LITMIR.BIZ

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you mean, Glencore?” said Harcourt, eagerly. “Has he any malady; is there any deadly taint?”

      “That there is, by Heaven!” cried the sick man, grasping the curtain with one hand, while he held the other firmly clenched upon his forehead, – “a taint, the deadliest that can stain a human heart! Talk of station, rank, title – what are they, if they are to be coupled with shame, ignominy, and sorrow? The loud voice of the herald calls his father Sixth Viscount of Glencore, but a still louder voice proclaims his mother a – ”

      With a wild burst of hysteric laughter, he threw himself, face downwards, on the bed; and now scream after scream burst from him, till the room was filled by the servants, in the midst of whom appeared Billy, who had only that same day returned from Leenane, whither he had gone to make a formal resignation of his functions as letter-carrier.

      “This is nothing but an accessio nervosa,” said Billy; “clear the room, ladies and gentlemen, and lave me with the patient.” And Harcourt gave the signal for obedience by first taking his departure.

      Lord Glencore’s attack was more serious than at first it was apprehended, and for three days there was every threat of a relapse of his late fever; but Billy’s skill was once more successful, and on the fourth day he declared that the danger was past. During this period, Harcourt’s attention was for the first time drawn to the strange creature who officiated as the doctor, and who, in despite of all the detracting influences of his humble garb and mean attire, aspired to be treated with the deference due to a great physician.

      “If it’s the crown and the sceptre makes the king,” said he, “‘tis the same with the science that makes the doctor; and no man can be despised when he has a rag of ould Galen’s mantle to cover his shoulders.”

      “So you’re going to take blood from him?” asked Harcourt, as he met him on the stairs, where he had awaited his coming one night when it was late.

      “No, sir; ‘tis more a disturbance of the great nervous centres than any derangement of the heart and arteries,” said Billy, pompously; “that’s what shows a real doctor, – to distinguish between the effects of excitement and inflammation, which is as different as fireworks is from a bombardment.”

      “Not a bad simile, Master Billy; come in and drink a glass of brandy-and-water with me,” said Harcourt, right glad at the prospect of such companionship.

      Billy Traynor, too, was flattered by the invitation, and seated himself at the fire with an air at once proud and submissive.

      “You’ve a difficult patient to treat there,” said Harcourt, when he had furnished his companion with a pipe, and twice filled his glass; “he’s hard to manage, I take it?”

      “Yer’ right,” said Billy; “every touch is a blow, every breath of air is a hurricane with him. There ‘s no such thing as traitin’ a man of that timperament; it’s the same with many of them ould families as with our racehorses, – they breed them too fine.”

      “Egad! I think you are right,” said Harcourt, pleased with an illustration that suited his own modes of thinking.

      “Yes, sir,” said Billy, gaining confidence by the approval; “a man is a ma-chine, and all the parts ought to be balanced, and, as the ancients say, in equilibrio. If preponderance here or there, whether it be brain or spinal marrow, cardiac functions or digestive ones, you disthroy him, and make that dangerous kind of constitution that, like a horse with a hard mouth, or a boat with a weather helm, always runs to one side.”

      “That’s well put, well explained,” said Harcourt, who really thought the illustration appropriate.

      “Now, my lord there,” continued Billy, “is all out of balance, every bit of him. Bleed him, and he sinks; stimulate him, and he goes ragin’ mad. ‘T is their physical conformation makes their character; and to know how to cure them in sickness, one ought to have some knowledge of them in health.”

      “How came you to know all this? You are a very remarkable fellow, Billy.”

      “I am, sir; I’m a phenumenon in a small way. And many people thinks, when they see and convarse with me, what a pity it is I hav’ n’t the advantages of edication and instruction; and that’s just where they ‘re wrong, – complately wrong.”

      “Well, I confess I don’t perceive that.”

      “I’ll show you, then. There’s a kind of janius natural to men like myself, – in Ireland I mean, for I never heerd of it elsewhere, – that’s just like our Irish emerald or Irish diamond, – wonderful if one considers where you find it, astonishin’ if you only think how azy it is to get, but a regular disappointment, a downright take-in, if you intend to have it cut and polished and set. No, sir; with all the care and culture in life, you ‘ll never make a precious stone of it!”

      “You’ve not taken the right way to convince me, by using such an illustration, Billy.”

      “I ‘ll try another, then,” said Billy. “We are like Willy-the-Whisps, showing plenty of light where there’s no road to travel, but of no manner of use on the highway, or in the dark streets of a village where one has business.”

      “Your own services here are the refutation to your argument, Billy,” said Harcourt, filling his glass.

      “‘Tis your kindness to say so, sir,” said Billy, with gratified pride; “but the sacrat was, he thrusted me, – that was the whole of it. All the miracles of physic is confidence, just as all the magic of eloquence is conviction.”

      “You have reflected profoundly, I see,” said Harcourt.

      “I made a great many observations at one time of my life, – the opportunity was favorable.”

      “When and how was that?”

      “I travelled with a baste caravan for two years, sir; and there’s nothing taches one to know mankind like the study of bastes!”

      “Not complimentary to humanity, certainly,” said Harcourt, laughing.

      “Yes, but it is, though; for it is by a consideration of the fero naturo that you get at the raal nature of mere animal existence. You see there man in the rough, as a body might say, just as he was turned out of the first workshop, and before he was infiltrated with the divinus afflatus, the ethereal essence, that makes him the first of creation. There ‘s all the qualities, good and bad, – love, hate, vengeance, gratitude, grief, joy, ay, and mirth, – there they are in the brutes; but they ‘re in no subjection, except by fear. Now, it’s out of man’s motives his character is moulded, and fear is only one amongst them. D’ ye apprehend me?”

      “Perfectly; fill your pipe.” And he pushed the tobacco towards him.

      “I will; and I ‘ll drink the memory of the great and good man that first intro-duced the weed amongst us – Here’s Sir Walter Raleigh! By the same token, I was in his house last week.”

      “In his house! where?”

      “Down at Greyhall. You Englishmen, savin’ your presence, always forget that many of your celebrities lived years in Ireland; for it was the same long ago as now, – a place of decent banishment for men of janius, a kind of straw-yard where ye turned out your intellectual hunters till the sayson came on at home.”

      “I ‘m sorry to see, Billy, that, with all your enlightenment, you have the vulgar prejudice against the Saxon.”

      “And that’s the rayson I have it, because it is vulgar,” said Billy, eagerly. “Vulgar means popular, common to many; and what’s the best test of truth in anything but universal belief, or whatever comes nearest to it? I wish I was in Parliament – I just wish I was there the first night one of the nobs calls out ‘That ‘s vulgar;’ and I ‘d just say to him, ‘Is there anything as vulgar as men and women? Show me one good thing in life that is n’t vulgar! Show me an object a painter copies, or a poet describes, that is n’t so!’ Ayeh,” cried he, impatiently, “when they wanted a hard word to fling at us, why didn’t they take the right one?”

      “But

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