LITMIR.BIZ

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the priest, or the devoted adherence they practise towards the old families of the country, is mere nonsense, You heard how Dan laughed this morning, when I joked with him about purgatory and the saints; and what a droll description they gave of that queer household – the chieftain – what is his name?

      “The O’Donoghue.”

      “Yes; I never can remember it. No, no; they are not so bigoted; they are merely uninformed. We shall soon see many changes among them. I have written to Bradston about the plans for the cottages, and also the design for a school-house; and then, there’s the chapel – that reminds me I have not returned the priest’s visit; he was here the day before yesterday.”

      “If you like, we’ll ride there; I have heard that the glen is beautiful higher up.”

      “I was just going to propose it; that mare seems quiet enough: Lawler says that she has been carrying a lady these last two years; will you try her?”

      “I am longing to do so – I’m certain she is gentleness itself.”

      “Strange fellow that horse-dealer is, too,” said the old gentleman in half soliloquy. “In no other country in the universe would such a mere simpleton have taken to the trade of a jockey; he actually did not know what price to ask for his horse; he left it all to ourselves. He’d soon finish his career in London, at that rate of going; but what have we got here – what in heaven’s name is all this?” cried he aloud, as he suddenly rose from the table, and approached a small glass door that opened upon the lawn.

      The object which so excited his astonishment was an assemblage of something more than a hundred poor people of every sex and age – from infancy to dotage – seated on the grass, in a wide semicircle, and awaiting the moment when he should issue forth. Every phase of human misery, which want and wretchedness can bestow, was there. The cheeks of some were pale and haggard with recent sickness; others had but a few tattered rags to cover them; many were cripples, unable to move without assistance. There was wan and sickly childhood, and tremulous old age; yet the tone of their voices showed no touch of sadness; they laughed and talked with all the seeming of light-heartedness; and many a droll and merry saying broke from that medley mass of suffering and sorrow. The sudden appearance of Sir Marmaduke at the door instantaneously checked all merriment, and a solemn silence ensued, as he walked forth and stood in front of them.

      “What do you want, my good people?” said he at length, as none seemed disposed to open the proceedings.

      Had their tongues been unlocked by the spell of a magician, the effect could not have been more instantaneous – a perfect volley of speech followed, in which Sir Marmaduke in vain endeavoured to follow the words of any single speaker. Their rapid utterance, their vehement gesticulation, and a certain guttural mode of pronunciation, quite new to him, made them totally unintelligible, and he stood confused, perplexed, and confounded for several minutes, staring around on every side.

      “Do, in heaven’s name, be quiet,” cried he at last; “let one or two only talk at a time, and I shall learn what you mean.”

      A renewal of the clamour ensued; but this time it was a general effort to enforce silence – a process which eventuated in a far greater uproar than before.

      “Who, or what are you?” cried Sir Marmaduke, at last losing all temper, at the continuance of a tumult there seemed no prospect of coming to an end.

      “We’re your honour’s tenants, every one of us,” shouted the crowd with one voice.

      “My tenants!” reiterated he in horror and astonishment. “What! is it possible that you are tenants on my property? Where do you live, my poor old man?” said he, addressing a venerable old fellow, with a head as white as snow, and a beard like a patriarch’s.

      “He does not talk any English, your honour’s worship – he has only Irish; he lives in the glen beyond,” said a comely woman at his side.

      “And you, where do you come from yourself?”

      “I’m a poor widow, your honour, with six childer; and sorra bit I have, but the little garden, and the grass of a goat; and sure, fifteen shillings every half year is more nor I can pay, wid all the scrapin’ in life.”

      Sir Marmaduke turned away his head, and as he did so, his eye fell upon a poor creature, whose bloated cheeks and swollen figure denoted dropsy. The man interpreting the look into a compassionate inquiry, broke forth in a feeble voice – “I brought the nine shillings with me, yer honour; and though the captain refused to take it, I’m sure you won’t turn me out of the little place, for being a trifle late. It’s the watery dropsy – glory be to God! – I’m under; but they say I’m getting better.”

      While the poor creature spoke, a low muttering of pity burst from those around him, and many a compassionate look, and many a cheering word was expressed by those scarce less miserable than himself.

      There was now a certain kind of order restored to the assembly; and as Sir Marmaduke moved along the line, each in turn addressed his supplication or complaint. One was threatened with a distress on his pig, because he owed two half-years’ rent, and could only pay a portion of the debt; there was a failure in the potatoe crop, and a great famine the consequence. Another was only recovering from the “shaking ague,” and begged for time, since if he thrashed his oats, now, they would bring nothing in the market. A third entreated liberty to cut his turf on a distant bog, as he was up to his knees in water, in the place allotted to him.

      Some came with odd shillings due on the last rent-day, and anxious to get leave to send their children to the school without payment.

      Every one had some favour to look for – some mere trifle to the granter; the whole world to him who asked – and, for these, many had come miles away from homes far in the mountains; a glimmering hope of succour, the only encouragement to the weary journey.

      As Sir Marmaduke listened with a feigned composure to narratives, at which his very heart bled, he chanced to observe a strange-looking figure, in an old scarlet uniform, and a paper cap, with a cock’s feather stuck slantwise in the side of it. The wearer, a tall, bony youth, with yellow hair, carried a long wattle over his shoulder, as if it were a gun, and when the old baronet’s eye fell upon him, he immediately stood bolt upright, and held the sapling to his breast, like a soldier presenting arms.

      “Shoulder hoo!” he cried, and as the words were heard, a hearty burst of laughter ran through the crowd; every grief and sorrow was at once forgotten; the eyes wet with tears of sadness, were now moistened with those of mirth; and they laughed like those whose hearts had never known suffering.

      “Who is this fellow?” said Sir Marmaduke, half doubting how far he might relish the jest like the others.

      “Terry the Woods, your honour,” replied a score of voices together.

      “Terry the Woods!” repeated he, “and is Terry a tenant of mine?”

      “Faix, I am proud to say I am not,” said Terry, grounding his weapon, and advancing a step towards him, “divil a farthin’ of rent I ever paid, nor ever will. I do have my health mighty well – glory be to God! – and sleep sound, and have good clothes, and do nothing for it; and they say I am a fool, but which of us is the greatest fool after all.”

      Another outbreak of laughter was only quelled by Sir Marmaduke asking the reason of Terry’s appearance there, that morning – if he had nothing to look for.

      “I just came to pay my respects,” said Terry composedly, “to wish you a welcome to the country. I thought that as you might be lading the same kind of life as myself, we wouldn’t be bad companions, you see, neither of us having much on our hands; and then,” continued he, as he took off his paper bonnet and made a deep reverence, “I wanted to see the young lady there, for they tould me she was a born beauty.”

      Miss Travers blushed. She was young enough to blush at a compliment from such a source, as her father said laughingly —

      “Well, Terry, and have they been deceiving you?”

      “No,” said he, gravely, as with steady gaze he fixed his large blue eyes on the fair features before

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