to you 
 at all," said Connor ; '' it's quite enough for a 
 lone gentlewoman like yerself to have to stand 
 against what's said to you, without gathering 
 nianeings, as a sparrow gathers straws, and for 
 as little good, out of everything you meet 
 on an Irish highway, or hear at an Irish 
 door." 
 
 " If it was on the highway I met an affront," 
 continued the unappeased Griffin, " Fd know 
 how to punish it better than, — (if the wind 
 of the word that crosses the mountains spakes 
 truth, jolt garson, as the Frinch say,) — 
 I'd know how to punish it better than Mr. 
 Connor O'^Gorman, who must whiten his hands 
 and perfume his breath with O de Coloney in- 
 stead of whiskey, to plaze the Rose of Blarney. 
 There^s three black thorns up the chimney, I
 
 THE GllOVES OF BLARNEY. 47 
 
 see, Mister Connor — seasoning,* 1 suppose. 
 Time was, whin it would be a hon Chrettien's 
 office to tell Ulick O'Sullivan of the black 
 thorns ; but Ulick may fight the spirits that do 
 be dancing, hon grey^ mol grey^ on the Bograh 
 Mountains, or divart himself with the ghosts of 
 the Macarthies, in the vaults of Blarney Castle, 
 for anything you care ; but it's fine to be oba- 
 dient to the laws, and gentle and quiet, like 
 sucking calves — only it^s lately come to the 
 O'Gormans, that's all." 
 
 " Don't heed her, brother," whispered Alice 
 to Connor ; " never heed her, shes very dark 
 this morning ; don't heed her, Connor dear." 
 
 " Fm not going to heed her, never fear, 
 girl," replied Connor, with a bitter laugh ; 
 " I'm not going to heed her. But I'll tell you 
 what, Mrs. Griffin, I'd scorn myself if I wanted 
 strength to tell the truth, even to one who has 
 more to do with evil words and evil winds 
 than becomes an honest woman." — The Grif- 
 fin started from her seat, and looked furiously 
 at the young farmer, but he continued — 
 " I did tell Ally to drop you easy." 
 
 "O brother!" exclaimed Alice, turning pale. 
 
 *' And I repeat it. Alice O'Gorman, you're 
 no sister of mine if you keep any communion 
 
 * The Irish peasants dry theirfighting-sticks^by hang- 
 ing them up the chimney, and grease them frequently.
 
 48 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 with her. My door shall never be shut in your 
 face, Mrs. Griffin, nor in the face of any wan- 
 derer, no matter how poor, no matter how ill- 
 spoken of — I never will close my door against 
 the houseless." 
 
 *' Indeed, Mr. O'Gorman, we're not be- 
 houlden to your house, sir, we've plenty of 
 homes, thank God !" 
 
 " You have, ma'am, I dare say — by sea and 
 land, over land, and in land too — among the 
 distilliries, maybe; and I'll tell you why I 
 don't like the honour of your polite company 
 for my sister, ma'am : she's a little simple, 
 quiet girl, and I hold it, that every honest 
 brother, father, or husband, through the coun- 
 try, ought to keep the women's hearts over 
 which he has power, pure ; and that it's the 
 duty of a pathriot to watch over the religion 
 and innocence of his countrywomen. For look 
 here," continued the young farmer, and he 
 snatched a white rose from his sister's bosom, 
 and held it above his head, " this is woman as 
 she should be — above the reach or touch of 
 anything low, or mean, or dirty, or desateful ; 
 — but this is what she becomes,*" and he illus- 
 trated the figure by dropping the flower upon 
 the clay-sanded floor, and crushing its petals 
 beneath his foot ; " this is what she becomes, 
 when mixed up with the talk and the scandal.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 49 
 
 the sin, and the badness, that's carried through 
 the world by idle and mischievous bog-throtters, 
 who shoulder sin like a musket, and whose lips 
 are foul with black and bitter words." 
 
 *' Are my lips foul ?" inquired the Griffin fu- 
 riously ; " Mister Connor O'Gorman, Mistress 
 Griffin says. Are my lips foul ?" 
 
 " If they're not, I wish the country joy of the 
 change, that's all. Now keep off, ma'am — I'll 
 not suffer ye to strike me — I'll spancel yer hands 
 with that strong gad I made for the kicking cow, 
 and she never kicked since. I'll have no carry- 
 ing of stories from the Bee's Nest here, or from 
 here to the Bee's Nest. And so, ma'am, you 
 may rest yourself as long as you please, and 
 then we'll walk out of the house together, for 
 Ally will be none the worse of spending the 
 heel of the evening by herself." 
 
 " Let her pay me what she owes me," said 
 the Griffin, " and then I'll go bail it will be 
 many a long day before anything but my curse 
 darkens your door." 
 
 '' Oh ! Mrs. Griffin ! Mrs. Griffin !" expos- 
 tulated Ally. 
 
 " Owes ! What does she owe you ?" inquired 
 Connor, glancing angrily at his sister. 
 
 " Three thirteens, for a crooked comb ; two 
 testers, for black tags ; seven tinpennies, for an 
 
 VOL, I. D
 
 50 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 illigant shawl; and half-a-crown for she knows 
 what herself/' 
 
 Alice trembled like an aspen, and dared not 
 look at her brother, who put his hand into his 
 pocket, and drew forth a small leathern bag 
 which was tied round the neck by a piece of 
 string. 
 
 *' Here, now ; if it's not too much trouble, 
 will ye say that riddle-ma-ree over again, Mrs. 
 Griffin." 
 
 " If it's more convanient to you, Mounsieur," 
 said the woman insolently, though she was mar- 
 vellously appeased by the sight of the money — 
 a thing in her particular way of dealing she sel- 
 dom saw except when she carried her barter to 
 Cork, " I'll take it out, as I have done before, 
 in—" 
 
 " Hush, Mrs. Griffin, for the Virgin's sake !" 
 exclaimed poor Ally, who, from the love of 
 finery, had been led to exchange her brother's 
 corn, and property of even more value, for the 
 trumpery which this genuine huxter palmed 
 upon the village girl as " genteel." 
 
 Connor's generosity prevented his taking any 
 notice of the interruption, further than saying, 
 (what by the way was a great boast,) " that 
 such thrifles couldn't inconvanience an O'Gor- 
 man at any time. First of all, he counted down
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 51 
 
 the " three thirteens," then the " two testers," 
 then the '' seven tenpennies." " And now, Mrs. 
 Griffin, ma'am," he said, " what was the last 
 ingenious article for working the money out of 
 a foolish girl?" 
 
 " She knows herself," said Mrs. Griffin, drop- 
 ping the coins carefully into a large blue worsted 
 stocking, which she had pulled from the depths 
 of her capacious pocket. 
 
 " But / must know," persisted Connor. 
 " Then,'' said the Griffin, Avithout noticing 
 the imploring expression of Ally's face, who felt 
 that she was rapidly falling in her brother's es- 
 timation — " then, Mister O^Gorman, it was a 
 — strop" 
 
 " Speak English, ma'am, if you please." 
 " I never am in the habits of confining myself 
 to one language, Misther O'Gorman," replied 
 the Griffin, throwing back her head ; " but Til 
 do my best this time ; it was a love-powder the 
 young lady bought, to win — " 
 
 But Ally would not permit the mischievous 
 creature, who had lured her on to so much folly, 
 to finish her sentence. She threw herself on her 
 knees before her, and implored her not to speak 
 the name. " You said it would work harm," 
 she exclaimed, " you said it would work harm, 
 not good, if the name was spoke except at 
 
 D 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLlr4'w.->
 
 52 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 — oh ! why did I heed ye — why did I heed 
 
 ye!" 
 
 Connor raised his sister from her servile po- 
 sition and forced her into her bed-room ; then, 
 turning to the Griffin, he indignantly flung her 
 the half-crown. Fond as the adventuress was 
 of money, she was fonder of revenge ; seizing 
 the coin, she threw a leer of bitter hatred at 
 O'Gorman, and then, fixing her malignant 
 glance on the duc-an-d urras glass, which she knew 
 was the most precious relic Connor possessed 
 of all his family's former wealth and station, 
 she deliberately flung the half-crown at it ; and 
 the goblet, which would have formed the glory 
 of an Irish antiquarian, fell into a dozen glit- 
 tering fragments upon the floor. The woman 
 looked at the destruction she had caused with 
 malignant triumph, and exclaimed, 
 
 " May every one be so kilt, and spilt, and 
 smashed, that turns their tongue on the Griffin ; 
 and may the seed, breed, and generation of 
 Connor O'Gorman be in smithereens upon Ire- 
 land's ground, like that meminto of his glory — 
 Amin." 
 
 And, fierce with passion, the violent and evil- 
 hearted woman passed from the farm, leaving 
 its master with an irritated, yet bruised spirit. 
 He gathered up the fragments of the glass, and
 
 THE GllOVES OF BLARNEY. 53 
 
 placed them in the venerable caddy, and I am 
 not very certain that his eyes were dry while 
 he performed their obsequies ; he remembered 
 how often in his childish days his tall old grand- 
 father had presented that glass, full to the brim 
 of scalding punch, to the priest, or any other 
 honoured guest, after he had mounted his 
 nag at the door ; he remembered the exulta- 
 tion with which he used to listen to the tales 
 the old man recounted of those who, of high 
 rank in ancient times, had drunk the stirrup- 
 cup of gratulation and good- will at the castle 
 gates of his ancestors, then the possessors of 
 lands and rivers, where their descendant now 
 could claim but a few poor acres. It had, in- 
 deed, been to Connor a magic glass — a sort 
 of mirror, in which he saw the past, and on 
 which when he looked he thought more brightly 
 of the future. After he had locked the ancient 
 caddy, fearing to trust his voice in converse 
 with his sister, he placed his elbows upon the 
 table, and covered his face with his hands. A 
 low moaning roused him at last, and, upon 
 looking up, he saw the fond, weak-minded girl, 
 whose folly had smitten him to the heart. 
 
 " Indeed, brother," she whimpered, ** I'm 
 raly sorry, and ashamed, and often thought to 
 tell you, only my mind failed."
 
 54 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " Your principle failed, you mean," said Con- 
 nor, sorrowfully. " Oh ! Ally, it is not the va- 
 lue of a few grains of corn that I think of, but 
 the deceit. We were for many a long day but 
 two together in a could world ; I never refused 
 you anything I could give ; at wake or fair I 
 took care no girl was better dressed than my 
 little sister ; I loved you, Ally, — I thought you 
 loved me— but no, Ally, there is no love where 
 there is not perfect trust, you, as well as the 
 rest of my people, have been more like mill- 
 stones to drag me under the strame than feathers 
 to float me on it. Put on your cloak and bon- 
 net, and come with me." 
 
 " Oh ! not to Margaret ! not to Margaret ! 
 she is so perfect herself, she would hate me." 
 
 *' No, not to her,"" he replied, sadly ; " for I 
 could hardly look her in the face if I thought 
 she knew my sister had been — " 
 
 *' Not a thief— oh ! no !" she interrupted ; 
 *' it was the Griffin said you'd never miss, or 
 think bad, of the thrifle of meal or barley." 
 
 " I do not want to hear what she said," ex- 
 claimed Connor; "we're done with her now; that's 
 one comfort. But come to the priest. Ally, and 
 tell him yer fault — it is long since you have been 
 to your duty ; make a clean breast. Ally, and 
 then — why I am sure I'm hardly able to guide
 
 THE GROVES OF BLAKNEY. 55 
 
 you, you poor Iamb, that had no mother, as I 
 had, to watch over you — only was laid in her 
 could grave, and you a dawshy thing, like a 
 young green rush in a lonely pool, bent by every 
 passing breeze, and nothing to strengthen you 
 but the sun of heaven — and if that shone too 
 strong, why it would scorch up the water of life 
 round you, machree. I'm a great deal your 
 elder. Ally, and I thought I taught you honour 
 and honesty — there, don't cry, like a good girl 
 — V\\ never even mention it to you, and no one 
 will be the wiser of it for me, and it will tache 
 you a lesson ; and when you've made a clean 
 breast, and heard what his reverence says, why» 
 dear, make Margaret your friend, as I wanted 
 you, long ago; sure if she's above you in 
 learning, so much the better for you — as the 
 star said when she had the moon to look at. 
 Please the Almighty to strengthen my good re- 
 solve, she'll be your sister, I hope, in four 
 months and eleven days — the saints between us 
 and harm ! And keep up yer heart, my sister, 
 and avoid all such as the Griffin — though, to be 
 sure, like her distant cousin the Phoenix — there's 
 not many of the family — " 
 
 " But the glass, brother, the glass," repeated 
 Ally. 
 
 " Say nothing about that, Ally," said Con-
 
 56 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 nor, in a sorrowful tone, " the least said soonest 
 mended — which it can never be — so there's an 
 end of that ; but by all the books that were ever 
 shut and opened — wait till my time's up — " 
 
 " O brother, brother !" exclaimed Ally, "she's 
 a woman, and no O'Gorman ever struck a wo- 
 man, even when he had too much — " 
 
 " I think," he replied, " she is an incarnate 
 devil, that's what I think ; and I think his re- 
 verence ought to see to it — she's not right, one 
 way or other — " 
 
 " And yet,'** said Ally, " they say she can 
 talk the birds off the bushes, as indeed I know, 
 to my cost ; and if you knew how, you would 
 not look so could on me; and, brother, I re- 
 member onct she chated yourself about the 
 knee-buckles, and in three months after, the 
 riding-whip — but to be sure it was your own 
 — not all as one as my fault." 
 
 The generous, superstitious, honest, confid- 
 ing, and yet, on particular subjects, keen- 
 sighted fellow, kissed his sister affectionately. 
 
 I would not have detailed this incident so fully, 
 but that after events proved the truth of the 
 adage — the injured may forgive, but the injurer 
 never does. Connor, when requested to do so, for- 
 gave, (and he seldom did things by halves,) though 
 he disliked the Griffin, who from her knowledge
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY, 57 
 
 of every person and every circumstance, pos- 
 sessed an extraordinary influence over man, wo- 
 man, and child. Persons of acute observation 
 and strong minds always have large power over 
 their fellow-creatures; but, if they are badly 
 disposed and can stoop to mould weakness 
 and superstition to their own purpose, they be- 
 come more dangerous to the well-doing of my 
 countrymen, than the serpents St. Patrick got 
 so much credit for banishing from the Emerald 
 Isle. 
 
 D 5
 
 58 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Connor 0*Gorman had recorded his " obliga- 
 tion" against fighting and whiskey on Midsum- 
 mer Eve; and, notwithstanding all the provo- 
 catives thrown in his way both by friends and 
 foes, he had preserved it inviolate. Midsummer 
 Eve had come again. During the past year he 
 had been so much in the society of Margaret, 
 that, like all men " desperately in love," he had 
 taken the tone of his mind from hers, and every 
 succeeding day revealed in his beloved some new 
 perfection. Margaret was precisely the win- 
 ning, gracious person calculated to make Con- 
 nor a loving and useful wife. His fearlessness, 
 generosity, and affection, as opposed to her ti- 
 midity and retiring habits, made her love him 
 all the more ; and she really and rationally had
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 59 
 
 every reason, not only to hope, but believe, that 
 the wild passions she had feared and warred 
 against in her own sweet way, were now com- 
 pletely under his control. In the face of the 
 whole country he had proved his devotion and 
 allegiance to his liege lady ; and she felt, and 
 proudly too, that, in the face of the whole 
 country, he deserved the reward he had coveted 
 in youth and manhood. 
 
 No lady at fete or tournament ever felt a 
 greater mingling of love, and joy, and pride, 
 than did the gentle widow, Margaret Lee, when, 
 on one of the most beautiful Midsummer morn- 
 ings that ever smiled from an Irish sky, Connor 
 O'Gorman knocked at the door of the Bee's' 
 Nest before the sun had gilded the time- 
 honoured tower of Blarney Castle. Margaret 
 had slept but little that night ; her thoughts 
 were occupied in turning over the sayings and 
 doings of her lover, and she presented him to 
 herself, through evil report and good report, 
 scathless — the early chosen of her heart — the 
 approved of her mature years. The first dawn 
 of day found her praying by the bed-side of her 
 child, and the knock that startled her from her 
 knees, woke her sleeping boy, ruddy with health 
 and beauty. She heard Flora open her lattice 
 and speak to Connor from the window; and
 
 60 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 then she heard the rapid canterings of his horse 
 as he took the Cork road, having told Flora he 
 should return to breakfast, and desired her not 
 to disturb her sister, the saucy girl asked him, 
 "if he did not wish her to be disturbed, why he 
 had called at all." And, waving his handker- 
 chief gaily, he exclaimed, " To tell her that 
 Midsummer Eve is come.'"** 
 
 " But not gone yet, not gone yet. Master 
 Connor," replied the laughing girl, as she shut 
 to the lattice, unknowingly quoting the warning 
 of the Roman soothsayer. 
 
 Margaret, having listened breathlessly to her 
 lover's voice, while she clasped her beloved child 
 to her bosom, kissed him with more than her 
 usual affection, and again sank upon her knees, 
 repeating her earnest prayer, that the Almighty 
 would strengthen both her and Connor in all 
 good, and instruct her how to fulfil the divided, 
 yet perfect, duty she would have to perform as 
 a wife and mother. She could not restrain her 
 tears; they fell fast upon the rosy cheeks of one 
 of the most beautiful children that ever charmed 
 a mother's heart. No one would have imagined 
 the little rogue had an English mother ; his 
 brogue was so droll, that Margaret smiled at 
 
 * In Ireland, it is usual to call the whole day pre- 
 ceding Midsummer Day, Midsummer Eve.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 61 
 
 the earnestness with which he said, " Ah now, 
 dear mammy, what ails ye ? VVhat makes ye 
 cry, my own mammy? and Connor said last 
 night this would be the proud day of his life ; 
 have done, mammy, will you, or I'll cry too :" 
 and the little fellow put up his lip, while his 
 eyes darkened with the earnest sympathies of 
 childhood. 
 
 " There are two sorts of tears, Hector, tears 
 of joy and sorrow." 
 
 " No, mammy, that can't be. I laugh for 
 joy, cry for sorry ; you never saw me cry for 
 joy. Mammy would not tell a fib, but she 
 might make a mistake. Shall I kneel and say 
 the last little verse-prayer Connor taught Hec- 
 tor ?" And up he sprang like a bird from its 
 nest, and pressing the rosy palms of his hands 
 together, while his fingers pointed upwards, and 
 his beaming, joyous face was composed into an 
 expression of gravity floating like a white sum- 
 mer cloud over a blooming garden, he repeated, 
 according to his creed, the little evening chant, 
 which I have heard make sweet music in many 
 a Catholic cottage : — 
 
 " Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, 
 Bless the bed that I lie on ; 
 One to watch, one to pray. 
 Two to bear my soul away."
 
 62 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 And Margaret, when he had finished, com- 
 mended his memory, and began the operations 
 of his toilet, no easy task where a young gen- 
 tleman expects a new suit of clothes. 
 
 " Mammy,"*' continued the chatterbox, (little 
 boys, by the way, talk as much as little girls,) 
 " Mammy, Connor has promised me a hurley, 
 not a hurley for fight, but a hurley for play, 
 mammy, and I can spell Constantinople, whe- 
 ther you shake your head or no ; and I can 
 read out of the Read-a-made-easy, as well as in 
 it, if the words are not too long, you know, 
 mammy ; and, O mammy, when you were out 
 last night, the Griffin met me in the boreen, 
 where I was picking cuckoo-sorrel with Norry, 
 and gave me a ball." 
 
 " I told you never to take anything from her, 
 Hector. She is not a good woman, and I am 
 angry at your disobeying me." 
 
 " Connor said you would not be angry to-day, 
 because it is his day," said the cunning rogue, and 
 seeing his mother smile, continued, "and I 
 went further on, and who should I see but 
 Ulick Rhu, Mr. Ulick O'Sullivan, mamni}' ; 
 and whenever he comes across me, he pets me 
 up so, though it's long since I saw him, and yet 
 I don't love him, he kisses so hard, and has got 
 such a many red horse-hairs on his chin. I
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 63 
 
 think, mammy," persisted Hector, lowering his 
 voice, " I think he gave Norry something like 
 money, but she bid me not tell you." 
 
 " I never," thought Margaret, " can suffer 
 my boy to leave my sight, that he does not get 
 some lesson in deceit." 
 
 '* But he seemed very sad, for when he kissed 
 me the second time, there was wet on his cheek, 
 and he bade God bless you, which God does, 
 you know, and then he hugged me hard, and 
 put me down roughly, and said a bad word of 
 Connor ; and I told Norry I wouldn't have him 
 kiss me again, and then she asked me, which I'd 
 rather have for a dada, Ulick Rhu or Connor 
 O'Gorman ? And I know which I said," ex- 
 claimed the little fellow, jumping about to the 
 manifest danger of the fastening of his nankeen 
 frock. Margaret blushed, a habit she could 
 not get rid of, and which her little Cupid per- 
 ceived, for the next instant he sprang upon a 
 chair by her side, and turning her face round, 
 looked roguishly into it, while he inquired, 
 " Mamma, what makes your face so red ?"" 
 
 Flora, at that instant, entered her sister's room 
 with an open letter, and as anything new was to 
 her particularly delightful, she informed Mar- 
 garet that the epistle was from an old lover and
 
 64 
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 cousin of hers, a poetical young gentleman, 
 who, in the days of his minority had perpetrated 
 much miscellaneous trash, and who now having 
 more money than wit, and being resolved that 
 his light sliould not be hid under a bushel, 
 had resolved to visit Ireland in the capacity of 
 travelling tourist. He assured Flora that he 
 had qualified himself for the task of a faithful 
 historian by reading every book connected with 
 Irish affairs that was worth reading, having first 
 ascertained that it contained nothing inimical to 
 his received opinions and politics, which, to 
 Flora's infinite amusement, she perceived were 
 of the most narrow and illiberal kind ; he phi- 
 losophically declared that he came prepared to 
 meet the worst, and that above all, he hoped yet 
 to prevail upon Margaret to relinquish all idea 
 of marrying an " Irish clown." Flora was in 
 perfect extasy at the idea of the handsome Con- 
 nor being called a clown, by her little ignorant 
 cockney cousin, Peter Swan, though Margaret 
 looked dignified on the occasion ; and Peter 
 concluded by saying, that he hoped " the book " 
 would make his fortune, as he intended to 
 journey through the perilous island in search of 
 the picturesque, and for the good of those per- 
 sons who knew nothing of the real state of Irish
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 65 
 
 affairs. A postscript informed them, moreover, 
 that he hoped to be at Blarney by Midsummer 
 Eve, as he understood that such was still the 
 gross darkness of the people, that the " rites 
 and ceremonies of Baal were celebrated through- 
 out the country by the misguided peasantry, on 
 that night." 
 
 Flora was enchanted at the probable sport 
 this arrival would occasion, while the more pru- 
 dent Margaret feared the consequent annoyance 
 that both Marcus and O'Gorman would feel at 
 hearing their beloved country insulted, for she 
 well knew, that nothing exceeded Peter's igno- 
 rance but his notion of his own abilities. 
 
 " I will make Marcus believe he is in love 
 with me," said Flora, '* that is, if he is anything 
 decent to look at. And if you had any spirit, 
 sister, you would play him off on Connor, but 
 you have not, you go on jog-trot, jog-trot." 
 
 Margaret looked to see if Hector had heard 
 Flora's observations, but he had left the room. 
 " What may be sport to you, might be death 
 to him," she said, " but this is no day to ser- 
 monize even you. Flora j the road has been like 
 a fair all night. I never remember, I think, so 
 many pilgrims on their way to Aghabulloge." 
 
 " Father Horragan threatened to send me 
 there," said Flora, laughing, " and I told him
 
 66 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 I would not go ; and that if he sent me on a 
 pilgrimage with peas in my shoes, I would first 
 boil them : and then he said, I ought to do pe- 
 nance all the days of my life for tempting a 
 sogarth* from his vocation. And I told him, 
 Marcus was not a sogarth out and out, only in 
 prospective ; and that I'd give him up to the 
 church with all the veins of my heart ; and that 
 he was in a better state than ever, for I had 
 taught him humility and patience, and I don't 
 know what, and that I'd undertake to teach 
 his reverence the same if — " 
 
 *'0 Flora, Flora, you must be mad to speak 
 in that way to Father Horragan. What did 
 he say ?" 
 
 " He said, I was a wild jade, and that a year 
 in a nunnery would do me good. And I told 
 him, it would make me mad, as it did poor 
 Aileen O'Sullivan, Ulick's sister. And then a 
 shadow came over Father Horragan's happy, 
 good-tempered face, and he said, it was not the 
 convent made Aileen strange, and that I must 
 not call her mad, — she was only bewildered; 
 and, moreover, he told me the less I said about 
 the O'Sullivans the better, for that Ulick would 
 hardly let a man rest at peace in the neighbour- 
 hood, who had carried off the Rose of Blarney ; 
 * One intended for the priesthood.
 
 THE GKOVES OF BLARNEY. 67 
 
 and then his reverence wanted to know when 
 the wedding was to be." 
 
 " That will do. Flora," interrupted Margaret. 
 
 " And what do you think, sister? Old blind, 
 lame, deaf Monica's granddaughter has been 
 here this morning already, to ask rae to lend 
 her two shillings to get married ; she says they 
 have ej3ough to pay the priest ' barring' two 
 shillings. And so that's all they have in the 
 wide, wide world." 
 
 " The old story,'"* sighed Margaret, " a wed- 
 ding, and nothing to begin with ; children, and 
 nothing to give them ; premature old age ; a 
 broken heart; and a narrow coffin." 
 
 " And yet," said Flora, " how warm, how 
 true, how affectionate they are to each other ! 
 I have seen grown men and women starving, 
 absolutely starving, carry their decrepid parents 
 on their shoulders, and share with them the 
 scanty morsels which their poverty wrested from 
 the poverty of others. Peasants' wives, how- 
 ever beautiful, and in early youth how beautiful 
 they are ! are never known to break the mar- 
 riage vow, which ties them to poverty, and often 
 to harsh, unfeeling husbands ; for that horrid 
 whiskey at times renders them more than half 
 mad—"
 
 68 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY, 
 
 "And then," continued Margaret, "persons 
 some of them almost as self-conceited and as 
 ignorant as our cockney cousin, come over here, 
 and go back exclaiming against the wretchedness, 
 misery, starvation, and madness of a people 
 whose feelings and habits they cannot under- 
 stand ; and yet have neither intellect nor feeling 
 to devise means for the improvement of a glo- 
 rious and suffering nation." 
 
 " Bravo, Margaret ! I wish Connor had 
 heard that speech, it was positively patriotic. 
 And Marcus would have paid you the highest 
 compliment of all in his estimation, he would 
 have said, you ought to have been an Irish- 
 woman." 
 
 " The Irish are very provoking, though," said 
 Margaret, " and very obstinate, and will argue 
 that they are doing exactly as you wish, when, in 
 fact, they are doing the very opposite. Hush ! — 
 there. Flora — so much for clean clothes ! look in 
 the farm-yard, there is Hector absolutely trying to 
 ride the pig; and yonder comes Ally, poor, simple, 
 gentle Ally ; and, Flora— now don*t laugh — 
 what colour shall I run in this cap, blue or pink ? 
 — do you think I could bear green ? — Connor is 
 so fond of green.'* But Flora did laugh, and 
 Margaret did wear green ; and, as to the meet-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARN^EY. 69 
 
 ing of the lovers, those who in their igno- 
 rance imagine there can be nothing neat, or 
 nice, or tasteful in poor Ireland, should have seen 
 Margaret Lee's parlour on that memorable morn- 
 ing: to be sure, she was an Englishwoman, butit 
 proved what management will do, with patience 
 and good temper — (if you lose your temper in 
 Ireland you immediately lose your power.) The 
 curtains were purely white; the carpet (I 
 like to be particular in all domestic details) 
 was of a pale drab ground, strewn with roses 
 and shamrocks, and thistles — and some there 
 were who objected to this union, but Mar- 
 garet always quietly observed that she thought 
 it pretty ; and there was a looking-glass over 
 the chimney, and little green shepherds and 
 shepherdesses, and still less poodle-dogs, in 
 little curly china, with tufted tails and black 
 noses, and, as little Hector used to say, " black 
 eyeses" — and black baskets in their mouths; 
 and this sort of things they in their simplicity 
 called " chimney ornaments;" and the chairs 
 were mahogany, and there was a sofa, and a 
 small circular table made of Irish oak, and on 
 that stood what Flora called an old pipkin, but 
 which Marcus Roche, who had presented it with 
 great solemnity, termed "a cinerary urn;" and 
 then there were two little work-tables; and the
 
 /U THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 window opened down to the ground, and was 
 shaded by a pretty verandah, over which Mar- 
 garet had trained hundreds of roses ; and as 
 you stood beneath the verandah you saw all the 
 flowers in what Margaret quaintly termed her 
 " flower knot,*' which was bounded by a laurel 
 hedge; and, forming a beautiful back-ground, 
 rose the Castle with its bridge, and water, and 
 trees, and wild birds, by night as well as 
 day, cawing, screaming, or at midnight hoot- 
 ing amid its ruins ; and the singing-birds were 
 so tamed by Margaret's gentleness that they 
 made the little centre green of her garden like 
 a bed of tulips with the variety and brilliancy 
 of their plumage, for she replenished their table 
 — "mammy's singing birds' table," to quote Hec- 
 tor again — every morning; and there wrens, and 
 finches, and tomtits, and yellowhammers, and 
 blackbirds, with their golden bills, and thrushes 
 no longer timid, and wriggling wagtails, as- 
 sembled, and fed, and afterwards 
 " Paid their quit- rent 
 AVith a song." 
 
 Nor must I forget the bees, those useful mo- 
 nitors of husbandry and wisdom. I never 
 yet knew an industrious person who did not 
 love bees. English reader, do you like Mar- 
 garet's Irish garden ? Ah, trust one, who
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 71 
 
 though she loves the land, has never yet written 
 of it a line of false praise^ but has freely and 
 honestly censured what she hoped to amend, — 
 believe her when she tells you not to credit all 
 the evil that is reported of a country, which 
 during a long lapse of years has sent forth so 
 many of the bold, the brave, the brilliant, the 
 beautiful, the glorious, to rank foremost among 
 the admired and the celebrated of the world ! 
 
 There stood Margaret then, in her garden, 
 with that natural duplicity which seems born of 
 love, engaged in tying up some geraniums, but 
 listening all the time for the well-known sound 
 of Connor's steed ; while Flora compelled her 
 lover to perform various offices at the table, 
 where she had prepared breakfast, that she 
 might have the pleasure of finding fault with 
 everything he did. 
 
 While Flora was employed so perfectly to her 
 satisfaction, Margaret's reverie might have 
 found the following words, for so ran her true 
 heart's thoughts ; they are worth recording, for 
 they mingle the tenderness of the mother with 
 the affection which she had long borne to the 
 man who was about to become her husband. — 
 " Although I love dear Connor now as warmly 
 as when he was the first to seek my young un- 
 fettered hand, yet, did I think he would not
 
 72 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 prove a kind and upright father to my child, 
 I'd leave him, ay, at the altar's foot. How 
 different is the love I bear them both ; and yet, 
 how perfect each ! Connor will dearly love my 
 boy, protect and guard him ; I am sure he will, 
 for I would love the dog that followed Connor. 
 They cannot call me rash in this new marriage. 
 I have known him so long, watched him so 
 closely, tried him so hardly. Yet still, I have 
 observed those Irishmen are wild and uncertain 
 as their mountain storms, sudden and fickle ! 
 Harry's not that, no ! nor the rest. For one 
 whole year he has abstained from faults that 
 marred his noble nature, — good earnest that of 
 future steadiness. But when I really am his 
 wife, I'll watch and seek to sway him for his 
 good ; in gentle firmness, unperceived, 1*11 do 
 it ; for when a woman seeks to guide her hus- 
 band, it should not be like one who breaks a 
 horse to his own purpose, using bit and spur, 
 now checking, and now goading his career — but 
 like the mariner who steers the ship, directs it 
 by a single touch, while none can see the power 
 that rules its motion !" 
 
 Margaret's reverie was interrupted by Flora's 
 exclaiming, " Sister, I wonder what delays your 
 truant swain ; if his year was out-and-out, which 
 it won't be till to-morrow morning — at least, ac-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 73 
 
 cording to my reckoning, why I'd say he was 
 taking his " morning," as old Monica used to 
 call it. I miss Monica very much : since she 
 went to live on that horrid Larry Sullivan's land 
 we never see her. Hark, Margaret, that is 
 Connor ; how he makes Bran gallop ! here he 
 is. Now, Peg, don't blush ; Marcus never makes 
 me blush, not he ! Margaret, what will you bet 
 that the first word Connor says, will be cushla- 
 machree? I'm sure of it. Here he is," she con- 
 tinued, while gazing from the window ; " how 
 handsome he looks ! so gay, and cheerful, and 
 joyous ! and what music in the tones of his fine 
 manly voice !" 
 
 " Flora, Flora," expostulated Marcus, while 
 Margaret, after a little hesitation, left the room 
 with an air of great composure, to meet Con- 
 nor, which she was anxious to do as far away as 
 possible from Flora's saucy comments. Flora, 
 though, was right, for the first sentence Connor 
 uttered, was " cush-la-machree ! " 
 
 " Now, Margaret," exclaimed her lover, " now, 
 the next best thing to seeing you, is hearing you 
 spake; now, only just let me hear you say 
 ' Connor,' ' Connor dear,' or, — but I can hardly 
 expect that — ' Connor darling.' O what a sweet 
 word darling is ! There now," he added joy- 
 fully, for Margaret had, I believe, murmured 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 the word he so much loved — " There now, that's 
 what I call real music; let Jerry Nale beat that 
 on the pipes, if he can. Do you think it worth 
 your while to remember when your father was 
 alive, a little colleen you were, with your beau- 
 tiful curls floating on the breeze ? T loved you 
 then—" 
 
 " Ah," said Margaret, " but remember, Con- 
 nor, remember, my father died, and left us poor." 
 " T know he did," replied Connor, mournfully; 
 " I was but a slip of a boy then, without money, 
 or much chance of even getting on as well as I 
 am doing. I have not a great deal of worldly 
 goods now, and I never told you I had ; but, 
 Margaret, plase God, before we're married, 
 every acre of yours shall be put out of my 
 power to injure. No, avourneen, I know your 
 heart, but there's the boy, Margaret, the boy — 
 it shall never be said that Connor O' Gorman 
 injured the dead man's child. You married 
 away from me to save your mother from the 
 misery the English dread ; the poverty, for 
 they're not born to it, and bred to it, and used to 
 it, as we are. You married," continued Harry, 
 waxing wroth, " you married an ould nagur — "" 
 
 " Hush !" exclaimed Margaret Lee. " He was 
 a gentle, good, and kind old man ; tender of me, 
 as if I were a bird— indulgent to my whims—"
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 75 
 
 ** Whims," repeated Connor, " why you ne- 
 ver had a whim in your life ; one would think 
 it was of Flora you were talking." 
 
 " O yes, I have my whims," said Marga- 
 ret, smiling ; " you know I am obstinate." 
 
 " O that's no whim in a woman," replied 
 Connor. 
 
 " Well," said Margaret, " at all events you 
 must never, never breathe a disrespectful or un- 
 kind word of goodman Lee ; he was unselfish, 
 generous ; he left me rich, — " 
 
 " He kept me poor for years," said Connor, 
 with his usual impatience. " Well, Margaret, 
 beloved of my heart and soul, there I'm as 
 dumb as a boiled lobster ; but thus much, my 
 time is as good as up ; you wouldn't have me 
 till I proved my steadiness. I made my bit of 
 an oath last Midsummer Eve against my faults, 
 and the heavens above, they know how true 
 I've kept it." 
 
 " To your confession," said Margaret, laugh- 
 ing. " Never tasted whiskey .^" 
 
 Connor crossed his hands and opened his 
 fingers. " Never, by these five crosses." 
 
 "Never got into a scrimeege f '''' said Mar- 
 garet, conscious that she could not pronounce 
 the word. 
 
 " Scrimeege,^'' repeated her lover, mimicking 
 
 E 2
 
 76 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 lier accent, " the blessing of God on you, ma- 
 vourneen ! how purty you turn your tongue to 
 it, scrimeege! boult it out, darlint, scrimmage, 
 Why then if I had, I've plenty of friends, let 
 alone blood relations, that would soon run to 
 you with the wind of the word." 
 
 '* This was not exactly in our bond," con- 
 tinued Margaret, laughing ; " but have you not 
 made love, even once ? Now mind, I said once." 
 
 " Once," repeated Connor, holding his hand- 
 some head on one side, and looking very cun- 
 ning ; " once ! O Margaret, avourneen, you'd 
 look over it onct — a year's a long time — 
 have you no heart in your own sweet bosom ? — 
 och, it's cruel hard you are on me intirely — you 
 would look over it once. 
 
 " Indeed," said Margaret, " I would not." 
 
 " See that now," replied Connor, pretending 
 to look contrite ; " see that now ; well, big and 
 little, old and young, the women bate the Turks 
 for cruelty ; I made love once, and only once, 
 since this time twelvemonths — only once ; put 
 that pout off yer beautiful mouth, it's for all the 
 world like a cobweb over a rose-bud — sure, it 
 was YOURSELF, I made love to, Margaret — 
 yourself, darh'ng, your own sweet self." 
 
 These, and such like observations and confess- 
 ings, passed in the " Rose of Blarney's" garden
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 77 
 
 while Marcus and Flora waited impatiently 
 enough for their appearance at the breakfast- 
 table, where a right substantial dish of thick stir- 
 about, a quart jug of milk, plenty of cream, 
 butter moulded by Flora's rosy fingers, tea, 
 eggs, and oaten cakes, promised an abundant 
 feast. 
 
 Flora had made up her mind that their con- 
 verse had continued quite long enough, when 
 her thoughts, feelings, and amusements, were 
 thrown into a new channel, by the arrival of her 
 Cockney cousin, who entered bearing a portfolio, 
 bag, valise, camp-chair, and telescope, followed 
 by sundry ragged Hibernians, who declared 
 that he had engaged them all to carry his lug-" 
 gage, yet persisted in being his own porter. 
 
 " I ^assure you," said Peter Swan, in the truest 
 of Cockney pronunciations, ** I ^assure you, if 
 you really are my cousin Flora, grown from a 
 little girl into a young woman, that nothing could 
 exceed the ^importunity of those persons ; I sup- 
 pose they come under the denomination of ^ab- 
 origines of the soil, ^original Mrish — they have 
 quite confounded me." 
 
 Flora was enchanted with the appearance of 
 the traveller ; although it was the sunny month 
 of June, a large blue shawl was folded across his 
 chin and tied in front ; the ends had escaped
 
 78 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 from the confinement of a drab great-coat, 
 which was not so closely buttoned but that the 
 edge of a scarlet waistcoat appeared above it, 
 and his little narrow-brimmed (in those days 
 jockey-looking) hat was advanced knowingly 
 over the left eye, so as to form a sort of shade 
 for the wandering orb, whose movements ap- 
 peared quite independent of the other eye. 
 Peter squinted, and that was the distinguishing 
 characteristic of a thin, white countenance, such 
 as very young ladies just escaped from school 
 are in the habit of caWing '' interesting ;'* his 
 forehead was high and dreamy, his hair straight 
 and flaxen, so that he seemed all of one hue : 
 his figure was neat and petite, and his legs 
 covered by a pair of arched boots that were 
 called hessia7i. Contrasted with the wild merry 
 fellows who lounged at the kitchen-door, and 
 who, if disappointed of the job they expected, 
 were resolved not to be cheated out of their 
 laugh— contrasted with such wild-looking serfs, 
 Peter seemed a being of another world, — so 
 meek, so pale, so overloaded with this world's 
 superfluities, and withal so lachrymose, while 
 the peasants, despite their rags, wore smiles 
 upon their lips and merry mischief in their eyes. 
 " You, Larry Kenny," exclaimed Flora, " if 
 you have been playing any tricks upon this
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 79 
 
 cousin of mine, I'll send your mother no more 
 tobacco." 
 
 <' Me ! In troth, Miss Florry, you beauty, 
 I'd shame to do anything of the sort," replied 
 the fellow, grinning; " but the little gintleman 
 wasn't civil, though I tould him I'd go from 
 this to Bantry to sarve him, on account of the 
 house he was coming to ; he bid me go to the 
 down-below place that couldn't be mentioned 
 before you. Miss Florry ; and sure I only made 
 answer that I'd go to heaven if he pleased, and 
 be more out of his way there." 
 
 *' I thought I should have been robbed and 
 murdered," said little Peter, untying his shawl. 
 
 *' Your honour won't be thinking so, and 
 doing injustice to the country, may be, this time 
 twelve-month ; before then, what between the 
 feaver and the 'ructions, and the murders, and 
 the burnings, it's little life, I'm thinking, 
 will be in any of us," and Larry winked very 
 knowingly at his companions, as well as to say, 
 "I'll frighten the little gentleman anyway;' 
 and the merry Irishman succeeded, for the shawl 
 dropped from the traveller's hands. " What !" 
 he exclaimed, looking fearfully at the group, 
 and then at Flora, " what ! and is it really so 
 bad as that ? and those windows look so very
 
 80 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 insecure, and the locks — why, bless my soul ! 
 there are no locks !" 
 
 " Not one," laughed Flora ; " but, never 
 mind, I'll protect you — and those fine fellows 
 (and she pointed to the Irish lazzaroni) they'll 
 protect you — and this very wise and learned 
 young man, Mr. Marcus Roche, so skilled in 
 philosophy, and antiquity, and all the arts, ex- 
 cept the useful ones, he'll protect you — and," 
 she added, turning to the group, " Connor 
 O'Gorman, won't he protect him, boys ?" 
 
 " The finest shillala in the barony — if he'd 
 only use it," exclaimed several voices ; " any 
 way, he has a free heart, a light foot, and 
 is, body and soul, the finest boy in the whole 
 counthry." 
 
 " And here," said Flora, " is a shilling to 
 drink his health, in porter ; now mind you, 
 Larry, it must he in porter — nothing stronger." 
 The gift was followed by a shout of joy at the 
 shilling and a cheer for Connor, and many a 
 sly jest, accompanied by a wish that Miss Florry 
 might have a good husband and soon ; and the 
 ragged regiment scampered off with as much 
 gratitude, and more mirth, than a gift of twenty 
 times the amount would have excited in an 
 English quartette of the same class.
 
 THE GllOVES OF BLARNEV^. 81 
 
 ^' And now, cousin Peter Swan," said Flora, 
 " permit me to tell you you have arrived in ca- 
 pital time, not only to see the superstitious 
 rites, as you call them, of the Irish, but to 
 witness very soon a far more interesting and 
 more ancient ceremony/* 
 
 '' O la !" exclaimed Peter, " I shall be so 
 delighted !" 
 
 " What do you think, Peter, most likely to 
 happen to a young and pretty woman, who has 
 been two years a widow ?" 
 
 "She breaks her heart," said Peter, hanging 
 his head on one side. 
 
 " She does no such thing," exclaimed Flora, 
 gaily ; " she takes another husband." 
 
 " How odd !" said the little Cockney ; " but 
 I hope he is not an Irishman, for I shall consider 
 it, as I wrote, a point of duty to oppose that ; 
 and indeed, Miss Flora, I think one husband 
 enough for any woman/' 
 
 " So it is, at a time,''' replied Flora, " quite 
 enough ; but, you see, Margaret's heart returned 
 to its first love." 
 
 "To me? I was her first love !" sighed 
 Peter. 
 
 " You r laughed Flora, " you, indeed ! she'll 
 be married to one worth ten of you ; a brave, 
 warm-hearted Irishman — she will be in a very, 
 
 E 5
 
 82 THE GROVES OF BLAENEY. 
 
 very little time. Mistress Margaret O'Gor- 
 nian." 
 
 " Oh !" said Peter, *' what a terrible name ; 
 I will put it in my note-book — for the book 
 that I told you of, — it's in a state of great for- 
 wardness." 
 
 " You or the book ?" inquired the saucy 
 Flora. 
 
 " You are very pert, cousin ; but I assure 
 you this portfolio is nearly filled with my tower 
 in search of the picturesque, in the kingdom of 
 Ireland." 
 
 "What, already!" said Flora; "why you 
 only landed at Cove last night." 
 
 " How very ignorant you are on literary 
 matters,'' replied Peter, who felt that it was 
 now his turn to look contemptuously on his 
 cousin. " Towerifts, Miss Flora, always lay in 
 a stock beforehand ; I myself have made the 
 sketches from published prints, altering ad lihi- 
 tum, as we say in the musical world, — placing 
 a tree instead of a cottage, or a cottage instead 
 of a tree, — a man instead of — " 
 
 " A donkey," interrupted the tormenting 
 girl, " or a donkey instead of a man — no great 
 difference, Peter, eh ?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Peter, quite un- 
 conscious of the allusion, " there would be a
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 83 
 
 great difference — exactly the difference we want. 
 No one could say, for instance, that in a land- 
 scape I would be the same thing as a donkey." 
 
 "Perhaps not, in a landscape," replied Flora, 
 by a great effort commanding her countenance, 
 while Marcus, unable to preserve his good man- 
 ners, quitted the room. 
 
 " And, then, no one can say the engraving is 
 copied from a print," persisted Peter. " I make 
 the alteration in my drawing, which is the thing 
 engraved from, and all that ; and the extracts 
 from former tours, you know, can be done as well 
 in London as here ; and then a few new anec- 
 dotes, or real observations, work in beautifully. 
 Messrs. ShufHe and Cut, the great City men, 
 get all their tours done in that way." 
 
 " Then why need you come over at all ?" 
 naturally inquired Flora. 
 
 " Why, really," said Peter, simply, " I don't 
 know, only people won't swallow, Mr. Cut says, 
 all the things that used to go down about Ireland 
 Jong ago; and they like fresh writing — always 
 something fresh. I have undertaken it at great 
 personal risk, but reall}^ one must do something 
 for the good of one's country." 
 
 *' And one's own," put in Flora ; " but here 
 at last come Margaret and her lover. Don't 
 offend him, Peter, his wings are but newly cut,
 
 48 THE GBOVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 and he's a desperate fire-eater — don't offend 
 him." 
 
 After the necessary introductions, and a 
 great deal of banter, the merry party sat down 
 to breakfast. However Connor's conversation 
 with Margaret had ended, he was evidently 
 half-wild with joy, shaking everybody by the 
 hand over and over again, and declaring that 
 on Ireland's ground, be he who he might, 
 there wasn't to be found so happy a fellow as 
 Connor O'Gorman. His sister Alice had joined 
 them, and she looked quiet, and blushing, and 
 awkward, in new finery. And Peter, between 
 his cups of tea and pieces of cake and eggs, and 
 other " creature comforts," became at last 
 warmed into a corresponding feeling of gaiety. I 
 never knew any Englishman long able to with- 
 stand the heartiness of an Irish welcome. Peter 
 did not seem to comprehend why they were so 
 happy, nor to understand what they said, but 
 still he progressed, and even ventured to ask 
 Connor if he would change seats with him, and 
 let him sit next Margaret, which of course was 
 refused ; then he wanted to sit next Flora, but 
 Marcus declared boldly, he had a right to that 
 distinction, which Flora assented to, as Marcus 
 had earned it by mending her whip, worming 
 her dog, and breaking-in her poney : then
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 85 
 
 Marcusbegan a grave explanation of the nature 
 and origin of the round-towers, which every one 
 seems to have written about without under- 
 standing : and Flora interrupted him, by ask- 
 ing her cousin if he had ever leaped a five- 
 barred gate, a feat which Peter said he had never 
 performed but once, when a bull threw him 
 over one in the Petersham meadows, — at which 
 Flora was greatly delighted, and assured him 
 that Irish bulls were famous for long horns, 
 and could almost toss a man by looking at him ; 
 and little Hector, who sat proudly on Connor's 
 knee, told her she ought not to tell fibs ; and 
 then Peter pointed out to Margaret that she 
 ought to give her boy the advantages of an 
 //english education ; and Marcus, with the de- 
 lightful warmth of an Irish patriot, went back 
 to the time of Old Ireland's glory — a time to 
 which the poet makes reference, in one of the 
 most delightful of his poems. 
 
 For high was thy hope when those glories were darting 
 Around thee, through all the gross clouds of the 
 world. 
 
 When Truth, from her fetters indignantly starting. 
 At once, like a sun-burst, her banner unfurl'd, 
 
 and concluded by offering to write Peter an ac- 
 count of the ancient cathedrals, seats of learn- 
 ing, and principal fortresses, with the names of
 
 86 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 the founders and chieftains, at which the tra- 
 veller was much delighted — it having occurred 
 to him, for the first time, that the ruins of 
 Ireland were uot altogether " modern antiques," 
 but the real ruins of a once learned and warlike 
 people. This disquisition was altogether too 
 serious for Connor's joyous feelings; he had 
 made up his mind that he must either quiz the 
 cockney for his amusement, or quarrel with him 
 for his, as he considered it, most impudent de- 
 sign to write a book about what he did not un- 
 derstand : and so he abruptly asked Peter if he 
 would not like to know the names of all the 
 potatoes that ever were planted. Peter, laying 
 down his knife and fork, gravely assured him, 
 that he intended investigating the /^agricultural 
 state of the country, though the chapter there- 
 upon was nearly finished. 
 
 " Finished ! that's nate," said Connor ; " that's 
 the way the counthry's ruined entirely, but any 
 way, here they are" — and with the rapidity 
 of an Irish tongue, which obliged Peter to de- 
 posit his knife and fork on the plate, he began, 
 '* Farmer's glory, red-nosed kidneys, white 
 eyes, lady's fingers, Cork reds, Connaught jum- 
 pers, Wicklow bangers, and Carrigaline beau- 
 ties ; to say nothing of the apples of Kilbouri- 
 shane, the whites of Derry-gortnacloghy, the
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 87 
 
 cups of Knock nadrovvsky, or the reds of Bally- 
 naboulathrasanagh." 
 
 "Stop, stop!" exclaimed Peter; "Irish 
 potatoes are terrible jaw-breakers." 
 
 " No such thing," said Connor, " no such 
 thing ; thim are the potatoes that would crack 
 their own cheeks with laughing at ye. O then, 
 how can you live at all in London, where the 
 potatoes are made of wax, the new eggs out of 
 ould Irish ones, and the milk's pumped from the 
 body of the earth, so that ye can't tell it from 
 water — bathershin !" 
 
 "What's the meaning of bathershin ?" in- 
 quired Peter. 
 
 " It's all one with nabauchlish," said Connor. 
 
 " And what's nabauchlish ?" again asked the 
 cockney. 
 
 " It's just the same as— as — as," laughed 
 Connor, " as thurumpogue." 
 
 " I did not know I was speaking to one 
 learned in the dead languages," observed Peter, 
 with increasing respect. 
 
 " Faith, you may call Irish a dead language, 
 to my sorrow, and morels the pity," said Connor 
 with feeling. And then he whispered Marga- 
 ret, " I must get a rise out of him somehow. 
 Mister Peter, sir, you'll be for seeing the curo- 
 sities — Blarney Castlej built by Oliver Crom-
 
 08 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 well, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and 
 Paddy Blake's echo, — you know what an echo 
 is? Well, this one stops mostly at Killarney 
 — d'ye understand me ? — but before the season 
 sets in at the lakes, she always comes up here, 
 on her own jaunting-car, about Midsummer." 
 Peter, however, laughed at this, and Connor 
 continued, " Ifs as true as that the candle ate 
 the cat ; ask Mistress Margaret if she hasn't 
 often heerd her of a moonlight morning. And 
 ye must go and see Castle Hyde, 
 
 '' Where the trout and the salmon 
 Play at backgammon." 
 
 " O yes," replied the bewildered Peter, '" I 
 will." 
 
 " They are going to have a merry-making a 
 little way off," persisted Connor, " but the grand 
 merry-making is at Gougane-barra ; I'll give 
 ye a real Irish poem, that was made about 
 it. That's too far for you to go to-day, 
 but I'll take you to see Blarney Castle, 
 and get the polishing kiss off the big Irish 
 smoothing-iron, — the Blarney stone — that 'ill 
 make an Englishman civil and sweet even be- 
 fore he's had his dinner. And — but you have 
 seen the Cove of Cork, where Saint Patrick 
 finished the last of the sarpints ; you know the
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 89 
 
 song, maybe; I'll tune it up for you after 
 dinner; but there's no melody in my voice 
 now. It's a gay song; how the blessed saint, 
 betwixt praying and preaching, got rid of every 
 venomous thing in the country — how 
 
 *' The frogs went hop, 
 The toads went flop. 
 Slap-bang into the water— 
 And the snakes committed suicide. 
 To save themselves from slaughter." 
 
 " My dear sir," said Peter, having soberly 
 taken out a set of dandyfied tablets ; *' my dear 
 sir, that's a blunder." 
 
 *' Law, cousin Peter," exclaimed Flora, 
 " how clever you are ! Surely — I see it now — 
 do you perceive it, Marcus ? though the snakes 
 committed suicide, poor dear things ! it did not 
 save them from slaughter." 
 
 " They are not dear, but dangerous things, 
 Miss Flora — very," said Peter ; " I saw one 
 once in the oak copse on Richmond-hill — and 
 I " 
 
 " Ran away," added Flora. 
 
 " I did," said Peter ; " it was ' no go' to meet 
 a snake with its mouth open." 
 
 " Tell Peter the story of the last of the ser- 
 pents," said Margaret ; " it will amuse him 
 while Flora (for our farm-maids are gone to a
 
 90 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 station) removes breakfast. Now, Connor, the 
 last of the serpents." 
 
 " Serpints /" repeated Connor, gaily ; " sar- 
 pints, darlint Margaret ! Sure yer dear voice 
 is low and sweet — tingling new music to my 
 heart and ear, like the summer rain-shower 
 among your garden roses." 
 
 " O la !" thought Peter, " there is so much 
 love-making going on, that, not to be quite out 
 of fashion, I must do some civility to the prim 
 girl, with the red elbows." 
 
 " Tell the story," repeated Margaret, " tell 
 the story, Connor, and don't be foolish, or 1*11 
 retract my promise." 
 
 " Well, I will," answered the lover ; " and, 
 Mr. Peter, it's true enough for your book." 
 
 *' Ye know — but no, ye don't know yet — 
 when the holy saint had drov them all out of 
 Ireland, one big blaguard was too cunning in- 
 tirely for him — devil a stir he'd stir for all the 
 saints in the calendar. Well, if the sarpint was 
 'cute so was St. Patrick, and what does he do 
 but buy a big trunk, and lave it at one end 
 of a forest ; well, my dear, off goes the saint to 
 the other end of it, takes out his breviary, and 
 walks along reading. The sarpint, in coorse, 
 was in the wood, and soon saw his reverence 
 strolling on, and thinking of nothing at all at all
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 91 
 
 but his book ; so, ' Good morrow. Saint Patrick/ 
 says he ; well, with that the saint looks about 
 him with a start, and * Good morrow kindly, sir,' 
 says he. ' It's a walk your taking, I believe,' 
 says the sarpint. ' True for ye,' says St. Pa- 
 trick. ' Well,' says the sarpint, ' as I hav'nt 
 any comarades this present time, I'll go a step 
 with you, St. Patrick,' says he. ' With all the 
 pleasure in Hfe,' says St. Patrick. Well, my 
 dear, on they went together, and a dale of fine 
 talk they had by the same token, till they came 
 to the end of the forest ; wid that St. Patrick 
 gives a start, and ' Och, millia murther,' says 
 he, ' what's that ?' pretending to be grately 
 frightened. ' Arrah, sure it's nothing but a 
 trunk,' says the sarpint. ' Well, it's a mighty 
 big one,' says St. Patrick. ' Big, dy'e call it ?' 
 says the sarpint, ' many's the bigger one I've 
 seen in Cappadocia and the Gracian Isles," says 
 he, 'full o' gould candlesticks and silver forks,' 
 says he." 
 
 "Silver forks P said Peter, "I thought we 
 got them from the French ; that proves their 
 antiquity." 
 
 " That's your business, not mine," replied Con- 
 nor. * Well,' says St. Patrick, 'it's big enough to 
 hould you, any way.' ' 'Tisn't,' says the sarpint.
 
 92 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 •■ Tis ;* says the saint. * I'll bet ye a pot o"* porter 
 'tisn't,' says the sarpint. ' Done,' says St. Pa- 
 trick, — ' and done and done's enough between two 
 gentlemen. So the sarpint gets into the trunk, but 
 the ould rogue laves the ind of his tail outside. 
 ' And now,* says he, ' didn''t I tell ye 'twasn't big 
 enough,' says he, ' don't you see I can't get my 
 tail in.' Well wid that, * Let me see,' says the 
 saint ; and so, my dear, down he flings the cover, 
 and he whips out his key ; and ' I have ye now 
 any way, ye blackguard,' says the saint, says he. 
 'Och, let me out, St. Patrick,' says the sarpint, 
 ' let me out and I'll pay ye yer pot o' porter, 
 like a man,' says he ; but St. Patrick wasn't to 
 be cushogued ; and so he put the trunk upon his 
 shoulders and away he walks with it to the Cove 
 of Cork, and flings it into the sea ; and when 
 the sea's roaring and the big wave's rising, 
 ye may be sartin sure that the sarpint's lashing 
 his tail in the trunk, and bawling to St. Patrick 
 to let him out and take his porter. And now, 
 Mr. Peter Swan, that's the way St. Patrick got 
 rid o' the last o' the sarpints." 
 
 " Now, Connor," said Margaret, when the 
 story was finished, " away to the castle, and 
 then Peter Swan will be back time enough to 
 go to the pattern with Flora and Marcus."
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 93 
 
 " And leave you tete-a-tete with Connor,'* 
 whispered Flora to Margaret, slyly. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Ogreman, I am ready," said 
 Peter. 
 
 I wish I could portray the look of proud in- 
 dignation which Connor called up at what he 
 considered the profane pronunciation of his 
 name, as looking unutterable things at the cock- 
 ney, he replied, slowly and emphatically, "My 
 name's O'Gorman, sir!" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, but really the name 
 is so hard to pronounce," said Peter; and 
 fumbling in his pocket, he produced his tablets, 
 and commenced writing ' o G R E.' " 
 
 " No, no," interrupted Margaret ; " that 
 would be making an ogre of him, cousin — 
 O ' G O R." 
 
 " Sir," again interrupted Connor, who was 
 looking over his shoulder, "it is not with a 
 fairy o, like that, you are to begin my name, 
 but with an O that will look as big as a swan's 
 egg in a wren's nest ! Shew me, I'll write it 
 for you, though I never did write upon such 
 things as these before." 
 
 " I see, I see — thankye," said Peter, " Mr. 
 O^Gorman," and he pronounced the name de- 
 liberately ; " but I say, now, my good fel- 
 low " 
 
 " He's a terrible fire-eater," whispered Flora
 
 94 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 to her cousin, who nodded his head, as much 
 as to say, " Thank ye for the remennbrance," 
 and continued — 
 
 " My good fellow — now — I assure you — I 
 mean you no disrespect — none in the world — 
 but the very best of us are liable to mistakes. 
 So I only hope — I will do what I can to avoid 
 mistakes— but I do hope, if I should, instead 
 of your right name, call you Ogreman, that 
 you will not be angry." 
 
 " Nor must you be angry either," said Con- 
 nor, " if I too make a mistake, and instead of 
 Swan, call you goose, ^"^ 
 
 And after some more laughter, they both 
 departed to view the beautiful ruins of Blarney 
 Castle. Connor thought he had forgotten 
 something — his handkerchief, or his stick — 
 anything or nothing — simply that he might re- 
 turn to say a few sweet words to Margaret, 
 who, seeing Flora, and Marcus, and his sister 
 in the garden, he knew was quite alone. He 
 found her in tears, but drew from her the con- 
 fession, that they were tears of joy. He as- 
 sured her he would return in little more than 
 an hour, and then they would talk over the 
 plans and prospects of the future. 
 
 *' I am like a giant, Margaret — strong, not 
 only in resolve, but in action." 
 
 " Dear Connor, do not trust too much to
 
 THE GKOVES OF BLARNEY. 95 
 
 your strength," gently counselled Margaret ; 
 " it is ever dangerous. I have heard wise 
 people say, that when we fancy ourselves most 
 strong, we may be most weak. Even my last 
 promise was conditional !" 
 
 " Why tell me that ? Now, do you think, 
 after the past year's trial, I could fail ? Lord 
 bless you, if I was floating in a sea of whiskey, 
 which you say is the father and mother of mis- 
 chief, and my eyes and ears were mouths, do you 
 think one of them would turn traitor, and take 
 a drop? not they. I*m strong, Margaret, 
 strong as the seven champions of Christendom," 
 exclaimed he, as he quitted his betrothed. 
 
 Alas ! poor Connor !
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 Time out of mind the vaults under Blarney 
 Castle have been the resort of wanderers — whe- 
 ther beggars, smugglers, or raparees, it matters 
 not ; it is more than probable that persons who, 
 like the bats and owls, sought refuge among 
 the ruins, combined all characters, as inclination 
 or necessity prompted. I have seldom known 
 an Irish ruin without tenants in but too perfect 
 keeping with the place. Sometimes a shed built 
 with the crumbling materials of an old monas- 
 tery crouches between two buttresses, or finds 
 support against the walls of a refectory, where 
 once the wassail and the song sounded when the 
 prayer was finished. Its inmates are either a 
 young starving family — the father, perhaps,
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 97 
 
 hay-making or harvesting in England, while 
 the mother and children beg throughout the 
 neighbourhood, and retire at night to the deso- 
 late shelter, where, shivering with cold, they 
 listen to the winds sighing above the graves, or 
 the sharp whistling of the storm through the 
 tottering ruins ; or, perchance, some half idiot 
 will rush screaming from his hiding-hole, or 
 creep, mummering and jibbering, like an ape, 
 to your feet, and crouch and crawl, to excite 
 your charity. 
 
 The visitors — for they were only such — to the 
 vaults of Blarney, whom I am about to de- 
 scribe, were neither hungry children nor drivel- 
 ling idiots. It is still believed that subterra- 
 neous passages extend far beneath the waters, 
 and that many used to assemble there who dared 
 not walk abroad in daylight, and who found the 
 damp concealment of the vaults exceedingly 
 serviceable in their time of need. Smugglers 
 stowed away many things in perfect safety 
 within their recesses ; and the gentlemen who 
 wanted foreign spirits without paying duty, 
 were generally able to procure what they re- 
 quired through the instrumentality of the 
 Griffin, or some equally skilful agent. Many 
 scores of gallons of mountain-dew were con- 
 cealed under the loose stones and dried herbs 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 which appeared, to the eyes of those whom cu- 
 riosity tempted only to a partial glance through 
 the vaults of Blarney, as nothing but heaps of 
 withered grass; and, moreover, the persons 
 most interested in concealment, always managed 
 to have some half-witted knave in their secret, 
 who had sufficient cunning to draw off the at- 
 tention of those whom a spirit of inquiry might 
 lead to a more minute investigation of the sub- 
 terraneous ruins than would have been consis- 
 tent with the safety of the speculators in illegal 
 practices. 
 
 While all was mirth and jollity in the cottage 
 of the fair young widow, a group of very diffe- 
 rent character were cowering (though the month 
 was June) over the embers of an expiring fire, 
 in a compartment of the vaults from whence a 
 long narrow passage, now probably stopped up, 
 communicated with the Giant Stairs in the Rock 
 Close. 
 
 The chamber was low and extensive ; a mas- 
 sive arch divided it in the centre, and at the 
 extreme end, an opening, into which any full- 
 grown person must stoop to enter, led to 
 apartments more obscure; the heavy atmo- 
 sphere clung round the walls like shrouds, 
 and veiled the distance, while a strong and 
 powerful column of light, entering from a long
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 99 
 
 fissure in the wall, shot athwart the gloom 
 of the farthest division, and rendered the dark- 
 ness more intense. 
 
 An iron pot was suspended from a triangle 
 formed by three wattles above the fire, and a 
 tall man was seated with his back to the pillar 
 of light I have endeavoured to describe, while 
 his face, upon which the fire glared, looked 
 fierce and sullen ; he was engaged in fitting a 
 flint to the lock of a long rifle, and took a great 
 deal of pains to pick, from aheap by his side, one 
 that would fit it exactly. As he bent to the fire 
 you saw that the outline of his face was bold and 
 expressive, the features more high than is ob- 
 servable in the generality of Irish countenances, 
 and his complexion and hair justified his sou- 
 briquet of the Rhu, or red. He was known 
 throughout the country as Ulick Rhu O'Sulli- 
 van, or Red Ulick, and he has already been 
 noticed as an old admirer of Margaret Lee's. 
 Ulick was one of those whom a little more of 
 any of his many different qualities would 
 have made either a good or a bad man. As 
 it was, he continued what circumstances made 
 him. Like his rival, Connor, he was the de- 
 scendant of an ancient family, and his great- 
 great-grandfather could stand on the top of one of 
 his own mountains and see no land that did not 
 
 F 2
 
 100 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 call him master; but — the old story over again 
 — the family had been ruined by politics and 
 extravagance, and what was spared by the one 
 was destroyed by the other. 
 
 Ulick Rhu, at the age of thirty-five, was a 
 malcontent — a smuggler — but still a chief 
 amongst " his people," for the poor Irish — God 
 bless them for it, it is a right noble virtue — are 
 never driven from their allegiance to their an- 
 cient friends by poverty. Had Ulick been of 
 sufficient consequence, he would have been out- 
 lawed ; as it was, during the past seven or eight 
 months, it would not have been wise for him to 
 have shown his face in the broad daylight in 
 Cork, or Mallow, or Kinsale, or anywhere, in 
 fact, where the laws were enforced, which it is 
 difficult to do amongst the fastnesses of the 
 Bograh mountains, or indeed in any moun- 
 tainous district. Ulick O'Sullivan and Connor 
 O'Gorman had been foes, as they say in Ireland, 
 " before they were born ;"" their factions had 
 disagreed and fought it out, year after year, at 
 every hurling-match, at every fair, wake, pat- 
 tern, and merry-making throughout the country. 
 For some time, however, a cessation of hostili- 
 ties on the part of their respective leaders had 
 caused a temporary peace amongst the subordi- 
 nates. O'Gorman's resolve not to fight, and the
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 101 
 
 impossibility of Ulick's being seen during day- 
 light in the lowland and public places resorted to 
 by Connor's friends, contributed to keep the 
 peace, and more than one magistrate prided him- 
 self upon a tranquillity which proceeded from any 
 cause rather than the exercise of legal authority. 
 Ulick O'Sullivan, when he had fitted the flint, 
 proceeded to inspect the contents of a basket, 
 that was filled with cordage, snares, large 
 rounds of cork, and many nondescript things, 
 which, however, had their uses ; and all the time 
 he maintained a surly silence, although our old 
 acquaintance, the Griffin, sat opposite to him, 
 smoking her pipe, and winking her eye at every 
 pufF that rose upwards. There was another, 
 and far more interesting object leaning against a 
 pile of wood, which, most probably, had been 
 dragged there to provide firing for those who 
 resorted to the place ; a small, slight girl, 
 whose long, brightj auburn hair, resembling 
 the coolan* of Ulick, told that she was an 
 O'Sullivan of the same family ; and the expres- 
 sion of her energetic features, which were sel- 
 dom at rest, told another tale — that her mind 
 was wild and wavering; her hair was parted on 
 her low, white forehead, and descended over her 
 shoulders and below her waist in heavy tresses ; 
 a blue shawl was crossed over her bosom and tied 
 * Long hair.
 
 102 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 behind, and her small feet and ankles were co- 
 vered with light blue stockings, protected by the 
 sahot looking shoes, which did not prevent her 
 running with the grace and swiftness of a wild 
 roe. Her employment, for she was never idle, 
 was spinning coarse tow from a distaff; the 
 movement of her arms, bare almost to the 
 shoulder, her attitude, and the lightness of her 
 figure, had much that was picturesque, if not 
 classic, in its appearance. The three singular 
 beings associated together in the vaults of Blar- 
 ney Castle, had remained a long time silent — 
 the Griffin meditating, as usual, on gain and 
 mischief — Ulick's countenance betraying that 
 many contending feelings agitated his mind — 
 while Aileen's silent smiles and muttered words 
 at last broke into song. Her voice was low and 
 sweet, and ever and anon it would rise into a 
 strain of fervour, which always speaks to the 
 heart : — 
 
 SONG. 
 
 He tells me he loves me, andean I believe 
 The heart he has won, he would wish to deceive ? 
 For ever and always his sweet words to me. 
 Are Aileen ma vourneen, a cuishla machree. 
 
 Last night, when we parted, his gentle good-bye, 
 A thousand times said, and each time with a sigh. 
 And still the same sweet words he whispered to me. 
 Were Aileen ma vourneen, a cuishla machree.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 103 
 
 The friend of my childhood, the hope of my youth, 
 Whose heart is all pure and whose words are all truth, 
 Oh ! still the same sweet words he whispers to me. 
 Are Aileen ma vourneen, a cuishla machree. 
 
 Oh ! when will the day come, the blest happy day, 
 When a maiden may hear all a lover can say. 
 And he speaks out the words he now whispers to me. 
 My Aileen ma vourneen, a cuishla machree ? 
 
 " It's a wonder to me, Misther Ulick," said 
 the Griffin, when Aileen's song was finished, 
 "it's a wonder to me how that craythur picks 
 up the songs and keeps them in her head, that 
 can keep nothing else in it, from the fine 
 English songs, all lulleholaro, with their grand 
 flurishes and solfaggios, as we say on the Con-" 
 tinint, to the very scraps that have been trotting 
 over the mountains and bogs of Ireland ever 
 since I was the height of a knitting-needle, that 
 craythur has them at every end." 
 
 " She has, poor thing V replied Ulick, raising 
 his eyes from the basket, and turning his head 
 towards his sister, while an expression of posi- 
 tive tenderness stole over his harsh features; 
 " she has a wonderful janious entirely for 
 music, and, at times, mother, believe me, un- 
 derstands more than people think. She follows 
 me about like a dog, and I often think I'm hard 
 upon her ; she can't bear to see me load a musket
 
 104 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 ever since her sister, (a hard and hot bed to those 
 who did it, and that to all eternity !) was killed 
 in the scrimmage five years agone, and she had 
 sense enough to carry the body as good as a 
 mile, that it mightn''t be known poor Una fol- 
 lowed the boy she loved into the thick of the 
 ruction. Aileen, come to Ulick ;" he added, 
 and the poor girl obeyed him with the sly and 
 sideling air of a timid child who is not quite 
 certain whether it is to be petted or punished. 
 She advanced to Ulick's side, dropped on her 
 knees, and placed her small head under the 
 large bony hand he had extended to her, mur- 
 muring " Poor Aileen, poor Aileen !" in a tone 
 that would have melted a heart of stone. 
 Ulick passed his fingers through the long 
 tresses of her hair, and then resting his hand on 
 her forehead looked in her face. 
 
 " Poor Aileen, poor Aileen !" she repeated, 
 adding, " don't strike poor Aileen, don't strike 
 poor Aileen." 
 
 " I never strike ye but when ye bother me, 
 and then Pm sorry afther," replied Ulick. 
 
 *'What else can ye do," said the Griffin, 
 " when she does bother ye, following ye about 
 like a shadow ? she must be a great trouble to 
 ye entirely, up in the mountains and down in the 
 valleys."
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 105 
 
 There were some warm natural feelings still 
 alive in Ulick*s breast, for he answered, " I tell ye 
 what, ould deviFs dam, I've seen something about 
 ye more than once I don't like; youVe no nature 
 in ye — to be sure you've nothing to be natural 
 to, there's something in that ; I have nothing 
 but this poor girl, who, through wind and rain, 
 and trouble, and shame, and bodily danger, and 
 poverty, follows me, with her innocent, gentle, 
 loving ways, and her bits o"* songs, and lights 
 the little reason the Lord has given her, for my 
 good, as she thinks it ; and yet, my poor sisther, 
 I've forgot I was a man, and struck her more 
 than once — but if I did I struck my own heart 
 too, and bittherly it ached for it afther. 
 
 "Oh! ohr laughed the Griffin; and the 
 laugh, so unjoyous, so unearthly, seemed to 
 congeal on the old walls. Aileen crept closer to 
 her brother, and looked imploringly in his face. 
 
 " I wonder," said the Griffin, " you don't ship 
 for the Amirikees : what is there in one's pat hree, 
 as the Frinch shouts about, to keep ye here ? 
 All the time Connor O'Gorman has been parley- 
 vouing the widow, you've been on the batther, 
 and, by rason of the reports spread about ye, 
 not altogether liking to be foremost before Mr- 
 Sunlight, and now, why every one says they'll 
 be married before the week's out" 
 
 F 5
 
 106 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 O'Sullivan started from his seat and swore a 
 deep and bitter oath that they never should. 
 " If you had not quarrelled with him through 
 your foolish temper," he continued, " you might 
 have got round him, and managed to make him 
 break the coward's oath he took — she'd never 
 have had him then." 
 
 " I niver see the man I could not get round, 
 whether ould or young," replied the Griffin, tak- 
 ing the pipe out of her mouth, and winking her 
 eye more vigorously than ever, though she did 
 not perceive the glare of intense anxiety with 
 which Aileen listened to her words. " I nivir 
 see the man I could not get rowndi^ if it was 
 worth my while ; but there's not many men now 
 going that is— the spirit's took out of them, and 
 they're afeerd of this, and afeerd of that. Ulick 
 O'Sullivan, wasn't it to you (or, whafs as good, 
 to your people, only one or two bits of hundred 
 years ago,) that every trout and salmon, buck 
 and doe, field and rock, bog and hill, house and 
 castle, to be seen from the top of Bograh 
 mountain, belonged ? Didn't ye tell me, and I 
 here ever so long waiting for the rendyvous you 
 promised me, didn't you yourself tell me you 
 were afraid to set the mountain-still at work 
 again, and so many of the finest boys in the 
 counthry dying alive with the druth for want of
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 107 
 
 a sup of the rale thing, which nothing, nor no 
 one on Ireland's ground can turn off but yerself 
 — and yet, ye*r afeared to break the law agin, 
 after what's been said, and what's out afther ye ; 
 sure you know, as well as I can tell ye, that it's 
 not by the law you'll live ; and you know that if 
 you were to turn out quiet and dacent, with yer 
 bow and yer tythe to the parson, and yer rint, 
 for the acres yer grandfather owned, and takeoff 
 yer hat to every English spalpeen that comes 
 over to live by beggarly trade — I say, if you war 
 to turn out that way, instead of being hunted 
 and playing at hide-and-seek," — her eloquence 
 was interrupted by Aileen's voice, singing a line 
 of the old Blarney song, 
 
 " Like cats and badgers underground." 
 
 " True for ye, dear ; and, Ulick, if ye for- 
 get, as ye seem to be doing, that you war once 
 a BRINE-OGE, with the spirit of tin men in ye, 
 who'd give ye credit for it ? They'd say the law 
 tamed ye — the law tamed ye;" and again her 
 scornful laugh rang through the vaults. " Why 
 do ye stay in the counthry if yer afeard to turn 
 a penny ?" 
 
 « That's thrue," replied Ulick, " but my 
 heart clings to the ould places ; and though the 
 O'Sullivan counthry has been parted among 
 strangers, and I, the last, all as one as an out-
 
 108 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 cast in my native land, yet, somehow, I can't 
 leave it ; and though, to be sure, the scent lies 
 altogether another way now, I shouldn't like to 
 be sent away in disgrace for that Still." 
 
 " Then stay here," retorted the Griffin, re- 
 plenishing her pipe ; " stay here — the place of 
 all others you ought to shun — and hear the 
 people crying, ' O'Gorman aboo !' Maybe 
 (you've a nate foot on the flure) you'd take a 
 step at their wedding." 
 
 ** Curses bitther and black on yer aggra- 
 vating tongue," exclaimed Ulick, thoroughly 
 roused, for with all his fire, he had the natural 
 indolence of an Irishman ; " I can bear any- 
 thing but that. My name's as good — better 
 than his ! I have not, like him, been tamed 
 into a cottage chicken — I have lived bould, and 
 what the Sassenach calls bad — a mountain life : 
 I have speared the salmon, snared the wild ani- 
 mals, and turned the grain — " 
 
 " I wish to the Lord, you'd take to it again," 
 interrupted the tramper ; " where's the good of 
 your stivering about the place that-a-way, like 
 a mountebank — a ' home de joo,^ as the Frinch 
 says— frightening the life out of Aileen, and 
 bothering me, with yer play-acting ways ; look 
 now, and think of it ; I know yer heart and 
 soul was wrapped up in that whey-faced, toss-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 109 
 
 me-head widdy, that always looks as if it's con- 
 descending she is, when she ates a patatee ; and 
 I know this minute it would do yer heart good 
 to tare Connor CGorman from stem to starn, 
 as we say at sea, and ye'd rather hear the 
 stones rattle on her coffin-lid, and see the long 
 red earth-worms and slimy slugs on her lips 
 than his kisses." 
 
 " I believe," muttered Ulick, " you are 
 right." 
 
 ** Well," she added, " if you can manage 
 with yer own boys to set the Still going, and are 
 rasonable, and let me have what I want, on 
 the terms we talked about, why, FU put it so, 
 that Connor O'Gorman and Margaret Lee are 
 never married. Twenty or fifteen years ago, it 
 would have been nothing but whip her up, and 
 whip her off— but it's different now." 
 
 " I was thinking of a way myself," said 
 Ulick, in the same fearful undertone, and 
 almost unconsciously laying his hand on his 
 musket. 
 
 " Never do that," observed the Griffin ; " if 
 you can help it, never do that — ye'r too fond en- 
 tirely of it in this country." 
 
 " This counthry !" repeated Ulick ; " why, 
 what counthry do you belong to ?"
 
 110 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 '* O this to be sure," replied the woman ; 
 " sure, and why wouldn't I belong to it ?" 
 
 " Fm not sure of it, for whenever you can, 
 you have a way of your own, of hitting it a 
 slap." 
 
 " Its faults, ye mane," replied the woman, 
 with an increased brogue. *' Its faults; yet 
 Fm a thrue pathriot; I stick to the sod; I'm 
 not like thim that spinds all they have in making 
 hon voyage ; and I'm as fit for one counthry as 
 the other." 
 
 " All the same," replied Ulick, with a half- 
 laugh ; " as fit for the rope as the rifle." 
 
 " Bad cess to you, ye gallows bird," ex- 
 claimed the virago. 
 
 " There, there," said Ulick, " I never saw 
 anything like you — you won't take an innocent 
 joke. But I'll tell ye what — this Connor — we 
 both hate him." 
 
 " Heart and soul !" replied the Griffin ; « Fd 
 go farther, for nothing, to hurt or harm Connor, 
 than I'd do to hurt or harm any living thing, and 
 that's saying a great deal ; indeed, Ulick, I've 
 no tenderness for the English widdy either, but 
 setting a case, that you'll do what I spoke to 
 you about, see if I don't set a cross between 
 them they'll not readily get over."
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY HI 
 
 " I'd peril my life to prevent their marriage," 
 said Ulick. " What she can see in him I can't 
 tell — some cliarm was over her ; nor can / see 
 how you can get round him, and his hate and 
 his faction, both so strong, and the glass you 
 shivered, and all." 
 
 " It's by the manes of the glass I'll do it — 
 see that now ! And I'll lose no more time, but 
 go out and reconnightshere, as the Frinch says, 
 and come back to you ; and keep close ; and," 
 she added, in a whisper, " keep her close, for 
 she's been listening, with her mouth open, to 
 every word we have said, which I don't quite 
 like." And then she whispered something in 
 Ulick's ear which made him start, and lifting 
 her basket on her arm, left the brother and sis- 
 ter alone. 
 
 The Griffin was right in her supposition that 
 Aileen had heard, and in some degree under- 
 stood, every word that had been spoken ; but 
 when Ulick looked round on her, she seemed 
 perfectly unconscious, twisting her spindle to 
 the low burring noise she made with her lips, 
 which occasionally wandered into the air of 
 some popular song, or a few wild notes of her 
 own. With her natural quickness, she saw 
 that her brother was observing her movements, 
 and twirling her spindle more rapidly than
 
 112 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 usual, she sung a passage from one of Cardan's 
 sweet melodies. 
 
 " One fine Sunday morning devoted to be 
 Attentive to a sermon that was ordered for me, 
 I met a fresh rose, on the road by decree. 
 And though mass was my notion, my devotion was 
 she." 
 
 Ulick had not long leisure to observe her 
 movements, for his attention was arrested by 
 hearing the Griffin call out loudly to some one 
 intent on reaching the Blarney stone. He 
 listened, and heard her exclaim, " Take care 
 of yerself, Misther Connor, for though I've not 
 heard the pleasant sound of yer voice this many 
 a day, still I'd be grieved ye broke yer neck 
 that-a-way." 
 
 " And then, from the extremity of the build- 
 ing, Ulick heard the voice of his rival, in bet- 
 ter-tempered reply than he had anticipated, 
 " You're as bad a sight as a single magpie, ye 
 ne''er-do-well that you are ; and only I swore 
 nothing should come amiss to me this blessed 
 day, it's not answering you civilly I'd be, — but 
 it's no matther." 
 
 " Forget and forgive," shouted the Griffin ; 
 while Ulick, looking along the wide fissure 
 through which the light streamed at the other
 
 THE GROVES OF BLAllXEY. 113 
 
 end of the vault, saw that Connor was assisting 
 a stranger, whom we recognise as Peter Swan, 
 along the broken parapet. Instigated by the 
 worst passions of his revengeful nature, he 
 seized his musket, and leant upon it, uncertain 
 how to act ; and then he heard the woman add, 
 " I was going to wish all at the BeeVNest joy, 
 and to show you, my grief, I've got a duc-an- 
 durras glass, which I meant to give Masther 
 Marcus for you, Misther Connor ; it has won- 
 derful ould letters on it, and is a rale curiosity ; 
 there's them would give goold for it ; but I'm 
 failing fast, with no one to look to me, and 
 meant to have been at Lough Derg this 
 blessed midsummer on account of the penance 
 and the relief I expect from the holy well, but 
 couldn't, because of the wakeness. Still, I've 
 began to make my soul, like a good Catholic, 
 as I hope I am ; and you, Misther Connor, 
 will be friends, I'm sure, and not put yer 
 weight of ill-will on the back of my other sins, 
 God help me !" 
 
 During the latter part of this speech, which 
 was delivered in an hypocritical whine, Ulick 
 had raised his gun, and let it down, more than 
 once. Again he laid it to his shoulder, but his 
 lip quivered — the strong desire to destroy was 
 on him, and yet other feelings held him back
 
 114 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 from such terrific sin. Aileen had watched his 
 movements from behind the arch with intense 
 anxiety, sometimes springing forward, and then 
 drawing back, as if she feared to thwart his 
 humour. After glaring upwards for another 
 instant, he placed his finger on the trigger, and 
 not till then did his sister rush forward, and 
 with a shrill convulsive cry, throw herself on 
 his arm, so as utterly to prevent his harming 
 Connor, if such was really his intention. With 
 all the violence of his ill-governed temper, he 
 flung the poor girl from him. 
 
 " Fool !" he exclaimed, " I did but try its 
 weight." He was ashamed of his own baseness, 
 and sought to apologise for it, even to a crea- 
 ture who was hardly capable of comprehending 
 the meaning of his words. Aileen's shriek, 
 however, recalled the tramper to the vaults. 
 
 "Are ye all mad ?''"' she exclaimed ; " Connor 
 has heard the noise, has left the whey-faced 
 Sassenach he was cochering with, to make the 
 best way he can through the castle, and will be 
 down in a jiffy to search the vaults. Leave her 
 here, and make yer way to the wather." 
 
 " No," replied Ulick ; " why should I shun 
 him ? I'll stay here." 
 
 " Then manage yer own business yer own 
 way," she answered. There are half-a-dozen
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 115 
 
 Peelers near the bridge, and the Englishman 
 that's with Connor will be humoured by seeing 
 a wild Irish hunt, afther a wild Irishman. 
 Stay, by all means." 
 
 Ulick took his musket, and entered one of the 
 secret passages, just as Connor's good-humoured 
 face peeped like the sun through a cloud into 
 the gloom of the cavern. 
 
 "O Misther Connor," exclaimed the Griffin,— 
 falsehood coming more readily to her lips than 
 truth, — " it's proud I'm to see you. I only left 
 this misfortunatecrathur here to watch the morsel 
 of pickled pork I was biling, with a head of 
 cabbage, to keep my midsummer, on account of 
 the wakeness that's over me, and she got fright- 
 ened, ye see. What did ye get frightened at, 
 ye darlint .?" she continued to the trembling 
 Aileen. " Maybe she saw — Lord save us ! — 
 the spirit that walks the waters to watch the 
 jewels in the lake, or— but what was it, 
 Aileen ?" 
 
 " It's poor Aileen O'Sullivan," said the gen- 
 tle-hearted Connor. " Poor Aileen, who has no 
 sense to answer— none ! Why, then, Aileen, 
 gra ! You're like the monthly roses that climb 
 the Bee's-Nest ; they're beautiful to look at, but 
 they have no scent; the perfume of sense
 
 116 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 and feeling is wanting in ye— and yet maybe 
 not feeling — for there's feeling in that blue eyet 
 wild and blue. Do you know me, Aileen ?" 
 
 Aileen advanced a step or two towards him, 
 and clasping her hands, sung a few lines of a 
 beautiful old Irish song, which admirably de- 
 scribed our hero— 
 
 " My Connor ! his cheeks are as ruddy as morn. 
 The whiteness of pearls do but mimic his teeth, 
 
 While nature's own beauty his brow doth adorn. 
 His hair Cupid's bowstrings, and roses his breath." 
 
 " Ah Aileen, you havn't forgot me, I see — 
 you'd make me conceated, avourneen, if I'd 
 mind ye ; for ever and always that was your 
 song to me ; but I say, Mother Griffin, what 
 enchantment are ye afther down here ? like the 
 
 Comely eels in the verdant mud, 
 
 this is a quare place to choose, out of the day 
 light that's enough to renew the heart of man." 
 
 " Misther Connor, have ye forgot and for- 
 gave .^" inquired the Griffin. " That's what my 
 heart's set on." 
 
 " Why, yes," said the unsuspecting Connor, 
 " to be sure I have ; didn't ye say you were 
 sorry, and what more could you do, if you had 
 cut my throat, than ask my pardon afther, which
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 117 
 
 you should have; I'd scorn to keep enmity 
 against a woman,'' and he extended his hand, 
 which the old traitress took and muttered some 
 words, whose import did not reach his ear, for 
 Aileen continued her song, 
 
 " Smiling', beguiling." 
 
 " Never heed any more of the music, now, 
 Aileen," said Connor, " though ye're the sweet- 
 est bird that ever came off the red branch to 
 which you belong;" but still she repeated, 
 " Smiling, beguiling" — 
 
 " Don't ye hear ? That's enough of yer 
 gosthering," said the beldame, angrily ; and the 
 poor girl instinctively crept to Connor's side, as 
 before she had done to her brother's. 
 
 " I've got the glass here," persisted Mrs. 
 Griffin, letting her voice fall again into a low 
 whine ; " I've got it here, dear, though 
 it's but a small reparation ; but the temper, 
 dear, and the could and the losses I meets with, 
 the mauvais soojets I finds; and sure if ye 
 think I made your purty sisther pay too dear 
 for the crooked comb, I'll give her one for no- 
 thing, that I will. My sins, dear, hang heavy 
 about me — " 
 
 " Confession, confession ! 
 Then go to the priest to confession,"
 
 118 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 sung Aileen. " And you, Connor, think of the 
 boy that walked ten mile, yet broke his poor 
 shins over a pebble, a pebble," and she looked 
 earnestly in his face. 
 
 The tramper cast a long glance from the cor- 
 ner of her eye at the girl, but before she turned 
 her head to do so, the expression of Aileen's 
 face had changed, and she kept repeating, — 
 " A pebble, a pebble." 
 
 " She has no wit, the poor thing, — but here's 
 the glass, Masther Connor, here's the glass," she 
 continued, pulling out what had been intended 
 for a very different purpose ; and Connor saw 
 one of those rare glasses, which are the delight of 
 an Irish antiquarian ; several Irish letters were 
 graven on it, and Connor was pleased to observe 
 the crest of the Macarthie More on one side. 
 " But it's not the one our people prized," said he, 
 returning it to the woman, " so I don't want it." 
 
 The Griffin knew full well that the only way 
 to work upon Connor was to excite his sympa- 
 thies, — to make him pity her, for he had no 
 mean vices to work upon. 
 
 " But, O Misther Connor, sure you'll ease my 
 mind, — you'll ease my mind ; I'm in misery be- 
 cause of the ill I did ye, unknowledgeable, to 
 be sure, but still it was ill, and I know it ; it 
 will be purty for the darlint that won't be a
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 119 
 
 widdy long; and Marcus Roche will jump sky 
 high for it, why not ? — And O, if you'd only see 
 the corjial in it, I don't mane whiskey ; if you 
 believe me, Misther Connor, I have not put a 
 drop of the nasty stuff inside my lips for many 
 a day ; I confine myself intirely to this corjial;" 
 and she drew a flask from her capacious pocket, 
 " intirely to this ; it's so warming, and cheering, 
 and joyoose, as the Frinch says, a fine thing, 
 intirely. 
 
 " What is it ?" asked Connor. 
 
 " The foundation of it is wather ; and cloves, 
 and nooyoo, and a thrifle of brandy; but in 
 coorse you don't dare to touch it, for fear of 
 gainsaying the purty one you know of. Well, 
 don't. O sorra a taste of it I'll give ye, not a 
 drop ; sure I know you darn't touch it. It's 
 the mixture the grate Frinch generals drank, 
 and they have such an objection to strong wa- 
 thers, that you might know it was as mild as 
 new milk." 
 
 Connor, like all men, wished to show that 
 he was not afraid of a woman. One may be 
 certain that a man's chains press him tightly 
 when he asserts that he never was enchained 
 in his life. 
 
 " The pebble, the pebble," sung Aileen, but
 
 120 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 she was not heeded. Connor's spirits were at 
 the highest ; he was full of mirth, of glee, of 
 confidence, of affection for the whole world ; he 
 would, that Midsummer morning, have em- 
 braced all the foes he had on earth, and 
 sportively saying, that though he never meant 
 to have anything to say to the whiskey, he had 
 taken no oath against brandy-and-water, he 
 put the flask to his mouth and quaffed right 
 heartily. 
 
 " It's strong enough though,"" he said, "strong 
 enough though, ould woman ; and now, shake 
 hands, and I'll get Mistress Margaret to for- 
 give ye ; and if ye war to die, ye thraitor, I'd 
 see there was no want of tea and tobacco at your 
 funeral, though I intend to set the back of my 
 hand against whiskey now, and for evermore, 
 amen ! But I say it was strong." 
 
 " It's the wonder of the world, how the taste 
 of it can be changed, and the colour too," said 
 the tram per, who had changed one flask for 
 another of the compounds she carried about her 
 for chance customers; I'll put some bleaching 
 carraways in this, and instead of a pink, it'll 
 shine out a bright amber ; I've puzzled many 
 of the gentry with my skill, my connysense^ as 
 the Frinch calls it, that way, for Irish gentle-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 121 
 
 man aren't knowlegable about any spirit but 
 the one; just put that to ye'r lips and taste the 
 differ ; it's a dale waker than the last.*" 
 
 " Not a dew-drop in it, none of the mountain, 
 eh ?" inquired Connor. 
 
 " O, 'pon my sowl ! sure it*s not chating 
 ould soldiers with gingerbread I'd be trying 
 not I ; it's yerself would soon find me out." 
 
 " It is weaker, for a certainty," replied Con- 
 nor, after drinking, " and very curious — " 
 
 " Weaker," muttered the hag, as she topsy- 
 turvied her basket, " it's three times as strong, 
 only they always fancy the last the weakest." 
 
 " ni tell ye what I'll do," said Connor, "if 
 this glass really belonged to the Macarthie, I'm 
 sure Marcus Roche would like to have it ; and 
 whatever the value of it is, I will pay ye, and 
 that is a great complement entirely, after the 
 way you trated me ; but that's past, and all bad 
 blood pass with it. I've said it, and so now, 
 good-bye to ye, and a more pleasant lodging 
 the next you fancy." 
 
 " Ah, it's yerself was ever and always gene- 
 rous, as I said to those that talked to-day about 
 the way you suffered thim blaguard O'Sullivans 
 — ^" but the instant that Aileen heard the epi- 
 thet applied to the name of her beloved brother 
 she sprang wildly forward, and twirling her 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 distaff round her head while the flax streamed 
 from it like a pennon, she danced and shouted, 
 " Huroo for O'Sullivan ! huroo for O'SuUivan !" 
 Her imagination was thrown into a new channel ; 
 she darted under one of the low arches, and, like 
 a spirit, disappeared in the darkness. 
 
 '* Poor thing, she's wilder than ever !" said 
 the generous Connor. 
 
 " Ay, poor gra girl ; but I was sore-hearted 
 when I heard the counthry say, how you suf- 
 fered thim blaguard O'SuUivans to put upon 
 poor Monica Murphy, who, though now she's 
 laying forenint her own door in the gripe of the 
 ditch, has seen good days, and was married in 
 her youth to Jonas Murphy, who was own bro- 
 ther to a boy who married ye'r grandmother's 
 first cousin, before you war born." 
 
 " Monica Murphy, ould Monica Murphy, 
 that has often carried me in her arms, lying in 
 the gripe of a ditch !" repeated Connor, indig- 
 nantly. " And who dared to put her there, I'd 
 like to know," he continued. 
 
 " Just then the bit of a middle-man," replied 
 the Griffin, determined to strike while the iron 
 was hot, '-the bit of a middle man. Tommy 
 O'Sullivan, commonly called Tommy-raw, for 
 the rint the cray thur owes for a roof to brake her 
 heart under ; and her boy, that would have
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 123 
 
 Stood by her while there was breath in his body, 
 away beyant seas, through the grip the law took 
 on him, for the mistake he made, carding the 
 tithe-proctor, when he meant it to be the gauger, 
 — small odds, and more power to his elbow any 
 way ; but it's a hard case on the ould woman, 
 that's what I say, — it's a hard case, Misther 
 Connor, and every one that heard it cried shame, 
 and said the spirit was pumped out of Connor 
 O'Gorman, or he wouldn't suffer it ; but I said, 
 what was he to do against his oath ?" 
 
 " Oath, what oath ? "" repeated the easily- 
 excited Connor. " What do you mean by oath ? 
 I never took an oath against protecting the poor 
 and needy. I never took an oath against right- 
 ing the widow on whom the Lord's hand pressed 
 heavily, — if you name such an oath as that 
 to me again, I'll make you fit food for the fishes 
 below in the lake — though it's my belief the 
 craythurs would turn from the dirty drop that's 
 in ye. What do you mean, Mother Mabel 
 Griffin, by backbiting me to my face ?"" 
 
 " O Misther Connor," replied the crone with 
 assumed meekness, *' I never bit your back ; 
 I am a changed woman. I never open my lips 
 about the consarns of others now, — never; it's 
 the wicked counthry that bites your back, not 
 me. Why, two girleens, sitting below at the 
 
 g2
 
 1*24 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 river with their feet in the vvather, making snow- 
 balls of daisy flowers, while the blooming trees 
 above showered blossoms on their heads, they 
 said one to the other, ' Only the spirit's turned 
 to new milk in Connor O'Gorman, he'd never 
 suffer Monica to be houseless and friendless, 
 and she such an ould pet of Misthress Mar- 
 garet Lee's.' But sure it's no minding what the 
 low country people says," continued the tramper, 
 conceitedly. "I intend to walk, (if the pains 
 in my bones don't desthroy me entirely,) — I in- 
 tend to crawl to where she's laid in the dry 
 ditch, and give her this corjial jist to keep the 
 life in her." 
 
 " You do !" exclaimed Connor, "you really 
 do ? Why, then. Griffin, give me a good grip of 
 yer hand ; ye'r an honest woman, after all, and 
 1 beg yer pardon, — but don't bother yerself, — 
 don't, that's a good soul : /'// go myself, and see 
 her righted." 
 
 " O Misther Connor, Misther Connor," said 
 the hag, with well-feigned astonishment and 
 dismay, — " don't, don't, — I couldn't stand the 
 reproof and the reproach of the Misthress above 
 there, — not I ; and as sure as fate you'll get into 
 a ruction, for the man that turned her out is a 
 great fighter intirely, and you might be drawn 
 in : never mind the ould woman, she is only an
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 125 
 
 ould woman, and has no one belonging to her 
 to blame you for not minding the promise 
 you made to her son, and he going away, that 
 ye wouldn't see her put on by any one." 
 
 " If ye don't hold yer tongue," said Connor, 
 forgetful of his former mildness, and a good 
 deal heated by the ardent spirit to which he had 
 been so long unaccustomed, and which was so 
 cunningly administered by the artful woman, 
 " 1*11 tie ye up like a crocodile in your own 
 skin : look, I haven't time to run on to the Bees- 
 Nest, but do you go there : tell Mistress Mar- 
 garet Lee the truth, and tell her, I'll not be 
 back till I see the darlint ould woman under her 
 own roof again. This morning, you say, he turned 
 her out ?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Bad luck to him, the poor, dirty, threacher- 
 ous vagabone — bad luck to him every day he 
 sees the green grass, the brown dust, or the 
 heavens — clear or cloudy — or stands a chance of 
 a bating, and that will be every day of his life, 
 — and for a dirty thrifle of rent ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And he to call himself an Irishman ! — the 
 country's going to the bad entirely. I know whose 
 estate it's on — but there's the ould slavery system 
 — the land let at the highest penny to one who
 
 1-26 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 could hardly make his own out of it ; and that one 
 letting to a poor man, and he giving a bit of it 
 to another. O my country ! — they say rats leave 
 a falling house, I wish the rats left us, and it's 
 rise we'd do. You've a dale of knowledge about 
 furrin parts : can ye tell me what betther off 
 our landlords are abroad than they could be 
 at home, — are the people betther ?" 
 
 " No," answered the Griffin. 
 
 " The land finer?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " If the houses didn't plaze them, they could 
 build others — there's every convenience — wood 
 and wather, and stone, and marble, and plea- 
 sant places by sea and land — bright fields; and 
 if the heart's blood of the gentry would stay 
 with us, there would be bright eyes, where now 
 they're red and heavy with weeping, and those 
 would have clothing who hide from natural 
 shame ; and — but where's the good of my stay- 
 ing, and time flying ? Only look, Mother 
 Griffin, if I could get near a real member of 
 parliament, which we never see, barrin' whin 
 they're all sugar and cream, at the canvass — if I 
 could only get face to face with one, Pd say to 
 him. Lay a property tax on the ab- 
 sentees, AND let it be laid OUT FOR THE 
 GOOD OF THE POOR ; and that would be serving
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 127 
 
 the green little island in a way she hasn'*t been 
 served yet. Well, our bright days are to 
 come, praise be to God ! — for betwixt our 
 frinds and our enemies, weVe had none of 
 them yet ! Now, mother, I'm off; show 
 Marcus the glass, and give my message to Mis- 
 tress Lee." And Connor was bounding out of 
 the vault, all zeal, and heartiness, and good- 
 will to the whole world, when Mrs. Griffin 
 called him back. 
 
 " Misther Connor — I say, Misther Connor — 
 the flask, aroon — the flask that I was going to 
 take the craythur — just taste it again. Well, 
 is it sweet enough, and strong enough." 
 
 " I think," said Connor, " it's rayther too 
 strong for an ould woman." 
 
 " Then take another sup, Misther Connor, 
 and ril fill it up with wather. Ah, Misther 
 Connor, how blind we are not to know our 
 friends. Wasn't I the fool to let my temper 
 get the betther of me with you ? wasn't I ? — 
 well to be sure ! But any way, it's over now. 
 There, now I'll put wather in it," she conti- 
 nued, after Connor, perfectly ignorant of the 
 strength of what she had assured him over and 
 over again, was nothing but a " li-quoor," had 
 taken what would have been enough to make 
 an English head reel round. Connor's, how-
 
 128 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 ever, was made of sterner stuff; and not 
 doubting for a moment the woman's honesty of 
 purpose, he attributed the increased exhilara- 
 tion to his increased happiness, and never 
 thought a " taste of Frinch-coloured wather " 
 could affect his nerves. He flew with all the 
 warm feeling of his generous heart to succour the 
 houseless widow. 
 
 The Griffin's spiteful laugh recorded the 
 success of her evil project ; and muttering 
 many words of congratulation to herself on the 
 triumph her plan had already achieved, she 
 proceeded to seek Ulick, to arrange the pro- 
 gress of her scheme. She knew perfectly well 
 that what Connor had already drank would 
 lead him to take more; that she had only to 
 provide persons ready and willing to cross his 
 path, and there was little doubt but he would 
 be easily led, while in a state of more than half 
 intoxication, to take up a quarrel; for her expe- 
 rience had always proved the readiness with 
 which an exhilarated man rushes into broils ; 
 besides, the internal feeling poor Connor must 
 have had that he really intended a good action, 
 would, under existing circumstances, draw him 
 unconsciously forward to the perpetration of the 
 very deeds he had so righteously refrained from 
 during the past year. So true it is that " our
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 129 
 
 virtues would be proud) if our vices whipped 
 them not." 
 
 I am happy, for the honour of " ould Ire- 
 land," to be able to state, as a positive fact, that 
 old Mabel Griffin, who, during a long series of 
 years, infested the good city of Cork and its 
 neighbourhood, and wrought a greater quantity 
 of mischief than falls to the lot of a score of old 
 maids, old wives, and old widows, put toge- 
 ther, however prone the said score might be to 
 malice and all uncharitableness, — I am happy, 
 I might say overjoyed, to be able to state, upon 
 undoubted authority, that Mabel Griffin was not 
 altogether an Irishwoman : her father was Irish, 
 but Mabel herself was, fortunately for the credit 
 of the land, born upon the high seas ! During 
 her early days, she used to appear and disap- 
 pear at the various Irish sea-ports, like the 
 swallows — no one being exactly able to tell 
 whence she came or whither she went. She 
 was once discovered to have resided at Limerick 
 in man's attire ; until every one saying she was 
 a woman, she yielded at last to the vov popidi, 
 and appeared as a woman ; and then that mys- 
 terious " everybody" said she was a man ! 
 There can be no doubt that she was a fierce 
 and inveterate mischief-maker, of strong and 
 violent passions, and possessed of few, if any, 
 
 G 5
 
 130 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 of those redeeming qualities which, for the 
 honour of human nature, we are naturally 
 anxious to discover in the worst characters. 
 Her coils were round poor Connor, and she 
 gloated like a venomous spider over the hope 
 of being revenged for the slights he had put 
 upon her, and felt, if she obtained no recom- 
 pense from Ulick, it would be sufficient payment 
 for her trouble to destroy the anticipated hap- 
 piness of the frank, free-hearted O'Gorman. 
 While she chuckled to Ulick O'Sullivan over 
 the credulity of her victim, she hardly permitted 
 herself time to exult at the overthrow of his 
 hopes, so eager was she to arrange her plan, 
 which admitted of no delay ; and Ulick, while 
 he ably seconded, was lost in astonishment at 
 the vigour and clearness of her rapid arrange- 
 ments.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 PART V. 
 
 The statement of the Griffin, that old Monica 
 Murphy had been turned out of her cottage by 
 one of the O'Sullivans, because she had not 
 wherewithal to pay her rent, was perfectly true. 
 There is nothing strikes more home to the hqart 
 than the being forced to leave the dwelling 
 which has echoed to our laughter and our sighs; 
 within whose sanctuary our joys and griefs 
 have been consecrated; whose walls, however 
 uninteresting they may appear to the stranger, 
 to us are hung with a thousand tender me- 
 mories, hallowed by a thousand — it may be 
 sad or it may be sweet — remembrances; and, 
 strange though it may seem, the most sorrowful 
 hours of our existence are often fraught with 
 the greatest blessings. How dear is the me- 
 mory of a friend upon whom the cold and heavy
 
 132 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 grave has closed, it iDay be in a foreign land ; 
 the last time he was in this room he sat beneath 
 the shadow of that lamp — he spoke of his return 
 — those walls echoed to the friendly music of 
 his voice — that voice which, through evil re- 
 port and good report, was loud in our defence 
 or praise; we think, with a deep and melancholy 
 satisfaction, that there is no blot upon his me- 
 mory, and, looking upon his now vacant place, 
 we dress up all his virtues, and, closing our eyes, 
 could well believe him there, with his old quaint 
 smile, his gentle jest, his sound and wise counsel; 
 and is not that a pleasure — is it not joy to think 
 that we had such a friend ? — a sad, sweet joy, 
 sobered by sorrow. 
 
 I have witnessed the most touching instances 
 of attachment to the literally bare walls of an 
 Irish peasant's dwelling on the part of its inha- 
 bitants; and I believe it is always the case 
 where strong natural feelings have been nur- 
 tured in youth by domestic associations. 
 
 1 should be almost ashamed to say how at- 
 tached I become even to household furniture — 
 silent, dumb things — familiar to my eye, 
 till they have grown not into but unto my heart 
 —some of them very old ; the table on which I 
 write, it is to me a dear companion — as dear, 
 though for a very different reason, as an Irish-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNE\. 133 
 
 man's kish that was once seized with the scanty 
 remainder of his poor furniture for rent. 
 
 " God bless ye !" he exclaimed, " and don't 
 take that — ifs nothing hut a kish ; it's not worth 
 twopence to you — it's falling to pieces — hut it's 
 more to me than thousands ; ifs nothing hut a 
 kish — but my eldest boy — he, thank God, that's 
 not to the fore to see his father's poverty this 
 day — he slept in it many a long night, when 
 the eyes of his blessed mother hadn^t gone 
 among thehright stars of heaven, but was here 
 to watch over him ; — ifs nothing but a kish — 
 yet many a time little Kathleen crowed and held 
 up her innocent head out of it to kiss her daddy; 
 ifs nothing hut a kish — yet many a day, in the 
 middle of my slavery, have I, and my wife^ (the 
 blessed saints take her soul to glory !) and five 
 as beautiful children as ever stirred a man's 
 heart in his hosom, sat round it, and eat the 
 pay tee and salt out of it, fresh and wholesome; 
 and whin I had my siai blessings to look on, it's 
 little I cared for the slavery a poor Irishman is 
 born to— ifs nothing hut a kish — but it's been 
 with me full, and it's been with me empty, for 
 many along year, and ifs used to me— it knows 
 my troubles — for since the bed was sould from 
 under me, for the lastgale^ — what had I but it 
 to keep my head from the could earth ? — don't 
 * Gale-day — Anglice, Quarter-day.
 
 134 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 take it— i^ s nothing hut a kish.'^ There was a 
 picture of misery and attachment — attachment 
 and misery ! — yet " it was nothing but a 
 kish !" 
 
 Alas ! the heart makes strange idols ; but who 
 can dispute their omnipotence ? I would not 
 give much for the man, and I would give posi- 
 tively nothing for the woman, who had no 
 household gods, for I should believe such were 
 dead to all associations, and consequently to all 
 the finer sympathies of our nature. 
 
 Connor CGorman pursued his way, heated 
 by indignation and the spirits the Griffin had 
 so cunningly infused ; he was brimful of excite- 
 ment — ready to go off like a bottle of cham- 
 pagne in sunny weather, at the slightest touch 
 — and not quite clear as to what he ought to do, 
 or what he ought not to do — " his time was up" 
 — he should marry Margaret to-morrow — he 
 was resolved not to quarrel with the 0''Sulli- 
 vans — and yet he was quite resolved that Mo- 
 nica should be reinstated by fair means or foul 
 in the possession of her cottage — there could be 
 no second opinion on that head. Brimful in- 
 deed was Connor O 'Gorman of excitement and 
 happiness — his imagination filled with bright 
 prospects of the future ; no king of fairy-land 
 ever conjured up a more gorgeous succession of 
 enjoyments — he would not have exchanged
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 135 
 
 places with the most powerful potentate on 
 earth. Next Sunday he should ride to chapel 
 accompanied by his wife — his wife — Margaret 
 O'Gorman ; with what pride he would lift her 
 off her horse — and how the O'Sullivans would 
 be astonished at the brightness of his fortune — 
 and "ould Monica,'* she would be there, and 
 though she could see but little, and hear not at 
 all, still she would bless them — and then he 
 flourished his "6z^ o' timber,'''' and " whooped," 
 and capered, and fancied the trees danced " to 
 him,'''' and saw two where there used to be but 
 one — and then wiped his eyes, and wondered 
 what was over them, for there was hut one tree, 
 " sure enough." And after journeying in a way 
 it would be difficult to describe — sometimes run- 
 ning, at other moments leaping — elevating his 
 voice so as to sing sweet wild music, in accord- 
 ance with the joy and hope that preponderated, 
 while his indignation against the O'SuUivan who 
 had oppressed the widow called forth a sudden 
 burst of warlike measure, which was as suddenly 
 altered to the warm love ditty so much more in 
 accordance with the feelings of his heart. At 
 last he bounded to the summit of the little hill 
 that overhung the cabin of old Monica Mur- 
 phy ; he looked into the valley beneath, and saw 
 the old sheeling resting against the side of a 
 rock, overgrown by lichens and thick warm
 
 136 THE GROVE? OF BLARNEY. 
 
 moss, affording shelter to myriads of insects 
 that were buzzing in the open sun-light. He 
 remembered the day when old Monica's cottage 
 was built. It was known throughout the neigh- 
 bourhood that Tom O'Sullivan had no objection 
 to let Monica the half-acre, if there was a house 
 built on it for her ; but how was old Monica to 
 build a house ? — she had neither materials nor 
 money — her grand-daughter's hands were young 
 and feeble, and her son had been forced to 
 " quit the country :" old Monica was well-be- 
 loved in the neighbourhood — and what was the 
 result ? — a result by no means rare — all the 
 *' boys'" — meaning thereby all the young men 
 — who knew and pitied the old woman — as- 
 sembled one bright summer morning : a neigh- 
 bouring quarry furnislied stones; the cementing 
 — mud — was easily found and worked ; some 
 brought straw for the thatch, others the 
 necessary, or part of the necessary timbers 
 — rafters and wattles and pegs; one carpenter 
 magnanimously offered to make a door and a 
 window, giving his time and labour, if any one 
 would pay for the *' boords" — and the boards 
 were paid for by a voluntary subscription on 
 the part of the young country girls, some be- 
 stowing a penny, others twopence, all in propor- 
 tion to their means. They began their work of 
 kindness, as I have said, early one bright sum-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 137 
 
 mer morning, and before night the walls 
 were finished: three days saw the cottage 
 completed, a rugged fence made round the 
 little garden, which Connor O'Gorman caused 
 to be planted with cabbages and potatoes, and 
 sent, moreover, a nice " slip of a pig" to tenant 
 the sty which he insisted should be built for its 
 reception. Thomas Sullivan thought he had got 
 a good tenant: he was a hard, unfeeling man, 
 who would work good and bad alike. But the 
 past winter had been hard upon Monica ; her 
 bees had not swarmed, her pig died, and her 
 gentle, industrious grandchild got the measles. 
 Monica, a nurse by profession, thought she 
 should have lost her, and if she had, the poor 
 creature would have spared O'Sullivan the 
 trouble of distraining for rent, which, perhaps, 
 heartless as he was, he would never have done 
 but for the purpose of vexing the O'Gormans, 
 whose faction had principally contributed to 
 her establishment. 
 
 As Connor looked down on the little 
 valley he felt his anger run rapidly up, like 
 mercury when exposed to a hot fire. Monica 
 was seated in a ditch opposite the little 
 dwelling, consecrated not only by its hum- 
 ble comforts, but by the generosity of those 
 friends who had erected an humble monument
 
 138 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 of their good-will ; the head of her sick grand- 
 child was resting on her knees : it was a melan- 
 choly picture of helpless age and helpless youth, 
 and Connor grasped his stick more tightly 
 when the conversation of the two men, who had 
 not only taken possession, but were removing 
 her miserable furniture, was borne so distinctly 
 on the breeze, that he heard every word they 
 uttered. 
 
 " It's woeful, so it is," said one fellow, distin- 
 guished by the bright redness of his hair. " It's 
 wonderful and woeful, to see the crowds that's 
 going and gathering to the pattern, and we no 
 chance of being in it for a purty while yet, — 
 Sullivan tould us not to quit till he cum; and 
 he wouldn't have bothered about it only to get 
 a rise out of the O'Gormans these dull times." 
 
 " I don't believe that," said the other ; " he'd 
 go to the devil for money, though it's little he'll 
 get here, for now that the woman's out, there's 
 nothing in. Here's the inventhry, IVe put it 
 down on the back of the bill that thieving tailor 
 sent in to the masther, and Vm affeard to let 
 him see it, he'd go so mad: it makes no odds, to 
 be sure, for he'd have to send it in again, in six 
 months' time," and the speaker known as Jack 
 Sweeney, '* lawyers' man, owc^," began to read 
 what, for the information of my English readers
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 139 
 
 who may not have an idea of how little it takes 
 to constitute comfort in Irish cottages, I tran- 
 scribe, as Mr. Jack pronounced it: — 
 
 " Inventhry of Monica Murphy's goods : — 
 One griddle — one kish — one platter — two stools 
 (one with two legs) — one straw bed — one bouls- 
 ther of the same — one blanket — a patch quilt — 
 a noggin — a piggin — an iron pot— an ould 
 creel — three pair and a-half of knitting needles 
 — a spinning wheel (crack't) — a piece of looking- 
 glass — two ould boxes, and a tub." — " There it 
 is," he added, pausing in his inventory, and 
 kicking it forward, a proceeding the old tub, 
 not being accustomed to, resented by falling 
 immediately to pieces. " See that, now !" said 
 the fellow, '' Connor O'Gorman's sisther Alley 
 gave Monica that tub and the six pieces of 
 chaney, but it's not like Connor, for it wouldn't 
 bear a kick.'''' 
 
 Connor was on the point of rushing down, 
 but for once checked himself. 
 
 " It wouldn't be law, I suppose," said the 
 other, "to seize her ould cloak, but there's a hive 
 of bees in the garden, the stock-hive, you know ; 
 you may seize them, they're better worth the few 
 shillings she owes than all the rest of the things 
 put together." 
 
 " Ye'r mighty fond intirely of laying every
 
 140 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 sort and kind of trouble on me,"*' replied the red- 
 headed gentleman. *' Seize a hive of bees at 
 this time of day ! I'm obliged to ye, but not 
 particularly, — do you think it's mad I am, — 
 clean gone ; well done ! a hive of bees, — " 
 
 At this moment his eye caught the animated 
 figure of Connor O'Gorman, and his companion 
 espied our hero at the same moment. 
 
 " D'ye see that ?" says one. 
 
 " 1 do," replied Rufus. "■ I thought all along 
 some of the faction would be up about it, but I 
 wasn't sure which ; so much the better. Now, 
 keep watch outside, and I'll keep watch inside," 
 he added, walking very quietly into the cabin, 
 and shutting the door, while his conipanion 
 shouldered the door-post and fingered his shil- 
 lala in rather a nervous manner, muttering, — 
 " Tom O'SuUivan ought to be ashamed to lave 
 us here, and he the instigator !" 
 
 Connor O 'Gorman soon stood before him, and 
 bowing with mock solemnity, said, " Your mo: t 
 obedient and very humble sarvant, sir; good 
 morrow, gintleman, I ask your pardon for call- 
 ing ye out of your name, — for want of a better, 
 I believe, they call you Tom Staff. Och, yeV a 
 silent, pale, and interesting young man, I see ; 
 well then, I'll trouble ye to take yer shoulder 
 from that door-cheek, and let me return this
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARiJEY. 141 
 
 darliiit, murdered ould lady to her own place. 
 — Monica, avourneen, may be on account of the 
 many years that's on ye, ye don't know me; 
 but I know you, asthore, and it's sorry I am to 
 see ye with nothing over yer head for a roof but 
 the blue sky of heaven ; — well, any way, they 
 can't take that from ye. You are ould, I know, 
 Monica, and you knew my father and grand- 
 father, and all my people, — but have you lost 
 your tongue as well as your teeth ? Well, Mo- 
 nica, dear, it was time for the teeth to go, when 
 you had no great call for them." 
 
 " Granny, sir," says the poor sick girl, " un- 
 derstands you are speaking for her good ; I feel 
 her tears on my cheek, though ye can't see them 
 on account of the hood of her cloak, which is 
 drawn over her face to hide her throuble." 
 
 " My poor darling," said O'Gorman, " you're 
 too sick to lift your hand to anything except 
 your mouth, which you will do with full and 
 plenty soon, I hope ; take a drop of this, both 
 of ye, it will raise your heart," said Connor, 
 " but your grandmother is quite deaf, isn't 
 she?" 
 
 " The hearing has left her, sir," replied the 
 girl, " but granny feels all the same, as she did 
 long ever ago ; she has a deal of feeling, sir.'**
 
 142 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 *' So much the worse," thought Connor, as 
 he turned again to the keeper. 
 
 " That poor woman," he said, " is as deaf as 
 a beetle, but you are not ; some of the senses 
 are left in you, any way — so, come out of that ; 
 if you do not give up possession of that house 
 in double-quick time, it's your skinful of broken 
 bones you'll have." 
 
 " Help, Jack," exclaimed the coward to him 
 who had secured himself in the cottage ; "help, 
 he's telling his stick to whisper in my ear." 
 
 "I'll tell you what, my fine fellow," said 
 Connor, " it'll not whisper ; when it begins it'll 
 talk loud, a language you can understand ; and 
 the only fear I have is, that too many of my 
 own boys, brave and true-hearted O'Gormans, 
 will be down here before I've time to punish 
 you to my heart's content, myself." 
 
 Just as Connor ceased speaking, the fellow 
 who had so cunningly retreated inside the cot- 
 tage, anxious to see how the land lay, yet afraid 
 to open the door, pulled an old straw hat out of 
 the aperture, which, when Monica first resided 
 in her cottage, had been occupied by a pane of 
 glass, but having been broken, was replaced by 
 the hat, being, as Monica said, *' more conva- 
 nient, in regard that she could let the air in
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 143 
 
 now (God bless it !) when she pleased."" — As I 
 have said, Jack pulled out the hat very quietly, 
 and having ascertained that Connor's back was 
 towards him — having, moreover, heard what he 
 said, as to the probability of the O'Gormans 
 crowding to the rescue of the old furniture, as 
 much, if truth must be told, from a love of fun 
 as a love of kindness, and above all, from that 
 longing to oppose the English laws, which 
 seems an inherent desire in the breast of every 
 Irish peasant, — he ventured to put forth his en- 
 tire head, upon which the sun shone brightly, 
 making its colour more conspicuous than ever, 
 and pushing the matted locks from his eyes, 
 endeavoured to ascertain if Connor was as yet 
 the only O'Gorman in the field ; the opening 
 was small, and Jack's head large, but he ma- 
 naged to get it out notwithstanding, and just as 
 he was turning it for the purpose, it would 
 appear, of ascertaining if the O'Gormans were 
 absolutely coming down the hill, Connor espied 
 it in all its glory. 
 
 " O murder," he exclaimed, flourishing his 
 stick, " murder, who is the owner of that 
 tempting head ? Well, 1 never saw anything to 
 equal that ; — such a red head I that is a curio- 
 sity. I say,jf2re the house^^ he continued, while 
 the unfortunate fellow struggled hard to draw
 
 144 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 in his carrotty poll, that he might avoid the 
 blow which he expected every moment to de- 
 scend on it. " Fire the house, my boy !" 
 he repeated, greatly amused at the man's 
 consternation. "Fire the house, — your time's 
 up, I'm thinking." Jack, under the momen- 
 tary but firm conviction that the faction were 
 going to play one of their practical tricks, and 
 smoke him out, after the most approved fash- 
 ion of badger-hunting, when he had rescued 
 his head from peril, made no more ado, but 
 bolted out at the door, oversetting his compa- 
 nion, while he screamed, " He's fired the house! 
 he's fired the house !" 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Connor, stepping to the 
 door, " that's the finest mistake I ever saw made 
 in my life, and the first time a red head ever 
 stood the friend of an O'Gorman ; — purty mi- 
 nisters of the law you are, — fine fellows to guard 
 the peace, and see that justice has her own way 
 in the country. I'm very much obliged to you, 
 gintlemen, I am indeed, — it's altogether new to 
 me to get possession after this method. I'm 
 for ever obliged to you. — Fine lawyers you are, 
 tumbling about like herrings in a net ! — have 
 the kindness to let me know what's your plea- 
 sure, gintlemen ;" and Connor, standing in the 
 middle of the door-way, again bowed with
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 145 
 
 that sarcastic politeness which an Irishman can 
 so well assume. Neither of the men liked to 
 reply directly to Connor; one whispered the 
 other, " You spake," and the other replied, 
 " You spake ;"' and at last both shouted to- 
 gether, while watching Connor, as if he were a 
 wild beast, " Pay the rint." 
 
 " Oh, oh," replied Connor, greatly amused 
 at their cowardice ; " oh, oh ! it's the rint ye 
 want, is it? Ah, my tight fellows, there are 
 more than you looking for the Rint in this un- 
 fortunate country. And so, for the value of a 
 few dirty shillings, you would turn a poor 
 feeble creature like that out of doors, and leave 
 her to die in a ditch, where you will die, some 
 of these odd days, yourselves, please God ! — or, 
 more likely, of a dark winter night, of a slit in 
 the windpipe, or a sudden shortness of breath. 
 Augh," he added bitterly, " it's enough, so it 
 is, to turn an honest lad's heart, to see the likes 
 of you darkening the green grass and the bright 
 harvest with your black shadows." 
 
 " We can't help it, Masther Connor," said 
 Fire-the-house, in a whining voice ; " we can't 
 help it ; we are poor, and we have no honest 
 way of living." 
 
 " Don't tell me nonsense," said Connor, con- 
 temptuously ; " haven't you your four bones ? 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 couldn't you work with your hands ?" I know 
 it's hard for a boy that has a family of children 
 to support, to live upon ninepence or tenpence 
 a-day ; but honesty is the firmest staff that 
 poverty ever leaned upon ; and you don't know, 
 maybe, how sweet it makes the potato. Well, 
 ifs no use speaking to you ; the only thing left, 
 is for you to tell me the amount of the debt 
 that poor helpless woman owes the tame negur, 
 your master — that's all." 
 
 " I can't tell rightly," said Fire-the-house. 
 
 " I didn't expect you to tell me anything 
 rightly,'^ observed Connor, *' because I knew 
 you could not manage it — but wrongly — can ye 
 tell it that way .?" 
 
 " Ah, Masther Connor," replied Jack, in 
 what he meant to be a wheedling voice ; " ah, 
 Masther Connor, you had always a funny way 
 with you." 
 
 " Not always," said Connor; " and now I'm 
 rayther pressed for time, so don't keep me wait- 
 ing, — is it a pound V* 
 
 " Law expenses and all ?" 
 
 '' Ay, all!" exclaimed Connor, impatiently. 
 
 " Are you going to pay it, masther ?" 
 
 " I tell you what," said Connor, " if you 
 don't at once tell me what it is, and let me settle 
 it, I'll — " and he whirled his shillala and
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 147 
 
 whooped — a mode of reasoning Irish cowards 
 (and they are, I am happy to say, by no means 
 common) understand better than any other. 
 
 " As near as I can judge," said Fire-the- 
 house, " there's the two quarters — ten shillings 
 — and the costs and all the expinces will be, I 
 should think, as much more !" 
 
 ** Monica, a vourneen," said Connor, " I ask 
 your pardon, I ought not to have left you so 
 long outside your own house, — it's not another 
 month you shall be in it, for it 'ill go hard with 
 one who regards you, and whose regard is a 
 known blessing to all who have it — it will go 
 hard with her, if you have not a little place con- 
 vanient to ourselves. I'll help in the girleen ;" 
 and with a gentleness which the tenderest 
 mother could not surpass, Connor assisted the 
 weeping girl into the cottage. " And now," 
 he continued, throwing down a guinea, " there's 
 the rint and other botherums — take it." 
 
 Connor, whether from accident or design, 
 had thrown the guinea so that whoever picked 
 it up must come within reach of his stick — a 
 danger neither of the men seemed disposed to 
 incur. 
 
 " Take up that, my men of war, and pay 
 yourselves. Why don't you take it ? Do you 
 think now, I'd condescend to brain such as you, 
 
 H 2
 
 148 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 that you look askance that way ? I've the 
 greatest mind to give you a good thrashing, to 
 prove it was the farthest in life from my 
 thoughts. Will you take it ?" 
 
 " Will you let us ?" inquired Fire-the- 
 house. 
 
 " Take it," repeated Connor. 
 
 " Will you let us?" said both the men at 
 once. " Listen to law and raison." 
 
 " I would, with all my ears !" answered 
 Connor, " if they were to be found in the 
 country — in company together I mean, for 
 weVe always enough of the first, but none of 
 the second. I suppose you call yourself Law, 
 and that you, Fire-the-house, call yourself 
 Reason ? You certainly are a bewitching pair. 
 Will you take it ?" 
 
 *' It's not a lawful tender," they replied, 
 backing away. 
 
 *' The little girl saw it made," said Connor, 
 picking up the money ; and throwing it into old 
 Monica's cottage, he continued, " but you will 
 take it, and much good may it do you." 
 
 Connor's benevolence was interrupted by the 
 exclamations of the men, who began shouting 
 at the top of their voices, " Assault and battery, 
 murder — we're kilt intirely !" 
 
 " Oh, oh !" thought Connor, " that's the
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 149 
 
 wind of the word, is it ? then as sure as life the 
 O'Sullivans will be here presently, and all we 
 can do is to fasten in the ould woman, and 
 keep watch here till something is settled." 
 
 Connor took up his position, and had hardly 
 done so, when several of the oppovsite faction 
 dashed up the road, headed by Ulick himself. 
 A few angry words were exchanged between him 
 and Connor. Sullivan was more than half-drunk, 
 and Connor unusually excited. The wild, 
 reckless fellows who were with him made mat- 
 ters worse. Those who have not witnessed the 
 rapidity with which blows follow words in 
 Ireland, can have little conception of the scene 
 that ensued; far more rapidly than I can 
 write, blows were aimed by four or five " bits 
 of timber," at the same time, at the same per- 
 son ; and Connor, literally in defence of his 
 own life, was obliged to ward them off; from 
 warding off, he proceeded to attack. Once 
 fairly in the fray, he proved that his retire- 
 ment had rather increased his skill; like a 
 giant refreshed with sleep, he hurled destruc- 
 tion around him ; he could have trampled 
 on his prostrate foes; for every stroke of 
 his shillala told upon some one or other of his 
 assailants. Ulick was the only one who main- 
 tained his ground ; though evidently worsted,
 
 150 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 he had the advantage of Connor in personal 
 strength, but Connor was more agile, and knew 
 better what he was about. CJiick rushed to the 
 encounter with the wildness and ferocity of a 
 buffalo ; Connor warded off the blows, and 
 struck home ; then Connor had the support of 
 the cottage behind him, which was a great ad- 
 vantage, and which he took care not to forsake. 
 Nevertheless, he was waxing faint. One of 
 Ulick's well-aimed blows told upon his head, 
 and he was struggling against considerable diz- 
 ziness and loss of blood, when the cry of 
 " O'Gorman aboo !" was raised on the summit 
 of the green hill he had descended, and a party 
 of his own friends, among whom was Marcus 
 Roche, intent upon preventing mischief, rushed 
 to the rescue ; and as an addition was made 
 nearly at the same moment to the O'Sullivan 
 faction, the engagement — for so it may be 
 really called — became general. It was most 
 fortunate for Connor that his friends arrived 
 when they did, for otherwise there can be little 
 doubt, taking into consideration Ulick O'Sulli- 
 van's temper of mind and character, that Connor 
 would never have seen the Bee's Nest or its 
 fair mistress again. More than half the mur. 
 ders in Ireland are perpetrated under the ex- 
 citement produced by whiskey. I wish some
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 151 
 
 of our " patriots" could witness the effects of 
 that accursed beverage as I have witnessed 
 them, and I am sure they would agree with me, 
 that the introduction of a quieting, and not a 
 maddening draught, would go a great way in sub- 
 duing the riots and dissensions which disgrace 
 the annals of my country. 1 would recommend 
 one — Guinness's porter — in the words in which 
 it was recommended to me by a genuine Irish 
 peasant : — *' That's the stuff that makes the arm 
 strong and the heart stout, without being savage." 
 After the exchange of hundreds of blows, 
 which were mingled with shouts, and screams, 
 and wild halloos, the O'Gormans triumphed; 
 and having fairly beaten the O'Sullivans off the 
 field, Connor, utterly exhausted, was seated, as 
 they said, " as comfortable as a king upon his 
 throne,'' on the door of Monica's cottage — taken 
 off its hinges for the express purpose — and 
 borne in triumph along the road leading to 
 Blarney ; while his friends danced and shouted, 
 and Marcus, ever kind and thoughtful, re- 
 mained with the widow, to see how he could 
 serve her whom Connor had again established 
 in her poor home. It was in vain that Connor 
 protested he could walk, they had resolved to 
 carry him a " piece of the road for good luck," 
 and, indeed, he was not sorry they persisted in 
 their determination, for he could hardly move —
 
 152 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 at least, so he thought then, as he wiped his hot 
 and fevered brow, and saw that the kerchief was 
 still dabbled with blood, (a circumstance his 
 companions hardly cared to notice.) The 
 knowledge that this was Midsummer Eve in- 
 creased the burning of his brow ; and the play- 
 ful words Flora had that morning spoken, 
 " Come ! yes, Midsummer Eve 2s come, but not 
 gone yet," smote upon his heart, and he kept 
 murmuring to himself, while closing his eyes 
 against the burning sun, " Not gone — yet ! — 
 Not — gone — yet !" Though his companions still 
 " harrood," their shouts conveyed no triumph 
 to his exhausted spirits. He had done what 
 
 was right ; — and yet ! 
 
 What would have followed the " yet" can 
 hardly be known to posterity, for Connor 
 never knew himself. His progress was stayed 
 by the Griffin coming to his side, and having 
 stopped the bearers, commencing a long mono- 
 logue, mourning, though no tears ran down 
 her cheeks, her " misfortunate tongue — to 
 think, a vourneen, you should, through the 
 means of my ugly tongue, have heard of it — at 
 all at all ; and he now bate and torn like a 
 mad dog, or a celler-rat, as the Frinch says. 
 O the pride of the counthry ? And this day, 
 of all the days in the year ! And so you bate 
 them off, dear, and gave Ulick a snuff-box, I'll
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 153 
 
 be bound, though he has nothing to put in it — 
 but ill-will ! and faith he always has a good 
 stock on hand to dispose of, of that ; the way 
 Ireland, poor thing ! do be with her misfor- 
 tunes. Take a drop of corjial dear — do — it 
 will raise your heart. — Tim Stacey — I say a 
 prayer more for you than I do for ere a boy in 
 the barony, Tim — you see you want it. — Don't 
 be afraid of it, Masther Connor — don't — ^just 
 take a good big sup, your lips look druthy." 
 And Connor took what would intoxicate a 
 strong Englishman, if we consider the excite- 
 ment he had previously undergone. 
 
 " You gave my message .''" inquired Connor, 
 as he returned the flask. 
 
 " To be sure I did, and she's in all the joy 
 of the world expecting you. Oh, Misther Con- 
 nor, how ever was you drawn into a fight ? 
 Take my advice, John Ryley's dacent public is 
 hard by ; stop there, Misther Connor, and wash 
 yerself, and get another coat, and get rid of all 
 tokens of the bother; just attendey^ as the 
 Frinch says, till the heat goes out of the sun's 
 body, and by that time you'll be cooled. It 
 wouldn't do, would it, sir, to go to the Bee's 
 Nest as you are now ? it would any way make 
 her very miserable." 
 
 " It would — it would," repeated the always
 
 154 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 affectionate Connor; *' it would surely — and 
 you're right. So, boyp, we'll stop at John 
 Ryley's, and be able to get something to make 
 us look dacent, and you'll get something to 
 drink my happiness — in moderation, boys — in 
 moderation — because, ye see — it must be in 
 moderation !" And his followers shouted with 
 wild delight at perceiving that Connor had 
 already outstepped the bounds of that modera- 
 tion of which he spoke. So true it is, that our 
 friends always see something in our failings 
 which leads them to excuse their own. 
 
 The greater number of Ryley's family were 
 gone to the pattern, but there was a bare-legged 
 serving-wench, several children, and the old 
 grandmother, all ready and willing to serve 
 " the cratur " to the O'Gormans, who forcibly 
 seized a fiddler, who was on his way rather tar- 
 dily to the same place. Connor could hardly 
 stand when he descended from the rude triumph 
 with which he had been honoured, and the 
 Griffin managed very artfully to increase his 
 intoxication, while she skilfully made him be- 
 lieve she was ministering to his sobriety. The 
 slight — (for, after all, it was but slight) — 
 the slight cut on his temple, was bound 
 with his green neckerchief, and if he could have 
 walked, he would have set out for Blarney,
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 155 
 
 which was not half a mile from Ryley*s. His 
 friends, poor fellow ! accelerated his ruin, and 
 long before sunset Connor's vow had been 
 doubly broken ! Still, he knew what he was 
 about ; and great was his confusion at the en- 
 trance of Peter Swan, who said he had been 
 despatched by Margaret to ascertain where 
 Connor was. 
 
 Peter was by no means sober himself. " A 
 stiff tumbler" of whiskey-punch went a great 
 way to disorder his very weak intellect, and 
 there never was a man yet, who had taken too 
 much, that did not want more. 
 
 " They told me," said Peter, with great 
 gravity of manner, " they told me, as I came 
 along, that I should see a real J^irish row — 
 most likely the ^information was correct — this 
 is like an ^insurrection in Bartlemy fair — much 
 worse. Potsheen was what I got — I put it 
 down in my memorandum-book ; all for the 
 honour of old England. Gentlemen," he said, 
 looking round on the wild assemblage with the 
 smirk of a Ludgate-hill shopman, " you will 
 have no objection to drink prosperity to Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " WeM rayther drink it to Ireland," said 
 one, winking on the rest ; " she wants it more."
 
 156 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " Very good, gentlemen," said the peace- 
 loving Peter, " it's the same to me. We are 
 united, you know." 
 
 " But not to me,*" said a little scowling 
 Paddy, blinking his eyes, which the fumes of 
 whiskey and tobacco had made very red, and 
 swearing an oath that made Peter start. 
 
 " Oh, as you please, sir — gentlemen, I mean," 
 said the cockney, smirking more widely than 
 before. 
 
 The scene was curious and painful : Connor, 
 conscious that he could not stand erect, was 
 still struggling between the feeling of bravo, 
 the humiliation which he experienced, and the 
 resolve not to let Peter perceive the state he 
 was in. He could not rej«son, he could only 
 feel. The room would have been a study for 
 Teniers. Connor was seated on a long settle 
 that stretched under the arch of the chimney; 
 the Griffin crouched on a box near his feet, 
 her basilisk eye watching every movement in 
 the cloudy apartment ; Peter sat with three or 
 four of the haboriginees, as he would have 
 called them, at a table which had once been 
 round, but had been so roughly treated, that its 
 shape was now adifficult matter to determine; the 
 fiddler, exalted on the top of a sack of potatoes,
 
 THE GROVES OF BLAR\*EY. 157 
 
 that stood against the wall, drew his bow right 
 merrily, while his wife ever and anon gave him 
 to drink from a broken-nosed jug, which she 
 constantly replenished — that is to say, to pre- 
 vent his " breaking the back-bone of a tune,' 
 she held the vessel to his lips while he played 
 and the company danced on — first one, then the 
 other, while several crowded in, both " girls" 
 and " boys," attracted by the magic of " Rakes 
 of Mallow," or " Corporal Casey." An Irish 
 jig is amazingly exciting — the rapid motion — the 
 loudly-expressed compliments and approbation 
 of the lookers on — the " whips," and " whooes," 
 and " whoops" — the snapping fingers, not un- 
 like in sound what people, by a stretch of that 
 mental net-work, poetry, call "the merry music 
 of the Castanet"" — their national buoyancy 
 — all combine to raise the spirits; and when 
 Irish spirits are raised, we at this sober side 
 of the herring-pond have little idea of the 
 height they mount to. 
 
 '* Pray, honest gentlewoman," inquired Peter 
 of the fiddler's wife, " tell me, upon the virtue 
 of your Aoath, how many tumblers of that ^in- 
 toxicating fluid could your husband drink ?" 
 
 " More than you'd like to pay for," was the 
 reply. 
 
 This caused a laugh, but Peter had gained
 
 158 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 bravery, and so nothing daunted persisted in 
 his question. 
 
 " rU tell you, thin, for fear your curosity 
 would spile your growth, and that would be a 
 pity. He never can count afther twenty- 
 seven." 
 
 " There's a beautiful head on the fiddler," 
 said one of the fellows, sarcastically ; " wouldn**! 
 yer honour like to draw it ? — it's a strong head, 
 you see, sir." 
 
 " It is," said Peter, with the gravity of an 
 owl. 
 
 '* And a strong head would be a curosity 
 where you come from, I'm thinking ; theyVe 
 famous, sir, I'mtould, for ?<^«/<;e heads and could 
 hearts. Draw the fiddler's head, sir." 
 
 " Not now, thank you, sir," replied the 
 cockney ; and ill-suppressed laughter ran round 
 the room. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the state 
 of Connor's mind. Despite his intoxication, his 
 heart was with Margaret, and still he felt he 
 was perfectly unfit to appear before her. He 
 was violently out of temper, for when a man 
 is displeased with himself, he is sure to be 
 angry with others. He was abashed — ashamed. 
 In his gayest days, he had never frequented 
 public-houses — he was above it — and yet cir-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 159 
 
 cumstances over which he had hardly any con- 
 trol had baffled his resolves, and his frank and 
 generous disposition made him the victim of a 
 revengeful, designing old woman. He had 
 often been told by Margaret how necessary 
 caution would be to his well-doing in the world, 
 to the firmness and dignity of his character ; 
 but it was so at variance with his nature, that 
 poor Connor stood little chance of ever being a 
 prudent man; and were it not for the crowd 
 that surrounded him, he could have torn his 
 hair, and beaten his head against the wall — he 
 felt positively savage, and longed for some ob- 
 ject on whom to expend the over-boiling of his 
 temper, rendered furious by the effects of the 
 spirits he had drank and the blight of his 
 warmest hopes. The blessed, happy day he 
 was to have spent with his betrothed was 
 closing into evening, yet there was he, with a 
 broken head, more than half tipsy, in a public- 
 house, within half a mile of the cottage of Mar- 
 garet Lee. 
 
 " I say, Mrs. Griffin," he whispered to the 
 old hypocrite, " don't you think I could get 
 home — I mean to the Bee's Nest — now ?'' 
 
 " You'd frighten the life out of the purty 
 widdy, if she saw you — the shake of the blow 
 still staggering you, Misther Connor; bad luck
 
 160 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 to the hand that hit it for evermore ! No — 
 keep asy — keep asy, and I'll see if I can't 
 manage it a little bit for you, till the cool of 
 the evening, and then — then you'll get there. 
 Take this drop of stuff I mixed for you — it 'ill 
 ease yer head — and I'll watch by ye. Maybe 
 you could have a little wink of sleep — a little, 
 you know— well, there, I'll say nothing more." 
 
 The confiding Connor drank " the stuff," 
 which of course made him worse. He fell into 
 a half-stupefied dose for a few moments, but 
 when he awoke, the room was reeling violently 
 round, and the people were loudly demanding 
 that no less a person than the Griffin should 
 give them a toast : she accordingly gave ''' Pros- 
 perity to Ireland." This was drank with ac- 
 clamation ; but Connor got it into his head 
 that the Griffin's toast was disrespectful to his 
 country. 
 
 " You don't understand me," said the Griffin, 
 her ill-temper putting in peril her design. 
 
 " What do you mean," said Connor, furi- 
 ously, " by saying that I do not understand 
 you ? Do you mean that I am any way over- 
 taken, and could not understand ye? because 
 if ye did, ye Griffin, you told a lie — I say a 
 lie !" 
 
 " No, no !" expostulated the woman, " I
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. I6l 
 
 didn't think you were overtaken — what would 
 overtake you ? There, be quiet now, brave 
 garsoon^ as the Frinch says." 
 
 " Mistress Mabel Griffin," said Connor, very 
 gravely, " I do expect you to treat me with 
 common decency ; you are, my good woman, 
 for all the world like a cow that gives a good 
 pailful of milk, and then kicks it down ; you 
 called me hrave at the first going off — well and 
 good — it would not become me to contradict a 
 comely, respectable, responsible, sort of a 
 peddling, smuggling, travel-the-counthry ould 
 devil like you. More be tokens I'm an O'Gor- 
 man, and not one of the name but is born 
 with a shillala in his fist — see that ; so that 
 may stop as it is — ^^brave by name, brave by 
 nature — and enough about it. But what made 
 you spoil all, and spill the milk, by tacking the 
 other to it ? You called me brave — brave — 
 gorsoon — that was it — a brave gorsoon ! Now, 
 Mistress Griffin, ma'am, a gorsoon is nothing 
 more nor less than a brat of a boy.'' 
 
 " My dear sir, Misther Connor," said the 
 Griffin, quite satisfied that her last potation 
 had fully accomplished her purpose, and that 
 Connor was as "/ar overtaken" as she could 
 desire, and no longer himself — " my dear sir, 
 that is because you are not lamed in the living
 
 162 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY, 
 
 languages. A brave garsoon is what the Frinch 
 call Bonyparte, and Hercules, and the seven 
 champions, and Charley mange — a brave ^arsoow 
 is an emperor, dear." 
 
 " Then, old woman," exclaimed poor Con- 
 nor, " I'll be an emperor ; I see it now forenint 
 me ; a brave goroon does not mean a brave 
 boy — you would make an emperor, let alone 
 a king, of me. Oh, Mrs. Griffin, if I could 
 only make human christian nature of you, 
 wouldnH I be proud — but the heavens above 
 look down upon you, Mabel Griffin, you are 
 nothing but an ould woman. But I'm not 
 proud — I don't mind drinking with you, or — 
 even fighting with you ! Come, Peter, you 
 little weak-headed Englishman ! drink — drink ! 
 — there is not a head-ache in a hogshead of it." 
 
 " Ah," replied Peter, mournfully, " I always 
 find a head-ache in the second tumbler." 
 
 '' Then," exclaimed Connor, ready-witted 
 even in his cups, '' can't ye sMp the second and 
 go on to the third.^^ A roar followed this, and 
 the whole world was forgotten by Connor. — 
 " Peter," he continued, " let me give you a 
 lesson in Irish fighting ; it will be better for ye 
 than your book ; my hand's in so beautiful, 
 afther the taste of practice I had." 
 
 Peter waxed cowardly, and tried to slink out
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 163 
 
 of the room, but Connor would not permit it, 
 and insisted that he should either indulge them 
 with a song, a toast, or a fight. 
 
 " Then," said Peter, ** I'll give you a toast 
 I learnt to please the Irish, and this it is : — 
 * Dam your canals — sink your mines — consume 
 your manufactures'."' 
 
 It would be impossible to pourtray the con- 
 fusion that followed this toast, which not more 
 than three in the company understood ; the 
 blind fiddler was tumbled from his throne, and 
 like a deposed monarch grovelled among his 
 former subjects. 
 
 " He's insulted the counthry," roared one 
 fellow. — " He's an informer," said another. — 
 " A thraiter," exclaimed a third. — " Take him, 
 and dive him, and duck him," said Connor, 
 " only mind, don't forget him by mistake in the 
 bog-hole ; that wouldn't be hospitable." 
 
 *' The boys" hastened to obey Connor's com- 
 mand, for mischief is eldest born of Mercury, 
 and the poor cockney tourist whom Connor had 
 forgotten was Margaret's cousin, was borne out 
 of the public-house, much against his will. 
 
 " But didn't you see it though," said a coun- 
 tryman to Connor, when the residue, who had 
 not gone forth to " tache the cockney to swim,"
 
 164 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 had ceased laughing at the joke, " didn't you 
 see it Misther Connor?" 
 
 " See what ?" 
 
 " Why the sinse of it, — "Dani your canals," 
 if they warn''t dammed, sure all the wather 
 would break through." 
 
 Connor caught the meaning, and staggered 
 after the merciless administers of extempora- 
 neous law ; he had not, however, proceeded far, 
 when he became perfectly oblivious of his pur- 
 pose, everything whirled round, and yet, he al- 
 most instinctively kept on the road to the Bees' 
 Nest ; old Mabel followed at a distance. "It 
 'ill do now," she muttered to herself, "and if 
 I'm not mistaken, though Mistress Margaret 
 would not come to a public-house, she'll be on 
 the watch, from what I took care she heard." 
 
 After meandering a good way along the high 
 road, Connor struck into a field, a short cut to 
 the village, and went on without any accident, 
 until he came to a stile leading to a meadow 
 that communicated with Margaret Lee's crarden; 
 walking on level ground was one thing, climb- 
 ing a stile another ; he got one foot up, then 
 took it down, and at last sat upon the topmost 
 stone of the rude wall. 
 
 " The fairies," he said, " do be dancing of a
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 165 
 
 Midsummer Eve, and I'll go bail theyVe begin- 
 ning now — the sun — yes, that red chap over there 
 is the sun — well, he's setting — steady, Connor, 
 I never did see the sun go whirling about that 
 way before — never — ^but that is the sun, and 
 
 this is a shillala, and this "" 
 
 And then he lifted up his voice, and gave 
 thick utterance to one of those vile, comical 
 drinking songs, that militate so much against 
 the sobriety of the " Lords of the creation," 
 and he thumped and knocked the stones with his 
 blackthorn to mark the time : — 
 
 " The devil a day have 1 for drink, 
 
 But Saturday, Sunday, Monday, 
 Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, 
 
 Saturday, Sunday, Monday. 
 The devil a day have I for drink 
 But Sat " 
 
 The repetition of his lament was interrupted 
 by the appearance of a tall woman enveloped in 
 a blue cloak at the opposite side of the stile. 
 She stood there silently, her hood concealing 
 her face. 
 
 Connor's native politeness had not altogether 
 deserted him ; he removed his hat, and half 
 staggering, half clambering over the stile, 
 stood before the woman, and said, " Ah, my
 
 166 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 colleen das ! can Connor O'Gorman do any- 
 thing to oblige you ? Can he— speak a vour- 
 neen — won't you speak ? O dear ! it's a bit of 
 modesty you are treating us to, is it ? As if 
 any modest young woman would be out of a 
 Midsummer Eve by herself, and it almost 
 dark. Let me make a looking-glass of your 
 eyes, my darling !" And as he attempted 
 to throw open the hood, the cloak dropped 
 from her shoulders, and Margaret Lee looked 
 Connor O'Gorman in the face. At first he 
 staggered back, then assumed a confident 
 drunken swagger ; and continued, while every 
 fibre of poor Margaret's frame was almost con- 
 vulsed with emotion — " Well, it's mighty fond 
 entirely you must be of me, to come afther me 
 this way. My purty Peggy, you have maybe 
 heard " 
 
 " I have heard V said Margaret ; " I have 
 heard and seen more than I expected ever to 
 hear or see in this world." 
 
 " I've got a flask here, that a woman (don't be 
 jealous) gave me; if I could get at it, maybe 
 you'd take a drop. It 'ill keep the cold pain 
 out of your heart, and— and— the hard word out 
 of your mouth !" 
 
 Margaret's indignation burst forth. " Dare 
 not,*" she exclaimed, *' dare not to insult me ;
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 167 
 
 to-morrow past, I could not have recalled the 
 right which still I hold over myself. Back, 
 sir. Make you the guide and guardian of my 
 child ! My husband to be noted as a fighting, 
 drinking brawler !" 
 
 " Margaret !" said Connor, sobered in some 
 degree by her vehemence. 
 
 " Go to !" she continued ; " spare me the 
 sound of the dear voice I loved— it is now un- 
 tuned and thick. Sir, when I wed, I'll wed a 
 man whose reason rules him ; one who can 
 stand or walk erect, either in sun or moonlight — 
 who, having made a good resolve, knowing it 
 good, can keep it. O Connor, Connor," she 
 added, in tones of the deepest anguish, " my 
 cheeks are hot with blushes at your shame ! 
 When you can think and feel, remember this — 
 if you had been but firm, had want or woe 
 assailed you, Margaret Lee would have cherished 
 — loved you — died for you — now she says 
 
 FAREWELL FOR EVER !" 
 
 Margaret having so said, rushed towards 
 her own dwelling, while Connor leant against 
 the stile, subdued and spirit-broken — unable 
 to reply, yet perfectly conscious of the import 
 of her words. 
 
 So ended their Midsummer Eve.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY 
 
 PART VI. 
 
 The morning, the soft, balmy, dewy morning 
 had advanced until it was nearly seven o'clock, 
 and the half-idiot sister of Ulick O'Sullivan was 
 watching for her brother's return, at the door of 
 the dwelling he called his own, and which was 
 a meet abode for such a man ; it was situated 
 on the brow of a small promontory of the Bo- 
 grah mountains, where the chain commences 
 which stretches into the neighbouring county, 
 and it overhung a deep, shingly dell, through 
 which in winter a mountain-torrent galloped 
 freely into the lower valley, and then diverged 
 into many small rivulets that fertilised the mea- 
 dows of the plain. If a stranger had viewed the 
 cottage from the highroad, he would be inime-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 169 
 
 diately perplexed to know how it was approach- 
 ed, but the hardy peasants found safe footing 
 on the stones, and Aileen skipped like a wild 
 goat from crag to crag, and knew every spot 
 from the base to the summit of the mountain 
 whereon they dwelt ; there was, however, a path 
 known to Mabel Griffin and a few other vene- 
 rable dealers in contraband, winding amongst 
 rocks and stones, wild-broom and furze, but it 
 was visible only when you looked from the 
 height towards the valley, Aileen's hair was 
 drawn up at the back of her head : her feet 
 were uncovered, and, as she leant against the 
 wall, which formed a dark back-ground, she 
 seemed like one of those Grecian figures, which 
 we read of frequently, but which are rarely seen. 
 She twirled her distaff more leisurely than was 
 her wont, and beguiled her employment by 
 snatches of a farewell ditty : — "^ 
 
 Oj a blessing and a tear, 
 
 And I part from all I know ; 
 But my heart will still be here. 
 
 Though to other lands I go. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! 
 
 * These words are set to music by Mr. Alexander 
 Roche ; he has thrown into them a wild, deep feelhig, 
 that does honour to the verse, and the accomplished 
 composer. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 O, the wanderer far away 
 
 From his household hearth may roam ; 
 But the wanderer still can pray 
 
 For the friends he leaves at home. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! 
 
 O, a farewell, 'tis the last, 
 
 And my heart it will not break ; 
 
 But my tears are falling fast. 
 As the dreary word I speak. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! 
 
 O, a mournful lot is mine, 
 
 As the parting hour draws near ; 
 
 All I have to give is thine. 
 Take a blessing and a tear ! 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! 
 
 She sung this song, sometimes breaking off' 
 in the middle of one verse, then running on to 
 another. She was also busied about her bro- 
 ther's breakfast ; she laid all things ready with 
 her own hands, though there was a savage look- 
 ing serving girl who assisted, and whose low, 
 contracted brow, bronzed complexion, and sul- 
 len scowl, made her resemble the threatened 
 rival of pretty Molly Carew, 
 
 " Short and dark like a could winter's day," 
 and an admirable foil to the delicate beauty of 
 the child-like Aileen. 
 
 A hundred times did Aileen go in and out of 
 the cottage, rendered more than usually restless 
 by her brother's absence ; at times, too, dark.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 171 
 
 swarthy faces, would look out from the door, peer 
 down the mountain and up at the sky, and then 
 disappear, leaving no token even in the interior 
 of the cottage of their almost supernatural 
 visits ; they appeared and disappeared from be- 
 hind Ulick O'Sullivan'sbed, which was decently 
 curtained by blue check, leaving no doubt that 
 there must be a place of concealment in the 
 immediate neighbourhood, that had, at all 
 events, one outlet in the cottage. At last it 
 seemed that Aileen's hopes were answered ; she 
 threw her distaff on a stone bench, which flanked 
 the door, and uttering a wild cry that was echoed 
 by the rocks, sprang lightly forward, now 
 jumping upon a stone that appeared as though 
 it would roll from beneath her feet, then cling- 
 ing to a wavering broom that would have bent 
 under a blackbird's weight, she swayed herself 
 down and round until she stood by her brother's 
 side ; he was proceeding slowly up the steep in 
 earnest conversation with the Griffin, who had 
 just finished recounting the success of her yes- 
 terday's plot against poor Connor. Nothing 
 shows the baseness of base minds so strongly 
 as the exultation they evince at the stumbling of 
 one of high repute, whose virtues huve been, to 
 such, a perpetual reproach. 
 
 " And thin," she continued, " to hear how she 
 
 I 2
 
 172 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 gave it him, bidding him farewell just as the 
 queen in a play would say, ' Get out, ye bla- 
 guard ;** they little thought I was so near them ! 
 I'll tell you who was nearer " 
 
 « Ould Nick— ould Nick— ould Nick," jib- 
 bered Aileen, as she ran backwards before them, 
 pointing at the Griffin, with her taper finger, 
 and laughing between her words. 
 
 " Come here, poor child," said Ulick, '* why, 
 your eyes are red, — has Aileen been crying?" 
 
 " The hawk flew over, the hawk flew under. 
 The hawk was struck in his nesting-tree. 
 
 Ah me ! ah me !" 
 
 ' Were you afeard for me, for Ulick, Aileen ?" 
 said the man, whom no one would suppose, 
 from his bearing or character, to have had 
 an atom of tenderness in his nature ; and yet no 
 father could have caressed a helpless child more 
 fondly than Ulick caressed his mindless sister. 
 
 " It's all ready," she muttered, " the break- 
 fast, the stirabout, — and Jack is in the pit-hole, 
 a new pot at work, and the steam so strong, 
 and the — hush — the new moon is come, and the 
 boys have been rooting the earth out all night, 
 as the black man did in the grave-yard; — hush 
 — the sun has been going many hours, and so 
 has Aileen, but the sun is not sleepy — Aileen is 
 sleepy."
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 173 
 
 " Ah, ye lazy omadawn !" said the Griffin 
 with her usual ill-temper, " it would be fitter 
 for you to be in bed, than bothering the life out 
 of yer brother, you !" 
 
 " Cat's claws," exclaimed the girl maliciously, 
 getting out of the Griffin's reach, while she 
 opened her fingers and extended them, " cat's 
 claws, cat's claws, — long, ould cat's claws."" 
 
 The Griffin stooped to pick up a stone, in- 
 tending to fling it at her, knowing she was as 
 fond as a monkey of playing tricks when she 
 could do so in safety. 
 
 " Drop it," said O'Sullivan fiercely, " drop it 
 this minute. If you can't behave well to that 
 poor crathur on whom the hand of the Al- 
 mighty falls so heavily, you'd better keep away 
 altogether, for I tell you no one shall do or say 
 an unkind thing to Aileen, but I'll punish 'em." 
 
 " She's always mocking and tormenting, and 
 setting the children afther me," replied the 
 Griffin, " can't she behave.?" 
 
 " It's ill manners for you to be troubled by 
 the like of my poor sister ; sure you wouldn't 
 expect a mountain sheep to prache a sermon 
 like Father Horragan or Friar Mulvany ; every 
 thing according to its nature ; and she's innocent, 
 and that's enough about it ; but as I was saying
 
 174 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 before, what does the bit of fraction they have 
 had signify, — they'll make it up again." 
 
 " If it was an Irish quarrel out and out, and 
 she an Irish woman horn, they might," replied 
 the Griffin, " becase the Irishwomen are so soft 
 and forgiving in their natures, and used to see 
 the men now and agin make hastes of thim- 
 selves, and making tornadoes^ as the Frinch 
 says, and whirlpools, as we says at sea, with 
 their tempers. Did T evir tell you the way I 
 sarved my first husband that had that fashion ?" 
 inquired this gentle specimen of the fair sex, as 
 she paused, fatigued by the ascent, and drew 
 her flask from her pocket, which she offered to 
 Ulick with the usual invitation of " take a 
 drop," although the most wonderful part of the 
 Griffin's history was, that notwithstanding the 
 number of '' drops" she took, no one ever saw 
 her intoxicated. "Well, poor little man, he 
 had been a sort of play-actor at fairs and such 
 like, and used to carry the world before him in 
 Richard the Third, the grate Juke of Glouces- 
 tershire, (you've hard tell of Gloucester cheeses,) 
 and was mighty grand in it intirely, playing it 
 with his own hump, which he, being the ma- 
 nager, and having the pick and choose of all the 
 plays and things, needn't have done, if he'd ha'
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 175 
 
 wanted a hump, which, poor man, he did not. 
 Well, ye see the way he had of carrying the 
 world and his show-box before him through all 
 England, gave him a hectoring sort of fashion 
 that it was hard for me to put up with, for 
 though one does marry a man, one has no call 
 to marry his humours ; and to be sure he used 
 lo talk as grand about his ^ properties^* as if 
 he was an Irish landhoulder, with nothing at 
 all a year !" 
 
 *' No slurs upon the counthry, ma'am, if you 
 please," said Sullivan with polite dignity. 
 
 '* I mane none, sir," replied the Griffin, "for 
 though you hould out I wasn't born on the sod, 
 you can't deny my right to the slipper," (tlie 
 brogue,) and she growled a laugh. " Well, the 
 little man had a way of hectoring, and I said 
 to him, says I, ' Nicholas," says I, 'if you go 
 on speaking in the disrespectful way you do 
 of me, I'll punish you,* says I, ' I will, and 
 that's fair warning."* Now, Misther O'Sullivan, 
 I ask you as a gentleman wasn't it fair 
 warning ?" 
 
 " Most husbands, I believe, are punished 
 without any warning," said Sullivan. 
 
 " Well, still, poor dear ! he went on with his 
 impidence, hrouillarding, as the Frinch says, 
 about everything, until one day, (he was but a 
 little scrap of a man, hump and all,) he put me
 
 176 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 past my patience, and I caught him up this 
 way, and shaking him as if he was a puppy- 
 dog, I says, 'Is this your gratitude, you shrim- 
 peen, afther my marrying a play-actor, what 
 none of my forefathers did ? and sitting for a 
 *Talian woman, Joolet, in a balcony, while you, 
 stuck all over with black buttons, made the fair 
 laugh at Romeeyou ; — now,' says I, 'I'll just put 
 you into that baste of a thrunk where you keep 
 your properties, — a purty property you are for 
 any honest woman, — and, poor thing ! sure 
 enough I put him in, and turned the hasp 
 under, thinking it would give him plenty of air, 
 which it did, and then I sat upon the thrunk to 
 prevent his rising the lid intirely so as to get 
 out, and kept amusing him as well as I could, 
 telling him of his faults, and showing him what a 
 good wife I had been, making him sensible, 
 which he wasn't inclined to, being mighty vain, 
 as indeed most of them sort are — it comforts the 
 craythurs, — well suddenly I was called on ac- 
 count of the pig, that never would go through 
 his exercise, (he was an Irish pig,) unless I 
 held a maley pratee at the wing."" 
 
 " One would think," said O'Sullivan, wishing 
 to appear informed where he knew nothing, 
 " that if it was the wing of a goose or turkey, 
 he'd rather have had it than the potato ; our 
 pigs haven't left poor Aileen a chicken."
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 177 
 
 "Poor AiJeen's chicks ! poor Aileen's chicks !" 
 said the girl, who during the Griffin's wild- 
 goose tale had gathered a bunch of fern, and 
 was fanning her brother's burning face. 
 
 " Lord !" exclaimed the Griffin, pulling the 
 ends of her scarlet Barcelona more tightly 
 through her apron-string, " how necessity it is 
 for people to see the world ; the wing, Misther 
 O'Sullivan, in playhouses, means a piece of a 
 boardeen, stuck from the top to the bottom. 
 Well, I ran away, thinking he'd come out; and 
 indeed, having given him my advice, I felt I 
 had done my duty, and left him to himself 
 until near tea-time, whin I went into the place, 
 and see the lid of the thrunk was down. ' How tidy 
 he's grown,"* says I, quite innocent like to myself, 
 and thought I'd see if the turban he played the 
 Turks in, wasn't much scrooged ; well, I found 
 the spring (it had a spring) shot, and, poor 
 thing, when I shot it back, there he was !" 
 
 "'Wasn't he angry ?" asked Ulick. 
 
 " No, poor thing," replied the Griffin, shaking 
 her head, " he was dead !" 
 
 " Dead !" exclaimed Ulick. 
 
 *' As a sod o' turf !" answered the lady, " 'twas 
 his passion that finished him ; we supposed he 
 kickt at the lid and it fell, and indeed the coffin 
 
 I 5
 
 178 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 he took wasn't much bigger than a boy's, and 
 that was the last bother I had with him." 
 
 " Were you tried for it ?" inquired Ulick, 
 resuming his progress. 
 
 " Tried for what?" replied the Griffin. 
 
 " For the manslaughter ?" 
 
 " Why what would you make of the laws at 
 all at all," answered the woman — " man- 
 slaughter for such a bit of an accident — poor 
 thing ! I was very lonesome after it !" 
 
 " For how long ?" asked Ulick. 
 
 The Griffin laughed.— <^ It's not right to 
 murn too much at what's the Almighty's will," 
 she replied — like too many in the world, twist- 
 ing a good sentiment to her own bad purpose. 
 
 Ulick was soon after busied with his private 
 still — for the opening carefully concealed behind 
 his bed led to an excavation in the mountain, 
 where illicit distillation was practised sometimes 
 on an extensive, sometimes on a smaller scale : 
 there were many ways of escape from the prin- 
 cipal cavern where the business was carried on 
 with a single, simple apparatus, easily re- 
 moved, and abundant places of concealment. 
 The aperture through which the smoke passed 
 was managed with exceeding skill, at the foot 
 of a rock, which concealed it effectually from 
 observation. Here Ulick O'Sullivan had at
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 179 
 
 one time carried on a very extensive system of 
 fraud— which latterly he had almost abandon- 
 ed—and here with some of his accomplices 
 he might be termed secure from legal inter- 
 ference—for the place was admirably construc- 
 ted — full of holes and corners — a complete 
 labyrinth under the grey rocks and brown 
 earth, which looked picturesque only at a dis- 
 tance^ — so utterly drear and barren was it when 
 closely approached. During the day the Grif- 
 fin descended into the valley. 
 
 Before the result of her migration is detailed, 
 I must return to the cottage of Margaret Lee. 
 
 About the hour when Aileen saw her brother 
 and his female Mephistophiles ascending the 
 mountain, Connor O'Gorman and Marcus 
 Roche were walking round and round Marga- 
 ret's garden, watching for her appearance. The 
 previous night Marcus had found Connor in the 
 position Margaret left him — sobered by her 
 reproof, and resolved to tell her his story the 
 first thing in the morning. Marcus, however, 
 had discovered from Flora that some secret in- 
 fluence had been at work, and suspected the 
 Griffin to be the mischief-maker. Connor's 
 anxiety prevented sleep, and Marcus was 
 so anxious for his friend's justification, that 
 having accompanied him to his home, he re-
 
 180 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 mained with him all night, and yielded to 
 Connor's impatience, which prompted him to 
 be under Margaret's windows, long before her 
 hour for rising. 
 
 *' Sister !" said Flora, stealing on tip-toe into 
 her chamber, and yet trying to awake her, — 
 " sister — are you awake ?" Then a little 
 louder — **Are you awake, sister? — Sister, — 
 are you awake, I say ?" 
 
 " Hush, Flora," said little Hector, sitting up 
 in his bed — " don't you see her eyes are shut ? — 
 don't wake her, aunt !" — and Flora withdrew 
 from the room; but in about ten minutes re- 
 entered it with the same inquiries. 
 
 Still Margaret's eyes were closed — though 
 Flora — perhaps it was only her imagination — 
 but Flora fancied, at all events, that her eyelids 
 were wet with tears. — " I think, anty Florry," 
 whispered the child, poking his little rosy feet 
 out of bed — "I think I'll get up — for Luath 
 has been whining so below, that I'm sure Con- 
 nor's in it, and I want to see him." 
 
 " Go to sleep. Hector," said Margaret. 
 
 " I can't, mammy." 
 
 " If any one^ Flora," said Margaret, " wishes 
 to see me to-day, say I am ill, my head aches 
 violently — and, I do not choose, Hector, to go 
 down stairs. " This was enough — Flora closed
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 181 
 
 the door, and the poor boy concealed his head 
 beneath the pillow. Flora did not make her 
 appearance till noar nine o'clock, and then Con- 
 nor received a sarcastic compliment on the 
 beauty of his countenance — " Greatly im- 
 proved," she said, " by the mark on his brow." 
 Though Marcus Roche bore all the bantering 
 bestowed upon himself by his beloved with 
 stoical philosophy, yet he would not suffer her 
 to wound Connor's feelings ; and instantly put 
 the transaction in such a light, that Flora, who 
 always jumped from one conclusion to another, 
 no matter how opposite they were, immediately 
 looked upon Connor as a martyr, and saw the 
 mischief-maker through the mischief, though 
 she could not understand the motive. Flora, 
 moreover, volunteered the assertion, that the 
 moment Margaret was told the cause, she 
 would pardon the effects, — but she ought to 
 have remembered, that her sister was not only 
 proud, but firm — obstinate it might almost be 
 called ; and that the shock her feelings had 
 received would not quickly pass. 
 
 Flora would have flown into a passion, and 
 suffered her anger to evaporate in words, and 
 tears, and noisy reproaches; — but Margaret 
 pondered in her heart. Marcus understood the 
 young widow's character better.
 
 182 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 "Take my advice, Connor," said he; while 
 Connor, having rested his arms on the table, 
 hid his face upon them — "ttike my advice — 
 do not urge Margaret to see you to-day — the 
 wound is too fresh to be suddenly healed. 
 Flora and I will put everything in a proper 
 point of view, and with a little patience -" 
 
 " Ifs no use, Marcus," said Connor, — " I'll 
 not stir a foot out of this till I see her. 
 Many a word's spoken from the teeth out, that 
 never had anything to do with the heart — the 
 heart ! Sure it's my own that's crushed as flat 
 as the crown of my hat. I that would lay my 
 hands under the soles of her feet — I that — O, 
 Marcus, Marcus ! — if she knew the truth, it's 
 not from me she'd turn." 
 
 " My dear fellow, if you leave it to time, she 
 will relent. Now her mind is full of last night's 
 scene ; she told me with bitter tears, before I 
 went to you, that her great misery was, her 
 newly-sprung belief of your unfitness to guide 
 and protect her child." 
 
 " Sure," said Connor, with great naivete, 
 " she'd guide us both ; and as to protection ! — 
 well, God help all mankind ! — if we are to be 
 altogether judged by a wild turn; was not I 
 provoked, drawn into it? and as to what I 
 took, the stuff that old wretch gave me must 
 have been doctored."
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 183 
 
 " And she must have said something to Mar- 
 garet that I did not hear," said Flora; 
 " though when the Griffin came, I did my best 
 to hear, for I saw all was not going right." 
 
 " Go to Margaret now, Flora," entreated 
 Connor, " and tell her I am almost mad." 
 
 " I'll swear to that" said Flora, " for you 
 have eat no breakfast, and will hardly let me 
 eat mine." 
 
 Flora did go to her sister, and in about five 
 minutes afterwards,, down came Hector; he 
 went and kissed Marcus. " Come to me, 
 darling," said Connor. 
 
 " No," replied the boy, looking with pretty 
 gravity in his face, " you are a bad man, and 
 made mammy cry."" This little incident struck 
 Connor to the heart, and he could hardly have 
 been more wounded, when Flora, with tearful 
 eyes and a flushed cheek, told him Margaret had 
 made up her mind not to see him that day. 
 " I can't tell him all," she whispered to 
 Marcus, " because it would break his heart. 
 My sister," she said aloud, " is much hurt at 
 your abandoning her cousin to the ferocity of a 
 party of drunkards, and Marcus can tell you, 
 that had he not fortunately met them, he might 
 have been killed." Connor offered neither apo- 
 logy nor explanation for this, but suddenly
 
 184 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 placing a chair in the centre of the room, he 
 exclaimed, 
 
 ** Then, by all the blessed books that ever 
 were shut and opened, here I'll stay, until she 
 herself desires me to go. I leave it to you, 
 Flora, supposing that Marcus had been drawn 
 in, as I was, last night, would you, Flora, be as 
 cruel hard as Margaret is to me'?'* 
 
 '* Indeed, Connor," she replied, " I would 
 not. I tell you honestly, and there's my hand 
 on't, I would give my little finger to see that 
 fellow with a black eye, a broken head, or any 
 little token of warfare about him. Marcus, 
 why did not you restore Monica to her cabin, 
 and beat the bailiffs ? Go away, when you 
 are even stirred, you are just like a dish of 
 skimmed milk." 
 
 " She could not. Flora," said Connor — " she 
 could not turn me off, as she'd turn a dog out, 
 without so much, as God be with you. I could 
 not believe she would be so cruel unjust. Flora, 
 I entreat you, go to her again ; just ask her to 
 see, to hear me — O, it's a poor case indeed, 
 when years of love and labour are forgotten 
 for an hour's sin !" 
 
 *' It's no use, Connor," she replied ; '^ my 
 sister's life has been a long sacrifice to what she 
 considers her duty. She bade me tell you that
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 185 
 
 she wished you health, long life, and happiness, 
 and that she need not repeat what you already 
 know." 
 
 " Sure, it's long sorry I'd be to trouble her 
 to repate it," he said. '« Wish me health and 
 happiness — that's like giving a man a drink of 
 poison, and bidding him go to sleep easy and 
 comfortable. Flory, I've known you since you 
 were a dawshy child, the height of my knee — 
 you wouldn't deceive me." 
 
 *' No, Connor," she answered, " that I 
 would not. I'll go to her again, if you de- 
 sire it." 
 
 " Bless you, dear Flora," he exclaimed, " do 
 tell her how it was — tell her — oh my grief! — 
 you can't tell her how I feel, for it's known 
 only to my own heart. Come back before you 
 go ; and listen — tell her, that she''s dearer to me 
 than the air I breathe ; that every pulse of my 
 heart tells the letters of her name ; that any- 
 thing she bids me do I will — barring it's to 
 forget her, and that I never can, while the 
 grass grows or water runs — that if she'll only 
 let me see her, I'll show her how it wasn't my 
 fault, only my misfortune ; but that I'll do 
 black and bitter penance for it, as if it was a 
 deep sin." 
 
 '* Any more repentance," said Flora, run-
 
 186 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 ing off, " for by Saintee Shelah, you've given 
 me as much to carry as if you had committed 
 the seven deadly sins." 
 
 " She will come round in time," said Marcus. 
 '* I wish you had let it rest for a few days." 
 
 " Let what rest ?'''' exclaimed Connor, with a 
 sudden burst of feeling, " my boiling blood, 
 and my throbbing brow ? Marcus, you do not 
 know me; you know not what love is. So near 
 my happiness ! and now, to see it torn from 
 me. — She cannot have the heart to drive me from 
 
 her — she cannot " before he had concluded 
 
 the sentence Flora returned. ^' Flora," he said, 
 *' I see it in your face ; she has the heart to 
 turn me out, without one word — one kind or 
 
 sad good-bye — after but never heed — never 
 
 heed ! Now by the bright skies and green fields 
 of my country," he continued vehemently, as 
 starting up he flung the chair from him, " Til 
 make her sorry for this before she's many hours 
 
 older — by the great " 
 
 But Flora would not let him speak ; she 
 placed her hand on his lips. " Hush, Connor ; 
 a little patience." 
 
 " It's you must hush," he said, as he broke 
 from her ; " the first man that talks to me of 
 patience, I'll knock his brains out! Tell her, 
 I say, she shall be heart-sorry for this, before
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 187 
 
 she's many hours older ; and tell her so from 
 me. But no — do not — she'll feel it time 
 enough." And he rushed out of the room like 
 a maniac. 
 
 " Poor Connor ! when my sister takes any- 
 thing in her head, she's very obstinate ; she 
 wouldn't hear me. I dare say he'll enlist — 
 go for a soldier or a sailor. I couldn't have 
 used him so," sa'd Flora. 
 
 " Indeed," observed the gentle Marcus, ** you 
 use me worse." 
 
 ** You, indeed ! You are proud, Marcus ; 
 but your's is an Irish pride — a pride compared 
 to which humility is a rich privilege and a rare 
 gift." 
 
 " Well, if it is, Flora, pride is almost the 
 only thing we have left us. Listen to me — if 
 Connor enlists, I'll do the same. I'm tired of 
 this dawdling life. Had I been rich and indepen- 
 dent, you would not have trifled with or have 
 tortured me as you have done ; were I to go 
 abroad, you might sometimes think of me with 
 kindness, if not with love. You accuse " 
 
 " Stop," said Flora, " I never accused you of 
 anything, goodman Marcus, except, — the car- 
 dinal virtues, — your gentleness, patience, and 
 long-suff*ering have been a perpetual reproach 
 to poor giddy -pated Flora. You have been a
 
 188 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 sort of pattern-man to fit all sorts of proprieties 
 on, and I have tried to spoil you. I should 
 like you so much better, if you had a good 
 spice of Old Nick in your composition. I 
 think a red coat would do it — you would look 
 so handsome in regimentals !" 
 
 " Ah 1" said her lover, and an expression of 
 sadness became his handsome face, "you would 
 like me to leave you, then ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! — Now keep your distance, as the 
 raven said to the crow when he called her step- 
 sister," laughed the girl ; " I should break 
 my heart for somebody to torment. To be 
 sure, Margaret has just bought a donkey for 
 Hector, and that would do almost as well — 
 better — because the creature would kick, 
 and " 
 
 " I don't ?" added the youth. 
 
 " Exactly," she said. 
 
 Marcus resolved to pluck up a spirit, and re- 
 plied, " Still, let me tell you. Til not be made 
 a fool of, solely for your amusement. There 
 are many pretty girls in the village would be 
 delighted to have me. It's absurd to see two 
 such fine fellows as O'Gorman and myself, sub- 
 ject to the caprice and whims of two English 
 gipsies, who think to carry everything before 
 them. Dame Margaret, by the weight of gra-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 189 
 
 vity, and you^ by the brightness of brass," 
 Flora rubbed her eyes, she thought Marcus 
 must be bewitched, she had never seen him 
 thus chafed before; he walked up and down 
 the room with a firm step, and he looked what 
 he was, displeased, hurt, mortified both for him- 
 self and his friend. " If Margaret Lee chooses 
 to cast off a man because he has accidentally 
 taken poison, I call her unjust; and if Flora 
 Russel delights in perpetually annoying, in sea- 
 son and out of seasan, a man who has devoted 
 many of the best hours of his life " 
 
 " Well, sir," interrupted Flora, tearing the 
 border of her best apron into literal shreds, 
 " well, sir; nobody asked you, I am sure." 
 
 '' Peace, Flora, and hear me," he said 
 sternly ; " peace, and hear me ; if you do not 
 change, it may be the last time" 
 
 " Oh, very well, sir — very well, sir,"' she ex- 
 claimed, convulsively. " So much the better, 
 to have been so long pestered with a fool !" 
 
 " You cannot look at me. Flora," he answered 
 gravely — " you cannot look at me, and call me 
 that name again." Flora sank abashed in her 
 chair, and he continued. " I said I had devoted 
 the best hours of my life to your improvement — 
 I have done more, I have devoted the germ, the 
 strength of my affection to you; I have not
 
 190 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 suffered my passion to obtain dominion over 
 me, though the struggle has been a hard one, be- 
 cause I knew that if I did so, the altar would be, 
 as it is with many of my country, only the high 
 road to poverty. 1 have laboured and waited 
 for that independence which will always secure 
 my idol from want ; if you could know how 
 madly I love you, Flora, you might, perhaps 
 understand the sacrifice ; but you are only a 
 giddy, thoughtless girl, without a heart — I tell 
 you, without a heart." 
 
 " Well, I hear you," said Flora, tapping her 
 feet rapidly on the carpet, astounded at Mar- 
 cus's new-found energy, but too well pleased 
 with the earnestness and depth of his affection to 
 be very angry ; '* I hear you, sir — if I am with- 
 out a heart — I don't suppose I was born with- 
 out one — and I can answer for it, you have not 
 got it : — good morning to you — why don't you 
 go?" And to her utter astonishment, Marcus 
 did go, which she by no means intended he 
 should ; and then she kept peeping through the 
 window to see if he was coming back ; and when 
 he did not come back, she got very angry, and 
 then she began to cry ; and when she had cried 
 a good many tears, she began to laugh — gentle 
 reader, why did Flora laugh ? — I will tell you, 
 she conned over Marcus's speech, thus —
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 191 
 
 " He has devoted the best hours of his life to 
 my improvement — well, now, if Marcus was a 
 wise man, he would have devoted them to 
 my amusement; the absurdity of supposing a 
 woman could love a man, who kept humming 
 and hawing over books from morning till night, 
 — and yet, somehow, I don't know how I should 
 feel, if he did not love me ; — he said he had 
 devoted the germ and strength of his affections 
 to me, — well, I knew that — he could not help 
 himself ;" and Flora glanced at a small looking- 
 glass, and the glance was so satisfactory, that 
 she took a longer look, and began " settling her 
 hair," and having twisted the ringlets to her 
 satisfaction, she again peeped from the window, 
 — but he came not ; and then she flounced about 
 the room, and at last paused and burst into an 
 uncontrollable fit of laughter, at what she called 
 the dignity with which Marcus left the room ; 
 and when she had laughed until the tears almost 
 came into her eyes, she looked up and saw her 
 sister standing before her, her eyes red from 
 weeping, her cheeks pale, her lips trembling. 
 " You are very merry, Flora," she said, and the 
 low, soft tone of her voice sounded like funereal 
 music, when contrasted with the ringingjoyful- 
 ness of the wild girPs merry laughter, "very ; 
 and I like to see you so, except when — it seems 
 unfeeling. You know how my feelings have
 
 192 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 been harrowed ; you have parted unkindly with 
 Marcus, yet you laugh." 
 
 *' I could not help it, Margaret," she replied. 
 " Somehow I try to keep solemnity — I would 
 fain be very miserable — I labour hard to be un- 
 happy, I do indeed ; but somehow, trouble runs 
 away from me, like water off a duck's back. I 
 am downright dead with wretchedness for a 
 minute or two, but my spirits get up, I don't 
 know how, and such funny things come into 
 my head, and my heart that seemed stuck to 
 the pit of my stomach, springs bounding to my 
 lips, and I cannot help laughing. I am very 
 sorry, sister, that you are angry, but you were 
 more severe to Connor than I have been to 
 Marcus; however, both our lovers are gone, so 
 we must either do without any, or get new ones — 
 I think I should like a new one. I'd take to little 
 Peter, only he 's so ugly — I hate an ugly man." 
 
 Flora paused in her levity, for she saw that 
 Margaret was really ill, and in an instant she 
 was sobered; for though her spirit was un- 
 tameably wild, her heart was kind. Time and 
 sorrow — real sorrow, would provide the only 
 cures for Flora's wildness. 
 
 " I will go into the garden," said Margaret. 
 " If what you told me up stairs about Connor 
 be really true, why I almost think I have been 
 too severe — and "
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 193 
 
 '* Indeed, sister, you had much better re- 
 lent," interrupted the eager Flora ; " he said 
 yod'd be heart-sorry for it, before you'd be 
 many hours older, and I am sure he is right." 
 
 " Did he say so?" said Margaret proudly; 
 " then, I am sure, T shall not offer reconcili- 
 ation — ' heart-sorry !' — that is presuming a good 
 deal." 
 
 " There, now," exclaimed Flora, bursting 
 into tears. " There, now, I have done wrong 
 again! — O ray tongue! my tongue! — what a 
 deal of misery it does bring me into ! I wish 
 I were dead or dumb !" 
 
 " Always in extremes," sighed Margaret, as 
 leaning on Flora she walked amid flowers glit- 
 tering in the sunbeams. 
 
 There is a fashion in everything, and there 
 has sprung up of late a fashion in flowers ; the 
 horticultural fetes and shows are to our cottage 
 floriculture what the Italian opera is to ballad 
 music; no one can deny their splendour and 
 utility, but I love best the humbler flowers ; it 
 is so difficult to become on friendl}^ terms with 
 exotics ; they are fine to look at, and you would 
 treat them with proper respect, but I could not 
 place them in my bosom as I would an English 
 rose, or a sprig of mignionette ; the one we, or 
 at least I, love, the other I admire. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE GROVES OF BLARXEY. 
 
 When Connor quitted Margaret's cottage, he 
 could hardly repress his feelings ; the daylight 
 was hateful to him, and, in all the bitterness of 
 a wounded spirit, he fancied every eye as he 
 passed was filled with scorn ; he would not have 
 entered a house for the world, but proceeded at 
 a rapid pace towards the old castle, and having 
 crossed the bridge 
 
 " V\^here no water flows/' 
 
 he pondered in his mind the fevered events of 
 the past day, and felt that his years of love had 
 been ill requited ; he forgot in his own sufferings, 
 the agony which Margaret must have under- 
 gone, and when he reverted to the Griffin his 
 anger knew no bounds. At last he came to the 
 resolution of compelling Margaret to see him, 
 and was about to rise determining to see Marcus, 
 when a noise amongst the bushes attracted his 
 attention, and he caught a glimpse of a well- 
 known scarlet petticoat, which at once roused 
 him. By the time, however, he had clambered 
 the rock, it had disappeared, and the Grif- 
 fin would have got clear off — for she had no 
 desire to encounter Connor in his present 
 humour — had she not sneezed ; the noise led 
 Connor to the spot, where squatted, like a hare
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 195 
 
 in its form, between two rocks in a natural dell, 
 was Mabel Griffin ; she had left Ulick, intend- 
 ing to " reconitre, as the Frinch says," but 
 would have gone far to avoid Connor. When 
 she saw she was discovered, for O'Gorman hung 
 over her hiding-place with the eye of a lynx — 
 she composed her features into their expression 
 of humility and pain. 
 
 *' You'll lend me a hand, Misther Connor 
 dear, won't you, to pull me out of this hole, — 
 O my ! — My foot slipt, you see, with the wake- 
 ness of my back, and I hunting for the sweet 
 tansey to make a drink for myself, on account 
 of the many diseases the poor flesh is bothered 
 wid ; I was going afther you as soon as I had 
 done, for I knew you'd be wanting to see me ; 
 the pride of the counthry you are, Misther 
 Connor dear, — the pride, joy, and glory." 
 
 " You traitorous old hag !" exclaimed Con- 
 nor, shaking his hand at her. 
 
 «' What is it, dear ? " replied the Griffin, 
 creeping out on her hands and knees ; " I'm 
 grown rather hard of hearing with the rheuma- 
 tics in my head." 
 
 " You are an old mischief-making Jezebel !" 
 shouted Connor. 
 
 " Now, dear," she said, standing erect before 
 him, and looking as innocent as possible, '* now, 
 
 k2
 
 196 THE GROVES OF BrARXEY. 
 
 dear, who said that of poor Mabel Griffin, for 
 ould, and deaf, and miserable, and altogether as 
 I am, — still whosoever said that of me, I'll be 
 revenged of them, that's all that's in it." 
 
 " I said it, and say it," replied Connor ; " you 
 put the drink on me yesterday — you represented 
 to Mrs. Lee that I got tipsy on whiskey and 
 then quarrelled — you — but why should I speak 
 to you ? you never had heart or feeling like 
 another woman — never." 
 
 "Did I turn ould Monica out? — did I bid 
 you sup every drop of the corjial I intinded 
 for the poor ould thing ; but you couldn't keep 
 from it, you poor wake-headed — wake-hearted 
 craythur; you could not keep from it, or any 
 other thing that took your fancy. It's myself 
 feels pity for you, and I don't mind saying so 
 to the counthry, for you re a man without any 
 hone. O poor, poor Misther Connor, sir, my 
 heart aches for you," and the hag held up her 
 hands in a deprecating attitude. 
 
 *' I wish you were a man," fiercely growled 
 Connor, between his teeth, " and then I should 
 know how to punish you." 
 
 " Thank the Almighty for all his marcy," 
 she exclaimed, " though indeed, Masther Con- 
 nor, if I knew the why and wherefore of the 
 thing, it's little, ould as I am, I'd think of
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 197 
 
 giving you as good a hiding as if you war a 
 brat of a boy. Now, do ye think ifs afraid of 
 you I'd be ? O my grief, — afraid of you !" She 
 placed her arras a-kimbo. " And now, Misther 
 Connor O'Gorman, it's very thankful I'd be to 
 you, to tell me the rason you have for turning 
 on me like a snake, or a viper, or a toad, or any- 
 thing of the kind you plase, Misther Connor ; 
 could I help it if a drop of comfort went to 
 your head instead of your heart ? could I catch 
 a hoult of a stick that never whispered its in- 
 tention to me to disfigure your beauty, you 
 Cupid, you ?" 
 
 " Mabel Griffin," interrupted Connor; " one 
 word will serve for all. You made a fool of me 
 — you turned and twisted what I did and what 
 I said to a bad purpose ; to make bitterness 
 and mischief where, if you had the heart or 
 feeling of a woman, you would have tried to 
 make peace, and hide a fault ; but for all your 
 cleverness, for I know you're as clever as bad, 
 — now, don't attempt to get up a story, don't, 
 for I can bring you chapter and verse for every- 
 thing I have said, — but with all your cleverness, 
 you'll not make a fool of me a second time, — 
 you've done your worst — you have, you cat-of- 
 the-mountain, — and see, if I don't punish you,
 
 198 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 you murdering, ugly sinner. — I'll expose you 
 to your priest, Mrs. Griffin, and " 
 
 But the Griffin did not permit Connor to 
 finish his sentence. She saw that the eyes of 
 her victim were opened, and, disappointed but 
 not baffled, she resolved to storm where she 
 could no longer mine. 
 
 *' I'll take you to pieces, Misther Connor , as 
 the tailor said when he unpickt the silk, — 
 I'll take you to pieces, as the tailor said when 
 lie unpickt the silk, sir," she repeated. " As to 
 making a fool of you — the thing they call Na- 
 ture had done that little job for me, before I 
 had the pleasure and honour of knowing a gin- 
 tleman of your fine larning, and grand edication, 
 and saggesse, as the Frinch says, and vartuous 
 propensities ; — you thought to put down the 
 mountain dew, and never toss your little finger 
 too high, — ah, ah, — don't you think you'd cut 
 a fine figure in a ballad in that purty row at the 
 sheebeen shop, ordering the fine English widdy's 
 ould sweetheart off' to execution in a bog-hole — 
 you war jealous of the little Engleesher, and 
 the widdy to say he was her cousin ; the like of 
 them cousins are convanient stock for a purty 
 young widdy — mighty convanient ! Hadn't 
 Ulick O'Sullivan (for I don't care a thraneen 
 for your good or bad word, I wanted to sow
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 199 
 
 the seed, let it grow as it might,) a fine laugh 
 at ye !" 
 
 Connor, when he looked at the taunting fiend 
 before him, could hardly command his actions, 
 Iiis temper he could not manage. 
 
 " I'll find some way of punishing you yet," 
 he said, turning away. 
 
 " Stay here and do it, can't ye ? Shall I tell 
 how the widdy " 
 
 " By all the holy saints," exclaimed Connor, 
 
 " if you but breathe her name again, I'll " 
 
 ' You'll do what, Misther Connor, sir ; what 
 will you do?" she inquired, thrusting her face 
 as close as possible to his, — *' what will you 
 do?" 
 
 What Connor would have done, cannot now 
 be ascertained. The Griflin, it will be remem- 
 bered, was greatly disliked by the entire neigh- 
 bourhood, particularly by the children, who have 
 a natural antipathy to envious and ill-natured 
 persons ; it so happened that three or four idle 
 Blarney boys had been strolling about the Rock- 
 close, and clambering the trees to the old and 
 deserted birds' nests, from which they managed 
 to abstract a small hat-full of addled eggs ; at- 
 tracted by the well-known tones of the Griffin's 
 rasping voice, one of them, a little imp of the 
 O 'Gorman faction, crept along the arm of a tree
 
 200 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 which overhung the spot where Connor and the 
 Griffin stood, and with the dexterity of an ac- 
 complished marksman, dropped a handful of 
 the eggs on her beflounced cap. Connor looked 
 upwards, and just caught a glimpse of the rosy- 
 faced delinquent, as he swung himself out of 
 sight; there was something so ludicrous in 
 the adventure, that Connor could not help 
 laughing, — not so the Griffin; she foamed 
 at the mouth with positive rage, and if 
 O'Gorman had not retreated, she would have 
 flown on him with the fury of an enraged 
 tiger, — swearing all the time that it was a plan 
 of his " to insult and murder her intirely ;" it 
 would be more than painful to repeat her words, 
 but as Connor departed, she fell on her knees 
 and swore a desperate oath, to be revenged on 
 him, and on all he loved, before he was a week 
 older.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 PART VII. 
 
 Two days had passed since Midsummer Eve, 
 and Connor had written to Margaret, who still 
 appeared inflexible, though Marcus Roche, 
 whose quarrel with Flora was made up on the 
 evening of the morning it occurred, assured him 
 she was coming round, and only holding out 
 from a little bit of female obstinacy — of which 
 Margaret Lee was by no means guiltless. Peter 
 Swan, although she had no atom of respect for 
 his opinion, encouraged her "firmness," — his dig- 
 nity had been insulted, and Margaret felt in one 
 respect with him, that Connor was greatly wrong 
 in having suffered him to be served as he had been; 
 the sight of the black riband crossing Peter's 
 forehead to conceal an unlucky scratch inflicted 
 
 K 5
 
 202 THE GROVES OF BLAllNEY. 
 
 by the branch of a tree, which Peter persisted in 
 imputing to the violence of the 7^uncivilised, 
 wild i^irish, kept alive this irritated feeling, and, 
 moreover, constant whispers were borne to her 
 ear, which, though she thought she disregarded, 
 nevertheless tended to keep Connor and her 
 apart ; the Griffin set as many reports afloat 
 through the country as might have branded a 
 hundred characters, and it is impossible to ima- 
 gine the degree of discomfort and irritation such 
 flying rumours produced at Margaret's cottage : 
 the Irish are as fond of gossip, whichmay be called 
 the under-current of scandal, as the English, and 
 unfortunately have more time, and more imagi- 
 nation to display and embellish it. Now, these 
 said walking repositories of evil, be they rich or 
 poor, always affect to disbelieve their own state- 
 ments — " they don't vouch for its truth, they 
 only heard it ;" and Margaret Lee's feelings and 
 affections were perpetually at war with what 
 she called very ostentatiously, as a woman 
 always does, *' her reason." Flora and Marcus 
 were staunch to their friend's interests, and cer- 
 tainly, with all due respect to jMistress Margaret 
 Lee, I should have considered Connor O'Gor- 
 man in the light of a victim rather than a sinner. 
 It was a touching sight to see old Monica, 
 conducted by " a neighbour's child," falling at
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 203 
 
 Margaret's feet and entreating her, while tears 
 rolled down her aged face, " not to let the love, 
 liking, and spirit, Masther Connor showed to 
 a poor, lone, desolate craythur like her, who 
 had no one to look to her, no one to think of 
 her — only God sent him like a sunbeam in the 
 dark day of her throuble.". . ."If you don't make 
 it up, Misthress Margaret, a-chora ! it will 
 send me a deal sooner to my grave." And it 
 was no easy matter to get poor Monica out of 
 the house, without Margaret's direct promise 
 tliat she would make it up; Flora was obliged 
 to manage her dismissal, as she was every- 
 thing of the kind, where management was neces- 
 sary. 
 
 It was a day sufficiently hot and sufficiently 
 suffocating to have belonged to an English, not 
 an Irish June, and Margaret was seated at her 
 work in her little parlour, her cousin poring 
 over his papers at a separate table, which he 
 had managed to litter and make as untidy as 
 possible."^ Flora was winding cotton, and 
 
 * I hope the reproach of slovenliness is passing away 
 from literature, or rather I should say, from its pro- 
 fessors. A well-organised mind cannot fail of being 
 orderly in all things, and a mind that is not well 
 organised can rarely inform, or even amuse, except by 
 its absurdities. I never could fancy why a gentleman
 
 204 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 Hector, fatigued less by heat than play, was 
 more than half asleep on the carpet. 
 
 " Cousin Margaret," said Peter Swan, who 
 Flora observed was very anxious to appear 
 both clever and interesting at the same time, 
 which if he had any knowledge of human nature, 
 he would have felt was utterly impossible, for we 
 never like the cleverness which penetrates our 
 little weaknesses ; " Cousin Margaret, you 
 would be astonished to perceive how well my 
 book gets on ; the fact is, that few tourists have 
 had the practical knowledge of the ^irish cha- 
 racter, that I have had." 
 
 " A cracked skull, and a scratched nose, to 
 wit," said Flora. 
 
 " Be quiet," said Margaret. 
 
 " Really, Flora, one would think you were 
 
 wrote best unshaven and in slippers, or how a lady 
 improved her genius by neglecting that neatness of at- 
 tire which is the outward and visible sign of a well-re- 
 gulated mind and a comfortable home. I would 
 earnestly entreat the young of my own sex, who 
 possess, or imagine they are possessed of, literary 
 talent, carefully to avoid contracting slovenly, or even 
 peculiar habits. Sir Walter Scott, (blessings and 
 honour to his name for ever!) set a glorious example 
 of simplicity and propriety in all things, that we ought 
 to follow in gratitude and humility.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 205 
 
 /Tirish, you are so funny,*''' replied Peter, who 
 certainly was very good-tempered. 
 
 " What part of your life and adventures 
 have you been writing to-day, — is it the Aanti- 
 quities, as you call them ?" persisted the in- 
 corrigible Flora. Margaret cast a reproving 
 glance at her sister, but Peter's ear was not 
 sufficiently quick to notice the burlesque. 
 
 " No, Mr. Cut told me not to mind them, 
 as they could be put together in London. You 
 know there are no new ^antiquities, and it''s as 
 easy as print to get them out of the old tours. 
 Marcus is to give me a chapter, which will be 
 a feature, and Mr. Shuffle (whose brother is 
 clever in that way) will dove-tail the new and 
 
 the old, until they agree quite as well as " 
 
 " Protestant and Catholic !" interrupted 
 Flora. 
 
 ** Better, I hope," said Peter gravely, " or 
 they would not agree at all; and much as you 
 undervalue my abilities, Flora, I assure you 
 I have already made a list of thirteen new 
 stories, anecdotes — all curious — here they are. 
 No. 1. The Kilkenny Cats, that eat each other 
 to the tails ; No. 2. The Bit of a Box ; No. 3. 
 the Last of the Sarpints ; No. 4>. How to make 
 Limestone Soup ; No. 5. Castle walls papered 
 with velvet ; No. 6. "
 
 206 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " Stop, Stop," exclaimed Flora ; " why all 
 those stories are as well known as the rock of 
 Cashel." 
 
 " And how is the rock of Cashel known ?" 
 
 Flora laughed. 
 
 " I assure you, Flora," continued the tra- 
 veller, "the rock of Cashel is not at all known 
 in England." 
 
 " I believe you, sincerely," said Margaret. 
 " It is very sad for poor Ireland, that those in 
 general who write about her, see only one side 
 of the picture ; they come over here with pre- 
 conceived ideas." 
 
 " I assure you, cousin," said Peter, with ad- 
 mirable simplicity, " I had no preconceived 
 ideas." 
 
 " I firmly believe ^/i«/," returned Flora, with 
 mock gravity. 
 
 " I thank you, Flora," said the little man, 
 " that is nearly the first civil thing you have 
 said to me since my arrival." 
 
 " Well, then, dear coz," she replied, despite 
 of Margaret's admonitory looks, *' well, then, 
 dear coz, I assure you, it will not be the last. 
 Are the booksellers who sent you on your tra- 
 vels very great booksellers ? Do they publish 
 a great many books, and is your name to be 
 printed on the title page — by Peter Swan, 
 Esq.?"
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 207 
 
 " No, no," replied Peter, struggling between 
 a natural love of truth and an acquired taste for 
 display. "No, a gentleman — a great man, is to 
 what is called edit the book ; and then many 
 persons think it is his" 
 
 *' And many don't think about it at all, after 
 my way," said Flora. *' And the great man, as 
 you call him, puts his great name to your little- 
 great nonsense, and that would be something? 
 
 1 fancy, like " 
 
 " Flora, Flora !" exclaimed Margaret. 
 " Well, 1 can't help it — like harnessing our 
 great horse to Hector's wheelbarrow, and then 
 every one would think something was coming;, 
 but Peter, cousin Peter, won't they be disap- 
 pointed, when they see — only the little barrow ?" 
 " Flora, you hurt people's feelings," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Dear little cousin, do I hurt your feelings ?" 
 she asked. " I am very sorry, cousin Peter, 
 and I won't do so any more." 
 
 Peter Swan looked at his giddy coz for a 
 moment, and then with a blending of good- 
 temper and unintentional burlesque that was 
 very ludicrous, he observed, " Well, Flora, it 
 will be by the opinion of the public that I 
 stand or fall : perhaps when you see my book 
 praised in an English newspaper "
 
 208 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " Psha," laughed the incorrigible girl, " yes- 
 terday I read in an English newspaper, that 
 somebody's jet blacking was the pride of man- 
 kind." 
 
 " Well," said the traveller, a most extraor- 
 dinary light breaking in upon him, exemplified 
 by a desire to tease his cousin ; " well, I quite 
 agree with Margaret, that she has had a lucky 
 escape from this O'Gorman, he is an an ^uncivi- 
 lized, ^unnatural, wild ^irish monster ; who, as 
 I have here written, is a genuine specimen of the 
 race homo^ with the wings just cut; one degree 
 and a quarter, (I like to be correct,) one de- 
 gree and a quarter . removed from positive 
 cannibalism." 
 
 " How dare you put such stuff into your 
 foolish book ?" exclaimed Margaret ; " after 
 this fashion is the country injured and insulted. 
 Petty scribblers make a month's visit, scrawl, 
 and then print their nonsense ! Harry O'Gor- 
 man is a brave, warm-hearted, generous fellow ! 
 And the more I think over the affair " 
 
 " Hilly, oh, O !" said Peter. 
 
 "Bravo!" said the delighted Flora; "go 
 on — now you've struck the right key, and will 
 give us a sweet melody !" 
 
 Margaret looked confused, and inquired what 
 she had said.
 
 THE GKOVES OF BLARNEY. 209 
 
 " Say," repeated Flora, in her ecstasy 
 tangling the cotton ; " say — why you know 
 you have been thinking of him all the day ; 
 — when you called the cat to his milk this morn- 
 ing, instead of saying Tom, you said Connor." 
 
 " My dear Flora, will you hold your 
 tongue? you know that Hector has played in 
 the sun until he is quite exhausted, and yet you 
 chatter away." 
 
 " You never reproved my chattering till 
 now; but I won't suffer my tongue to be 
 balked of its duty-exercise by that sleepy- 
 headed urchin," she continued, taking him ten- 
 derly in her arms, while his beautiful head 
 rested on her bosom, and he still slept on, the 
 soft warm sleep of infancy, as if he had not been 
 removed. " I will put him on my bed in that 
 little room; (Flora's sleeping-room communi- 
 cated with the parlour;) here, mammy, take off 
 his shoes," Margaret untied the shoes, and 
 stood up to take the silk kerchief she had worn 
 herself off her neck, to cover his eyes — the 
 kerchief was remarkable in pattern — a white 
 silk, with an embroidered border of green 
 shamrocks — Connor had given it to her. 
 
 " Fll put him on the bed myself," said the 
 tender mother, as she took him to her own 
 bosom ; " and while I am gone, you can sing to
 
 210 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 Peter the ' Perilous Blarney ;' it will do, you 
 know, as an original song for the English, being 
 as yet, only known in Ireland ;" and she left the 
 room with her sleeping boy. 
 Flora sung — 
 
 *' Oh, when a young bachelor woos a young maid, 
 Who's eager to go, and yet willing to stay — 
 She sighs, and she blushes, and looks half afraid. 
 But loses no word that her Lover can say. 
 What is it she hears but the blarney — 
 
 The blarney — the blarney — 
 O, a perilous thing is the Blarney ! 
 
 " To all that he tells her she gives no reply, 
 
 Or murmurs and whispers, so gentle and low — 
 And though he has ask'd her when nobody's by. 
 She dare not say 'yes'— and she cannot say ' no,' 
 She knows what she hears is the blarney — 
 
 The blarney — the blarney — 
 O, a perilous thing is the Blarney ! 
 
 " But people get used to a perilous thing. 
 
 And fancy the sweet words of lovers are true — 
 So let all their blarney be passed through a ring — 
 The charm will prevent all the ill it can do ; 
 And maids have no fear of the blarney— 
 
 The blarney — the blarney — 
 Or the peril that lies in the Blarney." 
 
 Margaret returned to the room on tip-toe, 
 her finger resting on her lips as she looked
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 211 
 
 back towards the bed, upon which she had placed 
 her child. 
 
 " O Flora !" she said, in a low whispering 
 voice, " do look at him, he is so lovely !" 
 
 " Bother the brat !" exclaimed Flora, who, 
 notwithstanding her sauciness, loved the child 
 with the warmest affection. " Bother the brat ! 
 he is the cause of a great deal of trouble." 
 
 " Now you are unjust," replied Margaret, 
 resuming her seat; "very unjust — he never 
 gives you trouble !" 
 
 " Will your honours help a poor sailor that**s 
 ould, and worn, and starvin"* .?" inquired a 
 feeble voice at the open window. 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Peter, " there's no end 
 to the beggars in this country, nor no place 
 secure from their intrusion. Such a vagabond 
 as that ought to be sent to the workhouse !" 
 
 " Help a poor sailor !" repeated the same 
 whining voice. 
 
 " What have you got rolled up in your 
 blanket at your back ?" inquired Flora. 
 
 '* A little cask of holy wather it is. Miss 
 Beauty-bright, that I filled at the holy well of 
 Gougane Barra with my own two hands, and am 
 carrying through thecounthry to turn an honest 
 penny by, and help the lone, desolate craythurs 
 that can't get so far for it themselves,"
 
 212 THE GROVES OF BLAllNEy, 
 
 " O indeed !" said Flora, " holy water out 
 of the River Lee, I dare say; if you have been 
 to Gougane Barra this midsummer, poor man, 
 what need can you have for the green shade 
 over your eyes ?" 
 
 " Ah, Miss Beauty ! it was a flash of light- 
 ning did that mischief to me in the Bay of 
 Biscay ; and the waters of the holy well are 
 only good for land blindness. I've enough 
 sight left to see your purty face, miss — praise 
 be to God !" 
 
 Flora rose, laughed, and gave the old sailor 
 a penny, who then began to beg for some food ; 
 for an Irish beggar seldom gets one thing that 
 he does not immediately ask for another ; and 
 Margaret herself walked out of the room, 
 under the rustic verandah, paused as she passed 
 the window of the chamber where her child was 
 sleeping, looked in on him, and then with 
 her own hand gave the traveller both bread 
 and meat, telling him, that as he appeared 
 fatigued, he might, if he pleased, sit down and 
 eat it where he could be shaded from the sun's 
 rays. The place she so kindly pointed out, 
 was between the two windows. She then re- 
 turned to her work, and Peter declaimed long 
 and loudly, as people who know nothing of the 
 starving condition of the Irish poor are apt to
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 213 
 
 do, against the impropriety of encouraging pau- 
 pers, until Flora, wearied with his stupidity, 
 (and what is so abominable as a man talking 
 nonsense in the morning ?) took from her work- 
 box a will which poor Monica's son had made 
 previous to his transportation, and which she 
 had kept, she said, as a national curiosity. 
 
 Marcus had written it according to the man's 
 own dictation, and as I have never seen Mr. 
 Peter Swan's book — which, possibly, may never 
 have been published — I venture to insert this 
 curious document of Irish ingenuity, showing 
 how much a man can leave who has nothing: to 
 leave, — adding only that Flora read it with an 
 admirable brogue. 
 
 " I, Jemmy Murphy, being sound both of 
 wind and limb, as well as body and mind — 
 though, faith, it's like an empty nut I am — do 
 give and bequeath as follows: — To Ulick 
 O'Sullivan, and all his seed, breed, and genera- 
 tion, 1 lave bad luck — a thing they had ever 
 and always, when Misther Connor O'Gorman, 
 or any of the heads of his faction, were to the 
 fore, — to say nothing of myself, who always 
 tickled them nately, by day or night, and will 
 again, if ever it's my fortune to return, afther 
 my travels, to this blessed and beautiful coun- 
 try. To my cousin, Darby Murphy, commonly
 
 214 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 called Darby the bone-setter, by rason of the 
 handy turn he had with the shillala, I lave my 
 black-thorn, which he will find up our chimney, 
 where I kept it these six months seasoning ; and 
 my darlint mother knows I buttered it with 
 hog's-lard every morning" of my life, as soon as 
 I said my prayers, which kept me from every 
 sort and kind of temptation, barring the bit of 
 a hunt afther the guager, for which I'm a mur- 
 dered man intirely — for they might as well 
 send me out of the counthry for hunting a fox 
 or a badger — but that has nothing to do with 
 mv Will." 
 
 " Stop for a moment, Flora,"" said Margaret, 
 " and just see if the sailor has finished, and 
 left the plate." 
 
 " Yes," replied Flora, after doing as her 
 sister desired, *' he is gone, and left some bread 
 and potatoes on the dish. How very strange ! 
 and never to say thank you." 
 
 " Pray go on. Miss Flora,"" said Peter ; " it 
 is particularly interesting." 
 
 " The bit of a farm I lave to my poor 
 mother — that is, if the landlord will lave it 
 with her, which he need not do, unless he likes, 
 for I forgot to get the lase signed ; and if the 
 neighbours help her to plough it, and plant it, 
 and give it plenty of good manure, Til go bail
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 215 
 
 afther a year or two she'll be able to pay the 
 rint, and that's more than ever I could, out 
 of it." 
 
 " Well," said Peter, " that is a very extra- 
 ordinary fact ; how hard for a landlord not to 
 be able to get his rent !" 
 
 " Very," said Margaret ; " only equalled by 
 the hardship of a tenant's being unable to pay 
 it !" 
 
 " Listen," exclaimed Flora, " and don't in- 
 terrupt me, — you are very rude." 
 
 " My father''s wig — it never fitted me, in 
 rason that the many thumps my father got 
 altered the shape of his head so much, that 
 his own mother — (rest her soul!) — and she, 
 feeling it all over — used to say, ' My darling 
 son, this is not the head you were born with ;'' 
 he lived to be three-score and ten, and hadn't a 
 grey hair in his head — they were all white I 
 I lave it to the man that swore against me, 
 with my curse^ that he may feel more trouble 
 and blackness under it than ever he brought 
 on me." 
 
 '' What a revengeful dog P said the cock- 
 ney ; " I am glad he is out of the country !" 
 
 " The bacon I lave to my mother, not that 
 there's as much of it left as would fit in the hol- 
 low of a bee's fist ; there's Paddy Mahoney's mo-
 
 216 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 tlier, rd lave her the pratee-pit, only there's no 
 pratees in it ; and I'd lave my mother the turf- 
 rick, only it's burnt — any how, put it down, it's 
 a token of my love and goodwill to my poor 
 mother, which, indeed, I'd be a thief to forget ; 
 I'll lave her the big potato-pot, my grand- 
 mother, rest her bones ! bought at the old 
 squire's cant ; and the cup and two saucers 
 that Jerry Donovan took a bite out of to 
 sharpen his teeth — and the beautiful bottle 
 without a neck — and the three-legged stool 
 they burnt the two legs out of — and the taypot 
 that Judy Nale knocked the handle off of, and 
 sent the cover into smithereens — all these I lave 
 to my mother. I lave the horse and car to my 
 brother's widow — faith the horse is dead, but 
 the car's below in the ditch — one of the wheels 
 in the mud, the other striving to keep the pig 
 in the sty ; and that same pig I lave to Jerry 
 Dacey — she's to the fore, anyhow, in the squire's 
 pound /" 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Peter, '* but 
 what's the meaning of ' to the fore ?' " 
 
 " On the spot— to be got at," replied Flora. 
 
 " And what does he mean by buying at a 
 cant r 
 
 '* O," she said, " a cant is an auction." 
 
 *' An ^auction," repeated the cockney; *' dear
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 217 
 
 me, it would be an hact of benevolence to teach 
 these poor creatures English." 
 
 Flora laughed maliciously, and continued — 
 *' I have a great deal of respect for Mrs. 
 Margaret Lee, and I lave her my gratitude 
 for all the good advice she gave me, which, if 
 I had the sense to follow, I wouldn't be trou- 
 bling the government now, as I have been 
 doing, against my will — for it's not trouble of 
 that kind Vd like to he gimng them. To my 
 poor little niece I lave the forty acres on the 
 top of Hungary Mountain, that were my great 
 grandfather's own, and where there's plenty of 
 hares, but only one heir-at-law — and that's 
 myself; the lives in the lase must drop one 
 time or other, and when they do, why in law 
 and raison the property is mine ; so the poor 
 little thing will be an heiress, maybe, if she 
 lives long enough." 
 
 Flora's reading was interrupted by the sud- 
 den entrance of Aileen O'Sullivan, who came 
 forward with more than ordinary wildness of look 
 and gesture, to the no small terror of Peter Swan, 
 who seemed to regard everything Irish as an 
 object of terror. She did not speak to either 
 Margaret or Flora, but murmuring a sort of 
 tuneless music to herself, went round and 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE GllOVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 round the room, peering under the tables and 
 chairs — looking behind the curtains— and then 
 pausing to gaze on Margaret with a pecu- 
 liarly mournful expression of countenance. 
 
 " This is the most ill-governed country on 
 the face of the earth," said Peter, angry at the 
 interruption ; " nothing but beggars and mad 
 women. Why don't you turn her out ?" 
 
 *' The little man in grey_, and the little man in white. 
 That sings in the day, and trembles at night — 
 Poor man !" 
 
 sang the innocent; and attempted to smooth 
 down Peter's hair — at which Peter was in- 
 dignant. Suddenly she espied Hector's shoes, 
 and running to them, eagerly snatched them 
 up, looked at them, and then at Margaret. 
 
 '•' What a gentle, tender creature she is,'** said 
 Margaret, who, like all mothers, was pleased 
 that even her child's shoes should be taken no- 
 tice of. It is very long since you came to see 
 me, Aileen, — what will you take ?" 
 
 " You have nothing to give Aileen," she re- 
 plied, laying down the shoes, and gazing as 
 earnestly as before at Margaret. " Poor bird ! 
 its nest is robbed — its nest is robbed." 
 
 " Poor thing," said Flora, " she misses
 
 THE GKOVES OF BLARNEY. 219 
 
 Hector. Hector is asleep, Aileen, will you wait 
 till he wakes?" 
 
 " Where ?" inquired Aileen. 
 
 " There, in that room,'' replied Margaret, 
 pleased at her intelligence ; " there — but hush, 
 you must not waken him — he is tired." 
 
 Aileen proceeded on tip-toe to the door Mar- 
 garet had pointed to. which was open ; she 
 just looked in, and then screaming one of her 
 wildest screams, rushed into the garden by the 
 way she had entered. 
 
 " Plague take her vagaries," exclaimed Mar- 
 garet, pettishly, " that will waken the boy." 
 And she ran herself to the entrance of the little 
 chamber; but the scream she uttered was far 
 more terrible than that of Aileen, as she called 
 aloud, " Flora ! he is not here. Gracious 
 heaven ! Run, Flora, he is in the garden, or 
 in the paddock, or the stable, or — how very ab- 
 surd it is of me to tremble thus. Look in 
 your chamber, Peter — he is full of frolic as a 
 mountain kid, and has hidden there to frighten 
 me — I'm sure he has. Hector, my child ! 
 Flora," continued Margaret, as she sunk ex- 
 hausted in a chair ; " Flora, call him louder — 
 my heart faints within me — the child could not 
 hear my voice — it is so feeble; call him, dear 
 Flora— loud, so that he may hear and come.'' 
 
 l2
 
 220 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 Flora called loud enough to rouse the farm 
 servants who were at dinner, but none had seen 
 Hector. 
 
 *' I am sure," said Margaret, when she found 
 that she could speak with some degree of calm- 
 ness, though she trembled like an aspen, " I am 
 sure he has concealed himself in play, and I 
 shall find him cowering in a corner, his cheeks 
 full of rosy joy, his eyes brighter than dia- 
 monds. Hector!" she called aloud, " Hector, 
 you silly rogue !" but for the first time when 
 she called her boy, there was no answer. Col- 
 lecting her strength, she rushed from the room, 
 to pursue the search herself; and in a few mo- 
 ments all her neighbours were aware of Hector's 
 mysterious disappearance, and intent on his re- 
 covery. 
 
 " My dearest sister," said Flora, perfectly 
 sobered, and not at all disposed to laugh, " you 
 know he cannot be gone far — it is impossible — 
 just think." 
 
 '* I cannot think," replied Margaret, " I 
 cannot think — I feel that my child is gone — 
 but I cannot think — yet you said it was impos- 
 sible — say it again, dear Flora, and I will bless 
 you." 
 
 ** It is impossible," repeated Flora. 
 
 " How coldly you say it," said the agonised mo-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLAlll^Ey. 221 
 
 ther — "how coldly you say it; his shoes are here, 
 you know ; he cannot go anywhere without his 
 shoes. Oh, my heart is bursting, and you to say 
 so coldly, that it was impossible !" And Mar- 
 garet flew from the support of her sister's arm, 
 to issue fresh orders and make new inquiries. 
 Flora was terrified at lier sister's vehemence; 
 she could not understand it — it was so opposed 
 to her usual calm and gentle bearing, that it 
 terrified her. Much as she loved Hector, it 
 was not yet given her to comprehend the ab- 
 sorbing interest, the depth, the anxiety of a fond 
 mother's love for an only child. Evening came, 
 yet brought no tidings of the boy. The wild- 
 nessof Margaret's grief was settling into a calm 
 deep agony, much more terrific than her bursts 
 of feeling ; the country was roused, every man, 
 woman, and child, were on the alert; police- 
 men were sent by Marcus Roche in all directions, 
 and the strictest inquiries set on foot, as to what 
 strangers had been seen in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood that morning. 
 
 Flora named the Griffin as a likely person to 
 secret the boy from ill-nature ; but the vil- 
 lagers were quite positive they had not seen her 
 for two days, and she was too well known and 
 too strictly noticed to pass unobserved through 
 Blarney. Two or three lame sailors were known
 
 222 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 to have been in the neighbourhood, one of 
 whom had visited the Bee's Nest, but how 
 could they carry away Hector ? and, moreover, 
 why should they do it ? 
 
 Peter Swan passed from one ecstasy to 
 another. During the whole of his peace- 
 able life, he had never been so excited — he 
 was a new man. First of all, the child's dis- 
 appearance was a sudden fillip to his nerves; 
 then the state in which he saw Margaret roused 
 his sympathies ; then a sort of virtuous indigna- 
 tion v/hich the English always feel at the mal- 
 administration of the Irish laws, overpowered 
 him, and the little fair-haired man would hardly 
 have been recognised by any of his respectable 
 city acquaintances, so active and energetic had 
 he suddenly become. Flora said the Irish air 
 had wound him up, and he certainly afforded 
 the peasants of Blarney a great deal of amuse- 
 ment ; they liked "the little gentleman" for 
 being so anxious about the child, whom they 
 all loved, but they were at a loss to know 
 whether they should set him down as whole 
 or half mad ; he talked largely of Bow-street 
 officers, and city police— of abduction, — or 
 as he called it, Aabduction, — of the danger- 
 ous state of the county, and the lord mayor — 
 and to use the words of an old woman, —
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 223 
 
 " bothered the people intirely with a power, of 
 what they took to be his great edication, but 
 what they could not understand in no manner 
 of ways, she supposed because of his larning." 
 He annoyed the villagers too, very much, by 
 telh'ng them they had no business to interfere 
 about the child, but to leave all to the " proper 
 authorities," which when Flora heard, she flew 
 into a passion and told him, that an Irishman 
 always felt a proper authority in his heart 
 for doing what was right, and did not need his 
 (Peter's) interference, to give him that autho- 
 rity ; upon which Peter grew angry, and leav- 
 ing Flora and Marcus in the parlour, pro- 
 ceeded to walk up and down the garden, which 
 he found far more pleasant than listening to 
 Flora's reproofs. It was impossible to tran- 
 quillise Margaret: she looked through the rooms, 
 and in the same places, twenty times over for 
 her child; all things that moved she fancied 
 were his returning footsteps, and Flora was 
 almost alarmed for her reason. Peter had con- 
 tinued his walk up and down the garden watch- 
 ing the moon and stars, and thinking how very 
 different England was from Ireland, when sud- 
 denly he heard his name called by a voice 
 which he knew proceeded from the Griffin ; he 
 looked and saw her on the other side of the
 
 2*24 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 hedge, appearing more tall and gaunt than usual 
 in the moonbeams. 
 
 " Come near me, Mr. Swan, sir, if you 
 plase," she said, in what she intended to be 
 a very insinuating tone of voice ; " come near 
 me, dear gintleman, if you plase, for it 's the 
 hoarseness and shortness of breath I'm troubled 
 with intirely — it's a grate trouble to me." 
 
 '•' I am quite near enough to you, my very 
 good woman," said Peter, not at all liking to 
 enter into conversation with a lady of Mrs. Grif- 
 fin's very extraordinary habits, particularly by 
 moonlight. 
 
 " Sure, dear Mr. Swan, sir, I want to spake 
 asy, and if I'd go to whisper through the 
 hedge the face would be torn off me with the 
 blackberry-bushes ; and bad as the ould face is, 
 it's the one that must go down to the grave 
 with me, sir." 
 
 " But what can you possibly have to say to 
 me, Mrs. Griffins .?" 
 
 " Griffin, if you plase, sir." 
 
 "Well, it's all the same, isn't it .?" 
 
 " If you plase, sir. But what I want to 
 talk to you about, sir, is the child, sir," she 
 said in a low tone. 
 
 " What, Hector .^" exclaimed Peter. 
 
 " Ay, the beauty !" she replied. " Only
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 225 
 
 jist put your foot on the root of the ash, and 
 lind me the loan of your hand, and Til pull you 
 through asy enough ; and here's a sate for your 
 honour, too, sir !" 
 
 Peter gave her his hand, and willy-nilly, she 
 drew him through the hedge ; and lifting him 
 with the greatest ease, seated him on the arm 
 of a stunted oak, where his legs, unable to 
 reach the ground, dangled in the air, while 
 she placed her hand on his arm to prevent his 
 falling. " Your feet will be out of the damp 
 grass now, sir ; and the Irish dew rots the 
 leathers of English shoes " 
 
 " Ah !" muttered Peter, *' I wonder what 
 the old hag will say or do ;" and his eagerness 
 to hear tidings of the child did not prevent 
 his placing his hand on his watch, and draw- 
 ing the tails of his coat under his arm, to pre- 
 vent his pockets being picked. 
 
 " Now, Misther Swan, sir, I'm a pathriot — 
 a pure Irish pathriot — and I can't bear the 
 idea, sir, of your going out of the coun- 
 thry with an oppression on your mind, sir, 
 that we are mauvais soojets, as the Frinch 
 says ; it was one man that stole Hector Lee 
 from his mother, and it would be a sin and a 
 shame that in the mind of a gintleman of sense 
 and laming like yourself, sir, the whole coun- 
 
 L 5
 
 2*26 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 thry should lie under a reproach and a thunder- 
 cloud, for the sake of one man's spite and 
 treachery. Don't, my dear little gintleman, be 
 trying to touch the earth with your toes, it'll 
 only give you cold, dear ; sit asy, sir, if you 
 plase." 
 
 «6 Well— but who took the child ?" said Peter. 
 
 " That's tellings !" replied the Griffin, lay- 
 ing her finger along her nose ; " but can't you 
 guess — who has a quarrel with the purty 
 widdy ? Who trated her relation, not with 
 respect, but a ducking ? Who " 
 
 " Why you don't mean to say Connor stole 
 Hector Lee ?" 
 
 " You first ax him," said the Griffin signi- 
 ficantly. 
 
 " I'd rather not," replied Peter drily. 
 
 " Well, if you're shy that way — sit asy, will 
 ye — how you do kick the tree, dear^ — put this 
 and this together— Connor shows the cloven- 
 fut too soon. Connor's refused ; Connor made 
 no secret of threat'ning revinge; the widdy 
 won't come to— Connor, I don't say he stole 
 the child — but an O'Gorman was at the cottage 
 this morning done up as a sailor, — I know two 
 boys as can swear it." 
 
 " The strongest circumstantial evidence I 
 ever heard," said Peter. " Where are your wit-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 227 
 
 nesses ? They must make their depositions im- 
 mediately before a magistrate. I wish you'd take 
 me down." 
 
 " Not yet, sir dear. Depositions before a 
 magistrate, is it ? O my law ! It's little you 
 know about Ireland, sir. Depositions before 
 a magistrate — sure they wouldn't be alive twelve 
 hours after." 
 
 *' You don't mean that ?" said Peter. 
 
 " I do, sir. Oh the sweet purty widdy had 
 a lucky escape, sir, she had ; and the poor child 
 as the vagabone carried it off — they say he cried 
 murder ! not, Vm sure, that he'll harrum the boy, 
 not yet — pas appresent, as the Frinch says, any 
 way — but he'll set him a one side, and thin — 
 now mark my words, Mr. Swan, sir " 
 
 " I do," replied Peter earnestly. 
 
 " And when the hullabaloo, and the ullagawn 
 is quite riz — now mind and obsarve me — he'll step 
 forward thin as grand as the binch of bishops, 
 and offer (the black-hearted thraitor !) to find 
 the child, and tell a hogmagany " 
 
 " What ?" interrogated Peter. 
 
 " Why a blathurrum of a tale about love 
 and misery; and thin trump up a story, 
 and say where he found it ; may be, put the 
 blame on some innocent boy's head, and thin 
 come over the poor wake craythur that way —
 
 228 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 the way you gintlemen all wheedle poor in- 
 nocent women. Would you take a drop ?" 
 
 " No thank you," said Peter ; " but, Mrs. 
 Griffins, you must come forward ; Pll get the 
 police to take this man immediately into cus- 
 tody — I never liked him, I confess, though " 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Peter, you'd a lucky escape of 
 the bog-hole ; he was not so gone but he knew 
 what he was afther ; he wanted you out of the 
 way — he was afFeared of your penetration." 
 
 " Very likely," said Peter, appropriating the 
 compliment at once. 
 
 '« They'll not hear of it within at all ; Mr. 
 Roche and all, are so wrapt up intirely in him ; 
 but take your own course, Mr. Peter, gather 
 the Peelers yourself, on the sly, and go slap 
 bang to the house at onct, and you may find 
 something of the hoy there — let nothing escape 
 you." 
 
 " But the witnesses — I must get at the men 
 — it will fall to the ground unless we can bring 
 the witnesses who saw him." 
 
 " Not at all, my dear ; why should the poor 
 boys be murdered ? Witnesses are always mur- 
 dered in Ireland, and they're never wanted — 
 secret information does as well." 
 
 " But you said, I think, Connor O'Gorman 
 took the boy .?"
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 229 
 
 " One of his faction did, dear, at first, and 
 then he was given over to Connor himself. Ob- 
 sarve the desate of him, dear. When you 
 bring the Peelers on him, do it all yourself, 
 Mr. Swan, because you have the wisdom, and 
 you'll see how glib he'll offer to find the child 
 himself, — but take no comrades." 
 
 " Well, help me down now, my good wo- 
 man ; and then, late as it is, we'll get the police, 
 and be off to Connor's house." 
 
 " Not me neither, misther Peter ; I'd not be 
 left alive an hour with them O'Gormans. Sure 
 you wouldn't have me murdered for the good 
 heart I have to your cousin. O my ! Sure 
 youni " 
 
 At this moment the garden-door opened, and 
 Marcus Roche came out, calling Peter. 
 
 " Take me down, will you .?" said Peter. 
 
 " O murder, intirely, there's black Marcus; 
 O I must run. Shut you face, dear, and let 
 yourself down by your hands ; and mind the 
 gripe of the ditch this side, and the bee-hives 
 on t'other," and in an instant the Griffin was 
 gone. 
 
 Peter, in haste to descend, fell into what 
 in Ireland is called the "gripe," to avoid 
 the bee-hive. Marcus could hardly forbear 
 laughing at the droll figure that presented
 
 230 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 itself to his inquiries, and could hardly believe 
 it was the neat, nice, dapper Peter Swan, 
 who had displayed himself all the morning in 
 white trowsers and waistcoat. Peter had made 
 up his mind not to let any one know his pur- 
 pose, and Flora was so astonished at his dignity 
 and mystery, that at any other time she would 
 have tormented him to death. 
 
 Peter could not avoid altogether showing how 
 much he knew ; he assured Margaret he had 
 got a clue by which he believed he should re- 
 cover her child ; he begged to decline stating 
 who had bestowed it upon him, but he felt as- 
 sured the child was not so far off as they 
 imagined ; and between his desire to show off, 
 and his antipathy to Connor, in a few moments 
 Margaret perceived that he suspected her lover 
 of so foul an act — a supposition she would 
 have spurned on the instant, if Flora had 
 not unfortunately said, she remembered he 
 threatened to be revenged. Farther, Peter re- 
 fused to say; insisting that he himself would 
 go to the magistrate, and to him and him only, 
 confide the entire information he possessed. 
 Margaret wept and prayed that he would tell 
 her all ; but, no, he was inflexible ; he bade her 
 hope the best, and while Flora blessed him for 
 an errant fool, he put on his little great-coat,
 
 THE GUOVES OF BLARNEY. 231 
 
 and accompanied by Marcus, whom he assured 
 he should only want as a guide, he set out with 
 importance and his gold-headed cane, to the 
 nearest police station. 
 
 Margaret, as soon as Peter was gone, called 
 Flora, and told her she could bear the suspense 
 no longer, but had resolved to go herself to 
 Connor O'Gorman, and tax him with the crime. 
 " I cannot believe him guilty. Flora, but I 
 must go." And the two sisters set off imme- 
 diately together. 
 
 When they arrived at Connor's farm, the 
 door was open, and as they entered, Margaret 
 was but coldly greeted by Alice. 
 
 " Is Connor at home ?" inquired Flora. 
 
 " He is in the parlour," she replied. 
 
 And Margaret rushed in without speaking. 
 When she saw Connor, she could not utter a 
 word; she stood before him, one hand grasping 
 her throat, while she pressed the other on her 
 heart. 
 
 " Margaret !" he exclaimed, " what's this.?" 
 
 " Give me," she said, " something to drink 
 — water !" 
 
 Alice brought her a glass of water, but un- 
 fortunately the glass smelt of spirits. Margaret 
 pushed it from her, and looking upbraidingly at 
 Connor, said, " I asked for water— not poison !"
 
 232 THE GllOVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 Connor replied, in a voice that brought tears 
 into Flora's eyes, " I have not broken fast with 
 meat or drink since yesterday." 
 
 " That he hasn't," said Alice, " and I'd as 
 soon see him in his grave as the way he's going 
 on now. His heart's broke, and that's the 
 truth." 
 
 After a pause, Margaret spoke, though her 
 voice was hoarse. " There — I am better now 
 — now I can speak ; I ask you, Connor O'Gor- 
 man, where you have put my child?" 
 
 "Me put your child!" inquired Connor; 
 " why should I put him anywhere .f^" 
 
 *' Man, do not trifle with me," she exclaimed, 
 " give me back my child. O ! the last hour's 
 agony has more than revenged whate'er I made 
 you suffer. Where have you concealed my 
 boy ?" 
 
 "I swear by all the powers of heaven and 
 earth, Margaret, I know nothing of the child," 
 he replied ; " what do you mean ? — the last 
 time I saw him was at your own door." 
 
 *' They say you stole him," said the poor 
 mother, bursting into tears; " if so, you must 
 have taken him while he slept. The child 
 loved you, Connor ; if you have harmed him, 
 I'll kneel and curse you with the full curses of 
 a bereaved mother's heart, — but, O, you could
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 233 
 
 not — you have only borne him away to punish 
 me. Your end is answered. Give him to me 
 now." 
 
 Connor could bear this no longer, and stamp- 
 ing on the ground, he said, " Who dares to say 
 I touched the darlint — he was as the core of my 
 own heart. Alice? d'ye hear this ? here's foul 
 slander. Tell me this plain and straight — is 
 the child gone ?" 
 
 " Yes ! O yes I" said Margaret. 
 
 " Then by the blessed sun ! I swear not to 
 break fast till he is found !" he exclaimed, 
 throwing himself on his knees ; " never, so help 
 me, holy saints ! will I lay upon a bed or close 
 my eyes in sleep, till I give Hector Lee into his 
 mother's arms. But how is this, Margaret — 
 Flora .^" he added, rising ; " gone all day, you 
 say, and me not know ; was that a fair way to 
 trate me ? and Marcus to join in it. O such 
 friends ! such friends ! A curse upon those 
 who hinder a man from showing before the 
 whole world what his heart is. Alice and I 
 have been like two sick birds in a lone bush — 
 neither able to sing to the other ; and the farm- 
 boys so busy with the fence, that none have 
 been to Blarney, or I'd have heard it. Stir, 
 Alice — stir the O'Gorman blood in your veins 
 — down with you to the boys, that are below
 
 234 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 by the mill-stream ; bid them call every one of 
 the name, or friendly to it, through the country 
 — tell what has happened — let them search hill 
 and dale, bog and mountain, lake and river." 
 
 " No, no !" exclaimed the bereaved mother ; 
 *' no need to search for him in the river ; he 
 could not, must not, have perished/' 
 
 " Margaret, darlint !" said Connor, " Mar- 
 garet, you are right, he could not have perished 
 — he could not have gone that way ; there's a 
 God and a bright sun in heaven, — keep up, 
 Margaret, for the sake of — your child ! I'll 
 never see your face again till I have found him. 
 Look ! you can see from this window how poor 
 Alice flies down the hill to where the labourers 
 are at work. She has told them — there is no 
 delay — five strong, brave boys, as ever turned 
 the sod ; how quick they take it." 
 
 Connor opened the window and waved his 
 hand ; his men returned the salute with a loud 
 " Hooroo !" which affected Margaret like a 
 shock of electricity ; and now he continued, 
 turning to Flora, " Who dared to say Connor 
 O'Gorman was guilty of such mean wickedness ? 
 Tell me, Margaret — I see you don't believe it 
 now — I see your heart has cleared me — tell 
 me!" 
 
 " Her heart clear you,'' interrupted Flora ;
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 235 
 
 " if s more than the law will ; you know what 
 you said to me — about revenge." 
 
 " I know I said I'd be revenged — that she'd 
 be bitter sorry, — I bid you tell her so; and 
 did you, too, take black maning out of such in- 
 nocent words ? I intended to leave the country, 
 and was breaking my sister's heart with the 
 resolve." 
 
 •' My heart clears you of it ; I could not 
 see you thus, and for a moment believe that 
 you would wrong me," replied Margaret. 
 
 " Some one has had speech with Peter 
 Swan," said Flora. 
 
 " The Griffin, I am sure," said Connor ; '^ it 
 could be none else — that is, if you mean to say, 
 that Peter Swan dared to lay such wickedness 
 upon me; he may owe me a spite, but he's too 
 weak-hearted to be so bitter bad, — he could not 
 make up such a story out of his own head, — 
 no one but her could invent it. Keep up your 
 heart, sweet jewel ! — never doubt I'll find the 
 boy ! I'll meet the men below, and will not 
 seek to see your face again till I bring back 
 your child." 
 
 Connor was rushing out, when Alice met him 
 at the door. 
 
 *' Stay !" she exclaimed ; " here is Peter 
 Swan, with ever so many Peelers."
 
 236 THE GROVES OF BLAIINEY. 
 
 " I do not want their help," said Connor ; 
 " I can do without them. Til go — ''* 
 
 " No, you won'^t," said Peter, entering 
 abruptly, and presenting a musket so awk- 
 wardly that Flora screamed. " Policemen !" 
 he said, " do your duty. I identify that man 
 as Connor Ogreman !" 
 
 *' You !" exclaimed Connor ; " my name's 
 O'Gorman, and I have told you so before — 
 Peter— Goose !" 
 
 "Policemen, do your duty!" vociferated 
 Peter, greatly excited by the arduous duty he 
 had undertaken to perform. " Deserted as I was 
 in a strange country," he continued ; " left by 
 Mr. Roche at a critical moment — turned adrift 
 upon my own resources, which are considerable, 
 I have been able, not only to collect a sufficient 
 force to capture the destroyer of your domestic 
 peace, cousin Margaret, but I caught the Grif- 
 fin, and forced her to produce her witness, a 
 respectable, bright haired man, Mr. Thomas 
 Staff — for I hold it inconsistent with the open 
 and noble spirit of English law to receive secret 
 information. Seize him !" 
 
 " The Griffin and Tom Staff— is it ?" ex- 
 claimed Connor ; " O, I imderstand you now ; 
 but time is passing, every minute's worth an
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 237 
 
 hour; I must go. Margaret, bear up, I wilL 
 imd your boy." 
 
 " I told you he would say that,'"* exclaimed 
 Peter to the policemen ; " why don*t you per- 
 form your warrant ?" 
 
 " I desire you to let me pass ; if you detain 
 me, let it be on your own peril." 
 
 "Mr. O'Gorman," replied Peter, "you are 
 an ^ignorant ^irishman." 
 
 " Mr. Swan," he answered, " that's very like 
 the crow abusing the raven for having a black 
 wing ; you know I have only to whistle, and my 
 own boys would knock you to smithereens in 
 the twinkling of a sunbeam , but all I want is, 
 to pass quietly, — what right have you to stop 
 me?" 
 
 " Sir," said the police sergeant, " we shall be 
 compelled to perform our duty, and I hope you 
 will put no impediment in the law's path ; we 
 are bound to take you into custody, as this 
 gentleman says." 
 
 Connor O'Gorman had never rendered him- 
 self remarkable for breaking laws, and yet there 
 was something in the expression of his counte- 
 nance which intimidated the police. Margaret, 
 Flora, and Alice grouped together like a parcel 
 of frightened sheep ; Alice crying as if her 
 heart would break, Margaret pale and breath-
 
 238 THE GROVKS OF BLARNEY. 
 
 less from anxiety, and Flora half crying, half 
 laughing at the appearance her little cousin 
 presented as he leaned upon his musket ; the 
 policemen did not seem to know how to act, 
 and Peters absurdity cast an air of ridicule 
 over their proceedings, which they did not at 
 all relish. Connor did not wish to resist the 
 laws, but he felt that he must away and at once, 
 and he made an effort to talk Peter over, which, 
 however, was unsuccessful. 
 
 " You are not angry with me still, are you, 
 about the ducking ? I saw you had been drink- 
 ing whiskey, and thought a little water with it 
 would make it more agreeable; you could not 
 be angry with me, Peter Swan, — help me off, 
 just this onct, you shall have the merit." 
 
 " That's what you call blarney, I suppose," 
 interrupted the cockney, '• but no ; peace-Aof- 
 ficers, do your duty." 
 
 " I tell you, man, if you be a man," said 
 Connor, indignantly, " that I had no more to 
 do with the villainy than the child's own mother, 
 and can't understand it jiet ; but let me pass, I 
 say, — I tell you 1 have sworn to find the child." 
 
 " Cousin, I feel that he is innocent," said the 
 almost fainting Margaret, "for my sake, let 
 him pass."* 
 
 But Peter very civilly insinuated that women
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 239 
 
 never did understand anything about law ; that 
 he should do no such thing as let the culprit 
 off, who must immediately go before a magis- 
 trate. It was evident to poor Margaret, whom 
 Connor's confidence had inspired with new 
 hopes, that Peter had forgotten all about her 
 anxieties in the desire to display his power and 
 sagacity to the astonished natives ; he was 
 almost beside himself with importance, and he 
 concluded some absurd observations by declar- 
 ing, in a most chivalrous manner, his determi- 
 nation to stand up for the "lone widow who 
 had no friends." This roused Connor, and 
 some stormy words followed that might have 
 led to violence, had not Margaret burst forth, 
 
 " You men, stand there talking words — no- 
 thing but words, without heart or feeling — no- 
 thing but words, — when I, a mother, who have 
 lost my all, am forced to listen to an idle cabal, 
 while you, men, should have been scouring 
 the country in all directions. O, you have no 
 hearts ! you have no hearts ! — You have no 
 children, or if you have, God has not taken 
 them from you ! — You have no hearts !" — and 
 she sobbed bitterly on Florals shoulders. 
 
 Connor looked at the door, and Peter think- 
 ing he meditated escape through it, exclaimed,
 
 240 THE GROVES OF ULARXEY. 
 
 " Guard the door, till the reinforcement comes 
 up, and then we'll cage him.*" 
 
 " O, ho," thought Connor, " there is a rein- 
 forcement expected, is there ?" " Flora," he 
 said aloud, "don't you see your sister is quite 
 overcome with heat ? open the window to the 
 full, and place her near it there at the side." 
 
 Flora did as she was desired. There was a 
 small narrow table under the window, but Con- 
 nor still continued to look at the door, close 
 to which the man stood ; while Peter continued 
 watching Connor, who addressed him, " Peter 
 Swan, in the face of heaven I declare I am as 
 innocent of the base crime you accuse me of, as 
 the babe unborn; let me pass from that door, 
 and I'll take any oath you please to resign 
 myself into your hands, dead or alive, in six 
 hours. Boys, Irishmen ! give me six hours 
 to seek that woman's child — her child whom 
 you knew and liked — give me the six hours, 
 and I'll give you leave to cut my throat, if I 
 don't come back !" 
 
 " O you blunderer !" exclaimed Peter, who 
 had edged round close to where Margaret was 
 seated. 
 
 "Ah!'' said Connor, contemptuously, "an 
 Irishman's blunders are of the head, not of the
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 241 
 
 heart. A fig for your reinforcement," he 
 added, making a feint, as though he would bolt 
 through the door, upon which the men stuck 
 more closely to it ; " that for your reinforce- 
 ment, although I see it turning the copse," and 
 he pointed out of the window though still facing 
 the door. Peter immediately stretched himself 
 over the table to look in the direction which 
 Connor pointed out, so that his body formed an 
 inclined plane from the floor to the window ; 
 swift as an arrow from a bow, Connor sprang 
 over him, and out of the window, to the asto- 
 nishment of the police, and the discomfiture of 
 Peter, who was regularly upset by an action so 
 rapid and so unlooked for ; the police then 
 raised their fire-arms, but Margaret threw herself 
 before them ; while Flora, delighted beyond 
 measure, huzzaed, to the deep mortification of 
 her cousin Peter Swan. When they got outside 
 they saw Connor skimming the country in the 
 distance on the back of his own noble horse, 
 upon which he had sprung without bridle or 
 saddle, trusting to the creature's knowledge of 
 his voice and habits. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 PART VIII. 
 
 Margaret Lee and Flora Russel had hardly 
 returned wearied and exhausted to the Bee's 
 Nest, when a visiter presented himself who was 
 both unexpected and unwelcome; the visiter 
 was Ulick O'Sullivan. 
 
 " I have heard," he said, " of the loss in your 
 house ; and though it's little reason 1 have to 
 offer my services in seeking your child, yet, 
 Margaret Lee, what trouble would I not take, 
 what peril would I not brave, to bring to you 
 a moment of the happiness you have withheld 
 from me !" 
 
 Ulick spoke well and with feeling, but Mar« 
 garet at once perceived he was not sober ; and 
 as the night was closing in, Marcus absent, and 
 no man about the house, the discovery alarmed
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 243 
 
 her not a little : she resolved to be as firm and 
 calm as the nature of her feelings, harassed 
 and tortured as they had been, would permit. 
 
 " I thank you," she replied, '' but our friends 
 are spread over the country ; if the child is on 
 Ireland's ground he will be found. May God 
 prevent my bitterest enemy from feeling what 
 I have felt this day !" 
 
 " You always were an angel," he observed. 
 And as Margaret looked at him stedfastly, she 
 thought the expression of his countenance 
 changed ; his eye sank before hers. 
 
 " Ulick O'Sullivan," she said, '• your visit is 
 strange ; have you then nothing to tell me ; is 
 it merely to say you would seek to find my 
 child that you came here ? One might suppose 
 you would be led to do so, without thinking it 
 necessary to tell me your intention." 
 
 " Margaret," he exclaimed passionately, "I 
 would go to the world's end to serve you ; but 
 you have scorned me — turned back upon myself 
 the love I bore you; you love one who has 
 proved more unworthy than ever the slighted 
 Ulick could have proved. Now, Margaret, I 
 can only say, that if you will give me hope — 
 mind, 1 say — if " 
 
 " What then ?'* inquired Margaret eagerly. 
 
 " Why, if you will give me hope, T think I 
 
 M 2
 
 244 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 can find a clue that will enable you to regain 
 your child." 
 
 Margaret looked at Ulick for a moment with 
 a stedfast gaze, and again he quailed be- 
 neath it. 
 
 " And you, Ulick 0*Sidlivan, come here to 
 me,"" she said ; " me — a bereaved mother — 
 with an if—ifi You have the heart to say, that 
 if I countenance the love, which from the first 
 hour it was proffered I rejected, you will assist 
 me to recover my boy, — you have the heart to 
 barter with me for my child — my own — only 
 child ! — Ulick !" she exclaimed, with a strength 
 and tone of voice that made him start. " Ulick, 
 you know where he is — do not for a moment 
 attempt to deny it. I see it — I feel it — do not 
 turn away your face : look at me ! You cannot 
 — you cannot — I see you cannot look me 
 in the face ; but you can tell me — tell me, 
 where is my boy ?" He attempted to leave the 
 room, but she prevented it. There was some- 
 thing so earnest and so miserable about her, 
 that Ulick O'Sullivan would have given much 
 to have been away ; he was rash and impetuous, 
 but he had no perseverance either for good or evil. 
 With the ready quickness of a woman, Mar- 
 garet saw her advantage, and followed it up. 
 
 " Ulick, swear by your mother's grave, that 
 you know not where the child is."
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 245 
 
 '* How should I know?" he replied sullenly, 
 still averting his face ; " how should I know — 
 am I a fairy finder?" 
 
 " That is no answer. By your hopes of sal- 
 vation, I charge you, tell me where he is ; if 
 you do not tell me, here will I kneel and curse 
 youj with the heavy, bitter curses of a be- 
 reaved mother's heart." 
 
 "No, no," he exclaimed confusedly; "sure the 
 country says Connor O'Gorman has the child." 
 
 " It won't do, Ulick — it won't do. Nay, you 
 shall hear me ;" Ulick had reached the door, 
 but Margaret sprang after, and seizing his 
 coat, prevented his escape. He struggled to 
 get free, and in the struggle, his vest flew open, 
 and the kerchief with which Margaret had 
 covered Hector when she laid him down to sleep, 
 fell from it. Margaret screamed, and grasp- 
 ing it in her hand, exclaimed, " There ! now 
 are you not ashamed of your treachery ? My 
 child ! — it is you who have stolen my child — 
 base, mean, black-hearted man ! I knew that 
 Connor was incapable of such wickedness." 
 
 " Well," said O'Sullivan, galled by her tri- 
 umph in Connor's innocence — " well, and stating 
 a case tiiat I know where the child is, why should 
 I not turn it to my advantage : only, since you
 
 246 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 are so proud, so sure of Connor, let him find the 
 boy," 
 
 " Stay, Ulick," said Margaret, worn down 
 by the length and strength of the trials she had 
 that day undergone ; " if you have any pity — 
 any mercy — for the love of God, give me my 
 child. I will kneel to you — pray to you — I 
 will forgive you all the agony I have suffered, 
 in gratitude for his restoration — you cannot 
 refuse me." 
 
 But Sullivan broke from her grasp, leaving her 
 senseless on the floor. He had heard the voices 
 of Peter and two or three policemen approach- 
 ing the house, and feared to remain ; he flew 
 across the field muttering curses on his ill-for- 
 tune, which had led him to a line of conduct 
 producing altogether a diff'erent result from 
 what he had anticipated. 
 
 Peter did not enter the parlour ; he had not 
 quite recovered the eff*ects of his overthrow, and 
 had merely entreated the policemen to leave 
 him safely at home. He appeared to have had 
 enough for that night of Irish adventure. Flora 
 found her sister cold and shivering, slowly re- 
 covering from a state of insensibility. In vain 
 did she entreat her to try and take some rest ; 
 the distracted mother could not find repose ;
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 247 
 
 one object filled her heart ; the voice of her 
 child sounded in her ear, and yet he was not 
 there ; if she closed her eyes, he was before her ; 
 but she opened them to disappointment and woe; 
 despite Flora's entreaties, she would not remain 
 in thehouse, but resolved to seek Connor or Mar- 
 cus, and communicate her discovery ; and the two 
 sisters set forth in the early moonlight for this 
 purpose. She paused at the first cottage she 
 arrived at ; it was a poor miserable hovel ; she 
 opened the door, and seated by the turf-fire, 
 which burnt brightly on the hearth, was an old 
 woman. Granny Neale, with her youngest child. 
 
 " Any news of the darlint ?" exclaimed the 
 old creature, starting up. 
 
 " None yet, Granny,'" replied Margaret. 
 " Where is your son and the children ?" 
 
 " Where would he be, madam, honey, but 
 afther the darling Hector; and my daughter, 
 too, and all the big children in the barony. 
 Where would they be, ma'am, honey, but tare- 
 ing the country up for masther Hector ? Pll 
 go bail there won't be a hole left unsarched ; 
 nor you'll not find on the whole townland a 
 living creature that can go, but what's out this 
 blessed night, and will be, till the angel is 
 found, plase God, and brought home on the 
 bocks of the counthry. I should take shame
 
 248 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 to myself for all Ireland," added the kind old 
 soul — " I should take shame to myself for all 
 Ireland, if man or woman could lay in a bed 
 this night, and the Rose of Blarney seeking her 
 child." 
 
 The words brought tears into Flora's eyes; 
 and Margaret, whose restlessness could not be 
 controlled, turned away with a blessing, that 
 she had hardly power to utter. 
 
 " Flora," she said, when they had passed 
 through the village, " do you think my child 
 could be concealed in the vaults under Blarney 
 castle ? I know that Ulick has been there fre- 
 quently, and I think I know every turn of the 
 place." 
 
 " If there was but a man in the village to go 
 with us," said Flora. 
 
 " There is not — but what of that ; Flora, 
 dearest, I wish you would go back, I am very 
 well able to proceed — but you are trembling." 
 
 '• How strange," said Flora, " my tongue is 
 always so brave and my heart so cowardly ; and 
 you, who never make any fuss, you are so stout 
 and strong ! But I'll not leave you — I'll not 
 leave you, Margaret ; you do not think I could 
 do that, do you ? — No, no — I am better since 
 I heard the sound of my own voice ; it always 
 circulates my blood when I can set my tongue
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNKY. tZ-tQ 
 
 going. You are not going to the vaults of the 
 old castle, though, Margaret, are you ?" 
 
 "' I am," said Margaret ; *' first there — it is 
 the Griffin^s haunt as well as Ulick's. I'll go 
 there first." 
 
 " Oh, sister !" exclaimed Flora. 
 
 " You must go back. If you could make a 
 mother, seeking her child, think of herself, you 
 would do so." 
 
 " ril not go back !" said Flora ; " and here, 
 Margaret, poor Luath has followed us. I did 
 not think, when Connor gave him to me, a little 
 puppy, he would have been so great a dog — 1 
 declare he is quite a protection. I used to quarrel 
 with him for growing so big, now I could 
 almost quarrel with him for being so little. I 
 don't think tbey would hide Hector in the vaults, 
 Margaret. Dear ! how grim the castle looks, 
 standing out against the sky ; and see, sister, 
 how the moonlight streams through the window 
 like molten silver — is it not beautiful ! There 
 — it has quite the effect of magic — and now 
 you can see it through the port-holes. IIuw 
 heavily the shadows lie in the rock-close, if 
 Marcus were here he would talk of light and 
 shade, and— oh dear ! you are not minding what 
 I say.^' 
 
 " I wish you would not speak, dear girl, you 
 
 M 5
 
 250 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 make me nervous ; besides, your voice may 
 create alarm/' 
 
 " There is nobody to alarm — I wish there 
 was. Dear me, the poor people must be very 
 fond of you to leave their homes after a hard 
 day's work, and hunt the country without hope 
 of reward." 
 
 " The Irish peasant is but too generous of 
 the only property he possesses, his time ; but, 
 indeed, you must remain silent or go home." 
 
 The abduction of Hector Lee had been so 
 skilfully arranged, that many of the peasants,* 
 who talk of it to this day, assert, that Mabel 
 Griffin, and all the persons concerned in the act, 
 had dealings with the old one, or they never 
 could have contrived it so secretly. 
 
 Connor, after his escape from Peter, managed, 
 with Marcus Roche, to organise a sort of plan by 
 means of which he intended to trap the Griffin, 
 for he believed she was the culprit. As yet he 
 had been unsuccessful, but one or two circum- 
 stances led him to believe that she was hiding 
 in the vaults of Blarney. Thither at nightfall 
 he resolved to go; and he searched every corner 
 and hole in vain ; she was nowhere to be 
 found. Disappointed but not discouraged, he 
 had just ascended from their depths, at the 
 moment when Flora observed to her sister, how
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 251 
 
 beautiful the castle looked in the distance; 
 though they were still some little way from it. 
 When he had got again fairly into the open air, 
 he paused to consider how he was next to pro- 
 ceed. " That murdering woman," he mut- 
 tered to himself, " where is she ? Now, that's a 
 wretch that would steal a penny out of a blind 
 man's hat — she''d make broth of her father's 
 bones. I was certain I should find her down 
 below, for in general she's everywhere, like bad 
 luck. I've known her to be in four different 
 places at the same time ; and if I could but lay 
 my ten commandments on her, I'd have riddled 
 the truth out of her before I'd have left her. 
 The she traitor ! — for she's nothing else — it's 
 her or hers have put their cumither on the 
 darling boy. If I could only get an idea as to 
 where she is ! Now that I've searched every 
 likely and unlikely place myself, I'll meet my 
 faction in the Black Lynn, and scour the 
 counthry 'till she's found. Well, Heaven 
 be with ould times," he continued, looking 
 round : " this is what we call the hall of the 
 echo;" and he shouted. The shout was returned 
 by the magic nympli, whom he had described 
 to the cockney as travelling there on her own 
 jaunting car. "And I thought to have had 
 lots of fun with that ill-contrived, cranky^
 
 252 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 misunderstanding bit of a cockney, in this very 
 spot ; but he is hunting me now, without know- 
 ing why or wherefore, as if I was a fox or a 
 badger. Sure, I persuaded him the genuine 
 Paddy Blake's echo lived here — that when you 
 said, ' How are you ?* would answer, ' Pretty 
 well, I thank you.' It's a beautiful place, 
 altogether," he said ; " beautiful — and how 
 bright the night is ! please God, before morn- 
 ing, we'll have news that will gladden Mar- 
 garet's heart. Hush ! — was that a noise .^" He 
 looked round, but could see no one; how- 
 ever, remembering how closely on a former oc- 
 casion the Griffin had crept between the banks, 
 he was proceeding to inspect his immediate 
 neighbourhood more closely, when casting his 
 eyes upwards, he perceived the figure of a 
 female standing on the end of one of the 
 ruined walls which is nearly overgrown with 
 ivy. The situation and appearance of the 
 form had something supernatural about it, 
 nor was it till the low soft wail of a sort of 
 warning song, then known in the country, came 
 upon his ear, that he recognised the singer as 
 poor Aileen O'Sullivan. 
 
 The perfect stillness of the scene and the 
 wildness of the music, would not, however, have 
 delayed his footsteps, had it not been that
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 253 
 
 Aileen's gestures, which he perfectly distin- 
 guished, commanded his attention. Feeble- 
 minded as she was, there were times when she 
 evinced shrewd intelligence; and though the 
 simple words were not unknown to him, he 
 paused to see if she meant to give them a parti- 
 cular application. He listened and watched. 
 
 " Go where the mountain o'erhangs the lake — " 
 
 And when she paused, the echo took up the 
 last word and repeated *' lake," to her evident 
 delight, for she clapt her hands above her head, 
 and then continued — 
 
 " Where the sun-beams sink in the west/' 
 
 And again her last word was repeated, as by an 
 invisible spirit. 
 
 ^* Go to the mountain, and find and take — " 
 
 She paused, and the word " take" was echoed 
 to her heart's content, for she laughed, and 
 then laughed again, as her laughter danced 
 along the waters. 
 
 " The lamb from the eagle's nest." 
 
 She sung this last line rapidly, and did not 
 wait for the echo, but disappeared from tiie wall 
 like a vapour from the mountain's brow.
 
 254 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " « The lamb from the eagle's nest,' there's 
 maniiig in that," said Connor, joyfully ; " the 
 pass-word to the O'SuUivan Still was always 
 ' Eagle ;' the Almighty has put it in that poor 
 wild thing's head to put sense into mine. 
 Poor Aileen ! she was ever and always fond of 
 me," said Connor : " poor girl ! — fond of me 
 in her innocent way ; and if she'd had a gentle, 
 kindly mother, she'd have been brought back to 
 reason, I am sure. Aileen, come here avour- 
 neen," he cried aloud ; " I am sure you have 
 more to tell ; yet what need is there for more, 
 sure there's enough tould for any one to be 
 satisfied with ! But, Heaven bless you, Aileen !" 
 he continued, a feeling of pure, natural devotion 
 prompting him to remove his hat while he re- 
 peated his simple prayer. " May the God in 
 heaven bless you, poor simple maiden ! Wan- 
 dering about the earth, as you are, may all the 
 natural, pure, and innocent things of the world 
 minister to your happiness, or contentment, or 
 whatever it is given to you to feel pleasure in : 
 may the summer sun never be too hot, nor the 
 winter winds too cold, for you ; and when the 
 Lord takes your sweet spirit to perfect it in 
 heaven, — may your grave be green with the 
 dews, and bright in the sunshine ; and may the 
 purtiest girls in Blarney plant a monument of
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 2oO 
 
 the sweetest flowers that grow on Ireland's 
 ground, to the memory of Aileen O'Sullivan !" 
 
 " Of who ?" inquired a voice. 
 
 " What — Flora — Margaret!" exclaimed Con- 
 nor. " But how is this i^ — you here at such an 
 hour !" 
 
 " Connor," exclaimed Margaret, " I came 
 here, thinking it possible I might find that fiend 
 the Griffin : — thank God, I have met you ; 1 
 am sure Hector is concealed in some of the 
 haunts of the O'Sullivans." 
 
 " I know it/' replied Connor, *' I will but 
 see my friends in the Black Lynn, and hasten to 
 the Bograh Mountains : bad as Ulick is, I 
 would not sell the pass on him, which I happen 
 to know ; 1 would not betray him to the ma- 
 gistrates for worlds." 
 
 " You must not go alone," said Margaret, 
 anxiously — '* you must not go alone ; they 
 would murder the boy and you." 
 
 " No, no," replied Connor, " they will not 
 take life." 
 
 *' But Ulick has been to my cottage," said 
 Margaret, ** daring to urge his love ; — it flash- 
 ed upon me he was guilty of the theft — he 
 could not deny it, and I have other proofs: the 
 handkerchief you gave me, with which I co-
 
 2o6 THE GllOVP^.S OF BLARNEY. 
 
 vered my child's face, fell from his vest. You 
 must not go alone." 
 
 " Heaven bless you for that thought," ex- 
 claimed the delighted lover. " Look ! I'm 
 a hundred thousand strong ! well, choi'a ma- 
 chree, to content you, send some one you can 
 trust to the Black Lynn — let them tell Mar- 
 cus Roche to follow the White GuIPs Track 
 up the mountain, and stop with the rest of 
 the boys at the top of the Folly — which isn't 
 the top, only the middle — let him stop there, 
 it's only a step below the Grey-beard's Stone, 
 which, to those who know it, conceals one of 
 Ulick's paths to the mountain-still — and say, 
 it's my order that not one of them stir hand or 
 foot, unless they hear a blast of my whistle — 
 which every O'Gorman knows before he's born, 
 — then they may rush to the rescue, for I shall 
 be in danger. I would rather the police had 
 nothing to do with it, so leave it all with Mar- 
 cus. Heaven look down upon you. I see I 
 am forgiven," — and, without another word, he 
 rushed away. 
 
 *' True, true-hearted Connor !" exclaimed 
 Margaret ; " would that all his countrymen 
 could reason as truly as they can feel !" 
 
 " What a fine bit of sentiment !" said Flora.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 257 
 
 '* It's very fortunate you met your lover ; I 
 wish I could meet mine; bad as he is, he would 
 hardly leave us here by ourselves without — but 
 here comes Connor again, at least, I hope it's 
 no one else." It was Connor. 
 
 " Margaret," he said, " rest assured there is 
 no one in the vaults ; go home at once ; and 
 need I say on this spot, where the first promise 
 of love was made to you that I ever made to 
 woman, — need I say that Pm heart sorry for 
 the past; I wouldn't seem selfish, but somehow, 
 Vd fly more like a lion or some great general, 
 if ye'd just speak with your tongue, what, I 
 think, if I'm not too bould, I've read in your 
 eyes, Margaret — am I forgiven ? am I your 
 own Connor ?" 
 
 " All of my heart that is not with my child, 
 is yours V 
 
 " That's not much, I'm afraid, dear Mar- 
 garet ; but never heed. Go home quickly; 
 trust in God ! — away both of you — I must lose 
 no more time. Before to-morrow's noon we'll 
 have the child." And Connor pressed Mar- 
 garet to his bosom, and disappeared. 
 
 *' Send some one I can trust to the Lynn," 
 repeated Margaret ; "I can find no one — I'll 
 go myself — it is not half a mile." 
 
 " Go to the Lynn yourself — which means
 
 258 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 myself also," exclaimed Flora. " Now there's 
 the disadvantage of popularity ; if you had not 
 been popular, the men and women would have 
 remained at home, and we should have found 
 some one to do our bidding. Now, Heaven help 
 us, we must trust to ourselves. Oh, dear me! 
 suppose we go home, and send Peter Swan ; 
 I know he's come in, and gone to his room in the 
 sulks. Down, Luath !" she said to the dog, 
 who wanted to return ; " only for you, my 
 sister would not have found her lover ; now, 
 Luath, oblige me by finding mine, bad as he 
 is !" 
 
 '' Flora, we must go ourselves ; to expect 
 aid from Peter would be absurd ; and, as you 
 say, there is not a human being in the village 
 able to convey a message : let us go at once." 
 
 " Look there !" said Flora, pointing to a 
 piece of greensward where the moonlight 
 entered without obstruction ; " look there !^' 
 and her voice sank into a whisper; " there is 
 a shadow." 
 
 '' Well," replied Margaret, " where there is a 
 shadow, there must be a substance, and we 
 have no need to fear foes." 
 
 " But it is night — and this place lonely." 
 
 " I am ashamed for you. Flora ; see, it is 
 only a woman — poor Aileen, poor gentle Aileen.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 259 
 
 I told you SO," she continued, as the girl 
 sung,— 
 
 " On the wide river side, when my Connor was near. 
 No reason had I for to tremble for fear; 
 His manners were gentle, his heart it was brave, 
 But now the green rushes wave over his grave." 
 
 *' Aileen, will you go with us?" said Margaret, 
 when she came to them, her eyes looking as 
 glittering as the stars of heaven, and her step 
 uncertain. 
 
 " Where, Mrs. Margaret ; where do you 
 want poor Aileen to go ?" 
 
 " To the Lynn, Aileen ; you know the 
 shortest way ; and then you shall come back 
 with me, and have bread and honey." 
 
 " Bread and honey !" she repeated ; " yes, 
 Aileen will go. 
 
 *' God loves man, and man loves money, 
 
 God made the bees, and the bees make honey." 
 
 And the three women took their way to the 
 appointed place, Aileen sometimes going before, 
 sometimes walking by their sides. Margaret, 
 remembering her visit to her cottage, endea- 
 voured to obtain some information from Aileen, 
 but could gain none. Sometimes she would 
 laugh, sometimes mutter to herself, sometimes 
 sing, but always appear not to comprehend the
 
 260 THE GROVES OF BLARXEY. 
 
 drift of Margaret's inquiries. Margaret was 
 certain this lack of understanding was assumed, 
 from the ready manner in which she turned the 
 subject. 
 
 Oh, she knew little Hector and Luath, and 
 Hector and Luath knew her. When they spoke 
 of the Griffin, she only exclaimed, " Cats' claws, 
 cats' claws !" They had got about half way, 
 walking on the darkest side of the path, so 
 that they could see whoever came along the 
 lighted side ; the road lay along a paling be- 
 longing to a gentleman's pleasure-grounds, and, 
 like many of the palings in ray poor dear coun- 
 try, it was broken down, — that is to say, a 
 board here and a board there were missing. 
 They had arrived at a spot from whence they 
 could almost see the place where Connor told 
 them they should meet Marcus; it was a sort of 
 half-deserted farm-house, only inhabited by an 
 old man and woman, who looked after some sheep, 
 as thelandlord had taken thegroundintohis own 
 hands: just as they arrived at this particular 
 spot, they saw three or four persons strike into 
 the path they were pursuing, not from the 
 Lynn, but from an opposite direction ; — in an 
 instant, before Margaret and Flora could form 
 any conjecture as to who the parties were, 
 Aileen had dragged them through one of the
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 261 
 
 apertures into tbeenclosure, and, clasping Liiath 
 round the neck, compelled him to lie down 
 with them in the long grass. In a very little 
 time Margaret had reason to bless the precau- 
 tion of the half-witted girl, who kept swaying 
 herself backwards and forwards, and muttering, 
 " Cats' claws, cats' claws." At last the tones of 
 a well-known voice were borne on the breeze. 
 
 " She deserves it from me, there's no doubt 
 of that — and in for a penny, in for a pound — I 
 may as well be slung or sent out of the country 
 for both as for one." : i • ? 
 
 " That's the language of law and raison," 
 responded the Griffin's voice ; the law, my 
 dear, is the thransportation — the autre peyees^ 
 as the Frinch says — and the running away 
 with the purty widdy is another thing — the 
 rayson ; you ought to have done it before — 
 that''s my only cause of sorrow." 
 
 " It seems a quare time to undertake it," 
 said a strange voice ; " and the country up." 
 
 " The very time — the heuruse momen, as 
 the Frinch says ; it is because the country is 
 up, there isn't a man or woman in the vil- 
 lage but what's out of it — all in another direc- 
 tion." 
 
 " Peter Swan," said Ulick. 
 
 " My dear, I wouldn't pay him the compli-
 
 262 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 ment of calling him a man ; he*ll put it in his 
 book ; let them laugh at the Griffin now, my 
 dear. Take a drop ! — Will you be plagued 
 with Flora ? she has a hundred pounds, Davy."" 
 
 " No," said Davy, " I wouldn't be plagued 
 with her tongue for three times the money." 
 
 *' Keep up 3^our spirit, Mr. Ulick ! we must 
 make haste ; we shall be late else. Ah ! ah ! 
 ah ! to think of Master Marcus waiting below 
 for Connor — and Connor — ah ! ah ! — and the 
 Blarney boys scouring the country — and the 
 police on the wrong scent — it's quite recher- 
 chay^ as the Frinch says ! I saw Connor once 
 crush a rose under his heel — I know who'll be 
 under our heel soon !" 
 
 Luath attempted to bark, but though Aileen 
 held down his head so that the sound was 
 muffled, it reached the Griffin's ear. 
 
 " That was a dog, my dear.'"* 
 
 " No — it was the noise of some wild animal.'* 
 
 " No," she persisted, " it was a dog ; look 
 over the paling, Ulick, there may have been 
 listeners." 
 
 Margaret's breath came short and thick. 
 Flora stuffed the ends of her scarf into her 
 mouth to prevent herself from screaming. It 
 was a moment of intense anxiety. The party 
 had halted about three yards in advance of
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY, 263 
 
 where they were huddled together, but fortu- 
 nately a large tree grew between them and the 
 spot where they heard Ulick's heavy shoes 
 scrape the paling, while with his hands firmly 
 grasping the top, he endeavoured to raise him- 
 self so as to look into the enclosure. 
 
 " Down, Luath, on your life down, sir,"' 
 whispered Margaret ; and the sagacious animal 
 kept silence, though every muscle was ready to 
 extend itself into a spring. 
 
 " It was nothing. I believe the devil's dogs 
 are always baying in your ears — they'll have a 
 rare hunt with you yet."*' 
 
 " Keep your compliments for your purty 
 widdy, dear. Won''t you have a drop ? And 
 they'll never guess where you'll take her to — 
 have no notion of it. You'll have no need for 
 the dew. Ah, dear ! why didn't you do this 
 before ? though to be sure there never was such 
 a time for it as the presint. The two other 
 lads are true — and Aileen — " 
 
 The reply was lost in the distance ; nor 
 would the listeners have heard so much, but 
 for the stoppage which had nearly led to their 
 destruction. 
 
 Slowly and cautiously did Aileen rise from 
 her lair, and whispering to Margaret, " To the 
 Lynn — poor Aileen must go to the mountain,"
 
 2G4 THE GROVES OF BLARNEV. 
 
 she disappeared amid the trees of the en- 
 closure. 
 
 " Come, Flora, come — for God's sake come ; 
 a little haste and energy will place us with 
 Marcus, and in safety." 
 
 Flora pulled the ends of her shawl out of her 
 mouth, and in the most piteous of all piteous 
 tones, exclaimed, 
 
 " I've bit my tongue !"
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 PART IX. 
 
 The morning was breaking, and Aileen, weary 
 and foot-sore, was sleeping in her brother's cot- 
 tage. 
 
 " You see,^' said Ulick O'SuUivan to the 
 Griffin, as, after anight of disappointments, they 
 entered the cottage ; " you see she sleeps, so 
 she couldn't have given any warning." 
 
 " I am not sure about anything I either see 
 or hear," replied the hag, as she sank heavily 
 into a seat ; " I only know, Mr. Ulick, that 
 the bones are shook out of my flesh, and the 
 flesh off my body, with the taring I've had 
 through the country — I can't stand it as I used 
 — though I can stand more wear and tare than 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THK GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 most. Oh ! my bones are all on the disjointed 
 plan ; and that mule of Davy's has almost 
 finished me ! — There never was such a misfor- 
 tunate woman — and at my time of life too ; — 
 go down to the Still, and get me a drop. My 
 courage, mon courage^ as the Frinch says, 
 is out." 
 
 " Mabel Griffin," said Ulick, looking her 
 stedfastly in the face — " Mabel Griffin, you 
 have been — as all bad women are to whatever 
 men they come near — you have been my curse, 
 in some way or other, ever since I had any 
 dalings with you." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Ulick, for your civility, sir ; 
 and so now we're to have no more dalings, I 
 suppose." 
 
 Ulick swore a bitter oath, dooming the 
 Griffin to an eternity of punishment, and had 
 not her strength been a good deal prostrated by 
 the fatigue she had undergone, she would most 
 certainly have returned the compliment in a 
 way he would not have borne, for Ulick pos- 
 sessed none of that native courtesy which dis- 
 tinguished his rival, Connor. He had been 
 rendered sour and malignant by those disap- 
 pointments which had been in a great degree 
 brought on by his own grievous misconduct. A nd 
 now that he had returned to his earth, he felt
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 267 
 
 that the dogs would be upon him, and that he 
 must trust only to his various concealments in 
 the mountain ; — he could not for a day or two 
 go down into the valley. 
 
 "To the devil with the fair sex !" he ex- 
 claimed, after Mabel had returned him a few 
 hard words for his malediction — all she was able 
 to muster on the occasion. 
 
 " Oh ! fie, Mr. Ulick ! preney gardy, as the 
 Frinch says; you should not hurt a woman's 
 feelings, Mr. Ulick. Do get me the drop." 
 
 " Well thought of," he replied, " very well 
 thought of; we must put even the little busi- 
 ness we've been doing out of the way ; and then, 
 why if they do come, and can't find what they 
 seek, they must go away again. I'll set a 
 couple of the boys to work at the forge entrance 
 a little below, for a better cloak — it's soon done." 
 
 " Don't forgit my drop, my dear ; I'm, as a 
 body may say, not myself without it." 
 
 Ulick disappeared behind the bed ; and the 
 Griffin being, as she considered, fairly alone, 
 proceeded to reconnoitre. First of all, she ap- 
 propriated a couple of hanks of Aileen's coarse 
 spinning to her own use, thrusting them into her 
 pocket ; she then peeped into a solitary cup- 
 board, but found nothing there suited to her 
 taste or necessities, except a peculiarly carved 
 
 K -2
 
 r 
 / 
 
 268 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 spoon, and that disappeared ; she then appro- 
 priated a silver thimble, one of poor Aileen's 
 bits of finery, and, having so done, sat down, 
 and from another pocket drew forth a rich coral 
 necklace. 
 
 " It's better than my own," she muttered, fin- 
 gering the beads ; " I wonder what Miss Florry 
 will say when she misses her purty ornament ; 
 Misther Marcus, I know, bought it for her at 
 Gattie's, on the South Mall — a fool and his 
 money soon parted ; and these two rings — how 
 nate the hair-pin prodded them on Mrs. Lee's 
 white pin-cushion — goges d'amour, as the Frinch 
 says. While Ulick was doctoring the misfortu- 
 nate Cockney, I had an eye to the ready pinny. 
 Faith I'd be none the worse of these two turkey 
 eggs I picked up on the retreat out of Paddy 
 Noran's outhouse, if I had any way to bile 'em 
 — 'twas very kind of me to look afther his eggs, 
 whin he was galavanting the counthry after 
 Masther Lee — the omadawn ! I wonder what 
 'ill Ulick do with the child, or where 'ill he 
 hide it ? — I'd let it go. Ah ! ah ! — 1 wonder what 
 account Misther Pether 'ill give of the men that 
 cropt one side of his hair, and tied his legs to the 
 foot-rail of the bed ! I'd have got him off that pu- 
 nishment but for the fool he made of me — to 
 take Connor, then let him away, and then slinge
 
 TlfE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 269 
 
 away himself. Well, I'll say this much, that 
 none bothers the law equal to the Peelers. I 
 never dreamed of his getting off — and the exa- 
 mination and one thing or another would have 
 gained time, and time is money, or money's 
 worth. Poor little Englisher ! the roars of him 
 were terrible — and to think both the girls were 
 away. Ulick would have locked Norry the 
 maid in the losset but for me — I never can abide 
 that sort of thing since the accident that hap- 
 pened to my poor darling husband." 
 
 Having finished her soliloquy, she had just 
 time to pocket her spoils when Ulick re-en- 
 tered. 
 
 " Where's the drop, dear .?" 
 
 " What do I care ? — the O'Gormans, I am 
 sure, will be here presently. What's to be done 
 with the child? Remember, Mabel Griffin, it 
 was no act of mine — you stole it, dressed your- 
 self up as a sailor for the purpose, and brought it 
 here — the plans, ending in ruin, were yours. Oh 
 the fool I was to listen to them ! — what will be 
 the upshot of it all?" 
 
 " Keep your temper, dear. Where have you 
 put the boy ? " 
 
 " Ah ! at the back of the forge — they'll be apt 
 to think he's deeper in it." 
 
 " I wish he was deep, dear." 
 
 " So do I— but "
 
 270 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " Ah ! poor dear ! your heart is wake — 
 though it's bitter black. Where's the drop ? — 
 I must go, dear — I have excuses enough for 
 being on the mountain— get me the drop." 
 
 *' Mabel, if this boy is found, I must fly." 
 
 "What 'ill find hira, dear? I tell you 
 what, I'd get rid of twinty like him, to punish 
 the crew he belongs to. You're not a man to 
 bear the disappointment of last night. Where 
 could the women ha' been ? — " 
 
 Suddenly Aileen started from her slumbers, 
 and, after throwing her arms round her brother's 
 neck, ran to the door. 
 
 " Does she hear anything ? " inquired the 
 Griffin. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Ulick. ** Any one 
 coming, sister?" 
 
 " No ; Aileen sees no one but the wild crow 
 picking the first worms." 
 
 '' That's good," said Ulick ; " the crows 
 never light steadily when man is near — come 
 with me, and I'll give ye the drop." 
 
 And while Ulick and the Griffin departed, 
 Aileen spread her bed neatly, and began to light 
 the fire. The excavation where distillation had 
 been so frequently practised, was perfectly 
 cleared of everything that could excite suspi- 
 cion — even the smell of potheen was banished 
 by the more overpowering one of brimstone;
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 271 
 
 and yet the entrance was carefully concealed. 
 Ulick knew perfectly well that if O'Gorman's 
 party only ascended to his haunts, his illicit 
 practices would not be disturbed ; but there 
 were hawks abroad whom he feared much more, 
 though he trusted to the sagacity and fidelity of 
 his people to baffle them. Indeed the moun- 
 tain forge was as unsuspicious looking a place 
 as the most arrant smuggler could desire ; and 
 the two fellows who occasionally officiated there 
 — one of whom, by trade a smith, shod horses 
 and mended wheels with tolerable skill — were 
 sufficiently au fait at their business to blindfold 
 the few wayfarers who passed through the wild 
 and picturesque scenery. The rude shed, rest- 
 ing against a rock, was as simple and inconve- 
 nient as any one could imagine a forge in such 
 an uncultivated district to be ; and the smoke 
 that occasionally ascended fr'om the smithy was 
 an excellent pretext, if anything was said in the 
 valley respecting the " smoking mountain." Of 
 course Ulick O'SuUivan was not known to have 
 anything to do with the forge— it was not suffi- 
 ciently near his cottage to excite suspicion, and, 
 moreover, commanded a different view. 
 
 " It's a poor case," said one of the fellows to 
 the other, " to be here doing nothing ; we made 
 a bad hand of the job last night; and troth !
 
 272 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 I'd rather be with the Whiteboys, or light boys, 
 or any boys that would show us fun — or at the 
 Cove of Cork, or anywhere. Do you know, 
 Davy, it's meself thinks there's no luck with the 
 O'SuUivans at all at all. What a quare thing 
 luckis!'* 
 
 *' So it is,'** observed the other, who was lazily 
 hammering some rusty nails on a piece of some- 
 thing that served as an anvil ; " luck's mighty 
 quare intirely, and a thing there's no turning 
 either for good or bad ; take my word for it, 
 Ulick's luck is turned." 
 
 " So it is ; for sure the little thing last night 
 was as nately planned as anything I iver heerd 
 tell of. When Murphy Donohue ran off 
 with Ally Greveling, he did it and her mother 
 and two sisters in the screetches — it wasn't (to 
 all appearance) half as certain as this — only I 
 wonder it never came into Ulick's head before — " 
 
 "'Twasn't his luck." 
 
 " Did you ever think," said Davy, lowering 
 his voice, "that Cat's-claws had an evil eye? 
 because — it's mighty quare — I never knew her 
 gather much to a house that didn't grow un- 
 comfortable in itself afther a time." 
 
 '' 'Twas their luck turned, maybe." 
 
 " Maybe so. See what a purty slip of a girl 
 Gracey Conway was till she got so thick with
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 273 
 
 Mabel, and now the sun never shines on the 
 path she walks." 
 
 " She's grown bitther-hearted, as most girls 
 do, whin they meet a misfortune — but 'twas her 
 luck." 
 
 " No doubt ; but, take my word for it, the 
 grass is all the greener and the butter the more 
 plenty where her shadow niver comes. I don't over 
 much like knowing women — somehow they're 
 not like women ; see Shawn Gow, how he's done 
 up — out of the counthry — and they say it was 
 she sould the pass on him." 
 
 '* Well, 'twas his luck, and that's all about it. 
 My mind would be easier if the child hadn't 
 been touched — it's ill meddling with widdy's 
 childre — somehow the Almighty has a care over 
 them — to be sure he's the only Father they 
 have " 
 
 '* You should have been a Methody ; you'd 
 look beautiful in a black cap," * sneered the 
 least superstitious of the two ; adding, '' Some 
 of thim black-caps are desperate 'cute, and that's 
 more than you are ; I saw one, not a week ago, 
 whin I was up in Mallow, seeing after poor 
 
 * As late as the year 1812, itinerant preachers in 
 Ireland used to wear black hunting-caps, to protect 
 their heads against the stones with which they were 
 frequently pelted. 
 
 N 5
 
 274 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 Biddy Dacey that's in, for mistaking a cotton 
 print in a shop windy for her gown-piece that 
 she had in her boon at home. No one ever 
 evened the like of it to her before.*' 
 
 " 'Twas her luck !" exclaimed the other. 
 
 " Well, as I was saying, the black-cap was 
 reading out of a Protestant Bible, and eooperL 
 minting, as father Leary said on the altar last 
 Sunday, about what he could have no know- 
 ledge of; and the boys that had sinse in their 
 heads, said they would not let the poor ignorant 
 people, that knew no better than maybe to take 
 up with such nonsense, be corrupted. And so 
 they pickt up a good handful of flint-stones, 
 and filling their pockets purty tidy, they fol- 
 lowed the black-cap, till they got him reading 
 for the dear life, and he close by — where do you 
 think ?" 
 
 " How do I know ?" 
 
 " The priest's house !" 
 
 " O blessed Virgin between us and harm I" 
 
 " Yes; and ' you unchristian thraitor,' said 
 Corny Macdowl, (him that returned from 
 Bottomy Bay, where he was sent by false 
 swearing,) * I don't mind to take another 
 voyage at the expince of government for your 
 sake ;' and he aimed at the black-cap." 
 
 « Well !"
 
 THE GROVES OF BLATINEY. 275 
 
 " Well — he missed his aim. * Wait,' said the 
 black-cap, ' for one minute. Now just to show 
 you something — -just wait for one minute, and 
 give me that one minute to move where I 
 plase,' says he, as mild as the new May-moon, 
 * and then, Mister Corny, I'll let you peg- 
 stones at me, and stand as long as ever you 
 like, and as still as a statute,' says he. Well, 
 the boys were all rejoiced at this, and made the 
 bargain, wondering if he had any charm about 
 him to soften the stones ; and what did he do, 
 but plant himself with his back right up against 
 father Leary's own parlour windy, that had 
 just been glazed — three new panes and four 
 spliced. ' Now come on, good boys,' says he, 
 quite sober like ; ' here I am, pelt away — I'll 
 stand it all,' — that's what he said, the little 
 black villain, well knowing they would not 
 raise a finger, much less a stone, to put in 
 danger the priest's window." 
 
 *' Well, he had luck : but who's that coming 
 up the path ?" 
 
 " Sorra a bit of me knows — there's no sign 
 of any one, but the one — and sure it wouldn't be 
 Billy Bogy, my lord's naturaV * 
 
 * Fool — idiot,— even now those poor harmless ma- 
 niacs attach themselves to somegentleman's family, and 
 are called Mrs. So-and-so's /oo/, or Squire B.'s natural.
 
 276 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 '* No, I don't think it's Billy — there's a dale 
 more fools going now than there used to be in 
 ould times. I suppose it''s the wisdom the 
 world is getting on with that turns their brains ; 
 — but who is it? He can't know the path 
 well, for he makes right for the precipice in 
 front of the smithy ; and it's more than mortal 
 could leap or climb. Sign him to go round by 
 the path." 
 
 The chasm to which the last speaker alluded 
 was deep, and apparently wide ; between it and 
 the shed was an uneven rocky space of probably 
 twenty yards. It seemed as if some mighty 
 convulsion had shattered this particular portion 
 of the mountain, forming a rocky hollow, wide 
 in the centre, (which was directly opposite the 
 shed,) and narrowing to the extremities until 
 it closed. The path round this huge chasm 
 was difficult and circuitous — seldom traversed, 
 as I have said before, but by such persons as 
 desired to explore the terrific effects of moun- 
 tain scenery, or had some particular motive for 
 their visit. The military and police had long 
 induced the belief that the heights of the moun- 
 tain were inaccessible ; and there is no doubt but 
 half-a-dozen tolerably well-armed men could have 
 defended thebridle-path, from which the seeming 
 idiot had wandered, against a score of soldiers.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 277 
 
 " It can't be no one particular," said Davy, 
 " for no one that had a mind to be euros where 
 it wasn't wanting would come alone ; we're not 
 strong enough for open war, and it's not much 
 good trying at it now." 
 
 " What a shockin' natural the craythur must 
 be ! — see, he's opposite now, afther all the signs 
 we made — send him round." And, after prying 
 into the ravine, the poor fellow crept down 
 from whence he had crawled up, and trotted 
 along the path. 
 
 " Not a single traveller has past the Grey- 
 beard's stone this blessed morning," said Davy ; 
 *' and the hot mist lies so close in the valley, 
 that I can't see that itself now — I think there's 
 always a powerful mist when the ould cafs up 
 here; I wonder what hoult she can have on 
 the masther — and yet he minds her." 
 
 " Hoult enough, you stupid; don't they both 
 hate the one man. Talk o' love's bonds!— I 
 tell you, and I know it, the bonds of hate are 
 ten times as strong." 
 
 He had hardly finished his sentence, when 
 the natural, who had been obliged to descend 
 to the path, appeared at the corner ; he had 
 a large loose wrapping-coat, fastened by a long 
 skewer at the throat, so that it hung round 
 him like a cloak ; his hat was one of the worst
 
 278 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 specimens of Irish hats, and a *' wisp" of straw 
 formed its only crown ; the hair which stream- 
 ed at each side of his face was red, and nearly 
 covered his cheeks, and the hat fell so com- 
 pletely over his brows as effectually to shade 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Who are ye, darlint ?" inquired Davy. 
 
 " I'm not darlint," replied the man in an 
 idiotic tone, and standing with his toes turned 
 in, while his fingers grappled with the solitary 
 button of his coat ; " I'm not darlint ; I'm 
 Conny the boy, the whirling blade. Hurroo !" 
 
 " And who sent you here ?" 
 
 " Who ! why one of the eagle's feathers." 
 
 " For what ?" 
 
 '* For what ! not for fun." 
 
 " Right ! ye omadawn — for what ?" 
 
 " The kites is awake." 
 
 " Augh, we know that ! — what news you 
 bring us. You'll tell us the Rock of Cashel's 
 gone on a visit to the Cove of Cork." 
 
 " No, it ain't ; Conny didn't see it ; but the 
 aigle's feather heard tell of the kites." 
 
 " Which of the feathers was it ?" 
 
 The idiot rubbed his forefinger along his 
 brow, and then began to cry, *' Don't let me 
 be kilt— be kilt '.—I've forgot." 
 
 " You ought to be made to remember, you
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 279 
 
 born fool ; that you ought. How do we know 
 it's truth ye're telling. Where did ye come 
 from ?" 
 
 " From beyant the lakes, where I lost my 
 vocation. Don't bate me, Conny's got a sore 
 foot May he sit down .?" 
 
 " Who sent him, I wonder ?" said one fellow, 
 looking at him suspiciously. 
 
 " Augh, how should we know ? — some of the 
 boys that maybe didn't believe we war on our 
 guard ; he's rather of a stranger, but there's 
 more fools do be walking the country now than 
 formerly, as I said before. The whole thing 
 was bothered ; betwixt you and I and the cor- 
 ner, the masther's heart's not over strong." 
 
 " Where's the Aigle himself?" inquired the 
 visiter ; " Conny would like to lave his card at 
 his country-house. You're purty gintlemin, 
 eh, eh ! — purty gintlemin — he, he ! — purty gin- 
 tlemin to invite to a small tea-party. Here I 
 am, wanting to see the aigle by'n-by, but I'm 
 affeered you didn't expect me, as the fox said 
 whin he called to ask after the health of the 
 sitting hen." 
 
 " That's not bad," said one of the watchers. 
 
 '« Conny 'ill do better," he said. *' May- 
 be I'm not welcome, as the monkey said whin 
 he took the two pieces of cheese ; maybe 'ill
 
 280 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 not make myself at home, as the spark said 
 whin he bid good-morrow to the gunpowder; 
 maybe — but Conny won't tell you any more, 
 he won't, for it's the could shoulder yeVe show- 
 ing to Conny, and that's a fool's turn ye're 
 doing." 
 
 " How's that, Conny, ye 'cute one." 
 
 " Why, niver show a could shoulder to one 
 who has friends, — niver show a could shoulder 
 to one who has strength," — (he pulled a very 
 stout stick from under his coat, as he spoke and 
 eyed it affectionately,) — " niver show a could 
 shoulder to a boy with a purse of money." And 
 he shook the foot of an old stocking with great 
 glee in which some halfpence rattled merrily. 
 
 " There's maning in that," said one of tlie 
 men. " I shouldn't wonder if he was the one 
 they call knowing Conny of the lake — are ye ?" 
 
 " I'm Conny, the darlint, whooroo !" 
 
 " Are ye hungry ?" 
 
 " No ; I've got breakfast here, but no butter. 
 I pick up whatever I gets, and keep it, as the 
 bees do, till it's wanted, — hurroo !" 
 
 " I say, fooley." 
 
 " My name's Conny, 'cause my mother's name 
 was Carney ; and my sister's name is Patty, 
 'cause my father's name was Paddy ; so there's 
 a cause for everything, as the water said whin 
 it put the fire out."
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 281 
 
 '* Well then, Conny, what would you do if 
 you caught a weazel asleep ?" 
 
 " I wouldn''t put my finger in its mouth, for 
 fear it 'ud waken." 
 
 At this moment, little Hector Lee, who was 
 tied and concealed behind the partition which 
 communicated in an almost imperceptible man- 
 ner with the place where they distilled the pro- 
 scribed spirits, moved so as to throw something 
 down, and then uttered a faint cry. This exca- 
 vation was chosen, it must be remembered, as 
 being so near the public entrance, that they ima- 
 gined those who sought the child would look for 
 him in the interior of the place, to which (if they 
 had secret information) they would at once pro- 
 ceed. Ulick himself had as yet formed no arrange- 
 ment as to his ultimate destiny ; and had all 
 along wanted firmness to execute either his own 
 plans, or the plans of his friend the Griffin. 
 
 The people about had dosed the child with 
 spirits, to keep him quiet, to such a degree that 
 his little cry was such as children utter in a 
 disturbed sleep. The fellov/s looked at each 
 other, and at the idiot, who manifested no cu- 
 riosity as to the noise : one of them left the 
 forge, and presently was heard saying roughly, 
 *' He has no call for bread and milk — don't ye 
 see how sleepy he is ?" When he returned, he 
 whispered to his companion that " Aileen was
 
 282 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 always after the lamb, bothering !" Though 
 the time passed, the mist still lay heavy in the 
 valley, and little could be seen distinctly at a 
 very great distance beyond the ravine. The 
 natural bandied jests and snatches of songs 
 and sharp words with his companions, who, 
 notwithstanding his simplicity, did not seem 
 disposed to leave him a moment alone ; indeed 
 they watched him very narrowly. He exhibited 
 no desire to go away, nor did he evince any in- 
 tention to pry about, though his keen eyes moved 
 with rapidity and earnestness when those of the 
 men were not fixed upon him. A short time 
 after Aileen's anxiety about the child had been 
 made manifest, Ulick O'Sullivan lounged into 
 the forge from the mountain entrance. The 
 idiot started up the instant he saw him, and 
 Ulick looked at him suspiciously. 
 
 "Mr. Aigle, sir," said Conny, " there are 
 kites abroad." 
 
 "And who are you, that tell me what I 
 know r' 
 
 " Find out, sir, not to make you an uncivil 
 answer ; — I've tould you there war kites abroad, 
 and if I was a kite, I needn't have come alone, 
 so I'll throuble you not to look at me as if you'd 
 ate me, Misther Aigle ; but any way, Misther 
 Ulick, ril just take up two minutes of yer time 
 to tell ye a fable, a morsel of a thing I learnt of
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 283 
 
 my mother, who was a knowing woman,— may- 
 be it will divart you, sir :— Onct upon a time 
 there was a poor sheep — a ewe sheep she was, fair 
 and white as ever was sprinkled by the dew of a 
 May morning ; and this ewe had one lamb '' 
 
 " Talk like a man, and not like a '* 
 
 13 lick paused ; there was something in the 
 story-teller he did not like. 
 
 " Like a what ?" inquired Conny ; " don't 
 baulk yer fancy, say it out," 
 
 " Go on," said Ulick. 
 
 The men perceived a great change in the 
 idiot's manner, though they did not choose to 
 say so. 
 
 *' The ewe had one lamb, and she thought a 
 dale of it, as all faymale things do of their 
 young ; but maybe she thought more of it on 
 account that the ould shepherd, who ought to 
 have taken care of the little lamb, was — ye're 
 more lamed than me, Mr. Ulick, so you will 
 know what I mean, whin I say, the ould shep- 
 herd was mortus est, and that manes, I be- 
 lieve, dead, — and the lamb had no one to look 
 to for a sup of milk, or a naggin of whiskey, 
 or anything that way, but herself; and so 
 the poor purty ewe thought if she could pick 
 up something in the way of a friend to take 
 care of herself and the lamb, it would be no bad 
 plan ; and you know, Mr. Ulick, "
 
 2Si THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " I know — what do I know about such non- 
 sense ?" said Ulick, fiercely. 
 
 " Why, you do know," he said, " that, set a 
 ewe and her lamb in a fine field of clover, and 
 sorra a pig, or an ass, or a goose, — or a wolf 
 either — but what 'ill be wanting share of the bit 
 and the sup she has for herself and her young." 
 
 "Well, maybe so," said Ulick, "but who 
 told you to tell me this nonsense ?" 
 
 " Well, she formed a friendship with — what 
 do you think ?" he continued, without heeding 
 the question. 
 
 " How do I know ?" said Ulick. 
 
 " With a dog," replied the stranger, " and a 
 sad dog; though, by my soul, it's often merry he 
 was when he had the luck to fall into pleasant 
 company, which wasn't often ; there was nothing 
 mane, nor pimping, nor prying about him ; he 
 was a bould, gay, rollicking, waglum- tail urns 
 sort of a dog." 
 
 " Stuff," exclaimed his auditor, impatiently. 
 
 "Faith he was, and good stuff too," said 
 Conny, " yeVe right for onct ; and so the sheep, 
 poor craythur, placed a deal of reliance on the 
 dog: but what do ye think now ? — why a devil 
 of a wolf kept ever such long watch, thinking to 
 get both the ewe and her lamb into his clutches, 
 but he couldn't on account of the dog; so what 
 d'ye think the base, black-hearted, grim scoun-
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 285 
 
 drel did ? I'm sure you don't know, because its 
 what every honest-hearted Irishman would 
 scorn to think of ; he watched his opportunity, 
 and, on the sly, whin the dog, little draming of 
 his wickedness, was slouching about the field 
 with his tail between his legs, fretting himself 
 to fiddle-strings over a scrap of a misunder- 
 standing he had with his friend the sheep ; — 
 what d'ye think he did ? Like a carnivorous, 
 dirty, mane scoundrel — as he is — he stole the 
 innocent lamb from the mother's side ; but 
 what did the dog, Mr. Ulick, — what did the 
 dog?— he tracked the wolf, bould and honest, 
 and in the shine of day, to his own den, and 
 whin he got him face to face — so — what did he 
 say ? — he shouted, 
 
 " Hector, Hector, my boy !" 
 
 The idiot, idiot no longer, called the name of 
 the stolen child at the top of his voice, and in 
 an instant flung off the red wig and hat, which 
 had so completely concealed and changed the 
 expression of his features, and Connor O'Gor- 
 man stood with the air of a conqueror, alone 
 and unarmed, in the den of his foe. 
 
 There was a noise, a rustle within, and before 
 Ulick could recover from the effect of the dis- 
 covery — which though, during Connor's latter 
 words, he had anticipated, came upon him unex-
 
 286 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 pectedly — little Hector Lee, with pallid cheek 
 and reddened eyes, rushed to his friend and 
 playfellow, exclaiming, " Here, Connor, here !" 
 
 '' Now, Mr. Wolf," said Connor, bravely and 
 boldly, " do you feel ashamed of yourself? 
 False-hearted and cowardly, to steal the ten- 
 der lamb from the mother ! The time will 
 come when the memory of this will hang like a 
 millstone about your neck. Look, Uiick, a man 
 may do a wild or violent sin, and, with the 
 devil at his elbow, (where he often is with the 
 best of us,) take human life in haste or passion ; 
 but O, to creep like a snake, and pilfer — like a 
 thief!" 
 
 " Boys," exclaimed Ulick, fiercely turning to 
 the men, " boys, shall we bear this? What are 
 you about — down with him." 
 
 The face of Aileen, while her brother spoke, 
 was seen peeping from the den whence the child 
 had just escaped, so that there could be no 
 doubt of her having loosened the cords that had 
 bound him: the men, thus commanded, looked at 
 each other, and prepared, but not with extraor- 
 dinary speed, to obey Ulick's commands, and the 
 child clung to O'Gorman as if it were for life. 
 
 " Keep off," said Connor coolly, but with a 
 determination of voice and manner which 
 proved his firmness — " keep off — the first
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 287 
 
 of ye who lays a finger on Connor O'Gorman 
 will have small chance of absolution ; that's all 
 I've got to say. Do you think I was going to 
 trust these four honeSy that I've a regard for, 
 into the heart of O'Sullivan's den without 
 having a hack to them? There's as many as twenty 
 of my faction at the Grey-beard's stone, and I 
 have only to give them the family call — you 
 have heard it before, boys, every one of you — 
 and it wouldn't be the first time it called a 
 muster to field, — whether for fight or play does 
 not matter now ; they know where I'm come to, 
 and I would have been long sorry to put myself 
 into a dirty disguise, if it had not been that I did 
 not want your outlayers to know me, nor did I 
 want the Peelers to track me, and so perhaps 
 be the out-and-out destruction of you. But my 
 men know where I am ; the mist is clearing, 
 you can see the sign of the Grey-beard's stone at 
 this moment, — they are there, but they'll come 
 no farther unless I whistle — and then, your 
 blood be on your own heads ! I tell you there 
 are twenty at the very least, — so I think Mr. 
 O'Sullivan, Masther Hector Lee and myself may 
 bid you good-morning. Hector, my pet," he 
 added, taking him tenderly in his arms, " hold 
 fast to me, darling, come what come may." And 
 unmolested he passed the threshold.
 
 288 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 But it could not be supposed that Ulick 
 O'Sullivan would permit his prey to escape him 
 after having risked so much, nor that he would 
 permit one he hated with so bitter a hatred to 
 go forth without making some effort at the re- 
 venge he had so anxiously panted to obtain. 
 Connor walked towards the path by which he 
 had ascended, and then Ulick turned on the 
 men, who, lawless as they were, had not relished 
 the detention of a child ; to run away with a 
 woman was not unfrequent, but stealing a child 
 seemed to them like robbing a wren's nest, piti- 
 ful and unlucky. 
 
 " Now, by ," he exclaimed, " if you let 
 
 him " but he was interrupted by the Grif- 
 fin's rushing forward with his musket, and 
 furious as a Pythoness, exclaiming, " So this is 
 your work, you stupid crew ! here, Ulick, his 
 back is to you ; I loaded it myself, that kep 
 me, — you can't miss him ; and see there's three 
 of our own boys coming up the very path he must 
 pass — stop, don't fire yet ! — stop — the noise ! — 
 afther him, Tim ; now, Larry — you have him 
 back and front; fivemin on the hill, and I'm all 
 as one as another, would keep thirty off; give 
 me the musket, — Ulick, I'll watch — close 
 quarters, break the brat's neck down the ravine 
 —who'll know .?"
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 289 
 
 And instigated by this demon, who foamed 
 with passion while uttering, with the addi- 
 tion of many oaths, what I have imperfectly 
 repeated, the men rushed after O'Gorman. 
 Connor saw in an instant the danger he was 
 in ; he hurried forward until he encountered 
 those of the O'Sullivan faction, whom the 
 Griffin had at once recognised. He eyed the 
 ravine, but it was wide; the life of Mar- 
 garet Lee's child was in his keeping; the 
 words of the Griffin came upon his ear. He 
 knew her influence and her hatred — his enemies 
 pressed upon him both before and behind — he 
 heard the one shout to the other, and saw the 
 advancing party spread upon his path ; he 
 was aware of the savage character of his foes. 
 The boy clung to him in all the helplessness of 
 childhood, — «/— he could leap the chasm he was 
 safe, he would have gained so much — if ! — 
 
 The mist had risen from the valley, and the 
 noisome vapour had become a summer cloud. 
 The men who, according to Connor's orders, 
 assembled at the Grey Beard's Stone, grew im- 
 patient of the delay. With them were Mar- 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 garet and Flora — who could restrain the im- 
 patience of a mother ? 
 
 " I can bear it no longer," exclaimed Margaret 
 Lee ; " this suspense is worse than death." The 
 sisters wandered a little up the hill, Margaret in 
 advance. She could see the mountain forge 
 hanging far above, like the nest of a foul bird 
 on a blasted tree. 
 
 *' Flora ! — Marcus !" she called aloud tossing 
 her arms wildly in the air ; " see ! — look — 
 there ! — on the mountain ! — it is he — it is 
 
 Connor — he has there is a mist before my 
 
 eyes— but I feel he has my child ! For God*s 
 love, tell me — am I not right? They are pur- 
 suing him — he looks back." 
 
 Margaret fell upon her knees on the side of 
 that wild mountain. She tried to pray ; her 
 heart, her mother's heart, appealed in its loud 
 beatings to the Almighty. Marcus and his 
 friends, seeing Connor thus hemmed in, rushed 
 wildly upwards. Flora sank by her sister's 
 side, and then observed what passed. 
 
 " I see Ulick " — she said ; "Connor is not 
 coming down the path. Courage, dear Mar- 
 garet —ah ! Ulick gains on him — there is the 
 GriflBn !'' As she spoke, the report of a musket 
 rang sharply through the mountain air. Mar- 
 garet Lee echoed it by a loud and piercing
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 291 
 
 scream. Springing from her knees, she would 
 have flown towards the chasm, but Nature was 
 overpowered — she fell senseless to the earth. 
 
 " Margaret ! — sister ! — dearest !" cried Flora, 
 '* Connor has done something wonderful I know, 
 for Marcus is both shouting and running, quite 
 alive. Will not the cries of the O'Gormans 
 rouse you ? Connor is carrying Hector down 
 the mountain ; the factions are fighting like wild 
 animals." 
 
 When Margaret Lee recovered her senses, 
 her head was resting on Connor's bosom, and 
 her child was clinging round her neck. 
 
 o 2
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Nearly two years had elapsed since the occur- 
 rence of the events I have endeavoured to de- 
 scribe ; and I do not know whether my readers 
 may be surprised by the fact, but there was then 
 no such person as Margaret Lee in existence ; 
 witliin a week after the restoration of her child, 
 she became Margaret O'Gorman ! 
 
 The harvest moon was riding in all its glory 
 up the heavens, and a family party were assem- 
 bled in the quiet neat parlour of the Bees' Nest. 
 — I said quiet and neat, did I not? — Well, it 
 was so, but it was not quite as quiet, nor, 
 I think, quite as neat, as of old. Men, parti- 
 cularly Irishmen, do so litter a room — to be
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 293 
 
 sure, Margaret looked — not black — there had 
 not been a single black look exchanged between 
 Margaret and Connor since their marriage, but 
 hlueish, sometimes, when her husband threw his 
 great-coat on the polished table, and then 
 Connor would glance tov/ards her, and say, 
 " Cuishla machree !" and Margaret, who never 
 could resist that, would smile, and very gently 
 and very softly remove the coat, and hang it 
 on its own particular peg in the hall. More- 
 over, Hector was growing a great boy, and 
 would sometimes leave a kite, or a top, in the 
 room. And there was a pretty bassanet with 
 green curtains in the corner, with a real living 
 baby-boy fast asleep in it — certainly that baby 
 is very like Connor O'Gorman. 
 
 But to return to the little party on whom the 
 harvest moon was smiling. 
 
 Margaret was seated at her table, " doing some 
 quilling ;" Connor was applying his strength 
 and skill in notching, and shaving, and modelling 
 the top of a blackthorn stick ; Marcus Roche 
 was writing ; Flora was sitting next to him, 
 jogging his elbow, to his great annoyance. 
 Margaret wore no cap; Flora had a pretty 
 little lace one jauntily put on ; Flora wished 
 to look matronly. She had only been married 
 two months — in ten years* time Mrs. Marcus
 
 294 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 Roche will, in all probability, throw off her 
 cap, and 
 
 '^ Wish to feel (or seem) a girl again !" 
 
 The little baby was, as 1 have] said, asleep in 
 its bassanet, and Hector Lee was gone to bed. 
 
 " How can I write. Flora, if you jog my 
 elbow so ?" said Marcus to his bride. 
 
 " I am sure you have written enough — what 
 can you find to say ?" 
 
 " Dear Flora, I have written a great deal 
 about you." 
 
 " Marcus," said Connor, looking up from 
 his employment, " just draw a large tongue on 
 the paper, and Peter will understand you in- 
 tend that for Flora. Flora dear, do you re- 
 member the night you bit your tongue ?" 
 
 " That was the night," observed Margaret 
 slily, '• when a man called Davy, said he would 
 not have your tongue for three times your for- 
 tune." 
 
 " What an admirable memory you have, 
 sister, for disagreeables !" 
 
 '* I am sure I never said your tongue was 
 disagreeable. Flora," replied Margaret; and 
 then she added, " Connor, have you heard any 
 thing of your sister Alice to-day ?" 
 
 *' Nothing," sighed Connor ; " poor Alice's
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 295 
 
 mind, never strong, except in what women are 
 always strong in — affection — was so warped by 
 that horrid Griffin's art, that notwithstanding- 
 all she knew of her badness, she persisted in 
 the cunning she had learnt of her, and ended, 
 as you know, by marrying a person we cannot 
 tolerate." 
 
 " Oh, Connor, he will improve — I hope he 
 will." 
 
 '* If you undertake his care, darlint, Pm 
 sure he will," replied her husband, fondly. 
 
 " Well, how sweet you are to each other," 
 said Flora ; " Marcus never says half so much 
 to me." 
 
 " When I do say anything sweet, as you call 
 it, Flora," replied Marcus, looking up, '* when 
 I do, you are sure to snub me !" 
 
 *' But I am better than I was," she replied — 
 "am I not? Well, Marcus, shall I tell you 
 the truth ? I know what makes me odd and 
 sharp sometimes ; it is this — you were suddenly 
 raised much above me by your extraordinary 
 good fortune," (a relative had died, and, as was 
 expected, left Marcus ' well to do in the world,') 
 *' and yet you would marry me. I fear — for in 
 every respect you are so much, much better 
 than I am — that you may look down upon me, 
 unless I am high and— "
 
 296 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " Why what nonsense you talk/' interrupted 
 Margaret ; " you do nothing but talk nonsense ; 
 when Marcus was not rich, you were quite as 
 saucy to him." 
 
 " But not saucy in the way I am now, was I, 
 Marcus ?" 
 
 " Not quite so bad, I think," was Marcus's 
 quiet reply. 
 
 " Well, I am very sorry indeed," she an- 
 swered, and while she spoke there was a tone 
 of deep tenderness in her voice ; " for I try my 
 best to be quiet and what is called lady-like, as 
 I ought to be, being the wife of one so truly 
 wise, and good, and rich as Marcus Roche ; but 
 somehow gay thoughts grow in my heart, and 
 such pert words bound to my lips, that if I kept 
 them in " 
 
 " You'd bite your tongue," interrupted Con- 
 nor. 
 
 And Connor was rewarded for his untimely 
 reminder by a box on the ear, of so audible 
 a nature, that Margaret looked reproachfully in 
 Flora's face. 
 
 " It's no use," she said, " sister, looking so 
 at me ; dear Connor, now the box is given, I'd 
 kiss and make friends, but that Margaret 
 might be jealous. I am very thoughtful some- 
 times, and very sorry ; and I go on from morning
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 297 
 
 till night, sinning and repenting, sinning and 
 repenting, until I wonder, dear Marcus, how 
 you ever loved me." 
 
 Marcus, the generous, gentle-hearted Marcus, 
 looked up from his employment, and when he 
 saw the lovely face beaming with such arch, yet 
 sweet expression turned towards him, he did 
 not at all agree as to the wonder she so pret- 
 tily expressed ; indeed, if Flora had been some- 
 what silly, I doubt not (if such were possible) 
 but Marcus would have loved her more. Your 
 grave, clever book-worms, in nine cases out of 
 ten, always choose pretty silly wives. No man 
 yet ever loved a woman for her cleverness — it is 
 a perpetual reproof to the thousand and one 
 little absurdities of which the best of men are 
 guilty, and for which, perhaps, we women love 
 them all the better ; — the truth is, that the 
 folly of the one sex is an excellent excuse for 
 the folly of the other. 
 
 " I shall never forget," said Margaret, " the 
 rapidity with which my poor little cousin, the 
 Swan of Bloomsbury, as Connor called him, 
 quitted the Green Island, which he visited to 
 make a book." 
 
 " And the piteous letter he wrote on his land- 
 ing at Liverpool, recounting the misfortunes 
 of his tower ^"^ added Flora, " and all in less 
 
 o5
 
 298 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 than a week ; — first, the attack made upon him 
 by the beggars, and the difficulty he had (ac- 
 cording to his own account) to save himself 
 from being robbed by those droll fellows, 
 who, half from kindness and half from a love 
 of mischief wished to carry his luggage." 
 
 " Yes," said Connor, " we have quick per- 
 ceptions, and it is at all times very hard to 
 avoid playing on the absurdities of our fellow 
 creatures." 
 
 '' Very, indeed," echoed Flora with a sigh, 
 at which they all laughed, and Flora continued 
 her recapitulation of Peter's troubles. " Then 
 he tumbled into the vaults of Blarney Castle, 
 and fancied he saw a ghost ; indeed I am told 
 that to this day he is very mysterious on the 
 subject — then he had various specimens of the 
 character of the country exhibited by our friend 
 here — eh, Connor ?" 
 
 " Flora I" exclaimed Margaret, in a tone of 
 entreaty. 
 
 " Oh, yes, he had ; a fair, and a fight, and 
 a— — ; well there, Margaret, I'm silent, silent 
 as a lark at Christmas. But the crowning thing 
 of all, was the night that wretch O'Sullivan, 
 and the Griffin, and the rest of them came here, 
 and, when they could not find Margaret, tied 
 him hand and foot, cut the hair off one side of
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 299 
 
 his head, blackened his face, and made him 
 take some absurd oath, as he called it, that he 
 thinks made him a United Irishman, which, in 
 spite of himself, he believes it is his fate to con- 
 tinue till the day of his death." 
 
 " I wonder what he can want with this shil- 
 lela that I'm fixing for him," inquired Connor. 
 
 " Oh," replied Margaret, " I believe there are 
 hundreds of English who attach some destruc- 
 tive property to an Irish shillela : it is a pity 
 they should be undeceived." 
 
 " Well," said Connor, ** my Meggy, that ob- 
 servation was not like you ; I should like the 
 English to come and see us, and then judge for 
 themselves, if we are the despicable set of savages 
 we are represented to be ; our greatest crime is 
 our poverty — but, to be sure, that is a crime all 
 over the world." 
 
 '* You are," said Flora, curling her nose and 
 elevating one eyebrow, as she always did when 
 about to say anything saucy, *' you are a hun- 
 dred years behind us in civilization." 
 
 " You ! us r repeated Marcus, laying down 
 his pen, while Connor gave the blackthorn such 
 a cut ; — " why, queen of flowers ! if we are as 
 you say, more shame to England, with her ad- 
 vantages, with her prosperity, with her refine- 
 ment ; — why have we been suffered to drag on
 
 300 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 our existence like a poor relation — instead of 
 a cherished sister? It is in vain that Eng- 
 and boasts her sympathy with our distress, 
 while our peasants continue to starve; it is 
 absurd to talk to a man of peace and content- 
 ment, while his children are dying of hunger, 
 in nakedness, by the way side. High-minded 
 English individuals have ever been liberal to 
 us ; but we would prefer English justice to 
 English charity. There is abundant scope for 
 speculation in the island, where English capi- 
 tal might be employed to the advantage of 
 both countries — there are bogs to be reclaimed — 
 mines to be worked — and factories to be erected. 
 Look how prosperous they are in the north, how 
 comparatively comfortable in the county Wex- 
 ford — particularly in that portion, such as the 
 neighbourhood of Johnstown Castle, and the 
 vicinity of Bannow, where landlords reside and 
 superintend the judicious changes (changes with- 
 out violence to prejudice or feeling) that take 
 place, and are ready to cheer the peasant on- 
 wards to the attainment of those comforts 
 which are considered essential in well-regulated 
 England." 
 
 " Stop, stop, Marcus," said Flora, laughing ; 
 " if instead of three hundred a-year and a pet 
 little farm, your rich relation had bequeathed
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 301 
 
 you two thousand a year, you should have been 
 a great parliament man, and I would have been 
 a great parliament woman — wouldn't I ride an 
 Arabian and leap a five-barred gate every morn- 
 ing before breakfast ?" 
 
 " I shall never be a parliament man," said 
 the gentle Marcus, resuming his occupation 
 when his feelings were calmed down to their 
 usual tone, " I shall never be a parliament 
 man, though I hope to be as useful as one in 
 my own sphere." 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Connor, " I knew I had 
 forgotten to tell you something I heard in town 
 this morning." 
 
 " What is it ?" said Margaret. 
 
 " Why, there has been news of the Griffin." 
 
 '* What of cat's claws, as poor Aileen calls 
 her ?" inquired Flora. 
 
 "Thus much," he replied; "you know the 
 trinkets found upon her person, together with 
 one or two other awkward circumstances, caused 
 her transportation." 
 
 " Yes, we all know that," said Flora. " Spite- 
 ful old toad ! when they went to search her, she 
 pulled out my coral necklace, under pretence of 
 giving it up, and then snapt the string so that 
 all the beads rolled down the mountain." 
 . " And swallowed one of my rings," said 
 Margaret, mournfully.
 
 302 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " Well, she created a terrible disturbance on 
 board the transport," said Connor : " it was no 
 use attempting to punish her as any one else 
 would have been punished ; she managed the 
 men and corrupted the women, and then they 
 put her in solitary confinement, and she tried to 
 blow up the powder ; and she contrived some 
 way to get at the spirit store ; — at all events 
 the captain declared that he had made four 
 voyages to Botany Bay, and that the anxieties 
 ofthe four put together would not amount to a 
 tithe of what he suffered when Mabel Griffin 
 was his passenger." 
 
 " I can believe it," said Margaret. 
 
 " It so happened," continued Connor, " that 
 the first person she met after her landing, where 
 she was sentenced to hard labour, was her third 
 or fourth husband, I am not certain which, 
 and she pounced upon him as an eagle would 
 on a leveret ; she insisted on her claim, and 
 kicked up such a shindy that she was ordered 
 into irons, when — what should the man turn 
 out to be, who was putting on the darbies .''" 
 
 *'The what?" inquired Margaret. 
 
 '* Why, fetters, to be sure, or handcuffs, I 
 don't know which, but I know it's one or the 
 other," said Flora, who always felt a very un fe- 
 minine pride in a slight acquaintance with slang.
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 303 
 
 " I am sure / don't know, but pray tell us," 
 exclaimed Margaret. 
 
 " Why, her second husband ! — of course, she 
 declined any farther claim on the fourth, finding 
 that the second was a man having authority ; 
 but I heard tell, nothing could surpass the scene 
 between the two husbands, one resigning the 
 lady to the other with the utmost politeness, 
 wliile the Griffin eyed them both, at one mo- 
 ment with her sly leer of familiarity, the next 
 hardening her features into the fiendish ex- 
 pression, which once seen could never be for- 
 gotten." 
 
 " Is that all?" inquired Flora. 
 
 " All !" repeated Connor ; " is it not 
 enough ?" 
 
 " Why pretty well, but not very well, for 
 the Griffin ; I thought she'd have blown up the 
 government-house, (I suppose there is one,) or 
 perhaps met and married Ulick O'Sullivan." 
 
 " Poor Ulick ! " said Margaret ; " that in- 
 deed would be a worse fate than even he de- 
 served." 
 
 "Well," said Connor, laughing, "it is as- 
 tonishing how gentle a woman always is to the 
 faults of an old lover ; however, Margaret, as 
 he was a lover of yours^ I am very glad his 
 exile was voluntary."
 
 301 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 "And then," said Margaret, "he paid us a 
 delicate compliment by his request that I would 
 watch over poor Aileen ; gratitude to the girl 
 would have obliged me to do so ; and, moreover, 
 there is something so sweet, so mournful, so 
 interesting about her, that it would be impos- 
 sible to know and not love her." 
 
 " It is strange — " observed Connor ; and, be- 
 fore finishing his sentence, I cannot help re- 
 marking how much Connor''s manner and mode 
 of speaking had improved since his marriage ; 
 not that he had lost his sweet musical brogue, 
 but there was a propriety and fitness in what 
 he said, mingled with his old habits and mirth- 
 fulness, that made him one of the most de- 
 lightful persons that can well be imagined. 
 " It is wonderful how much Aileen is changed ! 
 her way is so quiet — her eyes are not rest- 
 less, and she has laid by her spindle to knit 
 stockings for little Connor, when he is old 
 enough to wear them — I wonder when will 
 that be ? — Hush ! she is singing the little song 
 that Marcus wrote." 
 
 And while Connor was speaking, Aileen en- 
 tered the room ; her look certainly wore a more 
 composed aspect, but it was still wandering; 
 her clothing too was more cared for, and her 
 beautiful hair not only neatly arranged, but
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 305 
 
 bound round her head with a fillet of blue 
 ribbon. 
 
 ^' How smart you look, Aileen !" said Con- 
 nor to her. 
 
 "Yes," she said, mournfully, '' Hector Lee 
 tied Aileen's head with blue ribbon, because 
 Aileen was crying this morning." 
 
 "And why was Aileen crying?" inquired 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Because," she said, " it is harvest-time, and 
 poor Ulick was born in harvest — yet he is not 
 here now," — and tears rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 "But, Aileen, you were singing just now." 
 
 " Yes, — shall Aileen sing babby's song again, 
 — she loves babby." 
 
 The ready tears were chased away by the 
 as ready smiles, and she sat down close to Mar- 
 garet, and laying her bright, shining head on 
 her lap, she sang the infant's song, which Con- 
 nor delighted to think Marcus Roche had 
 written in honour of his first-born. 
 
 " Lullaby, lullaby ! 
 I have heard my own darling's first low cry. 
 As I stood, and trembled, the chamber nigh ; 
 My sad heart beat, as I breathed a prayer — 
 The heart that another was come to share ; 
 Yet to take the part that we both could spare ! 
 Lullaby, lullaby !
 
 306 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 Lullaby, lullaby ! 
 But I heard my baby's voice with a sigh; 
 The plant that gave birth to the bud might die ! 
 With an aching heart I had heard my boy ; 
 And I spoke in a tone that spoke no joy, 
 Pray heaven, the babe is not sent to destroy ! 
 
 Lullaby, lullaby ! 
 
 Lullaby, lullaby ! 
 But when the weak mother all sweetly smiled, 
 And gave to my arms my own living child, — 
 She smiled, and I saw that my fears were vain ! 
 Though its new-born voice may have told of pain. 
 'Twas music to me when I heard it again ! 
 
 Lullaby, lullaby !" 
 
 " Thank you, Aileen," said Marcus, when 
 she had finished; "you must sing that for 
 Father Horragan the next time he asks you ; 
 Aileen must always sing when she is asked. 
 
 " If you plase, ma'am/' said a bare-legged 
 (not bare-footed) maid-servant, poking her 
 head in through the half-open door, " Fm sorry 
 to the heart for it, but the speckled cow got her 
 head (bad cess to it !) over the garden gate, 
 which Jackey Miller has been tould these three 
 days to hammer the nail in, which, sir, he put 
 off doing, as he does sometimes when it's his 
 luck to take a drop, which isn't often— and I'd 
 be sorry to say a word aginst him — only he
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 307 
 
 has an eye (Jackey has but the one, sir) afther 
 ould Monica Murphey's granddaughter, which 
 is a burning shame, ma'am, and she but a slip 
 ov a girl, growing up under the noses of her 
 elders, to say nothing of her betters, in a rude 
 way — which isn't manners, ma'am, — only, to be 
 sure, your favour, ma'am, makes her take airs 
 on herself, and so " 
 
 " What are you driving at, Norry ?" 
 
 " Jacky's one eye, masther, if you plase, sir," 
 replied Norah, advancing a little farther, and 
 dropping a curtsey. 
 
 "But you need not do that," said Flora, 
 " when he has but one." 
 
 " O Miss Flory, I ax yer pardon, ma'am, 
 Mrs. Marcus Roche, as the postman says it is, 
 — you're mighty pleasant and handy with the 
 joke, and the merriment, and all innocent, pli- 
 sant divilry." 
 
 " Thank you, Norah." 
 
 " Kindly welcome, ma'am, said Norah," 
 dropping another curtsey ; " and sure, miss — 
 ma'am, it would be cruel in me to do you in- 
 justice, if it was only on account of the goslings, 
 or the turkeys, that are thriving so, on the 
 stubble, which the masther, God bless him ! 
 never rakes, like some tame nagurs." 
 
 *' But, Norah," interrupted Margaret, "you
 
 308 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 began with the speckled cow putting her head 
 over the garden gate " 
 
 " O, all holies betwixt us and harem, so I 
 did, ma'am, and I only wish I could end there, 
 on account of Masther Hector's beautiful shirts, 
 whin I pulled them out of the tub this morn- 
 ing — it was gone six, for the days do be getting 
 short;' 
 
 " More than your story is," said Flora. 
 
 " Now, ma'am, Mistress Marcus Roche, let 
 us alone, iv you plase ; and I tould the post- 
 man, (he's as civil spoken a man as iver com 
 out ov Blarney, is Pat Langan, and can read 
 all the letters he carries throu^jh one another 
 without specs, and he turned seventy if he's a 
 day.") 
 
 " That's kind of him," said Connor, drily. 
 
 " Troth, masther, it's wonderful, he"'s a 
 lamed man is Langan, and first cousin by the 
 mother's side to Pat Langan, the Irish haro 
 that beat Crib to smashes." 
 
 "But the spotted cow, I wish you would 
 keep to her," said Margaret. 
 
 " I'd be long sorry, misthress dear, as I said 
 whin I seemasther's Marcelle—what-you -call-it 
 waistcoat going down her throat, and nothing to 
 stop it, and masther Hector's shirts foaming at 
 her mouth "
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 309 
 
 " The English of it is, I suppose," said Mar- 
 garet, who, like everybody'else who lives in Ire- 
 land, must be content to put up with the an- 
 noyance which odd, obstinate, perplexing, 
 amusing servants create ; — " the English of it 
 is, I suppose, that in opposition to my com- 
 mands, you put the linen to bleach on my 
 lawn, and the cow, not being properly fastened, 
 has eaten the linen." 
 
 " Just it thin, misthress ; see that now, bar- 
 ring the opposition, which I don't take to my- 
 self at all, for it wasn't I, but the girl put it 
 there " 
 
 *' But," interrupted Margaret, " I forbade 
 you to do it at all." 
 
 '* In the day I know you did, ma'am, but 
 sure the night's not the day." 
 
 Flora laughed at Norah's ingenuity, and 
 Margaret went to ascertain the extent of the 
 injury. 
 
 " Marcus," said Flora, " I wish you would 
 just write down every word Norah has uttered, 
 as a sample of Irish perspicuity of style." 
 
 " For shame, Flora !" 
 
 " O Masther Marcus, if you put me in a 
 book," said Norah, " I'll never forgive you, sir ; 
 there's none of my family desarve such a pu- 
 nishment as that — all quiet, dacent people — not
 
 310 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 one of them ever left the counthry except afther 
 the ruction, whin Gineral Hoult was glorifying 
 the counthry ; and sure it was, as my mother 
 said, the pathriotism " 
 
 " Norah," interrupted Connor, " I think you 
 presume too much on being an old servant, you 
 know how displeased your mistress is, and yet 
 you take it as easy " 
 
 " Law, sir, masther dear ! I'm heavy sorry, 
 but all the tears in Aileen's eyes won't bring 
 the shirts back." 
 
 " I'll turn over a new leaf." 
 
 " Masther dear,— don't — you've turned over a 
 grate many, and we're the talk of the counthry 
 as it is " 
 
 '* Is the postman come ?" inquired Marcus. 
 
 '' Sure I knew I had that to tell," replied the 
 provoking Norah, " only I forgot it ; — he's 
 waiting within." 
 
 " Well, let him wait," said Connor. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Norah ; " I '11 tell him 
 what you say, master. It 's little he used to 
 think of waiting the length of a long summer's 
 day, until the misthress put it into his head 
 that time was money ^ and there's no hay with 
 the way he keeps on now — bothering ; and his 
 wife gay as a paycock with the money he makes 
 out of the odds and ends of the hours, and the
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 311 
 
 mistliress at the head of it all," and Norah dis- 
 appeared to acquaint the improving postman 
 that he must wait. 
 
 " Let us hear what you have written to 
 Peter," said Connor. 
 
 And Flora snatched the letter from Marcus. 
 " Hum — hum !" she muttered, while her dark 
 eyes danced over the pages — " here, to be sure, 
 is my husband's usual quantity of patriotism." 
 
 " And a good thing it is," said Connor, " and 
 I only wish that the number of patriots, who, 
 like Marcus, have a heart to feel and a head to 
 think, may go on increasing, for the one does 
 little without the other. Why, it's wonderful, 
 quite wonderful, the good a trifleof money judi- 
 ciously laid out does among the poor." 
 
 " And here," she continued, without noticing 
 Connor's interruption, " here is his usual quan- 
 tity of poetry " 
 
 " What, about my boy .^" inquired Connor, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Psha !" exclaimed Flora ; " no ; but I will 
 read you the conclusion of his most flowery 
 epistle. By the way, Marcus, do you expect 
 little Peter Swan to understand this.? — Here, 
 Margaret, if you have done reproving the care- 
 lessness of your domestics, I pray you attend." 
 
 Margaret entered, and Flora read —
 
 312 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 
 
 " ' We are each, I assure you, in the enjoyment 
 of as perfect happiness as can fall to the lot of 
 human beings ; I have sufficient leisure to at- 
 tend to my numerous pursuits ; I am forming 
 an Hortus-siccus of Irish plants, and proceed- 
 ing rapidly with ' 
 
 " That's Latin,'' said Flora, " and even if I 
 could read it, I would pretend not to be able to 
 do so ; the men never like a woman who sports 
 Latin." 
 
 She continued, — " ' As to my dear Flora, I 
 did not take your advice ; you said you would 
 as soon marry a whirlwind,' (the little brute!) 
 ' but I find her only a zephyr, bearing perfume 
 and happiness to my bosom !' (Marcus, how 
 clever you are, and what sweet nonsense you 
 write !) ' As to Margaret and Connor, it is, 
 indeed, joy-giving to witness their union ; her 
 gentle firmness, her good sense, her affection for 
 her adopted country, her devotion to her hus- 
 band, are the admiration of all who know her. 
 Connor is bold and brave as ever, but it is as- 
 tonishing the power he has gained over his 
 companions, by uniting discretion to those qua- 
 lities which belong almost exclusively to his 
 countrymen. It is a blessed thing to see so 
 much love, and peace, and tenderness dwelling 
 beneath their roof.'
 
 THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 313 
 
 " You have said nothing about Norah and the 
 cow," put in Flora ; but as her eye rested on 
 her sister, she saw tears making their way down 
 her cheeks, and the same moment Connor 
 pressed her to his heart. 
 
 " It*s true for him !'' he exclaimed proudly; 
 " it*s owing to your influence that I am held up 
 by the gentry, — by the poor and the rich, as 
 the model of an Irish farmer; — you combated 
 the evil, and cherished the good — you, Marga- 
 ret, shone like the sun — you made me feel — " 
 
 " The Groves of Blarney, they are so charming," 
 
 sung Aileen, as she glided into the room ; and 
 Connor repeated the line with an emphasis 
 which evinced that the Groves of Blarney were 
 to him a terrestrial paradise. 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 p 2
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 As those who have read my story may desire to make 
 acquaintance with a few facts connected with the k)ca- 
 lities I have chosen for it, I will not apologise for 
 borrowing from my friend Mr. Crofton Crokerso much 
 of his " Researches" as may answer my purpose. 
 
 " Blarney Castle was built about the middle of the 
 fifteenth century, by Cormac Mac Carty, or Carthy, 
 surnamed Laider, or the Strong. He was descended 
 from the kings of Cork, and was esteemed so powerful 
 a chieftain, that the English settlers in his part of 
 Munster paid him an annual tribute of forty pounds, 
 to protect them from the attacks and insults of the 
 Irish. To him is also ascribed the building of the 
 Abbey and Castle of Kilcrea, the nunnery of Bally- 
 vacadine, and many other religious houses, in the for- 
 mer of which he was buried. It would be a matter of
 
 318 APPENDIX. 
 
 little iin])ortance and considerable labour to trace the 
 Castle of Blarney from one possessor to another. The 
 genealogical table in Keating's History of Ireland 
 will enable those addicted to research to follow the 
 Mac Carty pedigree ; but a tiresome repetition of 
 names, occasioned by the scantiness of them in an 
 exceedingly numerous family, presents continual causes 
 of perplexity to the general reader. The names of 
 Donough, Cormac, Teig, Florence, Dermot, Owen, 
 and Donnell, constitute almost the whole catalogue 
 used by the Mac Cartys for a period exceeding six 
 hundred years. This difficulty is heightened from 
 the entire sept being, in point of fact, without a sir- 
 name, as the followers of most chieftains in Ireland 
 as well as Scotland assumed that of their lord. In 
 the reign of Edward the Fourth a statute was enacted, 
 commanding each individual to take upon himself a 
 separate sirname, " either of his trade and faculty, or 
 of some quality of his body or mind, or the place 
 where he dwelt, so that every one should be distin- 
 guished from the other." But this statute did not 
 effect the object proposed, and Spenser, in his View 
 of Ireland, mentions it as having become obsolete, and 
 strongly recommends its renewal. 
 
 As a sketch of the history of the Muskery branch" 
 of the Mac Carty family aflbrds an opportunity of il- 
 lustrating many important events in the south of 
 Ireland, perhaps no apology will be necessary for the 
 introduction of it in the account of Blarney, which was 
 their principal residence. The original name of a sept
 
 APPENDIX. 319 
 
 or clan was Carty, supposed to be derived from Cur- 
 theigli, which signifies an inhabitant of the rock, and 
 Mac, denoting " son of," was used before the father's 
 christian name for the purpose of distinction, as Mac 
 Cormac Carty expressed Carty son of Cormac. 7^his 
 manner of designation appears discontinued on the 
 introduction of a greater variety of names, and the 
 Mac alone retained by the elder branches. 
 
 It is also necessary to remark, that the title of 
 Muskery was assumed by the chief of that district 
 from being lord of the soil. This also creates much 
 confusion, as the same person is frequently called 
 Carty, Mac Carty, and Lord Muskery; and when 
 knighthood had been conferred, the title of Muskery 
 was still retained with that of Sir, as Cormac Mac 
 Teig Carty we find styled Sir Cormac Mac Teig 
 Carty, Lord Muskery. 
 
 I offer as a matter of conjecture, that the title oi' 
 Earl Clancarty, conferred on the Mac Carties by 
 Charles the Second, had its origin in Lord of the Clan 
 of Carty. 
 
 In 1542 an indenture of allegiance to the English 
 laws was signed by Teig Mac Cormac Carty (Dom. 
 de Muskery) amongst other Irish chieftains; and in 
 1558 his son Dermod was knighted at Limerick, on 
 his submission, by Thomas Earl of Sussex, (the Lord 
 Deputy,) who at the same time presented him with a 
 gold chain and a pair of gilt spurs. This mark of 
 favour was certainly merited, for the Muskery Mac 
 Carties, unlike most other Irish clans, appear to have
 
 320 APPENDIX. 
 
 Strictly maintained their faith with the Enghsh, since 
 the original submission of their ancestor, the king of 
 Cork, to Henry II. 
 
 Inl580, Sir James of Desmond, brother to the no- 
 torious earl, entered the district of Muskery, probably 
 stimulated, in addition to his love of plunder, by envy 
 of Cormac Mac Teig Carty, whom the Lord Deputy 
 Mountjoy, in a letter to the council of England, men- 
 tions, " for loyalty and civil deportment, to be the 
 rarest man that ever was born among the Irishry." 
 Camden also notices him as a person " of great 
 name" in Muskery, " which is a wild and woody coun- 
 try." But Sir James of Desmond sought his own 
 destruction, as the Mac Carties not only defeated his 
 party, leaving a hundred and fifty dead on the field, 
 but took Sir James prisoner, who was delivered by 
 the order of the lords judges to Sir Warham St. 
 Leger and Captain (afterwards Sir) Walter Raleigh, 
 by whom, in virtue of a special commission directed 
 to them, he was tried as a traitor, and, being found 
 guilty, was executed, and his head and quarters fixed 
 on the gates of Cork. 
 
 For this service, Cormac Mac Teig Carty was 
 knighted by the lord justice, and made high sheriff of 
 the county of Cork, with a commission of martial law, 
 and power to grant protection for fifteen days to any 
 but principal rebels. 
 
 On the 21st October, 1601, Cormac Mac Dermod 
 Carty, commonly called Lord Muskery, attacked the 
 Spanish trenches at Kinsale, in command of a party
 
 APPENDIX. 321 
 
 of Irish, by order of Sir George Carew, (the lord 
 president;) and though at first he drove the invaders 
 before him, yet he soon retreated without much ap- 
 parent cause, on vs^hich Sir William Godolphin, (who 
 went into Ireland with the unfortunate Earl of Essex,) 
 advanced and forced the Spaniards to retire. This 
 circumstance, when so many Irish chieftains were in 
 open rebellion, was sufficient to throw strong suspi- 
 cions on the attachment of the Mac Carties to the 
 English ; and about the same time Teig Mac Cormac 
 Carty, cousin to the Lord Muskery, deserted from 
 Sir George Carew's troop to the enemy ; but shortly 
 after, either through policy or repentance, he addressed 
 a letter to the lord president, dated from ** Carriga- 
 fuky," the 9th June, 1602 ; a copy of which may be 
 found in the Pacata Hibernia, expressing contrition 
 for his conduct, and requesting, through Sir George's 
 mediation, to be received again to the queen's favour.* 
 
 The lord president, naturally feeling that little 
 dependence could be placed on such a person, gave a 
 decided refusal to his petition, and Teig Mac Cormac 
 Carty had recourse, for procuring his pardon, to the 
 dishonourable means of betraying the confidence of 
 his kinsman Lord Muskery, and accused him of cor- 
 responding with the Spanish and Italian governments, 
 and of having received from the former eight thousand 
 ducats, for which sum he had promised to deUver his 
 castle of Blarney into their hands. 
 
 This information, corroborating that derived from 
 other som'ces, and strengthened by many .circum- 
 
 p 5
 
 322 APPENDIX. 
 
 Stances, completely served to establish Lord Muskery's 
 disaffection on the mind of the president, who con- 
 cluded on apprehending him as a traitor, yet dreaded 
 using forcible measures, knowing his clan to be one of 
 the most powerful in Ireland, and capable of offering 
 an obstinate resistance, which would doubtless receive 
 foreign as well as internal support. Lord Muskery 
 was stated to have a thousand well-armed followers in 
 readiness for action, and it was known could command 
 the services of the clans of Reardin, Murphy, and 
 Sweeny of Muskery, with the O'Learies, O'Mahonies, 
 and O'Driscolls of Carbery. He was also possessed 
 of many castles, particularly those of Kilcrea, Mac- 
 room, and Blarney, which latter is described, at that 
 time, as being one of the strongest in the province of 
 Munster; "for it is four piles joined in one, seated 
 upon a main rock, so as it is free from mining, the 
 wall eighteen feet thick, and flanked at each corner to 
 the best advantage." Stratagem was therefore re- 
 sorted to, and Sir Charles Wilmot and Captain Roger 
 Harvey, with part of their companies, despatched from 
 Cork to endeavour to surprise Blarney j but in this 
 they failed, the wardens being on the alert, who com- 
 pelled them to receive without the walls some refresh- 
 ment which they requested. 
 
 Lord Muskery was, however, taken and brought 
 before the president and council of Cork. He repel- 
 led with indignation the charge of treason, called him- 
 self a slandered and injured man, declared the whole 
 a conspiracy of his enemies, and concluded by re-
 
 APPENDIX. 3*23 
 
 riGiincing all claim to favour or pardon, if the charge 
 could be supported by lawful testimony. The presi- 
 dent replied coolly to his vehement protestations, and 
 urged him, if guilty, freely to confess his guilt, and 
 entreat the queen's mercy ; or, if innocent, that he 
 should deliver his castle of Blarney into the hands of 
 trustees, who would hold it until the charges against 
 him were disproved. Lord Muskery hesitated, and 
 was in consequence committed to gaol, where he was 
 detained heavily ironed. Finding himself so much in 
 the president's power, and perhaps somewhat intimi- 
 dated by his temperate yet inflexible conduct. Lord 
 Muskery at length consented to surrender up Blarney 
 to Captain Taffe, in whom he reposed much confi- 
 dence, on a promise of its being restored to him in an^ 
 unaltered condition. His abbey and castle of Kilcrea 
 was delivered to Captain Francis Slingsbie, and a 
 considerable force was sent under Captain Flower and 
 Sir Charles Wilmot to reduce Macroom, from which, 
 on account of its situation, an obstinate resistance was 
 expected. 
 
 In the mean time Lord Muskery 's wife and younger 
 children were taken and confined at Cork, and his 
 followers employed a confidential man, named John 
 O'Healy, to convey the eldest son, Cormac Oge Carty, 
 (then a student at Oxford,) secretly from England, 
 and to communicate with the Spanish government. 
 The president, having received information of these 
 plans, seized O'Healy on ship-board as he was leaving 
 Cork harbour, who, to prevent discovery, flung into
 
 324< 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 the sea a bag containing his despatches and money, so 
 that no secret was divulged, and no further proof than 
 the act existed to criminate him. O'Healy was thrown 
 into prison, and Lord Muskery more closely guarded 
 than ever. '"If shackles of iron, walls of stone, and 
 force of men can make him sure," said his gaoler in 
 reply to the lord president's charge, " then shall my 
 prisoner be forthcoming whensoever the state may be 
 pleased to call for him." Sir George Carevv^s charge 
 was repeated and enforced to the goaler both by the 
 Bishop of Cork and Dominick Sarsfield, the queen's 
 attorney for Munster, who commanded him to keep 
 Lord Muskery *' in a handlock with his own servant, 
 or some soldier of especial trust." Two days after this 
 last caution, Lord Muskery escaped ! He contrived, 
 between eight and niue o'clock in the evening, to force 
 himself out of a window and descend into the street, 
 where " were divers mantlemen to receive him." The 
 alarm was given almost instantly, and a vigorous pur- 
 suit commenced, — but in vain ; favoured by a dark 
 night, and with a perfect knowledge of the country, 
 protected by a select band of men, (each of whom 
 would have laid down his life in defence of their 
 lord,) and surrounded by hundreds who were willing 
 to favour and assist his flight, it is not surprising, 
 having once passed the iron grate of his prison, he 
 should baffle even the most active pursuit. The pre- 
 sident immediately issued letters to Sir Charles Wil- 
 mot, (who still lay before Macroom,) that if he could 
 not gain the castle that night, he should raise the
 
 APPENDIX. 325 
 
 siege, and retreat the next morning ; but, almost in 
 the same hour these orders arrived, Macroom Castle 
 accidentally caught fire, and the besieged, as a last 
 resource, took refuge on the lawn, where most of them 
 (about fifty) were put to the sword. 
 
 On the news of Lord Muskery's escape, O'Sullivan 
 of Beare, Captain Terril, and others in rebellion, of- 
 fered to support him against the lord president ; but 
 Lord Muskery, after a conference with the latter, con- 
 sidering that he had little prospect of ultimate success, 
 and that both his family and estates were in the pre- 
 sident's power, determined on making terms, and 
 wrote requesting permission to throw himself at Sir 
 George Carew^s feet ; which request was granted. 
 
 This submission was both sincere and permanent,* 
 as we find him and his clan shortly afterwards actively 
 employed under Sir Charles Wilmot in various mili- 
 tary exploits ; and it would appear some confidence 
 was placed in Lord Muskery, he being summoned to 
 parhament as Baron of Blarney. 
 
 History is silent respecting the Mac Carties for 
 about forty years. The first information, in the south 
 of Ireland, of the insurrection of 1641, was commu- 
 nicated to Lord Cork, during dinner-time, at Castle 
 Lyons, his son-in-law the Earl of Barrymore's house, 
 where a large company of Irish chiefs were assembled. 
 Donough Lord Muskery was among the number, 
 and treated the account as an exaggerated tale ; but 
 the other guests, anticipating serious consequences, 
 separated abruptly, and returned immediately to pre-
 
 326 APPENDIX. 
 
 pare tlieir resjDective residences for defence. Lord 
 Muskery's conduct on this occasion appears an act of 
 the deepest dissimulation ; for in a few days he was at 
 the head of several thousand Irish. On the death of 
 Sir William St. Leger, Lord Muskery, whom Ludlow 
 styles "an Irish rebel," assumed or was appointed to the 
 presidency of Munster by Charles I., notwithstanding 
 the solicitations and claims of Lord Inchiquin, son- 
 in-law to the former president, for that office, which 
 mortified Lord Inchiquin so much, that he immedi- 
 ately declared for the parliament. The character of 
 Lord Muskery during this distracting period, when 
 the royal and parhament parties were subdivided into 
 many others, that more than once changed sides, and 
 fought against the banners under which they had first 
 appeared, was marked by a love of discipline, a high 
 sense of honour, and strong feelings of humanity. 
 Personal bravery can scarcely be enumerated a virtue, 
 when every man of that day was of necessity a soldier, 
 and Ireland presented a scene of petty and treacherous, 
 certainly the most dreadful state of warfare. In the 
 beginning of 1646, Lord Broghill, afterwards the 
 celebrated Earl of Orrery, took the castle of Blarney, 
 which he seems subsequently to have occasionally 
 made his quarters. A jDrinted letter to William 
 Lenthall, the Speaker, from Lord Broghill, is pre- 
 served in the British Museum, dated Blairney, 1st 
 August, 1651, giving an account of a battle between 
 him and Lord Muskery. Smith, in his History of 
 Cork, also mentions a manuscript at Lismore in his
 
 APPENDIX. 327 
 
 lordship's own writing, containing an accountof the same 
 battle, which is exceedingly curious and interesting. 
 
 Muskery, who had been obliged to abandon his 
 castles, and retire from the parliamentary forces into 
 the fastnesses of Derry, made an attempt to relieve Li- 
 merick, which was closely besieged by Ireton, when 
 Lord Broghill, after manoeuvring some days, inter- 
 cepted him on his march near Courtstown, sometimes 
 called Knocknaclashy. 
 
 The features of this action are so full of romantic 
 reality, that I cannot pass them over without a short 
 notice, though at the risk of my narrative being con- 
 sidered tedious. Broghill came up with the advanced 
 part of Muskery 's force " about midnight, in the midst 
 of a dreadful storm of rain and wind," and that night 
 the opposing troops lay so near " as to see each other's 
 fires reciprocally." In the morning, Lord Broghill 
 advanced and crossed the river Blackwater, when he 
 was met by many groups of peasants, some of whom 
 he questioned as to the cause of their assembling, and 
 received for answer, that it was to witness a battle 
 which had long been prophesied should be fought on 
 that ground. When his lordship asked them which 
 side was to gain the victory, they shook their heads, 
 and said, " The English are to get the day.''—" Our 
 word," adds Lord Broghill, " was prosperity, — theirs 
 St. James ; our signal, white in hats, — theirs, greene 
 fearne." 
 
 It was a desperately contested fight; at one time 
 the Irish advanced on Lord Broghill's right wing
 
 328 APPENDIX. 
 
 with a thousand musketeers, and, to use his lordship's 
 words, " with their horse, fought horse-head to horse- 
 head, hacking with their swords. Not a horse officer 
 of the Irish," continues Lord Broghill, " except one, 
 but he or his horse was killed or wounded. All the 
 first rank in my squadron, being thirty-three, were 
 either killed or wounded. We resolved not to give or 
 take quarter ; however, several had quarter after the 
 battle. Among the baggage was found a peck- full of 
 charms, relics, &c., besides an infinite quantity taken 
 from the dead, with a jDeculiar one on paper, said to be 
 the exact measure of Our Lady's foot, and written in 
 it, ' Whoever wears this, and repeats certain prayers, 
 shall be free from gun-shot, sword, and pike,' respec- 
 tively, as each desired. Like the battle of Naseby, 
 from a fair day it rained hard during the fight, with 
 thunder and lightning, and afterwards cleared up 
 again." Lord Broghill tells us, that his " boldest 
 horse, being twice wounded, became so fearful, that he 
 was turned to the coach." 
 
 From this account it is evident the conflict was san- 
 guinary in the extreme. Muskery is reported to 
 " have escaped narrowly, and Lieutenant Colonel Mac 
 Gillicuddy (who commanded young Muskery *s regi- 
 ment, and a man more popular than Muskery himself 
 in his own country) was made prisoner with Major 
 Mac Gillariagh, an old Spanish soldier, and other 
 officers of note. 
 
 "We had a very fair execution for above three 
 miles," writes Lord Broghill in his letter to the
 
 APPENDIX. 329 
 
 Speaker, " and indeed it was bloody ; for I gave orders 
 to kill all, though some few prisoners of good quality 
 were saved. All their foot field-officers charged on 
 foot with pikes in their hands, so that few of them got 
 off, it being too farre from any bogs or woods, whicli 
 they say they selected purposely that their men might 
 have no confidence but in their courages ; but we re- 
 lied on a better strength than the arm of flesh, and 
 when their strength failed, ours did not fail us. Their 
 priests, all the way before they came to fight, encou- 
 raged them by speeches, but especially by sprinkling 
 holy water on them, and by charms, of which I here- 
 with send a copy ; (many of them were found 
 quilted in the doublets of the dead.) Certainly they 
 are a people strangely given over to destruction, who, 
 though otherwise understanding enough, let them- 
 selves be still deluded by ridiculous things, and by, 
 more ridiculous persons. Had I been one of -the 
 charmed, I would have first tried mine on the priest 
 who gave it.'* 
 
 This battle hastened the surrender of Limerick to 
 Ireton, who received Lord Broghill, on his arrival 
 there, with a complimentary feu-de-joie. Shortly 
 after. Lord Muskery was apprehended, and tried for 
 his life, on the charge of having murdered several 
 English, but, being acquitted, was allowed to pass 
 into Spain ; and an order was made by the commis- 
 sioners for the parliament that Lord Muskery 's lady 
 should enjoy all her husband's estates, except a thou-
 
 330 APPENDIX. 
 
 sand a year, which had been granted to Lord Broghill 
 for his services, by order dated 8th September, 1656. 
 An exile, and deprived of fortune. Lord Muskery 
 endeavoured to procure a commission in the French 
 service, but was recalled on the Restoration, and the 
 active part he had taken in the royal cause rewarded 
 by his being exalted, in 1658, Viscount Muskery and 
 Earl of Clancarty ; and four years after a bill of in- 
 demnity was passed by both Houses of Parliament, 
 tbrouo^h the interest of Lord Ormond, securincf all his 
 honours and estates to him and his posterity, with the 
 exception of that part in the possession of Lord 
 Broghill, who had become a firm partisan of Charles 
 the Second. Lord Clancarty had three sons — Charles, 
 Callaghan, and Justin. Charles Lord Muskery (a 
 great favourite of the Duke of York, afterwards James 
 the Second) was killed in a sea-fight against the 
 Dutch, on the 3rd of June, 1665, and was buried 
 with honours in Westminster Abbey. His father 
 lived after him only two months ; and the title of 
 Clancarty descended, on the death of Charles James, 
 the infant son of Lord Muskery, to his brother Cal- 
 laghan, who had retired into a convent in France. 
 Callaghan, the third earl, was succeeded by his only 
 son, Donough. He was educated at Oxford under 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury, and privately married, 
 when only sixteen, to the Earl of Sunderland's daugh- 
 ter, after which he went into Ireland, where he con- 
 tinued a Protestant till the arrival of James the
 
 APPENDIX. 331 
 
 Second. James landed at Kinsale on Wednesday, 
 the 12th of March, 1688, and was received and en- 
 tertained by Lord Clancarty, whom he created one of 
 the lords of the bed-chamber, and, by letters patent, 
 clerk of the crown and peace for Munster. James 
 also gave him a troop of horse, in command of which 
 he is charged with having committed many acts of 
 wanton cruelty. On the Snnday following his arrival, 
 James, supported by two Franciscan friars, and at- 
 tended by Lord Clancarty and many priests in their 
 orders, publicly heard mass performed in Cork ; and 
 Lord Clare, the governor, caused all Protestants who 
 remained in the city to be committed to prison, — the 
 churches in Cork, the castles of Blarney, Macroom, 
 and the others belonging to Lord Clancarty, being 
 used as places of confinement. On the surrender of 
 Cork to the Duke of Marlborough in 1691, Lord 
 Clancarty, amongst others, was taken at the capture 
 of the old fort ; and notwithstanding the exertions 
 made by his father-in-law, the Earl of Sunderland, 
 to procure his pardon, a representation drawn up by 
 Sir Richard Cox, (the historian, then second justice 
 of the Common Pleas,) stating the excesses of which 
 Lord Clancarty had been guilty, and the conspicuous 
 part he had taken in the measures of James, was not 
 to be overruled, and the title and estates of Clancarty 
 ^^ere declared forfeited to the crown. It should be 
 mentioned, to the honour of King William's govern- 
 ment, that a considerable tract of the forfeited ground 
 was granted to a poor butcher at Mallow, who had
 
 SS'2 APPEXDIX. 
 
 fallen a victim to Lord Claiicarty's ferocity ; the re- 
 mainder was sold, with other property similarly cir- 
 cumstanced, at Chichester-house, Dublin, and the 
 sale-book is preserved in the library of the King's 
 Inns. 
 
 A pension of three hundred a year was allowed 
 to this unfortunate nobleman, on condition of his 
 quitting the kingdom. " With this," says Smith, 
 ** he retired to Hamburgh, on the Elbe, and pur- 
 chased a little island at the mouth of that river froni 
 the citizens of Ancona, which went by his name. 
 There he erected a convenient dwelling-house, with a 
 range of storehouses, and formed a useful garden. In 
 this place he made a considerable profit by shipwrecks, 
 but continued to give the distressed all the assistance 
 in his power, and saved the lives of many. His 
 profit arose from the goods thrown on his island, 
 which he placed in his store-houses ; and if demanded 
 by the right owners within the year, he returned 
 them, requiring only two per cent, for the store-room 
 — if not, he made use of them as his own. He died 
 here October the 22nd, 1734, aged sixty-four, leaving 
 two sons, — Robert, a captain in the English navy, 
 commonly called Lord Muskery, and Justin Mac 
 Carty, Esq. Lord Muskery having fallen under sus- 
 picions of being attached to the House of Stuart, 
 " which had on a former occasion," remarks Char- 
 nock in his Biographia Navalis, " proved the ruin of 
 his father, was ordered to be struck off the list of naval 
 officers on the 10th of July, 1749." He afterwards 
 entered into a foreign service.
 
 APPENDIX. 333 
 
 Such is the history of the once powerful Mac 
 Cartys of Muskery ; that of the other branches of the 
 same family, as well as of most Irish clans, clo.^ely 
 resemble it; attainder, forfeiture of property, and 
 exile, form the melancholy termination of each ; and 
 the circumstances and situations which have arisen 
 and still arise out of such violent events are numerous 
 and deeply affecting. Instances have occurred where 
 the lineal descendants of the most distinguished houses 
 have laboured from day to day for precarious support 
 on the lands over which their ancestors exercised un- 
 limited sovereignty. A pathetic incident connected 
 with the Mac Cartys has such claims on the feelings, 
 that I will not conclude this narrative of their fortunes 
 without the mention of it. A considerable part of 
 the forfeited estates of that family in the county of 
 
 Cork was held by Mr. S about the middle of 
 
 the last centmy. Walking one evening in his de- 
 mesne, he observed a figure, apparently asleep, at 
 the foot of an aged tree, and, on approaching the 
 spot, found an old man extended on the ground, 
 whose audible sobs proclaimed the severest afflic- 
 tion. Mr. S inquired the cause, and was an- 
 swered, *' Forgive me, sir ; my grief is idle, hut to 
 mourn is a relief to the desolate heart and the hum- 
 ble spirit. I am a Mac Carty, once the possessor 
 of that castle, now in ruins, and of this ground; 
 this tree was planted by my own hands, and I have 
 returned to water its roots with my tears. 'J'o-morrow 
 I sail for Spain, where 1 have long been an exile and
 
 a34 APPKNDIX. 
 
 an outlaw since the Revolution. I am an old man, 
 and to-night, probahly for the last time, bid farewell 
 to the place of my birth and the home of my fore- 
 fathers." 
 
 The military and historic recollections connected 
 with Blarney are doubtless of sufficient importance to 
 give an interest to the place ; but to a curious super- 
 stition it is perhaps more indebted for celebrity. A 
 stone in the highest part of the castle wall is pointed 
 out to visitors, which is supposed to give to whoever 
 kisses it the peculiar privilege of deviating from vera- 
 city with unblushing countenance, whenever it may 
 be convenient — hence the well-known phrase of 
 " Blarney." 
 
 The grounds attached to the castle, as I before ob- 
 served, though so little attended to, are still beautiful. 
 Walks, which a few years since were neat and trim, 
 are now so overrun with brambles and wild flowers 
 as to be passed with difficulty. Much wood has also 
 been cut down, and the statues, so ridiculously enu- 
 merated in a popular song, removed A picturesque 
 bridge, too, which led to the castle, has been swept 
 away by the wintry flood ; and, with the exception of 
 a small dell called the Rock Close, everything seems 
 changed for the worse. In this romantic spot, nature 
 and art (a combination rather uncommon in pleasure- 
 grounds) have gone hand in hand. Advantage has 
 been taken of accidental circumstances to form taste- 
 ful and characteristic combinations, and it is really a 
 matter of difficulty at first to determine what is pri-
 
 APPENDIX. 335 
 
 initive, and what the produce of design. The delu- 
 sion is even heightened by the present total neglect. 
 You must come unexpectedly into this httle shaded 
 nook, and stand upon a natural terrace above the 
 river, which glides as calmly as possible beneath. 
 Here, if you feel inclined, a rustic couch of rock, all 
 festooned with moss and ivy, is at your service; but 
 if adventurous feelings urge you to explore farther, a 
 discovery is made of an almost concealed irregularly 
 excavated passage through the solid rock, which is 
 descended by a rude flight of stone steps, called the 
 '^ witch's stairs," and you emerge sul margine d*un 
 rio, over which depend some light and graceful trees. 
 It is indeed a fairy scene, and I know of no place 
 where T could sooner imagine these little elves holding 
 their moonlight revelry. 
 
 TJIE END. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY IBOTSON AND PALMER, 
 SAVOY STREET.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOI8-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 046417488