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EMBARKATION AT LIVERPOOL. 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 

 TIM DOOLAN, 
 
 THE IRISH EMIGRANT. 
 
 BEING 
 
 A FULL AND PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF HIS REASONS FOR EMIGRATING - 
 HIS PASSAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC-HIS APiUVAL IN NEW YORK - 
 HIS BRIEF SOJOURN IN THE UNITED STATES, AND HIS 
 FURTHER EMIGRATION TO CANADA. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "MICK TRACY." 
 
 FIFTH THOUSAND. 
 
 LONDON: 
 S. W. PARTRIDGE AND CO., 
 
 9, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 

 231583 
 
 EDINBUKGH : 
 
 IKIXTED BY LOlilJIER AND GILLIES, 
 
 31 ST. ANDREW SQUARE. 
 
THE AUTHOE'S BOW TO HIS READEES. 
 
 The Author of the following pages, feeling somewhat encouraged 
 by the success of a former publication,'^ ventures again before the 
 public, with the hope that the narrative here presented may not 
 be without its use. 
 
 Should it meet with anything like the success of the unpretend- 
 ing volume referred to, he must, as in the former case, attribute 
 it to the fact of his having broken up ground comparatively new 
 in the field of literary effort, and not to any ability on his own 
 part to compete for public attention with the overwhelming array 
 of learning and talent engaged in catering for those who read. 
 
 The tale here presented is one composed of actual incidents, 
 many of them, even the majority of which, have come under his 
 own observation. They are interwoven in the form of a narrative, 
 because that form appears to be most agreeable to a ^■ery large 
 number of the reading public. 
 
 Those who have crossed the Atlantic in a ship with Irish 
 emigrants will not, he flatters himself, charge him with being too 
 imaginative in his description of the passage. 
 
 Whether seaworthy or otherwise, he again launches his little 
 barque, with the prayer, that He who rules the raging of the sea, 
 may guide her to whatever result will most glorify Kimself. 
 
 Canada West. 
 
 " Mick Tracy, the Irish Scripture Reader." 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BHOKEX TIES-A NIGHT ALARM-TIM AXD HIS rAMILY LEAVE THE OLD 
 COUNTRY, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE EMIGRANTS ARRIVE IN LIVERPOOL, AND TIM OBJECTS TO PASSING A 
 DOCTOR— WHAT WAS IN A POTATO SACK, 
 
 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 .ERRY AND THE " PEELERS "-TIM IN TROUBLE-SETS OFF WITH A MVGIS- 
 TRATE IN PURSUIT OF A RUNAWAY SHIP, 
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MR. VANSITTART AT HOME -A BLIND PAIR TALK OF THE LIGHT- 
 "FRIEND" WHO PROVES A FRIEND INDEED, 
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TUE CAPTAIN'S APPLICATION OF THE COLD WATER " CURE," WHICH PROVES 
 VERY VALUABLE ON BOARD 8HIP-THE HERMIT AND HIS SATANIC 
 MAJESTY -WHAT IS THE USE OF WASHING? 
 
 65 
 
\l 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I'ACiE 
 
 "who'll buy?" — "time and tide wait for no man, and why 
 
 SHOULD aAILORS ?— A "GINTLEMAN" MAKES HIS APPEARANCE, AND 
 
 MR. NOONAN READS WONDERFUL THINGS FROM A WRAPPING PAPER, 71 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TIM DOOLAN appears AS AN INTERPRETER — MR. NOONAN's COLLEGE — 
 
 MORE PASSENGERS ON BOARD THAN THE SHIP'S LIST CONTAINED, S7 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE FIRST SABBATH AT SEA — A STORM ON BOARD — TIM ASCENDS THE 
 RIGGING TO TALK IN PEACE, ...... 
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ROME AND ROMANISM— " POOR LITTLE TERRY "— 
 ITS OWN BITTERNESS" — LIFE OR DEATH, 
 
 THE HEART KNOWETH 
 
 113 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 GREAT A I — WHICH IS GOOD ENGLISH ? — AN ILLUSTRATED PROVERB BY A 
 NEWLY-ELECTED PROFESSOR — AND AN ILLUSTRATION OF POPERY MORE 
 STRIKING THAN AGREEABLE IN ITS APPLICATION, 
 
 131 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 NOONAN's PERPLEXITY RELIEVED, AND MRS. HOPKINS ENLIGHTENED ON 
 MORE POINTS THAN ONE— A WHALE OR NOT A WHALE ? — THE DOCTOR 
 DECIDES, ........ 147 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A CASE OP " CRAMPING " IN REVENGE— A DOUBLE AWAKENING — " FIRE, 
 fire" — AN IRISH CHARACTERISTIC EXEMPLIFIED UNDER DIFFI- 
 CULTIES, . ....... 
 
 166 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DANCING MADE EASY — A FATAL ACCIDENT INTRODUCES A FORTUNE-TELLER 
 TO NOTICE, ........ 
 
 182 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Vll 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WITCHES, AND WARLOCKS, AND LOXO-NEBBED THINGS " _ THE " GOOD 
 
 PE0PLE"~ALL'S NOT LOST THAT'S IN DANGER, . . .203 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 LAND AHEAD "-HOPES AND FEARS-MAJOR TOBIN AND THE " WIDDEE " 
 —LAND SHARKS, 
 
 21-t 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SEPARATION-TIM'S FIRST EXPERIENCES OF YANKEE MANNERS-A NEW 
 
 FRIEND-A DOMESTIC STORM, AND HOW IT WAS CALMED, . . 232 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER- THE DOOLANS ASTONISHED AT SOME 
 AMERICAN INVENTIONS, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MR. AND MRS. VANSITTART APPEAR IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT-TIM's LETTERS 
 ARE SAFELY DELIVERED -A PROJECTED VISIT TO THE EMERALD 
 ISLE, 
 
 . 251 
 
 246 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 TRAVELS IN SEARCH OF A DAUGHTER-IN-LAW-FATHER M'SLAUGHTER's 
 OPINION OP DENNY NOONAN AND THE NEW LIGHTS-" HOME, SWEET 
 HOME," 
 
 . 260 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TIM'S LOYALTY ASSAILED-HE NAILS HIS COLOURS TO THE MAST, AND 
 
 RETIRES TRIUMPHANT, 
 
 * • • • ^/X 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 TIM'S NEW HOME-HOW TO OPEN A BANK-" ALL OFFICERS AND NO 
 
 SOLDIERS "—WHAT WAS SHOT BY THE OLD GUN, . . .275 
 
VIU 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAf! K 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A LETTER FROM " OWLD EEIN "— MU. AND MRS. VANSITTART AMONG THE 
 
 NATIVES— JERRY RECEIVES A NEW IDEA, .... 281) 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 WHAT OLD MR. DOOLAN CONSIDERS UNFAIR CONDUCT AT A FAIR— ANO- 
 THER WAVE OF THE EMIGRATION TIDE CARRIES HIM TO AMERICA- 
 GRATITUDE BEARS RICH FRUIT, ..... 
 
 306 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY, IN WHICH MORE THAN IS SOUGHT FOR IS FOUND, 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 TIM AND HIS FAMILY FIND THEMSELVES ON THE QUEEN'S SOIL ONCE 
 MORE, WHERE THEY DECIDE ON AN ESTATE, AND BUILD A CASTLE, 
 NOT IN THE AIR, ....... 340 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL AT " CASTLE DOOLAN "—JERRY FINDS A WIFE, AND TIM 
 SITS IN A HIGH PLACE — THE FENIANS ARE ROUTED, AND, ? OLD 
 FRIENDS ARRIVING, A COLONY IS FORMED, WHERE ALL GOES " MERRY 
 AS A MARRIAGE BELL," ••.... 356 
 
I'AfiK 
 
 28U 
 
 306 
 
 TIM DOOLAN, THE HUSH EMIGRANT. 
 
 325 
 
 356 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BROKEN TIES — A NIGHT ALARM — TIM AND IJIi; FAMILY LEAVE THE 
 
 OLD COUNTRY. 
 
 *' An' so, Tim, asthore machree !* you 're goin' away from yert 
 pooi o..ld mother, an' 111 niver set eyes on ye agin in this 
 world ; I wont, och, ullagone .J I dida't think I'd live to see 
 sich a sorrowful dav as this." 
 
 " Whisht, mother, wid yer screechin* an' roarin' there. What 
 use is there in gettin' on at that rate 1 Thero is no help for it 
 now, an' ye know that * what can't he cured must be endured.' 
 Goin' to Ameriky is the last thing I'd think of, till I was 
 dhruv to it. If I don't go now, maybe they wouldn't lave the 
 life in me to go after a while. Father an' yerself may live 
 to see that it was all for the best. I'm sure Jerry will be 
 good to yez both, till I can sind money enough to take yez 
 all over, an' I '11 do it, if the Lord spares me life an' 
 health." 
 
 The above is part of a conversation that took place between 
 Tim Doolan, an Irish peasant, and his mother, a day or two 
 before he departed from home with his wife and children, for 
 Liverpool ; there to take ship for New York, in order to " seek 
 his fortune in the Western World." 
 
 * The love of my heart. 
 
 t The pronouns you and your are pronounced short in the south and 
 west of Ireland, as ye (not yee), ani yer for your. The exception to this 
 rule is, when the speaker addresses the person spoken to emphatically and 
 direct. 
 
 t My great sorrow. 
 
■a! 
 
 10 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 it 
 
 The father, who had not spoken to his son for the space of 
 twelve months previously (for reasons to be found in the sequel), 
 put in something inter. :hd for the son, although spoken directly 
 to the mother. It was not spoken to him, but /or him. 
 
 " Tim has himself to blame," he said, " for havin' to lave 
 home. If he hadn't let thira deludin', desavin' wagabones get 
 over him wnd their blarney about the Scripthers, he 'd be happy 
 an' comfortable in his own cabin to-day. I wish thimselves an' 
 
 their books, an* their tracts ." This wish extended below 
 
 the antipodes. 
 
 " Aisy there, now, father," said Tim, " there's no use in 
 wishin' bad luck to anybody, an' ye ought not to say anything 
 that ye '11 be sorry for afterwards." 
 
 " Whoev^er is in fawt," the mother replied, " this is no time to 
 bring it up, whin my poor lanna* is goin' away from us. I'm 
 sorry for him meself, but I won't make the last minutes I may 
 ever have him with me in this world bittherer thin they are, by 
 accusin' him of anything. He has been a good boy to us from 
 the day he was born to the present hour ; an' if he is desaved by. 
 the Bible-readers, the loss is his own, an' I can see no raison 
 why his cattle should be kilt, an' the house burnt over his head, 
 an' his life threatened, bekase of it." 
 
 The eloquence of the mother was a successful means of media- 
 tion between the father and the son. The old man's tears began 
 to flow thick and fast. Standing up from the straw " boss "t on 
 which he had been sitting, and extending both his arms to their 
 full length, he said, " Tim Doolan, avick !J ye 're my eldest son. 
 Did ye iver think that I'd hurt or harm ye 1 " 
 
 " Niver," said Tim, rushing into his father's arms. They held 
 each other in a long and loving embrace, after which both sat 
 down, feeling as if a ton weight had been lifted off them. 
 
 Silence was at last broken by the mother. " I think the great 
 God above, an' His blessed mother," she said, " have inabled me 
 to live to see both of ye reconciled wanst more." 
 
 "I can die in pace now," said the old man, " or could, only for 
 one thing ; but as that is the cause o' your lavin' us, I'll say no 
 more about it now." And he wiped his eyes with his coat tail. 
 
 " Indeed, father," said Tim, " I hope that nayther you nor 
 me mother, nor any one I love, will die, ontil you an' they obtain 
 the thrue pace o' God through our Lord Jasus Christ ; but now, 
 as the time is short, an' we have to be up very airly in the 
 
 * Child. t Seats made of straw in Irish dwellings. t My son. 
 
A PARTING OF FRIEXDS. 
 
 n 
 
 nly for 
 say no 
 ail. 
 ■ou nor 
 obtain 
 now, 
 in the 
 
 mornin' to start, so as to meet the Bianconi car, we had betthcr 
 talk of necessary matthers. Jeriy says he '11 go wicl us to 
 Liverpool, an' whin he comes back, you '11 know all about our 
 sailin'. As soon as iver we get to New York I '11 write you a 
 letther about the * woyage,' an' ye may depind upon it that, wid 
 God's help, I '11 soon have money enough saved to sind for the 
 whole o' ye. Haven't I as good hands an' as strong arms to 
 work, as many that wiut from this neighbourhood and sint for 
 their families in a year or two 1 Jerry ! now be good to yer father 
 an' mother whin I 'm gone." 
 
 " Wisha, he will, the poor gommul,* till he meets wid some- 
 body that '11 thrate him to a glass o' whiskey," feaid the mother, 
 " an' whin they do that, thin they can get all that's in Jerry's 
 pocket." 
 
 " Well now, mother," said Jerry, " you '11 see tliat ' I '11 turn 
 over a new lafe.'" 
 
 "It isn't the turnin' over that's so hard," said the mother. 
 " You turned over that new lafe many an' many a time, but the 
 thing that 's hardest is to keep it doum whin tui'ned over, or from 
 turnin' back agin." 
 
 "Well," said Tim, "I hope Jerry '11 have sense enough to 
 keep from all bad company, specially where the dhrink is goin'. 
 He ought to know his own wake pints now, I'm shure." 
 
 " Deed an' he ought so," said his mother, " but some people are 
 dull scholards. God help the poor slob. I hope he '11 keep from 
 the dhrink for his own sake." 
 
 "With God's help I will," said Jerry. 
 
 Some hours were spent as above, when Tim stood up to cross 
 for the last time the threshold of the house in which he had been 
 born. 
 
 " Father an' mother," he said, " you blame me for thinkin' 
 differently from the way you brought me up in religious matthers; 
 but that '11 never make me saise to love an' pray for ye both. An' 
 as we may possibly part now for iver, I '11 go down on my two 
 knees an' ax God's blessin' on ye." 
 
 He knelt very reverently, and offered up a short, simple, fervent 
 prayer for those whose souls were so dear to him, that He " who 
 commanded the light to shine out of darkness might shine into 
 tlieir hearts ; " that they might have grace to see their sin and 
 danger, and find the way of escape from eternal death, so richly 
 
 * Probably a corruption of the Saxon obsolete "Gom" or "Goman," a 
 man. The Iriah use it aa the synonym for an irresolute person. 
 
m 
 
 m 
 
 12 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 '4 
 
 and graciously provided by infinite mercy for sinners, by Christ 
 Jesus. 
 
 When Tim knelt, his father and mother stood, as did Jerry 
 also. They did not forget that their son was a heretic, and that 
 joining in heretical prayers was fiercely denounced by their priests. 
 
 As Tim advanced in his prayer, mentioning his parents singly, 
 his mother first, then his father, his brother Jerry, and so on, 
 the mother was the first to transgress* the dictum of her reverend 
 adviser. She fell to her knees and sobbed aloud, " amen ! " over 
 and over again. » 
 
 The father's sterner resolve gave way as soon as he heard his 
 name mentioned,' and he too was soon on his knees. 
 
 When they arose, the old man was heard to say in a half 
 whisper, " I don't think there can be much sin in kneelin* down 
 wid our poor boy that we may niver see agin." 
 
 The mother took Tim by the arm into "the room" (as the 
 bedroom off the principal room or kitchen of the cabin is called), 
 and pulling out from under a bed an old oaken cradle, used for 
 many years previously as a chest, she said, " Tim, avick ! it was 
 in this I rocked ye many a day an' night whin ye wor a babby ; 
 an' I hope you '11 niver forget yer poor owld mother ; " at the 
 same time she flung her arms around him, and wept. " I haven't 
 much to give ye," she said, "but here are some little stockins 
 that I knit for the childher, an' a little red pair for the babby, 
 an' here 's two pair o' long warm ones for yerself, avourneen ; the 
 winthers are cowld in Ameriky, an* they '11 make ye think o' me 
 whin you'll not see me." Tim quietly took the parcel, received 
 his mother's last kiss, shook hands with his father, and charging 
 Jerry to meet him and his family in the morning about three 
 o'clock at the " cross roads o' Kildevlin," he stepped out of his 
 fs '•her's cabin for the last time, to seek a few hours' repose with 
 his wife and children. 
 
 It Wcts night. The moon had not yet risen, and it was dark. 
 
 The cabin in which Tim Doolan and his family found temporary 
 lodgings, after his own had been burned by incendiaries, was 
 distant nearly two miles from that occupied by his father and 
 mother. He was in the habit of travelling from the one to the 
 other by a pathway leading through fields, which shortened the 
 distance to a little over a mile. Being well acquainted with the 
 way, he turned into it immediately after leaving his father's 
 house ; but finding the path uneven and stony, he stepped aside 
 and walked on the grass. 
 
PREPARED FOR THE WORST. 
 
 13 
 
 He had proceeded about one-fourth of the distance homewards, 
 
 when he approached a gap* in the ditch. It is probable he felt 
 
 some degree of caution in approaching this place; and, as he 
 
 felt sure that his footfall could scarcely have been heard by any 
 
 persons who might be concealed there, he paused a few minutes 
 
 to listen. He had not waited long when he heard voices in 
 
 earnest conversation ; and as the moon had just risen above the 
 
 horizon, he fancied that he could discover the dim forms of two 
 
 men leaning over the gap, with their backs towards him. 
 
 Tim, although prudent and even cautious, was not fearful. 
 
 He was known only a year or two before this as the " champion 
 
 I of the parish," and there was no man within a distance of some 
 
 miles around who could equal him in any of the athletic games 
 
 or sports, or even " the shindies," peculiar to his race and 
 
 [country. 
 
 Although he had ceased to fight, he still held possession of one 
 
 I" carnal weapon " at least. That one was a genuine " blackthorn 
 
 iBhtick," with a brass ferrule. It had been bequeathed to him by 
 
 in uncle, who himself inherited it as an heirloom, and could 
 
 Inimiber at least forty heads of the O'Mulligans, on each of 
 
 ■which he had performed the surgical operations of phlebotomy 
 
 ind dentistry by means of the same unprofessional instrument ; 
 
 [tiverring that his own exploits with it were only trifling compared 
 
 to what it had performed in the days of his "anshesters." 
 
 Tim, when "in the flesh," had performed some exploits with 
 
 this floorer, but not until he had extracted from its thick end 
 
 iibout a quarter pound of lead, which the ancient head of the 
 
 ^oolan faction had melted into it by way (as he asserted) of 
 
 ['makin' an imprission on the sinse o' thim thick-sculled, half- 
 
 lath'ral O'Mulligans." 
 
 Tim's reason for drawing the leaden charge he declared to be, 
 
 bekase he 'd scorn the dirty advantage o' knockin' a man down 
 
 i^id lead, like a murdherin' soger." 
 
 In that part of Ireland the fields are fenced with what are called "ditches." 
 
 liese are simply loalls or mounds of earth thrown up all refund the field, 
 
 jenerally wide enough on the top for a person to walk on, and overgrown 
 
 4th furze bushes. The hollow or fiurow on each side, caused by digging out 
 
 be earth to make " the ditch," they call in some places " the dyke," in others 
 
 the gripe," evidently from the now obsolete Saxon "grip "or "graep." 
 
 le gap is merely a breach made in the ditch large enough to let a cart, or 
 
 ^aggon, or cattle, pass through. Very few of the poor peasants have gates 
 
 I their fields. They fill the gap with loose stones whenever they do not re- 
 
 aire to take anything through ; Eometimes they are taken down and built 
 
 twice a-day, as when cows are driven to and from pasture. 
 
nmH 
 
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 Pf 
 
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 f 
 
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 14 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 At the time to which my tale refers, he was endeavouring as 
 much as possible " to live peaceably with all men ; " and, although 
 he frequently affirmed that he carried his ancient "blackthorn^* 
 only for an " arnamint " (ornament), he always maintained that 
 he could not " promise what he might do, if his own life, or those 
 of his wife and childher were assailed." 
 
 Finding that he was not observed by the men, whose backs 
 were turned towards him, and who, it was evident from their 
 conversation, did not expect him to pass for an hour or more, he 
 cautiously approached to within ten or a dozen yards where they 
 were leaning on the ditch, one at each side of "the gap." He 
 overheard their conversation, and knew the voice of one of them. 
 The other man was a stranger. 
 
 " Do you think he '11 soon cum ? " the stranger inquired. 
 
 " Very likely he '11 be an hour yet, or maybe more. If he 
 makes it up wid the owld man afore he leaves, it is likely they '11 
 have a long shannamone.'^ But if not, I don't think he '11 be so 
 very long." 
 
 'If he don't cum along soon, it'll spile the job," the stranger 
 remarked; "the moon is gettin' too bright intirely for business." 
 
 " That don't make the laste difference in life," the other 
 replied ; " there's two very big threes a little farther on. They 
 grow quite close together, an' the path lies directly betune 'em. 
 Be sure you let him pass through first, and thin we '11 both hit 
 him from behind ; an' v/hin wanst he 's down, we can thrash him 
 aisy. But, be sure an' strike him fair in the poll, so as to down 
 him, for if wanst he gits his face towards us he 's the very dickins 
 himself wid the ' blackthorn,'' an' we might as well thry to thrash 
 a ridgemint o' sogers wid fixed * baynits ' as to face the same Tim 
 Doolan an' his slitick." 
 
 It was Tim's turn, he thought, to join the conversation 
 just at this stage. He accordingly walked boldly forward in the 
 beaten pathway, taking care to bring down his " blackthorn 
 arnamint " with most logical force on the stones. 
 
 " Don't be for disturbin' yersilves, gintlemin, on my account," 
 he said, as he coolly and determinedly walked towards them. 
 " There 's only a pair o' yez there, an' it was niver much throuble 
 to me to clear a road through the full of a fair-green o' the 
 likes o' yez. Aisy now, the pair o' yez. My gracious ! ye 
 needn't run so fast, sure there's nayther man nor mother's 
 son folly in' yez. Whillalew ! but 't is yersilves that 's brave 
 
 *Talk. 
 
 i/p 
 
A PAIR OF BRAVE CONSPIRATORS. 
 
 15 
 
 curing as 
 , although 
 \ackthorn'" 
 lined that 
 e, or those 
 
 lOse backs 
 'rom their 
 ir more, he 
 svhere they 
 gap." He 
 le of them. 
 
 ed. 
 
 )re. If he 
 cely they 'U 
 he'll be so 
 
 ihe stranger 
 
 )usiness." 
 the other 
 on. They 
 etune 'em. 
 11 both hit 
 thrash him 
 as to down 
 ery dickins 
 y to thrash 
 same Tim 
 
 3nversation 
 krd in the 
 1 blackthorn 
 
 account," 
 (ards them, 
 sh throuble 
 teen o' the 
 icious ! ye 
 ir mother's 
 lat's brave 
 
 an' liandsome about the backs an' heels, whativer yer faces 
 
 may be." 
 
 Tim shouted the above speech after the pair of brave conspira- 
 tors, who, on hearing the last words, seemed to draw the con- 
 clusion that he had not recognised either of them. They soon 
 jumped a ditch, and stooped so as to be hidden from view, when 
 he called out, "Tim Brady! I know ye well, ma bouchal, but 
 I' 11 not hurt or harm ye. Go home, an' go on yer knees an' pray 
 to God to mark ye to grace afore ye go to bed this blessed night. 
 May the great God above forgive ye, for I forgive ye both from 
 me heart." 
 
 His dastardly assailants did not venture to show. themselves, or 
 make themselves heard, and he proceeded on his course, wondering 
 whether he rightly apprehended the meaning of that passage, " He 
 teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight ; " and that 
 other, " He will give His angels charge over thee," &c. 
 
 Then, as the moon rose higher and shone cloudlessly on the 
 pathway that led to his lonely abode, he lifted up his head, and 
 heart, and voice, repeating as he went along, " The Lord is my 
 light, and my salvation; whoever shall I fear? The Lord is 
 the strength of my life ; of whom shall I be afraid 1 When the 
 wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up 
 my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though an host should encamp 
 against me, my heart shall not fear : though war should rise 
 against me, in this will I be confident. One thing have I desired 
 of the Lord, that will I seek after : that I may dwell ia the house 
 of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the 
 Lord, and to inquire in His temple." 
 
 "God be praised an* blessed," he said to himself, "for the 
 good owld book, an' sure a man can't be in any condition, high or 
 low, rich or poor, in danger or in safety, but some part of it '11 come 
 tbrue to him every day he lives." Tim started into a brisk walk, 
 which brought him speedily to his friend's abode. 
 
 He was surprised (on knocking at the door) to hear his brother 
 Jerry inquire from within — " Who's there ? " 
 " 'T is me,'' he replied. 
 
 " Oh, thaiik God — thank God ! " he heard his wife exclaim, 
 "thank God, the father o' my childher is left to me." Jerry 
 in the mean time unbolted the door, and Tim stood revealed 
 before his wife ere she had concluded her impassioned exclama- 
 tion. 
 
 " What 's amiss wid ye alii " he inquired. 
 
16 
 
 TIM DOOLAX. 
 
 11 J 
 
 ill' 
 
 ii 
 
 i •' i 
 
 1; ! 
 
 Il 
 
 " Did ye meet any one in yer way 1 " JeiTy asked in return ; and 
 added, without waiting for a reply, " Ye must have cum acrass 
 the fields, Tim." 
 
 "That's just the way I kem, thin," he answered. "The 
 shortest cut is the best road for me always ; an' if I didn't meet 
 anybody worse than meself there could be no harm done. What 
 brings you here, Jerry ? — sure it isn't momin' yet 1 " 
 
 "If it isn't itself," said Jerry, "there's no harm in my bein' 
 here, Tim. You wom't long gone whin me mother towld me to 
 come over along wid ye, for fear o' danger ; an' stay all night. 
 Her mind seem'd to misgive her, when ye kem away ; so that, to 
 plase her an' my father, I kem along — an', as the moon hadn't riz, 
 I thought ye would take the road : so I walked purty brisk to 
 cum up wid ye — an' I am shure It was well ye did cum through 
 the fields, for there wor two fellows watchin', jist at the turn o' 
 the road, undher the hedge ; an', as I kem up, I heerd one of 'em 
 say to the t'other, ' Here he cums.' ' No,' sez the second, * he 's 
 not tall enough, it must be somebody else.'" 
 
 " Did they do anything to ye ? " said Tim. 
 
 " Not a bit, thin, for I didn't give 'em the chance.*' 
 
 "Farya, farya.* You didn't run away, I'm shure, an* only two 
 of 'em there, did ye 1 " 
 
 " No, fegs ! but I run at 'em. First, I turned round, as if you 
 were lyin' in ambush somewhere, an' I shouts out — * Tim ! here 
 they are ! cum out ! ' an', my dear life, they tuck to their heels, 
 like good runners as they wor, an' you may be shure I didn't run 
 afther *em very far — only twenty or thirty yards — an* that 's the 
 last I seen of 'em." 
 
 While Jerry was detailing the record of his own bravery, Tim's 
 wife was scrutinising her husband very closely. She soon found 
 out, by signs which she herself could understand, although she 
 might not be able to describe them, that Tim Doolan had met with 
 something more than usual that night. 
 
 He tried to keep it concealed from her, until he found that she 
 was suffering under the persuasion that he must be badly hurt in 
 some way. 
 
 " I know," she said, " ye have been in some throuble or danger, 
 Tim, on the way here — more thin we can tell — or else why 
 shouldn't ye be here afore Jerry ? Ye left yer mother's afore he 
 did, an' ye kem a nigher road nor Jerry, an' it stans to raison ye 
 
 Fie, fie. 
 
A BRIEF BETROSPECT. 
 
 17 
 
 ought to be here sooner than ye was. Besides, I can tell it by yer 
 Very looks." 
 
 Tim then related the history of his own adventure, which set 
 the minds of both wife and brother at rest, the more so when 
 they found that he was not hurt. He refused, however, to tell to 
 any person the name of the individual whom he had recognised as 
 one of the two who had waylaid him as described. 
 
 They had only three or four hours left in which to seek a short 
 repose, for they must be astir at four o'clock in the morning, and 
 travel a distance of three or four miles, to the village from which 
 they were to take Bianconi's car, in order to proceed to Cork, where 
 they had decided to embark in the steamer that was to take them 
 to Liverpool, and thence to take shipping for the land of their 
 anticipations. 
 
 Enough has been said about Tim Doolan to excite a very natural 
 curiosity to know who he was. 
 
 It will not take a long time, or much trouble, to enlighten our 
 readers on this subject. 
 
 Tim was the eldest son of a farmer of small means, living in the 
 southern part of the county of Cork, in Ireland. The father rented 
 aomeji/ty acres of land ; and when Tim came of full age and married, 
 his father divided his holding with him, giving him twenty-five 
 acres, and reserving the remaining twenty-five for himself until the 
 marriage of his other son, Jerry, whenever that auspicious event 
 might happen ; it being understood, in that case, that the two sons 
 were to undertake the support of the parents between them, when 
 past their labour. 
 
 Matters went on as usual until three or four years after Tim's 
 marriage. He was a good son to his parents, a good husband to 
 his wife, a good father to his children, and a good neighbour to 
 those around him. Some alleged that he had one fault. He was 
 " too quiet," " too forbearing ; " and allowed himself to be insulted 
 by " spalpeens," * whom he could " put in his pocket," as their 
 hyperbolism had it. 
 
 " My gracious ! " Tim would say, " where 's the use in talkin' 1 
 What *ud half o' the girls o' the country do for husbands if every 
 strong fellow was to kill every poor wake upstart that offinds him ? " 
 But those who held that Tim possessed that "fault" were obliged 
 to allow that he sometimes atoned for it, when any of the O'Mulli- 
 gans crossed his path at a fair or a market, aftor some " friends *' 
 
 * A term implying lilt'.e and ir. significant. ' " 
 
 ?l. 
 
flf^ 
 
 *, ■ 
 
 ,1 
 
 
 i:f 
 
 '0' 
 
 } i 
 
 f i 
 
 I *! 
 
 18 
 
 TIM DQOLAN. 
 
 had overpersuaded liim to take a "thimbleful o* sperrits, just to 
 keep the 'cowld' or the 'hate ' out," as the case might be. Those 
 occasions did not frequently occur, for he had a natural aversion to 
 ardent spirits, and seldom partook of them unless to avoid giving 
 ** offence " to his friends, or to testify his joy at meeting an old 
 acquaintance. At the time of which I write, it was considered an 
 insult (in his class of society) to refuse drinking ; the person invited 
 being bound, according to their rude etiqueitey to put the vessel to 
 his lips, and, at least appear to taste it. This was the custom in 
 days gone by. 
 
 A wise and gracious Providence sent across Tim's path one of 
 those much neglected servants of the Lord called " Scripture- 
 readers," or derisively, " Bible-readers " — a class of persons 
 (by the way) second to none for faithfulness in ministering to the 
 souls, and ofttimes to the bodies, of their fellow-beings j and this, 
 too, with a patient endurance, amid scorn and contumely, as well 
 as bitter persecution often endangering life, which love to souls 
 and love to the Divine Master could only inspire. Let the 
 wealthy professing Christians of Britain think of some of those 
 devoted and almost self-immolated men, toiling among the half- 
 civilised, superstitious inhabitants of South and West Ireland for 
 the pittance of sixteen or eighteen pounds a-year, and blush ! This 
 was the remuneration at the period about which the author 
 writes. A former volume of his (giving the history of one of 
 those " heroes " of Immanuel's army) was revised, in the sheets, 
 and approved by a white-headed veteran of the same order, and 
 the beloved early friend of the writer, and who could verify 
 all the facts j who, covered with honours, is descending the scale 
 of time, to the period when all labours close, anticipating 
 the approving sentence — " Well done, good and faithful servant." 
 
 The author would gladly boast, if he could, a share in such labours 
 as those of his friend. But, although never actually in them, he 
 has witnessed the personal risk and sacrifice for Christ many of them 
 hav e made, both in cities and country places, in discharge of their 
 arduous duties. We have said it was to one of these our hero 
 owed his change from Popish error to a knowledge of the truth as 
 it is in Jesus. 
 
 When Tim's eyes were graciously opened to " behold wondrous 
 things " out of God's " holy law," the usual routine of threats and 
 hostility was made use of in order to induce him to recant his 
 recantation of Popery, but all without avail. H6 had " nailed his 
 colours to the mast." 
 
 5 
 
 i 
 
1 
 
 or 
 
 a 
 
 dered 
 
 , just to 
 . Those 
 ersion to 
 d giving 
 an old 
 an 
 n invited 
 vessel to 
 ustom in 
 
 ih one of 
 ^cripture- 
 ' persons 
 Liig to the 
 
 and this, 
 Y, as well 
 ; to souls 
 
 Let the 
 ; of those 
 
 the half- 
 reland for 
 sh ! This 
 le author 
 of one of 
 he sheets, 
 )rder, and 
 
 lid verify 
 the scale 
 
 iticipating 
 
 servant." 
 
 ch labours 
 them, he 
 
 ay of them 
 
 re of their 
 our hero 
 
 e truth as 
 
 THE REVEREND FATHER'S PREDICTIONS FULFILLED. 
 
 19 
 
 Father O'Bralligan, after a few efforts to frighten Tim by 
 clerical threats of priestly excommunication, piously gave him up 
 as irreclaimable, and as abandoned of God; and which meant 
 precisely, that " the faithful " (as they term the blind votaries of 
 Popery) might treat him in any way they pleased, consistent with 
 securing their own safety from the awkward retributions of the 
 law. 
 
 There were two modes of settling disputed questions of this 
 kind, to which recourse was not had with Tim. One was an 
 appeal to the " sword of the Spirit," which weapon he learned to 
 wield with considerable dexterity, and in a very short time, too, 
 after he became acquainted with it; the other was, eschewing 
 the "argumentum ad bacvlum," or "blackthoniy" which was his 
 favourite in years prior to the period at which our history com- 
 mences. 
 
 If his foes could not match him in either of those respects, they 
 were more than enough for him in other ways. As a mouse can 
 ])rove veiy annoying to an elephant, so Father O'Bralligan and 
 "the faithful" of Tubbercorrigen proved too many for poor Tim. 
 
 " Good people of this parish," tt e reverend Father ejaculated 
 from the altar one Sunday morning, "I'd have you beware of 
 the fate of that poor, misguided Doolan, another of the apostate 
 wretches who has sold himself to the devil for filthy lucre. Mark 
 my words ! bad luck and misfortune will attend him and his, in 
 this world and the next. His cattle will all die, his crops will 
 come to nothing, and fire will conshume the miserable remaindher 
 of what he possesses." ''The faithful" heard with profound 
 attention, and took good care to fvljil the jyredictions of their 
 ghostly adviser — ^wondering, most of all, at the foresight which 
 ijnabled the priest to foretell " exactly how the curse of God " was 
 to fall on the "heretical delinquent." Obstinate heretic that 
 Tim was, he had the courage, some called it the " owdacity," to 
 tell the priest, "up to his face," that "the prophecy gave the 
 clevr to its own fulfilment." 
 
 At four o'clock on the morning following the night on which 
 my story commences, all was bustle in Tim's family. The chil- 
 dren were taken from bed, and partly dressed, before they were 
 awake ; they clapped their hands for very joy at the thought of 
 going away so far, and of not coming back again that night ; they 
 wondered why their mother should cry at that which gave them 
 such unmingled delight — the thought of " going to some strange 
 place." 
 
<«*m 
 
 h c 
 
 i 
 
 li 
 
 ,( 
 
 h \ 
 
 H 
 
 ■\ 
 
 i-i 
 
 1 ! 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 The children dressed, and the form of eating breakfast (in this 
 case a mere form) attended to, there was very little ceremony 
 about their departure. One horse and a cart conveyed the woman 
 and children, with their few necessary moveables, to the village 
 at which they were to meet the conveyance that was to take them 
 to Cork, and Tim and Jerry walked behind. 
 
 As they passed along the road, many, with eager eyes, watched 
 them. The majority appeared glad that " the devil was getting 
 his own." 
 
 A fexo made it a point to meet him as he passed — just as if by 
 accident — and almost whisper, " Good-bye, Tim ! " " God bless 
 you, Tim ! " A.nd one or two " hardened wretches " (as the holy 
 Father O'Bralligan termed them in his next Sunday morning's 
 "sarmont") went so far as to kiss his wife and children, and 
 shake hands with himself ! 
 
 The village was like a fair on that memorable morning. There 
 was quite an exodus from that neighbourhood to " Ameriky.'* 
 Several conveyances had to be provided for them in addition to 
 the usual daily car plying between that place and the " City of the 
 South." The clamour of many was as wild, and the wailing as 
 unrestrained, as is usual at their native wakes and funerals. At 
 first it would commence with a low, dirge-like tone, swelling out 
 by the addition of many voices ; then it would die away as grad- 
 ually as it commenced, until all was silent save the sobbing of 
 afflicted friends who were remaining behind, and who were sincere 
 in their sorrow. 
 
 While the conveyances were being got ready, the luggage packed, 
 the names of the passengers booked, and other necessary formalities 
 attended to, the time was occupied by some in giving and receiv- 
 ing keepsakes, messages to absent friends, charges to write home 
 every week, and various other items, which busy memory will 
 recall at such times, without any regard to the natural order of 
 classification. 
 
 " You look tired to begin your journey, Judy," said one of the 
 emigrants to another. 
 
 " Indeed, Mary, good right I have to look tired an* to feel tired 
 too — I never laid me down at all last night; an' yestherday 
 I walked twelve miles to see my Aunt Peggy, and bid her * good- 
 bye.'" 
 
 "Well, indeed, if that's what tired ye, I have as good a 
 right to feel tired as ye have, for I have niver stretched my poor 
 bones for two nights an' two days, so that I 'm kilt out an' out." 
 
JOURNEY TO CORK. 
 
 ii 
 
 " What on the livin' airth wor ye doin' at all at all 1 " 
 
 "*DoinT an' faix not a ha'porth, only talkin' to people 
 comin' an' goin' ', an' sittin* up all night. Last night, Bill 
 Slattery an' Jim Hinnessy kem over, an' five or six boys an' 
 girls along wid 'em. They brought a fiddle an' bagpipes, an' 
 half-a-gallon o' whiskey to keep 'em awake; an' if we hadn't 
 music an' dancin' there aint a cottoner in Cork, nor a ' hake in 
 Dungarvan.' " * 
 
 The matter of the fares being all duly arranged and recorded ; 
 the boxes stowed away in the "wells" of the respective cars; 
 kisses and leave-taking exchanged for the hundredth and last time ; 
 charges redelivered to the efiect of — " Be sure an' be a good boy, 
 or girl, an' say yer prayers every night an' mornin' ;" "Don't 
 forget all I towld ye ; " " Find out the M'Swiggans when ye get 
 to 'Meriky, an' 'rite all about 'em," with others far too numerous 
 for a leaky memory to retain — the order was given to " take places 
 for the beautiful city called Cork." 
 
 Half-an-hour, at the very lowest calculation, was wasted before 
 more than one-half of the intending emigrants could be persuaded 
 to be " seated." 
 
 The drivers would call to them, swear at them, vow they would 
 leave them behind, and get into a most furious passion in order to 
 urge them, but all to very little purpose. 
 
 When at last they were ** seated " on their respective " cars," 
 those conveyances are so peculiarly constructed, that each pas- 
 senger caught hold of some person standing at one side or the 
 other for a parting " shake hands ; " and, as this had to be a long 
 one, and a strong one, they held so fast as to render it exceed- 
 ingly difficult for the horses to move along ; especially as they had 
 to start up an incline of half-a-mile or more in length, and it was 
 next to impossible to get the people to relinquish their hold. 
 
 The horses could move at only a very slow walk. 
 
 The drivers tried the usual amount of entreaty, of blarney, of 
 threatening; then of swearing, and lastly, of going over all the 
 4iforesaid means, even to coaxing, a second and even a third time, 
 with equal want of success. 
 
 At last the hill was surmounted, and the descent commenced. 
 A slow trot was first efiected — this shook off some whose limbs 
 were less supple than the others ; then, by degrees, one and an- 
 other fell off from sheer exhaustion, assisted, in some instances, no 
 
 * A southern provincial phras* '^plying certainty. 
 
H 
 
 h' t!i 
 
 i 
 
 ,; .it 
 
 33 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 doubt, by grief and whiskey — the latter clasa, many of them 
 rolled over and over on the ground, as if suffering the keenest 
 physical torture. Two or three hung on for as many miles, run- 
 ning beside the vehicles, and indulging in passionate exclama- 
 tions of regiet ; and one poor lad, apparently from seventeen to 
 nineteen years of age, held on for a distance of Jour miles, shout- 
 ing " Mary an' Peggy ! Mary an' Peggy ! I 'd die for ye ! " 
 
 Even his powers of endurance finally failed ; he rolled over in 
 the dust, throwing heels and hands in the air, still shouting, 
 " Mary an' Peggy, I 'd die for ye ! " when poor Mary and Peggy 
 clapped their hands and screamed, "Wirra, wirra, our poor 
 brother, we '11 niver see him agin ! " 
 
 In due time the city of Cork was reached : clamorous lug- 
 gage-boys fought with each other for the privilege of showing 
 the " ladies an' gintlemin " the way to the steamer, which was 
 already waiting at " Merchant's Quay," with " steam up," and 
 everything prepared to take all the passengers on board and steam 
 off to Liverpool, where the various vessels by which they intended 
 to sail were in readiness to receive them, and float them away to 
 their destination. 
 
 Huddled together like a flock of sheep or pigs, upon the 
 steamer's deck, they spent the ensuing forty-eight hours. Irish 
 emigrants are never over and above comfortable, especially when 
 the steamer rolls in the swells, and sea-sickness comes on. Their 
 chief luxury is the pipe, and if they can add a little poteen, they 
 are all right on sea or land. 
 
 Our next chapter will contain an account of one of Tim's adven- 
 tures, somewhat unpropitious at the commencement, but which 
 ends by introducing him unexpectedly to an old acquaintance, 
 who proves himself a friend in his time of need. 
 
 c- j^-vH^f . .:i ;.' 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE EMIGRANTS ARRIVE IN LIVERPOOL, AND TIM OBJECTS TO PASSING 
 A DOCTOR — WHAT WAS IN A POTATO SACK. 
 
 On the third morning after our emigrants left the home of their 
 childhood, they found themselves at Prince's Dock, in the huge 
 commercial port of Liverpool, after a somewhat slow and boisterous 
 passage r.cross the Channel, rendered all the more miserable 
 because of the number and quality of the passengers on the 
 steerage. The regulation of fares made no alternative between 
 a cabin passage at fifteen shillings, and a pound sterling, and a 
 
 deck or 
 
 steei'age 
 
 passage at two 
 
 shillings 
 
 and sixpence ; and 
 
 and children was 
 far from being in good 
 
 poor emigrants, who could not afford to pay for the former, were 
 compelled to submit to the latter, and may be still, for aught 
 the writer knows. They were confined to the open unc( ^ered 
 deck, no matter what state the weather was in, and, when 
 stormy, the condition of the poor women 
 shocking, some of whom were tender and 
 health. 
 
 Upon leaving Cork harbour, and passing round to the open 
 bay, and losing sight of old Erin, the next land that came in view 
 was Land's End, Cornwall, along the shores of which the pas- 
 sengers steered, all eagei'ly looking out at morning light, and 
 venturing various, and sometimes conflicting, surmises as to the 
 probable length of time it would take them to reach Liverpool. 
 Some of them knew the different localities on the river, as they 
 had frequently passed up the Mersey before, when visiting 
 England during the hay and com harvests as labourers. M ny 
 of these men return home with a few pounds, wherewith to pay 
 their " rint," and provide some little luxuries for the approaching 
 winter ; but it too often happens that what is hardly earned goes 
 too easily and too freely in drunkenness and vice. But every 
 rule has its exceptions. 
 
 Those who knew the landmarks quickly communicated the 
 
1 1 <H 
 
 li 
 
 24 
 
 TIM DOOLAK. 
 
 It' n 
 
 m 
 
 'li 
 I 1) 
 
 
 news to others who did not, and very soon all was confusion in 
 the preparations to go on shore. 
 
 "Where's my shtick?" one fellow roared out. "1 jist lay 
 down there to get a little bit o* sleep, near that warm place, an' 
 some ' son of a gun * took my shtick from me. Whilalew ! if I 
 see it wid any fellow I '11 knock the worth of it out of him." 
 
 " Where *s my hat 1 " another inquired, who had also availed 
 himself of the warmth of the funnel to lie down and take a 
 snooze. " I had it on my head whin I lay down there, and now 
 it 's gone from me." 
 
 "is yer head gone along wid it? " was the query of a waggish 
 fellow who sat smoking his dudheen* with apparent composure. 
 
 " What's that to you 1 " said the loser of the hat whose pota- 
 tions on the previous night had not contributed anything to the 
 mellowing of his temper. 
 
 " Bekays," said his interrogator, " if the head was gone along 
 wid the hat, i knows a place in Liverpool where ye could get as 
 good a one for sixpence." 
 
 " Be this an' be that, you stole my hat," said the loser of the 
 article in question : *'an' if ye did, I'll take the worth of it out o' 
 yer carcase, while you'd be saying 'Jack Robeson.'" 
 
 " Och ! yea wisha," said his tormentor (with the most imperturb- 
 able gravity), " if you 're strong yerself, be marciful, an' don't kick 
 up a row for a word spokin. There may be as strong men as 
 yerself on boord, ma bouchal, but I 'd disdain to take a dirty ad- 
 vantage of ye or any man. Did ye iver hear tell o' Shane Dhew, 
 belonging to tlie faction of the O'Sullivans of Carbery ? " 
 
 "'Tis meseif that did, thin, though I niver saw him." 
 
 •* Well, you see him now ; I don't tell ye this to frighten ye 
 with a name, but if ye have any mind for business, I 'd like ye to 
 know the man you have to deal wid." 
 
 The name of "Shane" had frightened many a man before 
 that ; and . it seemed to exercise some magical influence on this 
 drunken bully, for he quickly became sober and civil. Pro- 
 ducing a bottle from his pocket, half-full of whiskey, he wanted 
 to " make friends " with the man whom he defied a minute or two 
 before, but Shane would neither be bullied nor coaxed. Though 
 a very powerful man, and reputed to have performed prodigious 
 exploits in the athletic exercises of faction fighting and hurling, 
 &c. — at one time more famous and popular in the south and 
 
 it: 
 
 I 
 
 *A short pipe which, had seen maoh service. 
 
THE EMIGRANTS ARRIVE IN LIVERPOOL. 
 
 25 
 
 other parts of Ireland than they are now — he was good- 
 humoured and kind j and whenever he was forced i. to a quarrel 
 or fight, always took the precaution to let his antagOx^r'st know 
 beforehand who he was. "Excuse me," he said, "for taisin' 
 you about yer hat ; I saw it in yer wife's hand ten minutes ago. 
 There she is now, lookin' out for shore at the other side o' the 
 ship." 
 
 A few more strokes of the engine brought them alongside the 
 quay. " Stop her," the captain shouted from the paddle-box ; the 
 hawser was thi'own out, and made fast to an iron ring ; the gang- 
 way thrown across, and immediately a swarm of runners, like so 
 many locusts, jumped on board, ready to devour the passengers 
 with kindness. They inquired who was bound for " Ameriky " — 
 volunteered to show them all over Liverpool — to take them to the 
 best offices for securing passages, and seemed to wish it to be 
 understood that their sole object in life was to contribute to the 
 comfort and add to the information of Irish emigrants bound for 
 " Yankee land." 
 
 Some guileless, unsuspicious souls, suffered themselves to be led 
 by those parties whithersoever they listed, and found it expensive 
 voluntaryism. 
 
 Tim Doolan, being known by many who had crossed the 
 Channel in the same maimer "^'ith him as a convert from Popery, 
 did not choose to embark in the same ship with any of them. 
 Previous to leaving home he had determined on that course, for 
 fear of consequences that he knew would follow his going to sea in 
 their company. 
 
 He took lodgings in Liverpool for a day or two, until he ascer- 
 tained that all the emigrants from his own neighbourhood had 
 taken their passages, atnd then he looked out for another vessel for 
 himself and family. He was successful in finding one, wliich had 
 nearly completed her complement of passer gers, and proceeded 
 immediately to the ofiice of the agent, in order to make the neces- 
 sary arrangements. 
 
 On presenting himself there he was informed the amount of 
 money requisite for his own passage and that of his wife and chil- 
 dren. He paid the demand, and receiver his ticket, inquiring 
 when the vessel would sail, and what other steps were necessary 
 to bo pursued in order to completing his arrangements. He was 
 informed that he and all his family must first go and "/?««« the 
 doctor ^^ and unless he determined that himself and fam.ily should 
 subsist on the ship's allowance, it would be necessary to purchase 
 
26 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 li , ii 
 
 I I' 
 
 whatever he might want for the voyage, and that done, the vessel 
 would be quite ready to sail. 
 
 All was perfectly intelligible to him, and quite right in his 
 estimation, with the exception of the doctoring concern. He was 
 born, as are most of his race, with a natural antipathy against 
 doctors and "doctors' stuff;" which they most devoutly believe to 
 be made (in the majority of instances) from human remains, 
 variously prepared. 
 
 He was in the main a sensible fellow, and open to conviction 
 on most subjects, but to this matter of '^passing the doctor " he was 
 somewhat averse. 
 
 To the first intimation on the subject he flatly answered — 
 " Let them that wants the docther go to him, but I niver tuck 
 any * doctfiors' stuff* in my life ; an', with the Lord's help, I 
 niver will. "What does I want swallyin' their owld broth o' 
 corpuses ] " 
 
 The clerks were not unused to this kind of logic ; and one of 
 them, more accustomed than the others to deal with the Irish, 
 thought to try Tim with the blarney, and said to bim — " Listen 
 to me now, my friend ; you appear to be a shrewd, thinking man." 
 
 " If I do, thin," said Tim, cutting him short, " I defy all the 
 world to show me any sinse in goin' to a docther when a man 
 doesn't want one. I niver wint to one of 'em in me life, an niver 
 intind to do. I don't like 'em, that's the fact; for they stales 
 corpuses out o' the graveyards, and biles 'em Tip, to make physic 
 out of 'em, purtindin' to cure sick people wid the stuff" they 
 makes." 
 
 " Well, now, my good-natured fellow, just let mo speak a word. 
 What object could I have in leading you astray 1 The case is this. 
 Where there are a great many passengers in a vessel, crowded to- 
 gether, if only one person were to go on board who was affected 
 with fever, or any other disease likely to spread among you, it 
 might destroy all the lives on board. Now we must see that no 
 infected person takes a passage in any of our vessels. If we were 
 to send you without the doctor's ce. tificato we would be liable to 
 be fined most heavily. You must not believe all that you hear 
 about the doctors stealing corpses." 
 
 " Well, now, if they don't stale *em themselves, they buys 'em 
 from thieves that do; an' shure all the world knows that the 
 resaver is as bad as the thief." 
 
 " How do you know," the clerk replied, " that they buy corpses 1 
 Did yoit ever sell any 1 " 
 
TIM RELATES A STRANGE ADVENTURE. 
 
 27 
 
 Time was when Tim's answer to the latter question, if put by 
 a stout, good-looking fellow, somewhat near his own dimensions, 
 would be a whoop of his "pratee stalk" (as he was wont 
 to call his favourite shillelah). His brow darkened for a 
 moment, so as to convince his interrogator that there was 
 pent-up thunder beneath it, struggling for vent. He tried 
 the soothing method by placing his hand coaxingly on Tim's 
 shoulder, and saying, " Excuse me, my dear fellow ! — I asked the 
 question merely in jest, and hope I have not offended you — I 
 didn't intend it." 
 
 "0 very well, Sir," said Tim, with some effort at restraint; "as 
 the owld sayin' goes — * A thing is never ill said, unless it is il? 
 taken,' an' as you meant no offince I'll not be offended. But you 
 axed me how do I know that they buys corpuses. If you 'd like to 
 hear it, I can answer that question." 
 
 There were several clerks in the office, and as they had nothing 
 very pressing to do just then, and the head-clerk was absent, thay 
 determined on amusing themselves with Tim. 
 
 " Hear him — hear ! hear ! " echoed from behind the desks. 
 
 "Wanst upon a time, thin," says Tim, "I was a wickness 
 (witness) on a thrial, whin a boy o' the O'Mulligans an' a boy of 
 the M'Swiggans had a bit of a shindy at the fair o' Castlemarthyr, 
 an' nothin' would plaise the pair o' boys but they must indite aich 
 other ; an' both parties summonsed me for a wickness to the assizes 
 at Cork. 
 
 " Well, why, whin I was in the city I must go an' see the sights ; 
 so, the first place I inquired for was the pratee market, an' down I 
 wint to inquii'e how they were sellin' the * beldrams.'^ 
 
 " I hadn't walked far through the market whin who should I 
 see but a man of the name of Con Sweeny, who used to live near 
 us formerly, but for tin or twelve years past was farming in 
 another part o' the counthry. So I walks up to him, an' 'dresses 
 meself to him as good-humoured as I could, an', ' Arrah ! ' sez I, 
 ' bad manners to ye, Con Sweeny,' sez I, * don't ye know a poor 
 fellow at all at all, these times ? ' sez I. 
 
 " * Wisha, thin,' sez he, ' I do and I don't,' sez he, * altho* I'm 
 ahure I seen yer face afore now,' sez he. 'An' shure enough,' 
 sez his wife, for she was sittin' in the cart, on a sack o' the 
 pratees (as we thought), 'an' shure enough,' sez she, 'isn't it 
 little Tim DoolanT *Faix,' sez Con (takin' the weight o* mo 
 from top to toe wid his eyes), ' if it is Tim, 't is big Tim Doolan he 
 
 * A slang name for a peculiar sort of potatoes, then id the Bouth of Ireland. 
 
r^ 
 
 i>: 1 
 
 'I 1 
 i I 
 
 1 1 
 
 'I Xi 
 
 ft 
 
 II 
 
 r f! 
 
 28 
 
 TIU DOOLAN. 
 
 is now,* sez he, 'an* no mistake; an* 'tis sorry I am that 
 I'm obliged to go away to another part o' the city,' sez he, 
 ' to lave those pratees at a gentleman's house,' for he had 
 sowlt more than half his load, an' had only two or three sacks 
 remainin'. 
 
 " * Och, Con,' sez I, makin' answer, * for the love of owld times, 
 an' as I haven't a ha'porth to do only to walk about, I 'li go along 
 wid ye,' sez I, * till ye deliver the "fruit," an' thin, my boy, we'll 
 have a glass o' " Tommy Walker,"* an' thin a bigger one, jist to 
 keep that fellow in his right place ; ' for I used to take a dhrap o' 
 the crathur meself at that time. 
 
 *' ' Och, Misther Doolan,' sez he, ' that 'ud be too much trouble 
 to put ye to,' sez he, * entirely, entirely, so it would,' sez he. 
 
 "When I heard him call me ^Misther Doolan,' I knew he was 
 offinded in some way, an' wanted to shake me off; so as he an' 
 our family parted in good fellowship when he was lavin' our 
 neighbourhood, an' I knew no cause for a quarrel, I wasn't goin 
 to he done so aisy as that. 
 
 " * Con,' sez I, lookin' him strait in the face * if it 's " mistherin' '' 
 me ye are,* sez I, * for the sake o' gettin' up a dust, I 'm as good a 
 man as ever stood in the shoes of a Sweeny,* sez I. ' Fun, an' 
 fightin', an' friendship, all comes alike to the Doolans,' sez I. 
 
 " ' It isn't in regard o' that at all, Tim," sez he ; ' I meant no 
 offinse ; but I didn't like to be takin' up yer time,' sez he ; an' 
 with that he took his horse be the head, and led him away. 
 
 " * Oh, very well,' sez I, * if ye meant no offince there 's no harm 
 done, for I meant none ayther ; an' I '11 go along wid ye, an' whin 
 ye dispose o' yer pratees we'll go an' have our " cruLskeen lawn," ' 
 for you must know that Father Matthew hadn't 'invinted the 
 teetotaller ' at that time. 
 
 " I could see by Con all the time that he was very onaisy, an' I 
 began to excuse him in me own mind. * Maybe,' sez I to meself, 
 * the world is goin' against the poor man, an' he isn't able to spind 
 a crown as he used to do formerly ; so, if that is the case I '11 give 
 him whiskey to put in his shoes if he likes.' Well, my dear, I 
 walked behind wid me hand on the back-boord of the car, talkin' 
 to the owld 'ooman, until he came to the Grand Parade, and there 
 he stopped forninst a docther's shop-windy. He went in an' 
 talked to the docther, and thin he kem out again, and I could see 
 that he wanted me to go off a good distance out o* sight. 
 
 " * Now, Tim,* sez he, * the docther isn't widin ; ' an', be the same 
 
 * Whiak^y named after a noted distiller in Cork. 
 
WHAT WAS IN THE BAG. 
 
 29 
 
 im that 
 
 sez he, 
 
 he had 
 
 ce sacks 
 
 Id times, 
 go along 
 DV, we'll 
 e, jist to 
 dhrap o' 
 
 li trouble 
 
 le. 
 
 w he was 
 
 as he an' 
 
 win' our 
 
 sn't goin 
 
 Lstherin' " 
 as good a 
 l' Fun, an' 
 
 I. 
 meant no 
 
 he; an' 
 
 no harm 
 an' whin 
 n lawn," ' 
 nted the 
 
 token, that was a lie, for I heard the sarvant girl tell him the 
 docther was at home. * If you '11 walk down as far as the Orange 
 Club house,' sez he, *and stand there, near " George a hossback,'" * 
 sez he, * we '11 soon be wid you.' 
 
 " To make me story short, he had a corpus in one o' the bags, 
 an' he wanted me out o' the way ontil he could get it out o' the 
 car into the house. Whin the doctor saw the corpus, an' found 
 blood corain' from the mouthy an' nose, an' ears, he suspected that the 
 • gossoon ' died by foul play, so he axed Con what made it bleed so 
 much. ' Ocli, I don't know, yer banner,' sez he, * barrin' it was 
 the owld 'ooman sittin' on it, that crushed the blood out av it,* 
 sez he. 
 
 " * How much do you want for it ? ' sez the docther. ' Five pound,' 
 r,ez Con, making answer. 'That's too dear,' says the docther. 
 ' Too dear ! — is it? ' says the owld lady, spakin' up. ' Arrah now, 
 docther, 't is many a pound's worth o' physic you '11 make out o' the 
 same gossoon,' sez she, * for the quality ; t *t is fine, an' fat, an' lusty 
 he was, the same boy. God be good to his poor sowl, at any rate,' 
 sez she. 'That I may niver sin,' sez she, 'but he's near two 
 hundred pound weight, an' ye '11 be chargin' a couple o' shillings 
 for a little weeny morsel av him that would just cover a "five- 
 pinny bit." ' X 
 
 " ' Very well,' Says the docther, takin' a tin pound note out of his 
 pocket-book ; * have you got five pounds change, and here 's a tin ? ' 
 
 " 'Sorra a five pound, or a wan pound note ayther of us have this 
 blessed and hol^ Monday mornin',' sez Con. 
 
 "'Wait here a "jiflfey,"' sez the docther, *an' I'll get change;' 
 so he steps out, an' it was only a few yards round the corner 
 to a guard-house, in Tuckey Street, where the police used to be 
 on duty. In two minutes they were both in costody, an' on their 
 way to prison ; an' what do ye think 1 — the dead boy was a 
 brother's son o' Con's. They didn't kill him. He was killed 
 by a wall fallin' on him ; but the best of it is to cum. The boy's 
 father and Con, the uncle, agreed to sit up by turns at night, 
 and watch the grave by turns, for fear o' the docthors or the 
 ' resurrection min ' gettin' him ; an' while the father was asleep 
 in his bed, an' * honest ' Con watchin' the grave, he stole the poor 
 boy away ! 
 
 " The hue and cry soon wint through the counthry round, and 
 
 * An equestrian statue of George the Second. 
 
 + Gentlefolk. 
 
 t Coins common in Ireland at one time. 
 
r:^ 
 
 30 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I1H i^ 
 
 f If! 
 
 I 
 fr 
 
 \ 
 
 h. 
 
 Con couldn't be thried for murdlier as the boy was known to have 
 died by accident, so the magesties (magistrates) discharged him, but 
 he niver wint home again. He and his wife lay consaled ontil the 
 eldest son sowld iverything off, and they soon set sail for Ameriky. 
 After that, don't tell me that docthers don't make physic out o' 
 corpuses." 
 
 As Tim was drawing near the end of his narrative, the head-clerk 
 walked into the office in company with the very physician before 
 whom Tim and his family ought to appear, in order to obtain a 
 certificate of health. 
 
 One of the clerks communicated to the gentleman the antipathy 
 entertained by Tim to his profession, which elicited a hearty 
 laugh from that functionary. It was agreed on all hands that he 
 should tell his story over again for the benefit of the doctor, who 
 had not heard the whole of it. During the re-delivery of Tim's 
 narrative, a messenger was despatched to the lodging-house at 
 which his wife and children were staying, in order to their 
 appearing before the doctor without any suspicion on their part 
 who he was. 
 
 A glance at their ruddy countenances and well-developed limbs 
 soon satisfied the physician that they were in the best of health, a 
 certificate of which he quietly handed over to the head-clerk. 
 
 Tim by this time imagined, from the manner of the officials with 
 whom he was in conversation, that he had completely defeated the 
 medical examination of himself and family, exclaimed with apparent 
 triumph — 
 
 " Catch me passin' yer docthers ! — Oh, no." 
 
 " There'.'s no occasion at all for that remark," said the clerk ', 
 "you have all passed the doctor already without you know- 
 ing it." 
 
 "Maybe you'll persuade me 'tis on my head I'm standin'," 
 Tim replied, with humorous incredulity. 
 
 "Listen to the certificate," said the clerk, reading from the 
 document which he still held in his hand, and which was to the 
 following effect : — "This is to certify, that having examined 
 Timothy Doolan and family, I believe them to be free from »11 
 contagious and infectious disease. Signed ." 
 
 " Well, thin, ye wrote it yerself, and 't is a shame for ye to be 
 tellin' lies, so it is," said Tim, with a great deal of warmth 
 in his manner, exhibiting his utter abhorrence of anything like 
 deception. 
 
 This was met by a hearty laugh from the gentlemen, who all 
 
TIM S OBJECTION TO DOCTORS. 
 
 31 
 
 to have 
 lim, but 
 ntil the 
 meriky. 
 Lc out o' 
 
 ad-clerk 
 a before 
 abtain a 
 
 atipathy 
 L hearty 
 3 that he 
 iter, who 
 of Tim's 
 ■house at 
 to their 
 heir part 
 
 5ed limbs 
 health, a 
 
 jrk. 
 
 cials with 
 eated the 
 apparent 
 
 le clerk ', 
 bu know- 
 
 IstandinV' 
 
 [from the 
 las to the 
 lexamined 
 from p11 
 
 , ye to be 
 warmth 
 Ihing like 
 
 I, who all 
 
 agreed that he was a genuinely honest, straightforward fellow, 
 and explained to him the innocent ruse by which they had gained 
 their object ; on learning which a shade of sorrow quickly passed 
 over his face. " How aisy it is for a fellow to be wrong, after 
 all," he muttered to himself; and then, in a humbled, pleading 
 tone, he added — 
 
 "Gintlemen! I'm a poor, unlarned countryman, an' I hope 
 you '11 excuse my ignorance ; for indeed I don't wish to say or do 
 anything that would hurt or harm anybody." 
 
 " We know that well enough," said the doctor ; " but how is it 
 that you have such a bad opinion of my profession : I should like 
 to stand on better terms with you, my honest fellow." 
 
 " I declare now. Sir," said Tim, " I can scarcely tell, but the 
 people of our sort, where I come from, have a mighty poor opinion 
 of 'em intirely." 
 
 "You cannot have formed your opinion from any personal 
 knowledge," the doctor replied; "for you say you never were 
 sick, and never took any medicine." 
 
 " No, Sir ; only 't is in regard o' bilin' the poor people up, afther 
 they 're dead and beri'ed, an' makin' physic out o' their bones, that 
 makes people hate the docthers so." 
 
 " Who told you that they boil them up 1 Did you ever see any- 
 thing of the sort yourself?" 
 
 "Arrah now, Sir, 'who towld me,' is it? An' shure, don't all 
 the world know it ? What else in the world wide could they want 
 'em for only to bile 'em up ? Shure if they didn't want 'em for 
 somethiu', they 'd let 'em stay where they were put, ondher the 
 sod." 
 
 "But," the doctor added, "did you ever know a case of a 
 corpse being taken up more than the one you mentioned a little 
 while ago? I don't want you to tell me what you heard, but 
 •what you saw and knew." 
 
 "Well, indeed. Sir, if you put me to my own knowledge, I 
 didn't, only the counthry used to be full av talk about their takin' 
 people up. Shure, now. Sir, don't you know yerself that they 
 rises corpuses?" 
 
 I do not wish my readers to understand that our good doctor 
 answered this question either negatively or affirmatively. He 
 appeared not to be quite prepared for Tim's ready way of getting 
 out of his own dilemma, and merely observed, as he played with 
 little Paddy's carroty ringlets — " Well, my man, let us take that 
 case you were witness to. The doctor did not steal that corpse, 
 
raswBR 
 
 i 
 
 32 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 and you could easily see that, when he suspected foul play, he did 
 his best to bring the murderer (as he thought him) to justice. So 
 that in the only case in which you have any personal knowledge, 
 the evidence is rather in our favour than against us 1 " 
 
 " Well, indeed, Sir, I don't say that they 'd kill anybody, nor let 
 him be kilt if they couk revint it ; but you know yeraelf. Sir, 
 you would not like yer father, or mother, or wife, or child, to be 
 disturbed whin wanst they wor put ondher the airth." 
 
 The doctor, whatever his practice may have been, appeared to 
 be as well convinced of the truth of Tim's argumentum ad hominem 
 as if it had been uttered by the most profound logician in 
 eristence. 
 
 They separated, each more favourably impressed respecting the 
 other than when they first met. 
 
 Tim thought that doctors were not such a very bad set of men, 
 after all, as he had been led to suppose ; and the doctor found 
 out then, if not before, that there are fine feelings under the 
 frieze coat of even a skull-cracking, rough-looking, uneducated 
 Irishman. 
 
 » 
 
CHAPTER III. ; . 
 
 JERRY AND THE " PEELERS " — TIM IN TROUBLE — SETS OFF WITH A 
 MAGISTRATE IN PURSUIT OF A RUNAWAY SHIP. 
 
 " 'T IS Sony I am in me heart that I iver kem here, at all at all ; 
 an' it 's the thruth I 'm tellin' ye this blessed minit. Partin' is 
 sore work anywhere, or at any time ; an' for any good I 've done 
 ye, I might as well hav' shook han's an' parted wid ye at the Cove 
 o' Cork, as to cum here all the way an' be obleeged to do it at last. 
 If it wasn't for them misforthinate swaddlers* an' Bible-readers, 
 an' soopers, you 'd niver hav' thought o' lavin' the owld sod, where 
 all yer ginerations afore ye wor born an' rear'd. Bad scran to 
 the whole praichin' lot every day they sees a pavin'-stone, an* 
 every day they don't." 
 
 " Thim is hard words, Jerry," said Tim, as he and his brother 
 stood on the dock at Liverpool ; " I dar' say, if the blessed Gospel 
 o' Jaysus Christ hadn't cum in my way, an' made some change 
 in me, the neighbours would hav' thought no worse o' me thin 
 they did afore. I'm sorry for what they done to me, bekase 
 they destroyed all I had ; they cut the tongue out, an' the tail off, 
 me horse ; they cut the hamstrings o' my poor * Spotty,' that 
 gev the childher milk for the last six years, an* was all the 
 same to us as one o' the family " (here the narrator wept at the 
 cruelty perpetrated on his one cow) ; "an' whin they had nothin' 
 else to take from us — barrin' the precious life — they burned the 
 owld cabin about our heads. If I had iver wronged man or 
 mother's son av 'em, I wouldn't so much care. I loved 'em all 
 afore iver I saw a Bible, or heerd a praicher — barrin' the priest 
 an' his coadjuthor — and now I love 'em tin times more, though 
 they stripped me of everything. It isn't so much the prosecutiont 
 that grieves me, as to think how unworthy I am to be allowed to 
 suffer in the dear Saviour's cause, an' for His sake." 
 
 * A popular name in Ireland for Methodists and Dissenters in general, 
 t Meaning persecution. 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 i I- 
 1' I 
 
 '1 i'fc. 
 
 Mi 
 
 ij 'I 
 
 "Tira Doolan !" said the first speaker, with embittered energy, 
 "Tim Doolan, you are my bom brother, an' the only thing I 
 have against ye in the wide world is yer goin' away from the 
 religion o' yer forefathers ; but after all, you are my brother 
 atillf an* see" (seizing his brother's right hand in his own, and 
 bringing down his shillelah on the flag on which he stood with 
 a stroke that made the bystanders start, he added), " may I niver 
 see the Mother o' God if I don't be revinged on them that has 
 dhruv you out o' the country." 
 
 A policeman, who had been standing by, heard the threat 
 above recorded, and stepping up to the two men, demanded of 
 Jerry "why he had uttered threatening words, calculated to 
 lead to a breach of the peace." 
 
 " Is it to brake the pace you mane 1 " inquired Jerry ; " that I 
 mightn't sin but I would, and brake your j^ce in to the bargain," 
 preparing at the same time a salute with his blackthorn for the 
 said policeman, which must have felled him to the earth, had not 
 his brother Tim's vigorous arm arrested the blow. 
 
 The policeman immediately seized Jerry by the throat, and 
 held hira tightly against a lamp-post, while three or four of the 
 fraternity gathered about them, and in a few seconds Jerry and 
 Tim were made prisoners, and both were soon on their way to a 
 magistrate's office. 
 
 As the two brothers were being taken along to the police- 
 office — Jerry vowing direst vengeance against all "peelers, 
 policemen, red-coats," and every other functionary engaged in 
 maintaining law and order in society, Tim, in his blandest man- 
 ner, begged the policeman who held him to relax his grasp a 
 little, so that he might breathe more freely. The man (who 
 was not naturally unkind) immediately replied, "If you will 
 walk quietly along, I will let go my hold altogether." 
 
 "I'll engage. Sir," says Tim, "to do that same, or anything 
 else ye '11 ask me in raison." 
 
 When the policeman had let go his hold, Tim looked him full in 
 the face, to try if he could discern any kindly trace of feeling therein. 
 The look gave him some encouragement, and he proceeded to in- 
 quire, " Arrah, thin, Sir, mightn't a poor fellow spake to you ! " 
 
 "To be sure," said the policeman; "anything you please 
 that 's civil — what else is a chap's tongue made for 1 " 
 
 " Well, thin," said Tim, " 't is meself that 's in deep trouble 
 this very day, an' shure you know yourself, that £ didn't thry to 
 hurt or harm you." 
 
TIM AND JERRY IN TROUBLE. 
 
 35 
 
 " True," said the policeman ; " but then you were engaged in 
 earnest conversation with this other man, who was using threat- 
 ening language, that might possibly end in or lead to murder j and 
 when I interfered in the discharge of my duty, he attempted to 
 strike me. I shall want you for a witness." 
 
 '* Och, murther in Irish, Sir j is it against my bom brother ye 
 want me to swear 1 Shure enough, I confess he is a foolish fellow 
 when he gets a drap o' the dhrink, for 't is that same that 's the 
 cruel inemy to take inside of a man's head ; but, indeed, there 's 
 small chance of his iver brakin' the same pace over the matthers 
 we were discoursin' about whin you came up." 
 
 " What was it about, then 1 " the man inquired. 
 
 Tim proceeded to enlighten the policeman, who was by this time 
 joined by his companions, dragging Jerry along as best they could. 
 
 "You see, gintlemin, we lived at home comfortable in Bally- 
 saggart, in Ireland, all our bom days, an' no throuble iver kern 
 betwixt us an' the neighbours, till at last, one day about two 
 year ago or more, a dacent, clane, likely-lookin' man kem into 
 our cabin ; it was rainin' a little at the time, an* I thought it was 
 the shower that made him come in for shelter. *God save all 
 here,' sez he. * God save ye kindly, Sir,' sez I. * Biddy,* sez I 
 (to the little girl), 'give the good man a sate near the fire, an* 
 throw some turf on it to make it blaze,' sez I j * he may be wet 
 an' cowld.' 'I am, then,' sez he, 'both wet an' cowld,* sez he. 
 ' An' may be,' sez I, interniptin' him, ' you 're hungry into the 
 bargain. An' shure,* sez I, 'it's a good man's case to be that 
 same. Honor,' sez I to the wife — Honoria is her name. Sir, 
 with respects to ye, an' the neighbours calls her Norry for short- 
 ness j but I think Honor just as short, an' far purtier — 'Honor,* 
 k-jz 1, * put down a few praties in the skillet, an' a couple o' eggs 
 in the saucepan, an' with them an' a herrin', an' a piggin o' 
 sweet milk, maybe the good man could manage to get along ; ' for 
 ye see, Sir, although we had a flitch o' bacon in one comer o' the 
 chimley, an* the fellow av it in the other, we couldn't cook a bit 
 av it in the house, in regard o' the Lent, an* the black fast that 
 wouldn't allow uz to ait a bit o' the mate durin' the forty days. 
 But I must make haste wid my story. Up spakes the good man, 
 an' he sez, sez he, very polite, 'I thank ye most kindly,' sez 
 he, 'but I don't need either aitin* or dhrinkin'. I'll just sit 
 be the fire till I get a little warm an' dhry, an' as ye aren't 
 able to do anything out o' doors durin' the rain, I '11 read to ye 
 out av a little book that I have in my pocket, one o* the most 
 
p 
 
 I 1 
 
 i ! 
 
 I 
 
 ^ I 
 
 36 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 delightful stories ye iver heerd in all yer life. "With that, me 
 dear Sir, he pulls the little book out av his pocket, an' begins to 
 read ; an' as we always heerd it was the hoight o' good manners 
 to keep silent whin any one is readin* or spakin', ye might have 
 heerd a pin drop on the flure. I didn't know at the time what 
 book it was, but it turned out to be a Tistamint, an' he read that 
 beautiful fourth chapter o' John, that tells about our blessed 
 Saviour discoursin' with the woman av Samaria at the well ; an* 
 whin he finished readin' he began to talk to uz about the wicked- 
 ness av people av one religion or nation hatin' other people av a 
 different religion or nation ; an* from that he spoke so beautifully 
 about the folly o* thinkin' that our sowls could be saved bekase 
 we belonged to this Church or the other Church ; an* that our poor 
 sowls must be for iver strivin' in vain to get rid o* their sin an* 
 misery, unless we partook o' the water of iverlastin' life. Well, 
 Sir, there wasn't a dhiy eye in the cabin that blessed momin*. 
 It appeared to me as if the Lord Himself was there to the fore 
 cry in' out to all of uz, * If any man thirst, let him come unto me 
 and dhrink.* Well, to make a long story short, he got up an' 
 went away ; an' he kem another day, an* another, an* another ; 
 but whiniver he came, he always had a good word to say for the 
 poor sowl, an' meself an' the wife found no rest or pace o' mind 
 till we threw up the priest^ an' the hades, an' the crucifix, an' the mass 
 hook, an' read the Word o' God along with many others, in the 
 same neighbourhood. But very soon oiir parish priest began to 
 curse uz from the althar, an' thin the people thought they might 
 do as they plazed to uz; so they shot one poor man, destroyed 
 my horse and cow, and burned the poor owld cabin over our 
 heads. May God forgive 'em as I do. An* now, Sir, I thought, 
 as the world was wide enough, I 'd thry to get to Ameriky ; so, 
 with the help o' the ginthry, an* God's goodness, I got this far ; 
 an' poor Jerry — the brother o* me — kem along with nie, an 
 there 's the poor 'ooman an' trie four childher on boord the ship 
 that 's just goin' to sail, an' mjiybe they 're all gone away from 
 me for iver, just through Jerry's owld failin* in regard o' the 
 dhrop o' dhrink ; but betune the grief of partin' his only brother, an* 
 not bein' used to the quare licker o* Liverpool that they call * gin,* 
 he said them foolish words that ye heerd whin ye tuck uz up. They 
 were words of love for what he considered an injured brother." 
 
 By the time that Tim had finished bis narration, the policemen 
 were both very much impressed with his honesty and simplicity, and 
 as he had given them no trouble, they agreed to let himself and Jerry 
 
 
i( 
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY. 
 
 37 
 
 bat, mo 
 jgins to 
 nanners 
 h.t have 
 ae what 
 3ad that 
 blessed 
 ell J an* 
 wicked- 
 )le av a 
 mtifully 
 [ bekase 
 Dur poor 
 sin an* 
 , Well, 
 momin*. 
 the fore 
 unto me 
 b up an' 
 another ; 
 ' for the 
 o' mind 
 the mass 
 3, in the 
 )egan to 
 might 
 estroyed 
 iver our 
 thought, 
 ky; so, 
 ,his far; 
 rie, an 
 ;he ship 
 y from 
 o' the 
 Itlier, an* 
 \\\ 'gin; 
 They 
 ler." 
 llicemen 
 tity, and 
 Id Jerry 
 
 go, on his promise that no breach of the peace should occur in 
 Liverpool. 
 
 To let Jerry go was not so easy a matter as they expected ; so 
 they soon found themselves in the predicament of one of Jerry's 
 countrymen, who boasted of having caught a Tartar. His speedy 
 release from Vondage to liberty was not more sudden than the 
 change of feeling and of manner that came over him. He had been 
 vowing direct vengeance against all their corps, but as soon as he 
 found himself released, he stuck his hat on the top of his shillelah, 
 whirling it above his head, and crying out at the top of his voice — 
 " Hurrah for the policemen " — " Three cheers for the policemen " — 
 "Who '11 say black is the white o' yer eye to a Liverpool policeman 1 
 Let him turn out and strip forninst me, and I '11 make him remember 
 the day of the month." 
 
 Finding it impossible to restrain his violence of manner, the police 
 had again to interfere, informing Jerry that, unless he ceased 
 vociferating and col' )cting a crowd, they must have him locked up 
 for the night. 
 
 Poor Tim was now once more in terrible perplexity. 
 
 For aught he knew his wife and children were already sailing 
 down the Mersey, and leaving him behind. 
 
 What were they to do in such a case, total strangers in a strange 
 land 1 But another question, nearly as perplexing, presented itself. 
 How was he to leave his brother in such a state of intoxication, in 
 this land of strangers, amidst a number of ruffians and sharpers 
 who would soon relieve him of the little money reserved to take 
 him home again ? 
 
 He was distracted by these thoughts, when Jerry's violence broke 
 forth afresh against some man in the crowd who had jeered him 
 because of his Irish brogue, so that the police found they had no 
 alternative but to take him into custody again. 
 
 Tim (now almost broken-hearted) followed them to the police- 
 office, which was only a short distance off. 
 
 The officers charged Jerry with making a noise in the street and 
 collecting a crowd, on which the magistrates decided that he should 
 be locked up till he was sober. 
 
 Here Tim interposed a word for his brother, enlightening their 
 " majesty 8 " (magistrates) on the various topics which had occupied 
 the attention of the police (as already narrated), begging their 
 " majestys " not to allow anybody to hurt the poor " gossoon," whom 
 he represented as " one of the best brothers that iver threw a bowl, 
 or handled a hurly on the fair-green o' Baliysaggart." 
 
'f"^ 
 
 ■ gs 
 
 ^ 
 
 38 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 il : ^i' 
 
 " Ballysa^gart," said one of the magistrates ; " is that in the 
 county of Cork r' 
 
 " The same place, yer honour," answered Tim, with something 
 more of hope in his countenance. 
 
 " X have often shot snipe on the bogs there, and hope to do so 
 next winter again," said the gentleman. 
 
 " Arrah, thin," said Tim (whose recollection had suddenly bright- 
 ened up), " ah, thin, maybe yer honour remembers little Tim Doolan 
 that used to carry yer haversack a dozen years ago, an' show yer 
 honour where all the schnipes wor, an* the woodcocks, an' all the 
 game ; an* that helped ye out o' the turf-hole whin yer honour fell 
 in, up to your neck almost ? " 
 
 " Tim Doolan ! Tim Doolan ! " repeated the magistrate, narrowly 
 scrutinising the object before him, who had grown up to man's estate 
 since the occurrence referred to ; " you brave, faithful fellow, do I 
 see you once more ? " 
 
 " Wanst more, yer honour, shure enough," said Tim \ " an' it 's 
 plazed I am to see ye lookin* so fresh and well ; and how 's yer 
 honour's brother, that kem wud ye one winter to shoot the 
 schnipes?" 
 
 "Well, Tim, thank you ! " said his honour; "and I am very sorry 
 that I shall not have your guidance at Ballysaggart next winter, 
 if I live to visit that locality. When do you sail? — and by what 
 vessel % " 
 
 " I tuck a passage for meself, an* the wife, an' the childher, be 
 the ' Jupitlier,* yer honour ; an' we had our say-store aboord, an' 
 all the passengers, an' the ship jist ready to sail, whin I stepped 
 ashore to bid my brother Jerry * good-bye,' an' as misforthin 
 would have it, he couldn't keep from the dhrink, but must go to 
 makin' a noise, an' one of the pellisemen tuck us both up ; but 
 he has no harm in him, yer honour ; whin he 's sober he wouldn't 
 hurt a cat. Still, I fear I've lost me passage through the manes 
 o' that same failin', and what 's worse than the passage, is the ooor 
 'ooman an' the childher. I 'm afeerd they 're gone, and I '11 niver see 
 *em agin." 
 
 " Make yourself easy about them/* said his worship, who was 
 principal owner of the "Jupiter." "It is probable she has sailed 
 down the river a mile or two ; and, as I have done here for the day, 
 and want to go on board to see the captain, you can come in the 
 boat along with me, Doolan," 
 
 The magistrate took his hat and cane^ and was ready to 
 depart, when Tim looked towards his brother, still in custody, but 
 
in the 
 lethinof 
 
 o do so 
 
 bright- 
 Doolan 
 ow yer 
 all the 
 LOur fell 
 
 irrowly 
 's estate 
 w, do I 
 
 an' it 's 
 w 's yer 
 oot the 
 
 p*y sorry 
 
 winter, 
 
 r what 
 
 ler, be 
 
 ord, an' 
 
 tepped 
 
 brthin 
 
 go to 
 
 but 
 
 wouldn't 
 
 manes 
 le ooor 
 iver see 
 
 10 was 
 s sailed 
 he day, 
 in the 
 
 ady to 
 dy, but 
 
 p; 
 
 JEBRY IN SAFE KEEPING. 
 
 39 
 
 who had fallen fast asleep, tired out by his own violence on the 
 way to the office, and overcome by the effects of the drink. " An' 
 what '11 be done to poor Jerry, yer honour]" he ventured to 
 suggest timidly to his new-found friend — " what '11 be done wid 
 me unforthunate brother ? " 
 
 " He must be locked up till he is sober," said the magistrate. 
 " Policemen, see that he is properly attended to for the night, 
 and do not lose sight of him until you see him safe on board the 
 steamer for Cork. Has he any money 1" he inquired, turning 
 to Tim. " He has. Sir," replied the latter, " barely enough to 
 take him back to the place from whence he started." 
 
 " Oh, then leave him to me," said the magistrate ; " I '11 see that 
 he returns in due time, and that he gets no money to drink while 
 in Liverpool, at any rate. His passage shall be paid, and the 
 surplus, if any, handed to him when the steamer is on the eve of 
 sailing j but now, that we have a little time, you must tell me as 
 we go along why you leave your own country, and what your 
 prospects are when you arrive in New York." 
 
 "That same I'll do, Sir, with pleasure; an', indeed, as to 
 
 prospects, they'd be black enough only that God is good, for 
 
 meself doesn't know what to turn my hand to when I arrive in 
 
 Ameriky ; but the causes for leavin' the poor owld soil of 
 
 Ireland are easily told, yer honour. I was brought up as the most 
 
 of the * commonality ' o' the people o' my own class are, in the 
 
 Roman Catholic religion, an' always thought it right to obsarve 
 
 iverythiiig tould me by my clargy, ontil God sint some min into 
 
 our par^/S who used to go into the poor people's cabins to read the 
 
 scripthers to 'em, and to talk to 'em about their sowls ; an* I 
 
 soon found, what many others besides me found also, that there 
 
 were sthrong raisons for preventin' us from reading tha Bible ; I 
 
 saw at wanst that the Roman Church doesn't taich tiie same 
 
 religion as is taught by our Blessed Redeemer an' the apostles, 
 
 so that I had to give up goin' to mass an' to confession. I 
 
 aftherwards found from the same book thf\t it ip 3 thing to 
 
 have the mind convarte 1 from Popery, an' another fi-i the sowl 
 
 to be convarted from sin ; so that, through God's mercy, I hope I 
 
 have experienced both the convarsions. As soon as the priests 
 
 found that meself an' others became apostates (as they called uz), 
 
 they cursed uz from the althars, an' then there was nothin' for uz 
 
 but prosecution.* Killin' an' batin' our people, flaying our cattle 
 
 alive, hamstringin', cutting their tails off and their tongues out, 
 
 * Persecution. 
 
I 
 
 I i 
 
 .1 
 
 40 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 and the last they done to meself was to burn the owld cabin, yer 
 honour. May God forgive 'em, an' lead 'em to repintauce." 
 
 By this time they had arrived at the water ; the gentleman 
 stepped into a boat, took his seat silently, and beckoned to Tim to 
 take a seat beside him. 
 
 A few minutes' vigorous pulling by the boatmen brought our 
 hero and his newly-found friend alongside the " Jupiter," which 
 had cast anchor temporarily about half-a-mile from the dock in 
 which she was moored when the brothers got into the scrape 
 already narrated. 
 
 The magistrate^ whom we may as well at once call Mr. Vansit- 
 tart, quickly mounted the ladder, leaving Tim to follow. 
 
 Paring Tim's unaccountable absence, Mrs. Doolan was incon- 
 solable. Her children, seeing her terror, were similarly aflfected. 
 She did not know the reasons of her husband's detention on shore, 
 and when she found the ship putting out into the river, and dis- 
 covered that he was not on board, she became alarmed lest they 
 should sail away and leave him behind. 
 
 The thought of her utter loneliness and helplessness in a strange 
 country, without friends, or the knowledge of any way of subsist- 
 ence, completely overcame her, and she gave vent to her grief in 
 the loud and clamorous wailings so common amongst the peasantry 
 of her native country. Looking on her husband as " lost," she 
 struck up an extemporaneous chant, in which she lauded all his 
 virtues to the skies, and finished every strain with the humbling 
 confession " that she was totally unworthy of so good a husband ; " 
 that she had never treated him as his merits deserved ; and that if 
 it should please Providence ever to permit her to see him again, 
 she would turn over a new leaf, and be all that she ought to be. 
 
 While indulging thus in extravagant sorrow, the cry ran along 
 the deck amongst the passengers, thickly huddled together, some 
 of them listening to Honora's lamentation, and others thinking 
 over their own future prospects, " Tim Doolan is come ; " " Here 's 
 poor Tim agin ! " Some shook him by both hands, others, who 
 could not get at his hands, laid hold of the lappets of his coat, and 
 led him along to where the bewailing Honora was sitting on the 
 windlass, surrounded by her clinging, frightened, mystified children. 
 
 The sight of Tim dried up every tear, and with them all her 
 good resolutions. They all seemed immediately to vanish. Her 
 husband's virtues, so feelingly and poetically described a few 
 minutes before, became suddenly transformed into vices, and she 
 assailed him with a storm of fury, representing him as ^ue of the 
 
 
 
RECONCILIATION. 
 
 41 
 
 jm, yer 
 
 It 
 
 itleman 
 Tim to 
 
 wht our 
 ' which 
 dock in 
 ! scrape 
 
 Vansit- 
 
 s incon- 
 affected. 
 n shore, 
 and dis- 
 2st they 
 
 , strange 
 
 subsist- 
 
 I grief in 
 
 Dasantry 
 
 st," she 
 
 all his 
 
 imbling 
 
 ;band ; " 
 
 I that if 
 a again, 
 ;o be. 
 
 II along 
 r, some 
 liinking 
 1 Here 's 
 L'S, who 
 Itat, and 
 Ion the 
 
 lUdren. 
 
 I her 
 
 Her 
 
 a few 
 
 Ind she 
 
 of the 
 
 
 most unfeeling of monsters, who had gone to take his pleasure in 
 gazing about the streets of Liverpool, leaving her and the children 
 to tight their own way among strangers as well as they could. 
 She concluded her long tirade by assuring him how heartily sorry 
 fehe was that she had ever F!een him, how much sorrier still that he 
 did not stay in Liverpool, and leave heraelf and the family to 
 pursue their way to New York without him, for she was well 
 assured they could get along much better without than with so 
 worthless a man. 
 
 Tim was philosopher enough to know how little could be gained 
 by reasoning with an angry woman. He accordingly waited (as 
 was his wont) until the tempest had spent its fury, before he 
 ventured to interpose a word of explanation. He was not 
 altogether unused to this. 
 
 Meanwhile the children had gathered about him, and in a few 
 seconds they seeraed as happy as little princes. 
 
 He took Paddy, the youngest, in his arms ; Jerry (the name- 
 sake of him who was the oauGe of all the present trouble) climbed 
 up on the windlass and jumped on his father's back ; the two little 
 girls clung to his knees, as if they were afraid that once letting 
 th'^ir hold go they should never see him again. 
 
 " /'m not sorry ye have come to us agin," said Paddy. 
 
 " Nor I," shouted Jerry. 
 
 " Nor I," "Nor I," was echoed by each of the little sisters in chorus. 
 
 " No, nor yer mammy neither," said Tim ; " so she needn't tell 
 any more lies about it." 
 
 This was just what Honora wanted him to understand, for she 
 was oae of those aflfectionate but mistaken women who imagine 
 that ii "ould ruin a husband's good qualities to let him know, 
 dir. '.ly, that she conceived any high estimate of them, entertaining 
 the Beiitiment which Lover has immortalised in song, viz., that 
 
 " Love always acts by conthrayries.'* 
 
 When she had become calm enough to listen, he told her about 
 his adventure with Jerry and the policemen, their appearance 
 before the magistrates, and his unexpected meeting with Mr. 
 Vansittart, by whose means he was enabled to find the vessel with 
 BO littlo delay and without any expense, concluding his naiTation 
 ■^^'ith his usual reflection on events apparen+ly calamitous, " It 's all 
 c 3r now, thank God, an* it will be all foi Vue best." 
 
 • '^L, ) vs," said Honora (who was now calm enough to argue in 
 ?it: oi^n way), "that's the way you always excuse whativer 
 
B9 
 
 42 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 w 
 
 11 
 
 happens. * All for the beat.* All for the best, indeed ! I 'd 
 like to know what 'best' there is in havin' our cattle kilt an' 
 our house burnt, and we drove from home across the say ; an* as 
 for any good from yer meetin' that gintleman, I see none at all, 
 bekase if ye hadn't gone to talk to that mad-brained Jerry ye 
 wouldn't have had any needs av his guidance, an* have saved 
 me an' the childher a power o' grief an' thrubble, but you don't 
 care, not you, an' niver did." 
 
 " Well, to be sure," said Tim, " ye give me a bad c'rackther 
 entirely, ye do." 
 
 At this stage of the proceedings, "Tim Doolan," "Tim 
 Doolan," was passed along the crowded deck from mouth to 
 mouth, " Tim Doolan 's wanted." 
 
 " Here I am, thin,'^ said Tim ; " who wants me ] " 
 
 "The captin an' a . '•^.l^'nan," shouted fifty voices together. 
 
 With a good deal of A 'ag " iihe captain and Mr. Vansittart" 
 made their way to where i i and his family were assembled. 
 
 " Are these your wife and children, Tim ? " said Mr. Vansittart. 
 
 " They are, indeed, yer honour, with respects to ye," Tim 
 modestly answered. 
 
 "Mrs. Doolan, I wish you a ad your family a happy passage 
 across the Atlantic. Tim and I are old acquaintances. I have 
 spoken to Captain Williams, who will puo you all in the second 
 cabin, and see that you have proper comforts on the pa!?sage.'* 
 Turning to tho captain, he said, "Captain Williams, take good 
 care of Tim and his family. Make him * chaplain* during the 
 time you sail together, and as that functionary's salary is a most 
 important item, ];>av Itim ten pounds when you reach New York, 
 which you will charge to my account. Farewell." He shook hands 
 with Tim and his wife, made each of the children a present of a 
 piece of silver, descended speedily to his boat, and was lost to sight 
 in a few minutes, as the shades of evening were rapidly falling. 
 
 Tim Doolan stood bewildered, with his hat in his hand, and 
 remained for some minutes unconscious of the departure of his 
 newly-discovered, generous benefactor. 
 
 His wife had suddenly fallen to her knees, oppressed by a feel- 
 ing of which the reader shall learn more hereafter. The chief 
 mate came and conducted them all to the quarters assigned them 
 in the second cabin, and as they slowly moved along between the 
 opening files of passengers, a murmuring voice might be heard from 
 among the crowd, "I tell ye the man was right; God 'Imighty 
 orders all things for the best." 
 
! I'd 
 tilt an' 
 ; an* as 
 
 at all^ 
 )rry ye 
 3 saved 
 u don't 
 
 ackther 
 
 "Tim 
 ?uth to 
 
 ber. 
 
 isittart" 
 ed. 
 
 nsittart. 
 e," Tim 
 
 passage 
 I have 
 e second 
 )aRsage." 
 ke good 
 fing the 
 a most 
 York, 
 ik hands 
 lent of a 
 to sight 
 |lling. 
 ,nd, and 
 |e of his 
 
 ly a feel- 
 le chief 
 them 
 reen the 
 ird from 
 flmighty 
 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MR. VANSITTART AT HOME — A BLIND PAIR TALK OP THE LIGHT — A 
 " FRIEND " WHO PROVES A FRIEND INDEED. 
 
 On leaving the " Jupiter " Mr. Vansittart ordered the boatmen to 
 pull for Birkenhead, where he had built hiDiself a princely mansion 
 after an absence of fifteen years' succeaaful and prosperous mercan- 
 tile speculations. 
 
 He commenced business with a good capital, left him by his 
 father, which was more than doubled by the fortune obtained with 
 his wife. His ships had always been fortunate, his gains large, 
 and his style of living (though highly respectable) was always very 
 riuch below his income. 
 
 He was a quiet domestic man ; spent all his leisure time at 
 home, was very cheerful in his family, and very watchful of theii* 
 morals. 
 
 At the time to which our tale refers, he was about thirty-six 
 years of age, and consequently in the very prime of life. 
 
 He had never been a vicious man in the ordinary acceptation of 
 that term ; he held a high opinion of his own strictness and out- 
 ward conduct, and seemed particularly happy when any "professor^* 
 of religion exhibited a morality inferior to his own. 
 
 To all experimental religion he was a decided and avowed 
 enemy. With regard to revealed religion he had managed for some 
 years to dwell as nearly on the borders of scepticism as could be 
 done without openly avowing himself an unbeliever. To the 
 doctrine of a special providence he had a peculiar and utter aver- 
 sion, and would have given a large share of his ample fortune any 
 day to any man who would prove to him so satisfactorily as to 
 still a certain restless monitor within him, and make clear that — 
 
 "Death ia nothing, and there's nothing after death." 
 
 With respect to this gentleman, how truly it might be quoted — 
 
 *' To be, or not to be ; that ia THE queition." 
 
44 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 . -I 
 
 7 
 
 Yet to stop at this point would be to do a serious injustice to 
 his public character, for he was beneficent to a large degree; 
 and, to his credit it may be added, it was unostentatiously so. He 
 
 **Did good by stealth and blushed to find it fame," 
 
 at the same time contrasting himself with the vaunting parade of 
 too many loud professors who are careful so to dispose of their 
 benefactions that their names may appear conspicuously in the list 
 of donors. This too common failing entered not into his composi- 
 tion, and no deserving object of charity ever appealed in vain to 
 his sympathies or to his purse, notwithstanding his peculiar creed. 
 
 It will be necessary here to introduce his wife to our reader's 
 respectful attention. She was the very counterpart of her husband 
 in everything except his scepticism. She had never doubted the 
 being of a God ; His providence, special and particular ; nor yet 
 the existence of rewards and punishments after this life. She had 
 been educated and brought up in a strict observance of the out- 
 ward duties and f )rms of religion ; would not allow of a boot being 
 polished or a knife cleaned in her establishment on the Sabbath ; 
 subscribed libei'iilly to Bible and tract societies; could vindicate 
 the doctrines of Hoi} Scripture against sceptics and all other 
 assailants ; was charitable to the poor and needy, and felt a most 
 intense concern for her husband's eternal interests, who, she felt 
 assured, would be safe to all eternity were he only to believe (as 
 she did) all that is revealed in the "Book of books." Yet she 
 lacked "one thing," the "one thing Qieedfidf' "tlie better part." 
 Her goodness was the result of natural amiability and tenderness of 
 disposition, not unusual when aided by prosperous and affluent 
 circumstances. But she had never been the subject of the " new 
 creation in Christ Jesus." She repudiated the idea of salvation by 
 works, and hoped for it by grace, but had never been led to feel 
 her need of such a work within her. She was orthodox enough as 
 to the salvation wrought ybr sinners, but totally unacquainted with 
 the work wrought in the hearts of those who believe. Her per- 
 ception in this matter was blunted, confused, and indefinite. She 
 was a most afiectionate wife, and did all in her power to render 
 her husband happy when he returned from Liverpool, after the 
 cares and anxieties attendant upon the day's business. 
 
 As far as a family can be happy without a saving knowledge of 
 Cnrist, Mr. Vansittart's household was truly happy. 
 
 He appeared very thoughtful and reserved the evening of his 
 return from on board the "Jupiter," ate sparingly at dinner, re- 
 
ustice to 
 I degree ; 
 r SO. He 
 
 parade of 
 I of their 
 n the list 
 composi- 
 1 vain to 
 iar creed, 
 r reader's 
 r husband 
 ubted the 
 ; nor yet 
 She had 
 r the out- 
 Doot being 
 Sabbath ; 
 vindicate 
 all other 
 sit a most 
 she felt 
 i^^e (as 
 Yet she 
 \ter part" 
 demess of 
 affluent 
 e "new 
 
 telie^ 
 
 [vation by 
 
 id to feel 
 
 mough as 
 
 ited with 
 
 I Her per- 
 
 lite. She 
 
 bo render 
 
 after the 
 
 rledge of 
 
 ig of his 
 linner, re- 
 
 MR VANSITTAET AT HOME. 
 
 45 
 
 fused his wine altogether, scarcely noticed the baby when the 
 nurse brought him into the parlour in his night-dress to get " pa's 
 last kisa " before going to sleep, and was so completely unlike him- 
 self that Mrs. Vansittart could not refrain from asking him 
 whether anything unusual or unpleasant had occurred during the 
 day. Her usual plan was to let him alone until his fatigue had 
 worn itself off, when his spirits generally resumed their gay, 
 familiar, and cheerful tones. 
 
 To her question he hesitatingly replied, "Yes," — "No," — 
 " Well," — " I scarcely know what to say." 
 
 This was a puzzler to his fond wife, as he was particularly 
 straightforward in answering a question, when he thought fit to 
 answer it ; and when he thought otherwise he usually said, " Do 
 not ask that question, darling, just now," or, " Perhaps I may tell 
 you, dear, at some other time." 
 
 A variety of thoughts flashed across the good lady's mind on 
 receiving this answer. They had been ten years married, and he 
 had never acted in a way so nearly resembling a want of confidence 
 in her judgment as he had done this evening. She rapidly cast 
 over in her mind numerous things that might possibly have dis- 
 turbed him ; such, for example, as the delinquencies of persons in 
 his employment; failures of houses w>h which he transacted 
 business ; losses by disasters at sea ; with many other possibilities, 
 yet she could not come to any satisfactory decision as to the cause 
 of his taciturnity, or rather his apparent confused, perplexed state 
 of mind. But she was determined to get at it somehow, and 
 having a course still open which she had never found inefiectual, 
 she resolved on trying it. That was, to affect being piqued by his 
 manner. With an air of great gravity she observed, " Well, dear, 
 if it is anything which you cannot confide to me, possibly you may 
 find some one who will keep your secret better." 
 
 This aroused Mr. Vansittart a little. He was really unconscious 
 of appearing difierent in any respect from what was usual, and 
 starting as if from a reverie, he said in his wonted warm, afiec- 
 tionate way, " Why really, my darling, there is no secret that I 
 know of to confide ; but I begin to feel as if I had been very dull 
 ever since I came home, and yet I don't feel unwell, nor sleepy, 
 nor even tired. Now that I think of it, one of the funniest 8'>d 
 most amusing coincidences that I remember for a long period took 
 place at the police-office to-day, so very odd, indeed, that it 
 ultimately cost you ten pounds. It is on these incidents I have 
 been ruminating." 
 
46 
 
 TIN DOOLAN. 
 
 {■ it- 
 
 " Ten pounds ! " Mrs. Vansittart exclaimed, " Is it possible that 
 you got into any trouble for which you were fined 1 " 
 
 " No, indeed, love } but it is rather a long story, and as the tell- 
 ing of it will compensate (in length at least) for all the time I have 
 been silent this evening, if you will play me a good lively tune I 
 will tell it all to you." 
 
 Mrs. Vansittart was an elegant performer on the piano, and 
 having very gi'acefully performed her part of the covenant, her 
 husband proceeded as follows with his : — 
 
 " I must now inform you, dear, that two policemen came to our 
 office to-day, bringing with them two of the strangest and most 
 opposite characters (both Irishmen and brothers) that ever I saw 
 or even heard of. One of them was a ranting, roaring fellow, as 
 boisterous as whiskey and grief could make him. The police made 
 their usual report, * drunk and disorderly in the street, gathering a 
 crowd,* &c., upon which complaint we ordered the fallow to be 
 locked up until he should come to his senses. It was very 
 ludicrous and equally touching to witness the exhibition of 
 fraternal affection on the part of a brother of the noisy one, who 
 accompanied him to the office, and to hear with what conciliating 
 tones the poor fellow pleaded * that the police would not hurt the 
 poor "gossoon,"' as he called him. While he was speaking 
 in his brother's behalf, I had a very indistinct idea that I must 
 have seen him somewhere in years gone by; but when he 
 mentioned the name of a place in Ireland over which I had 
 often sported in the .winter, I immediately coupled the name of 
 the place with the name of the man, and the thought flashed 
 on my mind that the speaker was a little boy who used to attend 
 me on those excursions, carrying the game and showing their 
 haunts, <fec. 
 
 " He turned out to be the very same fellow, grown up to man- 
 hood, married, and was now emigrating with his wife and family 
 to America. But the strangest part of the story remains to be 
 told. He and some others who had become Protestants, were 
 obliged to leave Ireland in consequence of the persecutions to 
 which they were subjected. Their houses were burned, their cattle 
 injured by the Romanists, and their lives threatened, so that they 
 were obliged to leave their native land. 
 
 " It appears that, just as the * Jupiter ' (in which they had taken 
 their passage) was about to drop down the river, preparatory to 
 sailing, this Tim Doolan went on shore for the purpose of bidding 
 good-bye to his brother, who had come to see him set sail. Be- 
 
MR. VAN8ITTART AT HOME. 
 
 47 
 
 Lble that 
 
 the tell- 
 e I have 
 y tune I 
 
 a,no, and 
 lant, her 
 
 ae to our 
 md most 
 7eY I saw 
 Eellow, as 
 lice made 
 ,thering a 
 low to be 
 was very 
 .bition of 
 one, who 
 >nciliating 
 hurt the 
 speaking 
 it I must 
 when he 
 ch I had 
 name of 
 it flashed 
 to attend 
 ing their 
 
 to man- 
 [nd family 
 lins to be 
 \nt8, were 
 ]utions to 
 leir cattle 
 [that they 
 
 lad taken 
 
 |iratory to 
 
 bidding 
 
 lU. Be- 
 
 tween grief and whiskey, the brother became somewhat boisterous, 
 and made so Irish a demonstration of his affections, that both of 
 them got into the hands of the police, which led to my recognition 
 of my quondam sporting companion. 
 
 "A very exciting part of the business was the quandary in 
 which poor Tim had placed himself. His affection for his brother 
 bound him as it were to the land; and his love for his family 
 called him to sea. I do wish very much that you had been there 
 just to sketch his countenance; it was the very embodiment of 
 perplexity and bewilderment, knowing that the * Jupiter ' had gone 
 down the river, and fearful of losing his passage and his family to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Then, to see how suddenly his features altered to the expression 
 of satisfaction when I told him that I partly owned * the vessel,' 
 and was going on board of her, and that I would take him with 
 me, — it was a study for a Raphael. 
 
 "While we were on our way to the dock he entertained me 
 with the history of his conversion ; rather, indeed, of his ' two ' 
 conversions, for he claims to have been converted twice — once from 
 Popery, and once from I don't know what ; but, on the whole, I 
 was so pleased and amused with the fellow that I told him I would 
 see to his brother, and send him home to Ireland when he gets 
 sober. In addition to all, as a mark of gratitude for saving your 
 husband from drowning in an Irish peat-bog (many years ago), I 
 ordered the captain to give him ten pounds when they arrived at 
 New York, and to let him and his family have comfortable accom- 
 modation in the second cabin ; for there are a great many Catholic 
 emigrants on board, and I was afraid they would find out that he 
 was a ' convert ' from their religion, and be disposed to treat him 
 roughly in consequence." 
 
 Mrs. Vansittart was a good deal pleased with the account of 
 Tim Doolan, nay, she was highly gratified to hear of Irish Roman 
 Catholics being led to renounce Popery and become Protestants, 
 but beyond this, she understood nothing of *' conversion," unless 
 the mere change of opinions, or the external reformation of a 
 grossly immoral character be dignified with that name, or in the 
 case of a sceptic being led to assent to the truths of the Holy 
 Scriptures — these she accounted " conversions." 
 
 " I am so glad," she said, " that you are not ill, my darling ; 
 and it makes me exceedingly happy that you were led to think of 
 helping those poor Irish converts, for Popery is a horrid religion, 
 and the more I tliink of it, the worse it appears ; but, my love, 
 
^■'9'' 
 
 'mm 
 
 48 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 t.\ 
 
 \ 11 
 
 I 
 
 I f 
 
 why should you feel and look so unhappy about this remaikable 
 case ? " 
 
 "Well, now, niy dear wife, you will draw nie out, I see, although 
 against my inclination. You know, darling, that I differ in 
 opinion from your very godly people about the propriety of liis- 
 turbing the religious opinions or belief of a country. 
 
 "I am happy enough to see you subscribe to the funds of 
 those societies for converting the heathen Irish, and the heathen 
 South Sea Islanders, because the money, when spent in any way, 
 must be favourable to commerce and civilisation ; but, would it 
 not be better to educate those poor people well, and thus enable 
 them to elevate themselves to a social position, than to disturb their 
 religious belief, and draw out their animosities against those who 
 differ from them 1 Que thing which makes me doubt very much 
 respecting the alleged benefits of Christianity is, that its various 
 sects are perpetually striving the one against the other. Indeed, 
 its Founder says in one place that ' He came not to send peace 
 on earth, but a sword;' while in another, He gives a statement 
 apparently at variance with this, namely, 'Peace I leave with you,' 
 or words to that effect. 
 
 " The history of Christianity is a history of mutual hostilities 
 and persecutions of rival sects ; indeed, my conclusion is, that one 
 religion is just about as good as another." 
 
 Mr. Vansittart looked towards his wife for her answer, instead of 
 which he perceived her pointing significantly towards their two 
 elder boys, who, under the appearance of studying their lessons for 
 the following day, were eagerly devouring in silence all that had 
 been said by their father and mother in the foregoing colloquy. 
 
 Mr. Vansittart's brow underwent a total change. He blushed, 
 and felt conscious he had committed an error, which increased his 
 confusion. He had never before given utterance to those senti- 
 ments in the presence of his children, and very seldom in that of 
 his wife. He had attended church pretty regularly, partly out of 
 compliance with her desires, and partly out of friendship to neigh- 
 bours and neighbouring ministers with whom he was on good 
 terms. But now he felt lowered, he feared, in the estimation of 
 his sons. The lads shrewdly perceived (by the ominous silence 
 which prevailed for a few minutes) that their presence was the 
 cause of discontinuing the conversation, and thereupon made an 
 excuse to leave the room. 
 
 As soon as they were gone, Mr. Yansittart exclaimed, in a tone 
 of the severest self-reproach, * How very unwise it was, my dear^ 
 
MR. VANSITTART COMMITS AN ERROR. 
 
 49 
 
 laikable 
 
 ilthougli 
 liflfer in 
 y of liis- 
 
 funds of 
 heathen 
 any way, 
 would it 
 us enable 
 urb their 
 hose who 
 ery much 
 ts various 
 Indeed, 
 end peace 
 statement 
 with you,* 
 
 hostilities 
 J, that one 
 
 instead of 
 their two 
 lessons for 
 that had 
 lloquy. 
 e blushed, 
 reased his 
 ,ose senti- 
 in that of 
 Irtly out of 
 
 to neigh- 
 Is on good 
 [imation of 
 )us silence 
 (e was the 
 
 made an 
 
 in a tone 
 L my dear. 
 
 for me to speak so unguardedly before our children, in stating my 
 private thoughts." 
 
 "Why so, my love?" his wife asked, with much emphasis. 
 " If you feel thoroughly satisfied that your opinions are right, why 
 not let the children know them, that they may be right too 1 F-^v 
 my part, I cannot see the wisdom of believing a religion which i 
 would blush to teach to my children." 
 
 Mr. Vansittart found it much easier to start another topic than 
 to pursue that one, so he resolved to get rid of his dilemma by 
 observing, " Well, love, let us drop that part of the subject just 
 now, and as you belong to Hhe sairits,' let me know what you think 
 of Tim Doolan's two conversions." 
 
 She tliought awhile, and said, " Oh ! as to that, it is of course 
 mere enthusiasm. Your description of him leads me to think that 
 he is like the generality of the Roman Catholic Irish whom I have 
 seen. In the first instance, he was always blindly led by the 
 priests, and now, instead of exercising his own understanding, he 
 allows himself to be blindly led in another way by some of the 
 fanatics. Still it is a very good thing that he has abjured Popery, 
 for I am very sure the Papists never can be saved. That is 
 decidedly my opinion." 
 
 *' There it is again," said Mr. Vansittart ; " how liberally you 
 Christians deal out damnation against each other ! " 
 
 " ' You Christians,* Mr. Vansittart ! surely you cannot allow 
 that Roman Catholics are Christians 1 " 
 
 "Why not, my dear] They claim to be, and so do you. Who 
 is to decide between your rival claims 1 " 
 
 " Dear me, how could any one call them Christians 1 Look at 
 their treatment of your friend, Tim Doolan. Do you think that 
 Christians could burn a man's house and lame his cattle for 
 renouncing idolatry and reading the Bible ? Never ! no never ! " 
 
 " Oh yes, darling, that is all very fine. But you know, love, 
 they — the Romanists — can call up their * noble army of martyrs ' 
 as well as you. After all that is said and may be said on both 
 sides, there will be found people of all parties vl.u imagine they 
 are entitled to exercisa an intolerant spirit to;-, uls those who 
 difier from them in religious opinions, nor is this intolerance con- 
 fined to any one sect." 
 
 At this moment a servant announced a visitor, in the person of 
 a near neighbour and familiar friend. 
 
 Mr. Thompson (the friend alluded to) was one of those who 
 choose to be known in the religious world as a member of the 
 
 -im' 
 
 ^ 
 
50 
 
 TI3I DOOLAN. 
 
 I 
 
 ; . I 
 
 f 
 
 
 '•■ r 
 
 M 
 
 
 1 i 
 
 
 i" ' 
 
 
 i I 
 
 
 • [ 
 
 Society of Friends. His object in calling was, to ask a question 
 or two of Mr. Vansittart respecting a missing ship belonging to 
 the firm in which he was a partner ; which ship had been reported 
 as " spoken " by one of Mr. Vansittart's captains. 
 
 "When the object of his visit had been ascertained, and the matter 
 disposed of, Mrs. Vansittai-t made an effort to get Mr. Thompson 
 enlisted on her side of the foregoing controversy. 
 
 Mr. Thompson had read his Bible carefully and prayerfully too. 
 He had likewise read a gi-eat deal in other books, and tJiow nob. 
 upon what he had read. He was not a mere formalist, nor v^.^o who 
 takes things upon trust, but a man who had his spiritual " senses 
 exercised to discern good and evil." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Thompson," said Mrs. Vansittart, " is it not too bad 
 to call Papists Christians 1 " 
 
 " Well," our "friend " remarked (after a due time for thoughtful 
 deliberation had expired), "thy question may admit of being 
 answered in more ways than one. If, for example, the mere 
 profession of Christianity makes a man a Christian, then all who 
 make that profession are equally entitled to the name ; but if by 
 a Christian thee means what the Bible means by it, ' a disciple of 
 Christ ' (for we read that the * disciples were called Christians first 
 at Antioch *), then we must look for Christians in some otb ^r way 
 than in the general n-ass of denominations. If we have k d of 
 Christ, we must know what it is to be in Him ; for it is Jen, 
 
 * If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature.' It is a ' new birth ; ' 
 a ' new creation ; ' ' old things being passed away, and all things 
 become new.' Christ in believers 'the hope of glory.' And 
 finally, ' Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom 
 of God,' " &c. 
 
 *•' But I always thought," replied Mrs. Vansittart, " that such 
 texts as those referred to people who had committed very gross 
 sins, and not to those who had never been of that class." 
 
 " Dost thou not see that the Saviour does not put it in thy way 1 
 He does not say, * Except very scandalous sinners be born again, 
 they cannot see the kingdom of God,' but He brings it home to 
 every individual of our race, * Except a man — any man — every man 
 — be born again^' &c. If we hold communion with our own hearts 
 faithfully, we will soon see that God's * commandment is exceeding 
 broad,' and that instead of confining our ideas of sin to gross and 
 outwardly immoral actions, we will feel that the sinfulness of our 
 very thoughts requires forgiveness at the hands of the Holy God. 
 All who learn of Christ to hate sin (outward and inward), to 
 
1 
 
 I 
 
 THE " friend's " DEFINITION OF A CIIUISTIAN. 
 
 51 
 
 uestion 
 ging to 
 eported 
 
 } matter 
 lompson 
 
 ally too. 
 
 V...O who 
 " senses 
 
 t too bad 
 
 loughtful 
 of being 
 the mere 
 L all who 
 but if by 
 Lisciple of 
 lians first 
 3tl: -^r way 
 ,f d of 
 jen, 
 [w birth ; ' 
 ill things 
 And 
 kingdom 
 
 Ithat such 
 
 , thy way 1 
 )rn again, 
 home to 
 kvery man. 
 Iwn hearts 
 lexceeding 
 ross and 
 ^s of our 
 [oly God. 
 Iward), to 
 
 love holiness, to benefit man, and to glorify God, are Christiana in 
 the true Scriptural sense, and in my opinion, none else deserve 
 the name." 
 
 " I am afraid," Mrs. Vansittart replied, "that if we are to accept 
 your definition of a 'Christian,' Mr. Thompson, the great majority 
 of all professors will be badly ofi'in eternity." 
 
 " Thee knows very well," Mr. Thompson rei)lied, " that it is our 
 wisdom to inquire what light God gives us on any subject, rather 
 than to 'lean to our own undei*standings.' Great numbers of people 
 seem to think that God forms his estimate of man in the mass, and 
 that He will save all Protestants and damn all Catholics. Now, 
 while I utterly repudiate very many of the doctrines of Popery as 
 foreign from the teachings of God's holy book ; yet, I am free to 
 confess, that very many of its adherents may be earnestly seeking 
 to * walk in the light of truth." 
 
 " You must know," said Mr. Vansittart to Mr. Thompson, "that 
 the controversy between my wife and myself arose out of an 
 incident which occurred at the police-office only to-day. A drunken 
 Irishman was brought up, accompanied by his brother. This 
 brother was a convert from Rom mism to Protestantism, and as 
 his former co-religionists deemed themselves scandalised by his 
 *^;erversion' (as they term his conversion), they made the country 
 too hot to hold him, for which reason he was compelled to emigrate 
 with his family to America, and came pretty near losing his passage 
 in consequence of this silly brother's drunkenness and quarrelsome 
 temper. I went with him on board the vessel in which he is to 
 sail ; and on our way from the office to the ship, he entertained me 
 with the account of his * conversions,' for he claims to have under- 
 gone two such transitions, — one from Popery to Protestantism, and 
 another to something else, I don't know what to call it. Altogether, 
 the fellow is quite an original. If he had a little education, I have 
 no doubt but he would become something very difierent from what 
 he is at present." 
 
 'I can readily perceive," said Mr. Thompson, "what might 
 have been his meaning; for it is very certain that a man may 
 become convinced of having held erroneous views on religious 
 subjects, and be led to embrace another class of views without 
 his heart or afiections being in the least degree inclined towards 
 God. Possibly the poor man of whom thou art and hast been 
 speaking, had been led not only to renounce Popery, with its 
 masses, and its intercessions of saints, and various other false 
 teachings, but also to renounce all trust in himself and his fancied 
 
^ ri 
 
 52 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 M 
 
 ; I 
 
 ; : 
 
 II' 
 
 xighteousness, and to look to the merits of the dear Saviour alonej 
 for it is written in the New Testament that * whosoever believeth 
 in Him shall receive remission of sins.* If he has received 
 that blessed gift, and has been converted from sin and from self- 
 dependence, as well as from Popery, I can easily imagine what he 
 means by being * tvince converted.' The phmse is new, but 
 intelligible." 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Vansittart with apparent indignation, " is it 
 not great presumption in any man to think himself good enough to 
 profess to know, in this life, that his sins are assuredly forgiven ? 
 God forbid that I should be so presumptuous myself. Holy 
 prophets, and apostles, and martyrs may have had that blessed 
 privilege, but it cannot belong iio poor sinners like us. That is 
 my opinion, Mr. Thompson." 
 
 " If that knowledge of which thou speakest, friend, depended on 
 our being * good enough,' as thou hast expressed it," observed Mr. 
 Thomson in reply, " the^i all that thou hast said about ^presumption ' 
 would be quite correct," and he emphasised the word " then " in a 
 manner which made it appear as if it had been uttered with a 
 voice of thunder. " But," he added, with aiiother kind of emphasis 
 (as if an angel had spoken the words), " * the knowledge of salv^ation 
 by the remission of sins,' is imparted — not to those who feel they 
 are ' good enough,' but to those who feel themselves * had enough * 
 — so thoroughlv bad, as to give up all hope of ever being better 
 till Christ makes them so. He never says, ' Come unto me, all ye 
 that feel yourselves '^good enough," and I will give you rest;* but 
 it is, * Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavi/ laden.' To 
 those, and those only, is the invitation given." 
 
 " Still, you can never persuade me," said Mrs. Vansittart, " that 
 any one can know his sins forgiven in this life, I do not believe 
 it possible." 
 
 " I should, indeed, feel very sorry for thee," replied Mr. Thomp- 
 son, " if I thought thou wouldst always continue in that state of 
 mind. I suppose thou wilt gran^- that it is not beyond the power 
 of Grod to impart such knowledge to His creature man." 
 
 " Oh, oortainly. God can do anything He pleases. But does He 
 do so, and what authority is there that He does so 1 " 
 
 " Well, I am glad we agree in what God can do. Dost thou not 
 think it pieabes Him to fi;lfil His promise 1 " 
 
 *' I do, of course ; but where has He promised to do any such 
 thing as that of forgiving sin ? '* 
 • •' In many parts of the Holy Scriptures ; and not only does He 
 
" NOT THE RIGHTEOUS BUT SINNERS CALLED." 
 
 53 
 
 p alonCf 
 jlieveth 
 eceived 
 >m self- 
 (rliat he 
 iw, but 
 
 I, "is it 
 
 lOugh to 
 
 )rgiven 1 
 
 Holy 
 
 blessed 
 
 That is 
 
 3nded on 
 •ved Mr. 
 irrvption ' 
 on " in a 
 1 with a 
 emphasis 
 sab'^ation 
 feel they 
 enough * 
 ig better 
 e, all ye 
 st;' but 
 en.' To 
 
 [rt, "that 
 )t believe 
 
 |. Thomp- 
 state of 
 le power 
 
 does He 
 
 1 thou not 
 
 my such 
 
 does He 
 
 promise to do it, but we find one of the apostles writing thus to 
 Christians : * I write unto you, little children, because your sins 
 are forgiven you' (1 John ii. 12); and this is so far from being 
 confined to very advanced and exalted Christians, that the apostle 
 calls them * little children,' which I take to mean youthful in the 
 religious life.'* 
 
 Mrs. Vausittart thought for a considerable time before she 
 gave any reply, and at length said, somewhat pleasantly, " Well, 
 Mr. Thompson, you must not think I am conquered yet ; I must 
 speak to Dr. Goodman, the rector, about it the next time he calls." 
 
 "I would not wish thee to feel that I dir.cussed these points 
 with thee merely to get a victory Id argument," said Mr. Thomp- 
 son, i s he arose to depart ; " I felt, and still feel, interested in the 
 case of the man of whom thou madest mertion, and told thee what 
 I supposed he might have meant by a certain form of expression 
 he used." 
 
 " Don't think for a moment lam ofiended with you, Mr. 
 Thompson," said Mrs. Vansittart ; " indeed, I feel much obliged 
 to you for your candid expression of opinion, but still I am not 
 convinced. The matter shall be one of careful thought." 
 
 " Well," observed our worthy friend, as he put on his broad brim 
 to depart, " if thou feelest at any time perplexed on the subject, 
 and desirous of seeking God's direction by prayer, I would advise 
 thee to yield to the impression. * The Father of lights ' will not 
 leave thee long in darkness, if thou seekest His counsel, * for the 
 entrance of His word giveth light.' " 
 
 After Mr. Thompson's departure, the husband and wife sat for 
 a few minutes in undisturbed silence, after which Mrs. Vansittart 
 said, " What extremely correct people, in every form of speech, 
 the majority of those Quakers are, and sometimes offensively plain 
 in some of their expressions. This, I suppose to arise fi-om their 
 rigid peculiarity, or may I call it fanaticism, in rot allowing their 
 child)'en to lean, any of the accomplishments which other people 
 consider to belong to genteel society. I would like to know what 
 he meant by that last expression, ' " The Father of lights " will not 
 leave thee long in darkness,' What symptom of darkness has he 
 seen about us, I want to know 1 " 
 
 " Why, my dear," her husband answered, " you had just told 
 Mr. Thompson that you had not felt offended with him, and, 
 like an honest, benevolent soul as he is, he thought it his 
 duty to enlighten you still further, and used the words you 
 refer to." 
 
 'f'i?' 
 
64 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 if iP .. 
 
 h :l !i 
 
 m 
 
 Mil 
 
 !i 
 
 li 
 
 1 
 
 J '-'.If. 
 
 k 
 
 I* 
 
 " But it was before he made that offensive lemark I told him 
 that I was not offended," Mrs. Vansittart replied. 
 
 " Well, my dear, and what worse does Mr. Thompson do by you 
 than you do by the Irish Romanists 1 You think them in darkness 
 and " 
 
 " Of course I do," said Mi-s. Vansittart, interrupting her hus- 
 band, with a slight degree of pettishness against Mr. Thompson. 
 
 " Patience, my dear, and hear me," he replied. " Of course, as. 
 you say, yo'i^ believe the Catholics in error, and certain of damna- 
 tion ; and you send them the Bible, and the Scripture-reader, to- 
 enlighten their darkness. All right. ]\Ir. Thompson believes 
 you to be in error, and he tries to enlighteu you. The only 
 difference I can see is, that Mr. Thompp n does the wor"''- himself 
 ■with respect to you; and with regard to the Irish, j . act by 
 proxy, which, I confess, I am glad of, for I don't want my wife to 
 go off as a missionary to the Irish and get lost in a peat-bog." 
 
 The latter remark restored Mrs. Vansittart's good humour, 
 giving rise to the remark on her part, " Perhaps it would not be 
 very safe for me to do so, now that Tim Doolan is on his way to 
 America." 
 
 The evening was now far advanced, and we must leave our 
 friends to seek repose, while we follow the "Jupiter" on her 
 westward passage with Tim Doolan and his family. 
 
 I Hi 
 
 ■^k * 
 
Id liinn 
 
 by you 
 
 arknoss 
 
 r3 ' 
 
 ler 
 
 hiis- 
 pson. 
 mrse, as^ 
 
 damna- 
 •.ader, to 
 believes 
 he only 
 
 himself 
 . act by 
 r wife to 
 
 humour, 
 I not be 
 3 way to 
 
 eave our 
 on her 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE captain's APPLICATION OP THE COLD WATER " CURE," WHICH 
 
 PROVES VERY VALUABLE ON BOARD SHIP THE HERMIT AND HIS 
 
 SATANIC MAJESTY — WHAT IS THE USE OF WASHING ? 
 
 Soon after Mr. Vansittart's departure from on board the 
 " Jupiter," all within that vessel was noise and commotion. 
 
 The captain had given the word, "Weigh anchor," and "all 
 hands " started instinctively to obey — every man to his duty. 
 
 The steerage passengers crowded the decks so as to obstruct the 
 men in their work, and could not be persuaded to go "below." 
 Everything around them was new and exciting, and they were 
 determined to exercise and gratify their curiosity. 
 
 The sailors ybnyarc? could not work the windlass, and those abaft 
 had no room to walk round the capstan. 
 
 Some of the " boys " had partaken largely of whiskey, which 
 they had managed to smuggle from Ireland to Liverpool, and these 
 were particularly demonstrative. Deaf to every appeal of the 
 sailors for room to enable them to work the ship, and defiant of 
 every order from the captain and officers, they crowded around 
 and pressed upon the men so as completely to impede them. 
 
 " What am I to do, Sir," said Mr. Hudson, the chief mate, to 
 Captain Williams j " there is such a crowd of men here we cannot 
 move 1 Something muot be done." 
 
 The captain walked forward, and, addressing a noisy six-footer 
 from the county Tipperary, who appeared to be the ringleader of 
 the rest, he said to him good-humouredly, " See here, my good 
 fellow, I want you to go below, and take all the rest with you, so 
 that my men can work. We want to get you all to New York as 
 quickly and quietly as we can. There now, let us have no trouble. 
 Bear a hand, lads." 
 
 The half-drunken Tipperary *' boy " surveyed the captain for a 
 moment with a mixture of pride and defiance in his eye, and asked, 
 with contemptuous reference to the captain's size, " Who are ye at 
 all, my nice little man 1" 
 
56 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ill I 
 
 
 1i 
 
 :• ^ 
 
 I f 
 
 lit ?. 
 
 " My name is Williams, I am master of this vessel, and want 
 everything to go on quietly while we are together." 
 
 "Is it quietly you mane 1 " asked the Tipperary boy. " By 
 the ghost of a dog, 'tis that same is the beat o' your play. Whew, 
 my boys ! we 're goin' to a free counthry, where we can do as we 
 plaise. Our passage is paid, an' we have as good a right to be here 
 as anybody else." 
 
 " Hear him, hear him," a voice in the crowd shouted ; " success 
 to Tipperary," and " Tipperary for iver," was roared out by a 
 second. " Tip-^evary ! Tip-jierary ! " was thundered out by a third 
 in a tone of contempt. " That an owld house mightn't fall on me, 
 but there 's half-a-dozen boys here from the parish of Dreenaugh 
 who would whip as many Tipperary min as would fit on a fair- 
 green." 
 
 " No, nor in all the parishes in the county Cork along wid 'em," 
 arose from the Tipperary boys simultaneously. 
 
 " Hit that fellow," " Knock him down," " Shut up his pratee 
 trap," " Where 's the fellow that says ' Boo ' to Tipperary 1 " arose 
 successively from nearly a hundred throats. 
 
 " Sho> ^ me the man that will give that a kick," roared out one 
 of the Dreenaugh boys, at the same time throwing his cawbeen* 
 among the crowd, by whom it was soon flattened. 
 
 No sooner was this done, than a kick from a Tipperary boy sent 
 it overboard. Here was the commencement of a general melee. 
 " Now, my boys, Cork and Tipperary ybr it" was the cry, and at it 
 Cork and Tipperary went in right earnest. The best part of the 
 story is that, not having their shillelahs with them, and being 
 obliged to fight with their fists in a very crowded space, little harm 
 was done on either side, further than blackening of eyes, bleeding 
 noses, and the summary drawing of a few front teeth, not, of course, 
 in the most scientific style of dentistry. 
 
 " Aft here, half-a-dozen men, quick," shouted the captain, and 
 in a moment the sailors obeyed his call. 
 
 " Now then," he ordered, " rig up the hose, there ! alert ! — and 
 work the pumps till you clear the deck of every man-jack of t^em." 
 
 " Ay, ay, Sir ! we '11 drench 'em well," said the sailors. 
 
 In a few minutes the well-worked pump and properly-directed 
 hose sent in such a blinding, drenching stream of water amongst the 
 belligerents, and so quickly cooled down their pugnacity, that they 
 were fain to escape to their berths, and very speedily disappeared. 
 
 * The ill-shaped hat common in the pictures, usually with a pipe stuck 
 in it 
 
tnd want 
 
 y. "By 
 
 Whew, 
 
 do as we 
 
 ;o be here 
 
 " success 
 out by a 
 by a third 
 ■all on me, 
 Dreenaugh 
 on a fair- 
 
 f wid 'em," 
 
 his pratee 
 try 1 " arose 
 
 red out one 
 lis cawheen* 
 
 y boy sent 
 
 leral melee. 
 
 y, and at it 
 
 jart of the 
 
 and being 
 
 little harm 
 
 ;, bleeding 
 
 ;, of course, 
 
 es 
 
 ,ptain, and 
 
 a 
 
 ilert '.—and 
 k of t^>em." 
 
 rs. 
 irly-directed 
 
 jnongst the 
 
 , that they 
 
 [isappeared. 
 
 a pipe stuck 
 
 H. 56. 
 
 THE COLD VVATKK CURE. 
 
w 
 
 ■^ 
 
 im 
 
 11 I 
 
 .^V,.: 
 
 |i !:; 
 
 I 
 
 If ^' 
 
 ! !l 
 
 1 1 I 
 
 
 if 
 
 
 
 /■■' 
 
 '■ 
 
 \- 
 
 
 
A SENSIBLE OLD MAN. 
 
 ■57 
 
 When they had taken off their dripping coats, and shaken them 
 well, one man who had not taken any part in the shindy, addressed 
 them thus — 
 
 " Well now, boys, let me ax ye, as we are all fellow- coiinthry- 
 men, what sinse or raison was there in that foolish piece o' business 1 
 Goodness gi*acious, an' shure it is aisy for people to give way a little 
 at times, an* not be too ready to give or take offince ; no good iver 
 comes av it." 
 
 "Thrue for 
 
 ye, 
 
 me dacent man. 
 
 sensible-looking 
 
 1 
 
 replied a 
 woman opposite to him ; " 'tis often an' often I heerd me poor 
 gran'mother say (God be good to her sowl, now she 's dead an' 
 gone), often she used to say to me, * It is betther to sirffer wrong 
 thin to do wrong.' " 
 
 " Indeed, ihin," said the first speaker, " your gran'Diother (God 
 be good to her sowl), though I niver saw her, was a wise ooman. 
 But tell me now," he said in a gentle, familiar tone to the bravo 
 who was the cause of the row, " how could a sinsible boy like you 
 make such a mistake as ye did in spakin* to the capting in the way 
 you did 1 Whin there is work to be dun, there must be a head 
 somewhere to direct matthers, an' the person who is at the head 
 should be obeyed, whoiver he is, by ivery body." 
 
 *' That 's as thrue a word as ever ye said," replied the man who 
 so lately was "foremost in the fray;" "an' if it wasn't for that 
 misforthinit whiskey that I tuck, curse on it, at partin' wid the 
 
 * boys ' that came to see me off, I 'm shure they might work for a 
 
 * Highland moon,' an' meself wouldn't disturb 'em." 
 
 " Well, now," said our philosopher, " what harm is there in con- 
 fessin' that we are in the wrong, whin we feel that we are 1 " 
 
 " Sorra a bit," said the other. 
 
 " So far so good," replied the old man. " Now, thin, I *d 
 expect from a man like you, that has not an inch o' coward's 
 flesh in yer carcase, to go to the capting in the mornin' an' 
 'pologise to him for what ye said an' did. It would be a good 
 example for uz all, an' who knows but we 'd have betther luck for 
 the whole voyage by doing what 's right and fair 1 " 
 
 "'Tis yerself that's the fatherly, sinsible man," replied the 
 Tipperary boy ; " an' indeed if I had been said an' led by advice 
 like that, I wouldn't be here this evenin', God help me." 
 
 At the mention of the name of the Deity, the old man lifted 
 his hat such as it was, reverently from his head, and with a 
 peculiarly devout expression of countenance, his head bent 
 forwards, and his body leaning in the same direction (an attitude 
 
aSBD 
 
 WpWWWiHf^ 
 
 58 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I 
 
 (if 1! 
 
 i 
 
 " an' I 
 
 observable among devout Roman Catholics, and the Irish peas- 
 antry), uttered the prayer, "May God mark ye to grace, ma 
 houcJiaV* 
 
 " Well, now, Sir," said our penitent, " as yer a knowledgeable 
 man, an* ondherstand talkin' to gintlemin, maybe you'd come 
 along wid me in the mornin' to the capting, an' act as spokesman 
 for me ? " 
 
 " I '11 do that same, wid a heart an' a half," replied the old man ; 
 hope we have all larned a useful lesson this night, indeed 
 an' I do." 
 
 " Blessed an' praised be the great God above, an' His blessed 
 Mother," was screamed out by a young woman, sitting outside 
 one of the lower berths on the end of a box containing what she 
 called her " say-store." " Is it turnin' upside down the ship is, or 
 what ails it?" she inquired. 
 
 " Whillalew ! whillalew ! meelya murther ! " was echoed by 
 one who had been in conversation with her a few minutes previous, 
 " it 's goin' to the bottom we all are, widout time enough to say, 
 * God be marciful to us.' May all the saints in heaven purtect us. 
 Amin ! amin agin !" 
 
 At this juncture several of the emigrants' chests, which had 
 not been secured to anything that would keep them from rolling 
 about, were suddenly flung to leeward by a lurch of the vessel, 
 and persons occupying them as seats were, of course, flung along 
 with them. These were people of all ages and of both sexes, 
 totally unused to the sea. Before they could pick themselves up, 
 and, indeed, before they could summon their recollection suffi- 
 ciently to ascertain their whereabouts, they were precipated again, 
 with equal suddenness, back to windward, from whence they had 
 started only a second before. All screamed and roared at the top 
 of their voices. Some called on their fathers and mothers ; some 
 invoked the saints ; others, again, were so paralysed by fear as to 
 be unable to rise from the deck on which they had fallen ; this 
 fear facilitated and increased in them the operation of sea-sickness. 
 Many, who till now had remained unaffected by this companion 
 of the sea, by the increasing motion of the ship as she cleared the 
 mouth of the river Mersey against an adverse wind and flowing 
 tide, caught up the contagion by sympathy, and a general "casting 
 up " was the consequence. By degrees the lustiness of the shouts 
 died away, until all was hushed save the groans of some sufferer 
 from sea-sickness, the ejaculations of some terror-stricken, con- 
 science-smitten sinner imploring the aid of " the saints," or the 
 
AN ALARSI ON BOARD. 
 
 59 
 
 fish peas- 
 ;race, ma 
 
 rledgeable 
 u'd come 
 pokesman 
 
 ! old man ; 
 ;ht, indeed 
 
 [is blessed 
 
 Qg outside 
 
 ; what she 
 
 ship is, or 
 
 echoed by 
 ;s previous, 
 Lgh to say, 
 purtect us. 
 
 I which had 
 rem rolling 
 the vessel, 
 flung along 
 loth sexes, 
 nselves up, 
 ction suffi- 
 ated again, 
 !e they had 
 at the top 
 ers; some 
 fear as to 
 fallen; this 
 sa-sickness. 
 companion 
 ijeared the 
 id flowing 
 "casting 
 the shouts 
 e suflferer 
 Lcken, con- 
 Its," or the 
 
 1 
 
 trampling of the sailors overhead, who were rushing to and fro in 
 obedience to the captain's orders, accompanying every p all with that 
 peculiar cry whereby they encourage each other on such occasions. 
 It was now night and the lamp, usually in the steerage, had been 
 lighted, and believed to be so secured that none of the smokers 
 could make use of it for the purpose of lighting their pipes — a 
 precaution not, perhaps, very necessary the first night. The 
 reader will find before the narrative closes how little difficulties 
 can be overcome when men are resolved to indulge their habits. 
 
 When quiet had been sufficiently restored to admit of conver- 
 sation, the venerable old man, to whom I before referred, asked in 
 a low tone, "What's become of my Tipperary gossoon?" All 
 parties had by this time retii'ed to their berths. " I 'm here, Sir, 
 &nug enough," was answered from a berth quite adjacent to his own, 
 " Och, thin, I 'm glad we 're goin' to be such near nay burs all 
 through the voyage," said our philosophic friend ; " will ye tell me 
 what yer name is, now that we are to be some time acquainted?" 
 
 "Wid pleasure I'll do that same, as ye ax it in dacency an' 
 good feelin'. My name is Hoolahan." 
 
 " That 's the name that kem to ye widout cost or expinse to yer 
 father, I suppose ; but what name was the priest paid for tackin' 
 to Hoolahan?" 
 
 " Wisha, thin, * Comailius * I ondherstand, only they call me 
 ' Curly ' at home, by way o' shortenin' the speech." 
 
 " An* where wor ye livin' whin his riverince done that sarvice, 
 Curly ? " the old man asked. 
 
 " Well, thin, jist where I was born an' reared. Wor ye iver at 
 the'Divil'sBit?'" 
 
 " The Divil's Bit ! " the old man repeated ; " well, I niver was, 
 although I heerd of it often by name ; but, tell me, could ye inform 
 me why they call it that ugly name ? " 
 
 "'Deed, thin, I can," says Curly, "and as yer not sick any 
 more nor meself, I '11 do it. Ye heerd tell of Slievenamon — a big 
 mounting that 's there ? " 
 
 " Oh, an' many a time," said his old friend. 
 
 « Well, thin, Mr. , what '11 I call ye ? " 
 
 "My name is William Noonan. They call me owld Bill 
 Noonan now, but twenty or thirty year agone they called me 
 ' Bill the Slasher,* bekase I was fond o' rollickin*, an' fightin', an* 
 hurlin', an' dancin'." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Noonan, long may ye live to wear yer name, but 
 I was goin' to tell ye about the Divil's Bit. It seems that in 
 
msssss 
 
 60 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 'ill 
 
 !i 
 
 f I 
 
 owld times the divil — God save us an' keep us, amin ! " (here he 
 made the sign of the cross) — " used to go rovin' about, doin' all sorts 
 o' mischief ; but one day he kem temptin' a hermit, maybe a saint, 
 that was there, wid thousands an* millions o' silver an' goold, to 
 leave his hut in the mountain an' go wid him to the city, where 
 he 'd have full an' plinty, lashins and lavins. Well, ye persave, 
 the hermit, or the saint, was no fool. Although he cared no more 
 for the money than he did for the dust on the road, he purtinded 
 to be givin' way to the * owld boy,' so, sez he, * Well, if I can't 
 make up my mind about it now,' sez he, * will ye call to-morrow 
 or next day ? ' sez he. Well, my dear Sir, the owld fellow thought 
 he had him sure enough whin he began to waver, so he 'pointed 
 to meet him at the same hour of the day in three days' time. 
 With that, Sir, what does the saint, or the hermit, do, but he 
 sinds off to Holy Cross for Saint Patrick, who was howldin* a 
 station o' confession there at the time, an' begged him for the love 
 o' the blessed Mother to kum to him, an' betune 'em they 'd nab 
 his sable lordship. On the day an' hour appointed, who should 
 kum but himself, an' he stands afore the door of the hermit. 
 ' Well, now,' sez he, * as I 've kum a long distance to have the 
 pleasure o' yer company, I hope ye '11 be a man to yer word ; an' 
 trust me but here's plenty to pay thravellin' charges as we go 
 along,' showin' him bundles o' bank notes, an' pockets full o' 
 goold an' silver. 
 
 " * Well, tliin, but ye kem mighty airly,' says the saint, * I 
 didn't expect ye so soon; wouldn't ye step in an' sit on the 
 ground,' sez he, ' while I repate another rosary or the litany of 
 the blessed Vargin 1 ' Ye know yerself there 's nothing that 
 gintleman hates worse tliau prayers, especially the prayers to the 
 Yargin, so he sez, 'If it wasn't for being so late in the day I 
 might,' sez he, ' but as we have a good distance to go, maybe ye 
 could do as well to say them as we go along, an' be shortenin' the 
 road all the time.' The saint purtended to agree to this, because 
 he looked down the hill an' saw Saint Patrick cumin' along, dressed 
 like a beggar-man. ' But,' sez he, ' as we go along this way a little 
 we can agree about the sum,' sez he; 'an' if I don't like yer 
 terms, or you don't like mine, we can shake ban's an' part good 
 frinds.' 'Agi-eed,' sez the owld boy, makin' shure he'd niver let 
 go the hermit whin he had him on the road. So they thravelled 
 on and on ; the saint all the time axin' millions an' millions, but 
 every now and thin takin' off a few thousands, an' the other givin' 
 out and promisin' more an' more, till, at long an' last, they kira 
 
THE HERMIT AND HIS SATANIC MAJESTY. 
 
 CI 
 
 (here he 
 i' all sorts 
 )e a saint, 
 ' goold, to 
 .ty, where 
 } persave, 
 i no more 
 piirtinded 
 if I can't 
 to-morrow 
 w thought 
 le 'pointed 
 lays' time, 
 lo, but he 
 lowldin' a 
 3r the love 
 hey'd nab 
 rho should 
 tie hermit. 
 D have the 
 [word; an' 
 
 as we go 
 ets full o' 
 
 saint, * I 
 it on the 
 litany of 
 hing that 
 ^ers to the 
 the day I 
 maybe ye 
 tenin' the 
 s, because 
 ig, dressed 
 ay a little 
 t like yer 
 part good 
 I niver let 
 thravelled 
 lions, but 
 Iher givin' 
 they kira 
 
 widin a few perches of where the saint stopped to prepare himself 
 for the battle wid the owner o' the cloven foot. As soon as he 
 began to suspect what was up, he sez to the hermit, ' If you '11 
 meet me at Nelson's monumint in Dublin,' sez he, * any day, I '11 
 give ye all ye ax, br^ as I have a little business to transact in 
 Kilkenny,' sez he, * I think I '11 go an' do it, an' ye '11 find the road 
 aisy enough yersel, an* here's a hundred goold guineas for yer 
 expinses that far,' sez he. * Sorry a bit o' your money I '11 handle 
 to-day,' sez the saint, * nor a foot o' the same road I '11 go unless 
 ye kum along wid me.' While he was sayin' this he pulled out 
 the crucifix from ondher his vest and put it betuxt himself an' 
 the divil. Just tLin Saint Patrick med a race at the fellow, an' 
 turned him up the face o' the mounting. Well, Sir, sich a race 
 was niver seen ; it was run divil run saint, an' the saint gainin* 
 every minit, till at last the owld fellow, seein' he must be caught 
 or do somethin desperate — whin he was within a mile o' the top 
 o' Slievenamon, he opened his mouth an' bit a piece out of it ; it 
 measures a mile every v?ay ; an' — ye may believe me, or believe 
 me not — he carried that in his mouth five miles, till he dropped it 
 nice and warm within a few perches o' where I was bom, an' the 
 same place is called ' the Divil's Bit ' from that day to this ; so by 
 that stratagem he got off, an' Saint Patrick turned back agin to 
 Holy Cross. Shure the same thing is plain to be seen by any one 
 wid eyes in his head, for there 's the gcq) out o* the top o' the 
 mounting, just the shape of what you 'd bite out of a slice of bread 
 an' butther, an' there 's ' the bit ' as plain as the other, answerin' to 
 it in shape, an' size, an' everything. Are ye asleep, Mr. Noonani " 
 
 "No, indeed," said that venerable personage, "an' wouldn't 
 if the story was as long as the night, an' the night ten times as 
 long as it is likely to be ; but, howandiver, didn't you ever think 
 that if the * owld boy ' wanted to make good speed out o' the 
 way, he 'd raither carry a lighter weight than that, an' indeed I 'm 
 inclined to the opinion that no weight at all would be much 
 betther. But pray how did the hermit get along 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Curly, " he niver kem near the hermit from that 
 day to this." 
 
 " He was a lucky hermit, in troth, to get rid av him so aisy as 
 that," was the sage remark of Mr. Noonan. 
 
 " Tell me, Mr. Noonan, as ye say yer name is, wor ye iver at say 
 afore 1 " This question was asked in a whining, plaintive, female 
 voice, from an adjacent berth, and in such a tone of despondency 
 as if the speaker was sure of not surviving a single hour. 
 
\f 
 
 62 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ll . 
 
 " I was, thin, many scores o' times ; fisliin* all clay, and all night 
 too." 
 
 " Toll me, thin, Sir, was there iver such a storm as we have nowl" 
 
 "Storm !" repeated the old man, in a half-laughing tone, "there 's 
 no storm that I know av, nothin' but a stiff breeze ; it blows a little 
 conthrairy, bekase we have to sail against it ontil we get fairly out 
 to say, but there 's no danger jist now at all at all." 
 
 " Oh dear ! I was so frightened," said the poor woman, " that 
 time whin the boxes rowlcd about, and agin when the wather kem 
 rushin* down into the berth among the poor childher. I wish I 
 had God's luck to stay on dhry land ; an' if I had my feet on it 
 wanst more, I '11 be bound I 'd niver put them on board a ship agin 
 as long as I live. But tell me, Sir, agin — if it isn't too much 
 throuble T 'm givin ye — what makes the terrible noise over our 
 heads, an' the poor sailors runnin* about an' cryin', if they didn't 
 think they wor goin' to the bottom ? " 
 
 " VvCf ye silly ooman, 'tis aisly seen ye wor niver at say afore; 
 sailors are obleeged to move an' run about smartly to obey the 
 orders of the capting. They must pull here and pull there, some 
 at one ind o' the ship, some at the totlier, some ablow, an' some 
 above ; an' they sing out to aich other that they may encourage 
 aich other, an' all pull at the same time ; how could some of 'em 
 on deck tell whither a man aloft was there or not, unless they 
 could hear his woice, on a dark night 1 " 
 
 " Well, to be shure, see what it is to have knowledge," the poor 
 woman ejaculated. " I declare to goodness, I don't think I '11 be 
 so much afeered agin. But tell me, Sir, if ye plaise, how does the 
 sailors know of a dark night where they are goin' to? an', indeed, 
 meself can't think how they can tell it be day ; for a ooman towld 
 me to-day that we '11 be three weeks or a month an' niver see a 
 bit o* dhry land, or a pavin' stone." 
 
 " Well, thin," said our oracle, "she towld ye thrue enough, but 
 if ye are anxious to know how the sailors knows where they are 
 goin* to, let me tell ye that a good many o' them can't tell any 
 more than yerself where they are goin' to ; all they have to do is 
 to obey their shupayriors, to run here and run tho^-o, p^ 11 this an' 
 pull that, an' let go the other thing. I 'm ti dd hey onderstand 
 how to steer by the compass, but what sor hing the oompass 
 
 is, or how it tells 'em which way to steer, oif don't ki w any 
 more than the child unborn." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " rattled out from a berth ju? athwart from 
 that of the Tipperary boy ; " there 's a sinsible owld fellow for ye, 
 
WHAT IS A COMPASS 1 
 
 68 
 
 all night 
 
 avenowl" 
 !, "there's 
 »ws a little 
 1 fairly out 
 
 lan, 
 
 (( 
 
 that 
 ather kem 
 I wish I 
 feet on it 
 a ship agin 
 , too much 
 e over our 
 they didn't 
 
 , say afore ; 
 o obey the 
 there, some 
 w, an' some 
 y encourage 
 ;ome of 'em 
 unless they 
 
 ;," the poor 
 
 link I '11 be 
 
 )w does the 
 
 i', indeed, 
 
 jman towld 
 
 liver see a 
 
 pnough, but 
 |re they are 
 I't tell any 
 ^ve to do is 
 
 '^ t^his an' 
 I uudiTstand 
 [he rorapass 
 
 ki \v any 
 
 liwart from 
 llow for ye, 
 
 that don't know what a compass is. An' who was yer school- 
 raasther, me owld chap 1 • Will ye condesind to tell me ? " 
 
 " Wisha, indeed, my schoolmaster — God be marciful to his soul 
 — was dead an' rotten in his grave afore ye wor born ; but tell me 
 now, like a dacent boy, as maybe ye are — though it doesn't show 
 much good edication to make game av a man owlder perhaps than 
 yer father — tell us a^I, as ye seems to know all about it, what is a 
 compass 1 — it may give us information an' shorten the night, as we 
 are not able to sleep." 
 
 " A compass," replied the young wiseacre, " is a little iron thing 
 with long legs, an' two sharp points to it, that carpenters 
 use whin they wants to draw a circle an' saw out a round hole 
 in a boord, an' its the best thing in life for makin' a Patrick's 
 cross." 
 
 "Well said of you, 'pon my word an' honner," Mr. Noonan 
 replied ; " if I wanted to display my larnin' I might have towld 
 about that sort of a compass meself j but, although I know very 
 little, God help me, I knows that that isn't the sort of a compass 
 the sailors steer by. Ye might as well tell me it was a gawlogue 
 that little boys used to make Patrick's crasses with. Did you iver 
 see a ' gawlogue 1 ' " 
 
 " Many a time I did," said the youth, who had thought himself 
 so knowing respecting the mariu^r'f= compass, " an' shure I often 
 made one meself, to dhraw crasses for the boys an' girls on St. 
 Patrick's day. I used to go into soiae garden an' cut a Httle fork 
 out of a currant bush, or some other little threes ; then I 'd stick 
 a brass pin in one leg av it, and put a writin' pin* on the other, 
 an' it would draw circles for the Patrick's crasses hemitiful." 
 
 "I see" said Mr. Noonan, emphatically. "What was yer 
 schoolmaster's name, ona bouchal ? " 
 
 "Jim Ganley, thin, at yer sarvice. What makes ye so anxious 
 to know his name ? Do ye want to go to school to him 1 " 
 
 " Oh thin, not that exactly, for my time for larnin' is nearly 
 gone now ; but the next time ye meets him, tell him from me 
 to teach his boys whin to keep silent tongues, for although a 
 man may be as ignorant as the Hill o' Howth, he needn't be 
 such a fool as to let everybody know it. If ye had held 
 yer tongue whin ye worn't spoken to, not one av uz could 
 tell that ye didn't know what a mariner's compass is, but now 
 
 * The lower classes of Irish in Munster make no distinction of sound between 
 "pin" and "pen," calling both invariably "piny To remedy this, they use 
 the periphrasis — "brass pin," and "writin' pin." 
 
ttt«l 
 
 64 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I h 
 
 !| III 
 
 jvery child in the ship that isn't asleep can tell that ye are 
 ignorant av it." 
 
 "Right, Mr. Noonan!'' "Well done, Sir!" "Give him 
 raore o' that sort, Sir ! " " Pull him out o' that, an' dip his head in 
 the grase tub." These, and scores of recommendations, more or 
 less merciful, were shouted from diflferent berths by peraons 
 indignant at the flippancy and conceit of the young would-be ; 
 for the Irish hold tho " hoary head " in great veneration, when it 
 does not interfere with their prejudices and superstitions. 
 
 The ship had by this time cleared the land, and was beginning 
 to sail more steadily. Some of the sailors had " turned in " to 
 their hammocks, and none remained on deck but the " watch." 
 The above colloquy was brought to a close by one of the sailors 
 putting his head down the hatchway, partly to see that all was 
 right, and partly to enjoy himself with the wit and drollery of any 
 passengers who might feel disposed to talk. 
 
 " Halloo ! all alive and kicking there 1 " he roared out. 
 
 " O Harry," groaned one of the fellows who had been foremost 
 in the fray of the previous evening, and had become familiar with 
 the man's voice and name dur'ng the two or three days he had 
 spent on board previous to sailing, " will you sind me the docthor af 
 
 yo plaise 1 — I 'm so sick — T 'm afeerd — my — ray will come — up 
 
 — out o' me." 
 
 " To be sure, old fellow," said the sailor, " you must have the 
 doctor , but, let me see " (soothingly), " perhaps I can help you 
 without calling the doctor ; I have a good deal of experience in 
 sea-sickness. Will you take some of my cure 1 " 
 
 It was the usual prescription ofiered by sailors when they choose 
 to banter a poor sufferer, namely, the proposal to force down the 
 throat a piece oi/at po'^'k, and thereby to settle the disturbed bile — a 
 proposal more calculated to increase that disturbance than adjust it. 
 
 The only answer to this friendly offer was, " Oh ! ugh — 
 ooooaugh, wow — I 'm dead ! " 
 
 " O Harry," said our friend Noonan, " I 'm ashamed av ye ; 
 ye wor wanst a young sailor yerself." 
 
 " So ! my old boy, are you there keeping those fellows straight 1 " 
 said the voice above. 
 
 ♦* Indeed, thin, that same's an easy job to-night, Harry, an' will be 
 for three or four nights to come. But tell me, what o'clock is it 1 " 
 
 "Six bells in about three minutes — good night." 
 
 "Is it six o'clock he manes 1 " one asked despondingly ; "shure 
 it ought to bo daylight an hour ago, at that rate." 
 
ALARM ON BOARD. 
 
 66 
 
 it ye are 
 
 3ive hipi 
 is head in 
 (, more or 
 \f persons 
 would-be ; 
 n, when it 
 
 B. 
 
 beginning 
 ted in" to 
 ) " watch." 
 
 the sailors 
 lat all was 
 ilery of any 
 
 Lt. 
 
 en foremost 
 imiliar with 
 lays he had 
 le docthor af 
 11 come— np 
 
 have the 
 m help yon 
 sperience in 
 
 they choose 
 e dowTi the 
 irbed bile---a 
 lan adjust it. 
 Oh! ugh— 
 
 med av ye ; 
 
 ■;s straight % " 
 
 y, an' will be 
 'clock is iti" 
 
 igly; "shore 
 
 " Perhaps the boy that ondei*stands the ' compass ' so well, 
 knows what it manes," said another, rather waggishly. 
 
 But the " Gowlogue boy " (as he was nicknamed during the 
 remainder of the passage) was, or affected to be, fast asleep. 
 
 "What did he mane, Mr. Noonan?" another asked. 
 
 " He meant that it is the third hour of the * watch,' in which 
 case it manes three o'clock in the momin'." 
 
 Just then six bells, or six strokes of a bell, broke the monotony 
 of night, and as the vessel glided every moment into smoother 
 water, those who were not sea-sick soon fell into profound slumber. 
 
 Their slumbers were disturbed, however — rather prematurely 
 as they thought — in a little more than two hours from this time, 
 by a dash of water coming down the main hatchway, followed by 
 another, and that by a third, all in quick succession. 
 
 " A 11 the saints in glory purtect us," shouted one man, as he 
 rushed from his berth; "we're goin* to the bottom o* the salt 
 say. Oh dear ! oh dear ! " 
 
 His alarm was caught by some women in a neighbouring berth, 
 and from them, communicated itself to some children. From the 
 screaming of the latter a general fright took place, which seemed 
 to threaten destruction to the senses of every pei-son between decks. 
 
 The most fearful of the men rushed towards the hatchway in 
 order to reach the upper deck, each trying to mount the ladder 
 first ; and as this could only be done by a sharp contest with some 
 one equally eager with himself, no sooner had that one succeeded 
 in mounting upwards a few steps than he was seized by the heels 
 and immediately drawn back again, to give place to another, who 
 in his turn mounted upwards one, two, three, four rounds and in 
 another second found himself floundering all fours under the feet 
 of the impetuous throng. 
 
 Impatient as all were to reach the deck, they seemed more so still 
 to ontbellow each other in noise and tumult. Those who saw it 
 impossible to reach the deck lay still in their berths, or sat still 
 outside them. Some swore through bravado, others counted their 
 beads tlirough fear, and called on the saints and angels for protection, 
 — in fact, on every real or supposer^ inhabitant of heaven, with the 
 exception of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, 
 — all else were invoked. 
 
 Amid all the confusion and disorder, there were a few who 
 appeared self possessed, and confident of safety. 
 
 Two young women sat up in their berth, conversing together 
 earnestly on the danger which had struck such consternation into 
 
I 
 
 I' ! 1 
 
 K! • 
 
 
 y u 
 
 06 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 SO many hearts ; they were sisters. One of them had an air of 
 easy defiance of danger, and chatted away as glibly as if at home in 
 her native cabin. Her sister tried to appear as careless as she, but 
 the tremor of her voice and of her body betrayed her deep agitation. 
 
 "I tell you, Jane," the younger one said to her trembling sister, 
 " it is very sinful in you to show so much want o' confidence in 
 the holy scapular. Doesn't all the world know that no ship could 
 be lost while there *s a scapular on boord that has been blessed by 
 the Pope 1 And in addition to that, there are several persons in 
 this ship who wear the 'belt of St. Francis,' and the 'ring of 
 St. Joseph.'" 
 
 "Ah ! yes," replied her timid, shrinking sister, "if I only had 
 such faith as you have, I would feel strong enough, but how am 
 I to know that those articles are genuine? There was Mrs. 
 Walshe, who belonged to three ordhers, an' wore the belt an' the 
 scapular an' the rirg, an' had a piece o' the cross on which our 
 Lord was crucified ; an' yet there niver was a word heerd about 
 the ship she sailed in, nor of any one on boord of her, from the day 
 she sailed, six years ago, to this hour. People said it was because 
 the relics an' other things were not genuine, but she got 'em from 
 Father Murphy, who sint to Rome for 'em especially for her, an' 
 if yours should turn out to be no better than hers, we may all go to 
 the bottom." 
 
 " But thin," the younger sister answered, " if the vessel has 
 not been heerd of, nobody can tell that she was lost, although, 
 indeed, six years is a long time to be in suspense. I mentioned 
 that to Father Murphy whin he was sendin' for the things for 
 me, an' his answer was as I tell ye, 
 ants know,' says he, 'that the vessel was 
 scapulars an' rosaries on boord 1 Couldn't God,' says he, ' take the 
 ship an' all the people in it to heaven in a minit, without askin' 
 leave o' them heretics 1 ' So, my dear, if an angel was to come 
 an' swear to me that this ship could be lost I wouldn't believe him." 
 Here, on a repetition of the cause of alarm, she shrieked aloud, and 
 caught hold of her trembling sister as she sat by her side, but, 
 quickly recovering her apparent composure, exclaimed in a tone 
 of reproach, " I declare I 'm afeerd you 're infectin' me wid your 
 doubts, so you are ; an' I tell you it is a great shame for you to be 
 doin' so." 
 
 "Perhaps it is," replied her still alarmed sister; "but I cannot 
 help it. Oh, if I thought I was fit to go to heaven, how glad I 
 should be to die this minit." 
 
 'How does the Protest- 
 lost with the holy 
 
SCRUBBING THE DECKS. 
 
 67 
 
 n air of 
 , home in 
 \ she, but 
 tgitation. 
 ag sister, 
 adence in 
 hip could 
 jlessed by 
 )ersons in 
 5 «ring of 
 
 L only bad 
 it how am 
 
 was Mrs. 
 jelt an' the 
 
 which our 
 leerd about 
 :om the day 
 was because 
 oi 'em from^ 
 
 for her, an' 
 lay all go to 
 
 3 vessel has 
 it, although, 
 I mentioned 
 B things for 
 the Protest- 
 ih the holy 
 ,e, ' take the 
 ^thout askin' 
 ras to come 
 >elieve him." 
 id aloud, and 
 Ler side, but, 
 id in a tone 
 „ie wid your 
 for you to be 
 
 I but I cannot 
 I, how glad I 
 
 " Indeed, you know well enough," the other answered, " that no 
 one can be fit to go to heaven immediately, without first passin* 
 through purgatory, barrin' it was some o* the saints belongin* to 
 the Church." 
 
 Our readers will be impatient to ascertain the causes of all this 
 dreadful alarm among the passengers in the steerage of the 
 "Jupiter," on the morning after her departure from the Mersey. 
 It arose, like a great many other alarms, from ignorance of nautical 
 usages on the part of the passengers. 
 
 A number of the sailors had commenced, towards morning light, 
 to scrub and -wash the decks ; which latter operation is performed 
 by dashing on them bucketfuls of water ; some of this water had 
 escaped down the hatchway, partly, perhaps, by design on the part 
 of one or two of the sailors, and this simple circumstance, together 
 with the rattling of the chain cable in passing through the holes 
 conveying it from the deck to the hold of the vessel, had occasioned 
 all the fright, and the greater part of the piety (such as it was) 
 which I have been endeavouring to portray. 
 
 The eager crowd around the hatchway were pretty soon dispersed 
 by Harry, the sailor mentioned above, appearing at the top of 
 the ladder with, " My precious stars ! what a squad ! — stand clear 
 there, or else I '11 jump down some of yer throats." 
 
 " What 's the danger. Sir t " said one of the terrified Patlanders, 
 as Harry placed a hand at each side on the " coamings " of the 
 hatchway and flung himself in amongst them. 
 
 " Danger ! " Harry cried out, putting on a most lugubrious 
 face, " oh, there *s great danger, dreadful danger, from more 
 quarters than one." 
 
 "Tell us what it is, for the love o' the so wis that left ye," was 
 uttered despondingly by a poor woman who was sitting up in her 
 berth, trying to appease a frightened child who had been awakened 
 by the noise overhead. 
 
 " Well, then," he replied, " I saw the ship's cook passing to the 
 galley with a bucket of oatmeal to make bourgout,* and there is 
 terrible danger that it will be all eaten in about an hour or a little 
 over. My stars, what a smell ! I say, boy Dick, run you and rig 
 up the windsail to take off this foul air, or the people will all be 
 Buiotiiered. Then there is danger that if some of you men do not 
 I get swabs and water, and clean this place out well every morning, 
 I the captain will order the water gun to be fired down among jou, 
 
 * Fiom Burgoo. ' • . 
 
•r 
 
 r 
 
 1 1 
 
 ^1 ' 
 
 i, !■ 
 
 k fl 
 
 :i 
 
 V 
 
 ■ I 111 
 
 i 
 
 6S 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 as he did on deck last night, and swill every man-jack of you, and 
 woman, too, right out o' the ship. 1 11 tell you another danger." 
 
 "What is it, SirT' all inquired. 
 
 " Well, the fresh water is to be served out by-and-bye, about 
 eight o'clock, and if you do not all come for it in proper time 
 you '11 get none until the same hour to-morrow morning ; but now, 
 you great big lazy fellows, I '11 get you swabs and buckets, and let 
 me see that you clean out every inch of this place, and sweep up 
 every crumb and every thread that lies about, and throw them 
 overboard." 
 
 " Wisha, Sir," a dozen replied, as if by one impulse, " there 
 wouldn't be the laste taste o' use in that same, there 's so many 
 of us here, it would uu all as dirty to-morrow as iver it was." 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed that any one should hear such an 
 excuse ! I say, clean it out to-day, an^ again to-morrow, and every 
 day, ay, and six times a-day, if necessary." 
 
 " Gosh ! that same 'ud be the quare thing entirely, so it would," 
 they all agreed, " to have to be clanin' out a place every day ♦ihat '11 
 be as bad in two hours as if it was niver claned for a year. Who 
 iver heerd the likes av it? An' shure if there was any strangers 
 comin' in an' out to see it, there 'ud be some sinse or raison in 
 clanin' it ; but whiix it's the same people that are to be to the fore 
 every day for a month, meself don't see any use in goin' to all that 
 throuble." 
 
 " You great mouth," said the sailor with indignation, " don't 
 you know that dirt 'weeds stench, and stench breeds sickness? I 
 tell you, that if you don't keep yourselves and the place clean, 
 we '11 have a fever on board that may carry off half the people in 
 the ship." 
 
 " Arrah, Sir," responded his unsophisticated dialogist, " that 
 ain't the way faver comes at all at all ; sickness goes by the will 
 o' God. Shure the rich must die as well as the poor, whin their 
 time comes." 
 
 Just then a new object attracted the sailor's attention. A very 
 cleanly-looking woman had managed to get a bucket of salt 
 water, and had just plunged her infant into it, first the head and 
 then the heels, &c. The said juvenile seemed to entertain the 
 same antipathy to cleanliness as did many others far older than 
 himself, among the hundreds who crowded the " 'tween decks " of 
 the " Jupiter." Instead of testifying his dissent from maternal 
 ablutions by argument, after the fashion of his older fellow-passen- 
 gers, he signified it, first by a scream, which was succeeded by 
 
■m- 
 
 HARRY AND THE BABY. 
 
 69 
 
 you, 
 
 and 
 
 m 
 
 langer. 
 
 jre, about 
 ,per time 
 but now, 
 a, and let 
 sweep up 
 row ttem 
 
 5e, "there 
 J so many 
 was." 
 
 ar such an 
 , and every 
 
 ) it would," 
 day ♦ihat '11 
 rear. Who 
 ly strangers 
 ,r raison in 
 ) to the fore 
 to all that 
 
 Dion, "don't 
 iicknessi I 
 [place clean, 
 le people in 
 
 logist, "that 
 by the will 
 whin their 
 
 ion. A very 
 Icket of salt 
 Ibhe head and 
 Entertain the 
 older than 
 pn decks" of 
 fom maternal 
 Ifellow-passen- 
 I succeeded by 
 
 sundry plunges of his little infuriated feet, and sundry pushes of 
 his fat dimpled liands into his eyes and mouth, smarting doubtless 
 from the saline particles with which sea water is impregnated. 
 
 The warm-hearted sailor sprung towards them as the mother 
 released him from the bondage of the apron in which he had been 
 folded to dry — " I say, Missus," he said, snatching the chubby 
 child from her grasp, " you must let me kiss your blessed babby," 
 and he imprinted a kiss on each cheek of the astonished young 
 Irelander, whose musical powers failed him as suddenly in his new 
 situation as they had come to his aid in the matter of the ablution. 
 " Oh, what a fine boy ! " he roared. " Now, Missus, what will ye 
 take for him, naked as he is ? " 
 
 " Oh, indeed, Sir ! " said the astonished mother, " as long as the 
 Lord spares him to me, I wouldn't part wid him for the Queen's 
 dominions ! " 
 
 " No ! why bless me, ' away down south in Dixie,* I 've been 
 offered babbies of that age for nothing at all, many and many a 
 time ; yes, and I 've seen the driver of a gang o' slaves run into the 
 middle of a coffle, take an infant from its mother, and, catching it 
 by the heels, knock out its brains against a tree," and he imprinted 
 another hearty smack on each cheek of the babe, who Ijad already 
 gained confidence enough to twist his little fist fast into the sailor's 
 curly whiskers. 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied the incredulous mother ; " they must be 
 veiy oncultivated intirely, that 'ud do sich a thing as that," and 
 she held out her arms for her boy, with the remark, " I 'm thinkin' 
 ye have one o' yer own somewhere that makes ye so fond of 
 babbies." 
 
 " That I have," he said ; " and I gave him the last kiss on the 
 deck of the ship yesterday, just afore v/e weighed anchor." 
 
 " Harry ! where 's Harry 1 " the boatswain shouted. " Why 
 isn't that fellow on deck during his watch ? " 
 
 *' Oh, let the poor fellow alone," said an old " salt," who occupied 
 himself with coiling up some ropes, " he '11 turn up, I reckon ; 
 he 's just gone 'tween decks to kiss some o' the babies. Harry 's 
 a good fellow, and does his work well. He 's no lazy coon, I 
 warrant ye." 
 
 Just as Harry handed the baby to its mother, the boatswain put 
 his head down the hatchway, shouting, " Halloa, Harry ! I say old 
 fellow, come on deck here ; I '11 get the carpenter to make a doll 
 for you as large as life. Why didn't you bring .your o\»n 
 youngster along 1 Come on deck here." 
 
 li. 
 
i' B'l 
 
 i Hi 
 
 
 11 
 
 • •*'' 
 
 
 i',-- 
 
 v. 
 
 It 
 1 
 
 70 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 "Ay, ay, Sir !" said Harry, "I came down to try and get these 
 fellows to swab their place out, and get their bed-clothes on deck 
 to air them, but I fear we have a dirty pack, with some good 
 exceptions." 
 
 " Now then," shouted the boatswain, "pass the word along there 
 for all parties to get their water- vessels ready, and come on deck 
 to get fresh water ; and, mind ! take care of it, don't waste a drop, 
 for you can get no more until to-morrow morning." 
 
 " That 's bad law," one remarked. 
 
 " They might be obleegin' enough to give a person a dhrink o' 
 wather any time o* the day or the night," another observed. 
 
 " Often I heerd that furriners wor hard-hearted crathers," was 
 the sage remark of a third party. 
 
 " What ails you, Mr. Noonan ? " one near him inquired of the 
 sagacious gentleman. "Ye must have had a long sleep, as I 
 haven't heerd a word from ye for a long time." 
 
 " Och, indeed ! there are more words than wisdom uttered in 
 this world," Mr. Noonan observed. " I wondher how people can 
 be so oncultivated in their minds as some are. Now, how can any 
 one with a head on his shoulders think in raison that sailors can 
 lave their work every minit to attind to everybody that wants a 
 dhrink o' wather 1 " 
 
 "Thrue for you," one observed; "but they could lave it for 
 ourselves to go for it whiniver we liked." 
 
 " I tell you, if that was done," he replied, " we wouldn't have 
 a dhrop of fresh water in the ship in forty-eight hours, an' thin 
 what would we do ? we couldn't say * Here, Biddy ! start off to 
 the well, an* fetch a pail o' spring wather.' People must be savin' 
 on boord ship, an' do everything at its own proper time." 
 
 " Thrue for ye, Sir — thrue for ye," said one. 
 
 " I tell ye," another said to his neighbour, with a half whisper 
 in the ear and a poke of his elbow in the ribs, " he 's a knowledge- 
 able man, so he is." 
 
 " 'Pon me word he is," was the sage answer of the owner of the 
 poked ribs. 
 
 The next chapter will detail further particulars of the water 
 distribution, and the serving-out of the " provisions." 
 
yet these 
 on deck 
 )ine good 
 
 jng there 
 } on deck 
 te a drop, 
 
 dhrink o' 
 ed. 
 bers," was 
 
 red of the 
 leep, as I 
 
 uttered in 
 people can 
 ow can any 
 sailors can 
 lat wants a 
 
 lave it for 
 
 Lildn't have 
 
 rs, an' thin 
 
 stai't off to 
 
 t be savin' 
 
 alf whisper 
 knowledge- 
 
 wner of the 
 ,f the water 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "who'll buy?" — "time and tide wait for no man," and why 
 
 SHOULD SAILORSi — A "GINTLEMAN" MAKES HIS APPEARANCE, AND 
 MR. NOONAN READS WONDERFUL THINGS FROM A WRAPPING PAPER. 
 
 " Water ! water ! water ! now, who wants water 1 Every one of 
 ye, old and young, big and little, handsome and ugly, lame, lazy, 
 and blind, toddle along this way for fresh water. Hallo, my fine 
 Patlander, ' Does yer mother know yer out 1 ' How many have 
 ye to get water for '] " This was reeled off in that careless, easy, 
 sailor fashion, which all have observed who have been for any 
 length of time in company with sailors, or at sea. 
 
 " I 've eight, Sir," said the person addressed. " Myself and the 
 owld ooman is two, an' six childher is eight." 
 
 " Six children equal to three, three and two are five ; give him 
 fifteen quarts." 
 
 " His bottle will hold only a gallon," said the sailor addressed. 
 
 " Can't help it ; fill and pass on to the next." 
 
 " How many people have you ] " 
 
 " Only two besides meself." 
 
 "Nine quarts." And his vessel being filled, he had to give 
 place to some one else ; but this process of serving out water 
 needs to be seen in order to be appreciated. 
 
 When the poor emigrant arrives at the port of embarkation, 
 he has to supply himself with his " say-store," in the way of pro- 
 visions, as well as with cooking utensils, bedding suitable for the 
 passage, &c. ; for although those who fit out emigrant ships are 
 obliged to provide a certain quantity of provisions for each 
 passenger, those provisions are frequently so very inferior in 
 quality, or so much damaged, as to be of very little, or sometimes 
 of no, value. 
 
 There are numbers of persons perpetually prowling about those 
 ports, one of whom attaches himself like a leech to his customer 
 as soon as he eyes him. He generally professes to be an emigrant 
 
72 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 M i'i 
 
 I 
 
 
 himself, who has just discovered the cheapest place in all Liver- 
 pool, or London (as the case may be), for the purchase of every- 
 thing requisite for the voyage. He then cautions his dupe against 
 every one in the trade, except the person whom he recommends. 
 They are all scoundrels, who would "steal the eyes out of his 
 head," according to this new friend, who never fails to propose a 
 treat to poor Paddy at the nearest public-house, in order to fasten 
 the acquaintance, as they are now to be fellow-passengers for a 
 month at least. This party is often the proprietor of the wares 
 which he recommends, or an agent paid by the proprietor, whose 
 commission must be laid on the price of the goods sold to the 
 emigrant. 
 
 When they get to sea, and have to commence using their tin 
 wai'es, they find in one case out of every three or four, that 
 neither their water-bottles, coffee-pots, drinking- cups, or any 
 other article of that genus will hold any water, like certain cis- 
 terns spoken of by the prophet. This, in many instances, subjects 
 the poor emigrants to the most dreadful inconvenience ; seeing 
 that upon its discovery he has no remedy, and must suffer from 
 it the whole of the voyage. Many have been known to remain 
 destitute of water for themselves as well as their families, except 
 what little they could beg from others, whose supply for their own 
 use was scanty enough — in no case over abundant. Of this the 
 reader may rest quite sure. 
 
 Maledictions loud and fierce are unsparingly lavished on those 
 officious " friends " who victimised them, but when they come to 
 look for them as fellow-passengers they are non est, not to be found. 
 
 " Holy Mother o' God purtect us," shouted out the first who 
 tried his tin bottle, "but I b'leeve me wather bottle is lakin'. 
 oh dear ! " 
 
 " That an owld house may not fall on me, but so is mine," 
 was the exclamation of the next in order; and the tune was 
 encored by many, to the number of some dozens. 
 
 One poor, innocent-looking fellow, the picture of despondency, 
 at the thought that he must lose the present day's supply of 
 water for his family at least, even if he could succeed in supply- 
 ing himself with another vessel suitable for holding it, returned 
 to the sailor who had supplied hira, asking, " What am I do wid 
 this tin can. Sir 1 — it won't howld any wather for me at all at all, 
 so it won't." 
 
 " Do with it, spooney, eh 1 come here and show me where it 
 leaks." :• . 
 
WHO LL BUY. 
 
 73 
 
 , Liver- 
 f every- 
 against 
 amends. 
 b of his 
 ropose a 
 ,0 fasten 
 srs for a 
 he wares 
 )r, whose 
 d to the 
 
 their tin 
 'our, that 
 or any 
 jrtain cis- 
 i, subjects 
 5e ; seeing 
 iffer from 
 to remain 
 es, except 
 their own 
 f this the 
 
 on those 
 , come to 
 , be found. 
 [first who 
 
 is lakin'. 
 
 is mine," 
 I tune was 
 
 Ipondency, 
 I supply of 
 |in supply- 
 returned 
 I do wid 
 all at all, 
 
 where it 
 
 " Jist there, Sir, where I have me finger." 
 
 " "Well, and does your finger stop the leak V 
 
 "It does. Sir." 
 
 *' Go away then, you stupid, and keep your finger there." 
 
 " Is it all day. Sir, ye manes 1 " 
 
 " Yes, all day to be siu'e, and all night, too, if you like to do so." 
 
 A shout of merriment testified the enjoyment afibrded to some 
 of the more fortunate ones at hearing this. We need not chronicle 
 for our readers' information that the victims of this villainy joined 
 not in the laugh. The particular one alluded to walked slowly 
 away, still pressing his finger against the leaking seam of his water 
 bottle, and muttering as he went along, " Well, why, if it 's one's 
 luck, he can't escape it ; but, luck or no luck, if I had the fellow 
 that sowlt me this, an' robbed me o' me money, if I only had him 
 standin' afore me on the fair-green o' Ballinhassig, wid a black- 
 thorn sthick in me fisht, an' half-a-pint o* 'the crathur' in me 
 slikin, I 'd take the worth of it out of his bones, or me name isn't 
 Jim Cassidy. Many a time I heerd that the English were rogues, 
 an' I b' leeve it now. What '11 the poor childher do for a drink 
 this live-long blessed day ? Oh wirra ! wirra ! " 
 
 "Now, come along, all you lazy fellows standing there with 
 your hands in your pockets, why don't you come for your 
 water r' 
 
 These words were addressed to some who had gathered under 
 the weather bulwark to smoke and tell stories, as if they imagined 
 that sailors have nothing to do but listen to them, and wait upon 
 them. 
 
 " What am I to do, Sir ? " said one of the men who was serving 
 out the water, to the chief mate, who was looking out at a sail seen 
 in the distance j " I know that one-half of them must be unsupplied, 
 and they will not come in proper time." 
 
 "It is hard to have to be rigorous with them," said the mate, 
 " but I know their character well ; nothing but sufiering will 
 teach some of them. Cover the hatchway and let them have 
 none until to-morrow." Then in a subdued tone he added, 
 "Towards evening if you see any women or children sufiering, 
 pretend to steal them a little," and then he adds in his loudest 
 tone, "Now, you mind, if I catch you giving them one pint 
 of water till this time to-morrow, overboard you go, — do you 
 hear?" 
 
 " Ay, ay, Sir," and about half the passengers had to do without 
 water for that day. 
 
 * T 
 
M f 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 !)'' 
 
 "I 
 
 ) i 
 
 U^ I 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 74 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 Sometliing of a similar routine had to be observed twice or three 
 times each week during the passage, in serving out the various 
 articles of diet, which the owners of emigrant ships sailing from 
 Great Britain are obliged to supply for the sustenance of their 
 steerage passengers, it having been found in former years, when 
 such passengers were wholly dependent on stores of their own pro- 
 viding, thij.t numerous cases of the most extreme privation occurred 
 towards the latter end of the passage, partly through emigrants 
 being too poor to provide the necessary amount of supply for them- 
 selves and families, and partly from ignorance on their part of the 
 probable length of time to be occupied, and of the requisite quantity 
 for the support of a given number for such a time. 
 
 After they had ceased supplying the water, the sailors w^hose 
 duty it was to attend to the matter, were busy in serving out 
 rations of oatmeal, when suddenly a fearful rumpus was heard 
 around the galley fire. 
 
 The galley or " caboose " is a part of the ship generally forward 
 on deck, set apart for cooking the food of the sailors, passengers, &c. 
 In emigrant vessels it is usual to have two — one exclusively for 
 the emigrants' use, the other for the captain and crew of the ship. 
 These are fitted up with ranges of cooking stoves, and supplied 
 w^ith necessary fuel. Where there are some hundreds of passengers 
 it is a matter of necessity that they so arrange their cooking as not 
 to interfere with each other, which cannot be done otherwise than 
 by a certain number of cooking vessels occupying the stoves at any 
 given time. Some must begin preparing for breakfast by day- 
 light in the morning, in order that all may be accommodated in 
 turn. 
 
 Having nothing in the way of work to induce them to rise early, 
 our emigrants thought they might as well get the " worth of their 
 money," as they expressed it, "out of the owld ship in sleep," 
 thinking that nine or even ten o'clock would be early enough for 
 breakfast. 
 
 At nine, or a little after, a representative from each family 
 wended his or her way to the " galley," each determined on having 
 breakfast, and all anxious to have it at the same time. Three or 
 four persons completely filled the place, and when these had taken 
 the various cooking vessels from the eager crowd outside who 
 could not force entrance, and arranged them in front of the fire as 
 well as on the top of the stove, there remained a clamorous gang, 
 to the number of thirty or forty, who could not obtain any means 
 of heating their vessels until the others had done. 
 
GREEK MEETS GREEK. 
 
 75 
 
 or three 
 various 
 ng from 
 of their 
 rs, when 
 own pro- 
 occurred 
 smigrants 
 Eor them- 
 art of the 
 1 quantity 
 
 jrs whose 
 rving out 
 ssras heard 
 
 ,y forward 
 Bngers, &c. 
 usively for 
 )f the ship. 
 ,d supplied 
 passengers 
 king as not 
 rwise than 
 )ves at any 
 at by day- 
 ,odated in 
 
 rise early, 
 bh of their 
 in sleep," 
 [enough for 
 
 One wanted to " bile " his coffee, another had a hankering after 
 a cup o' " tay," a third " intmded " to regale himself and family 
 with oatmeal porridge, a fourth (as it was Friday) " intinded " to 
 honour the day by eating a " biled herrin\" a fifth wanted to " bile 
 the pratees for the childher," and in fact the tastes to be gratified 
 were as diverse as the number of individuals and quality of their 
 articles. 
 
 Hunger began to make clamorous those in the outer circle of 
 the crowd who could not get their vessels placed on the fire, and 
 these jostled hard to di.s|)lace others who were likely to secure 
 possession before them. 
 
 "Was it you knocked the lid off o' uie saucepan?" cried one 
 fellow, turning round towards a short, square-built young man, 
 wlio stood just behind him, with a fierce scowl on his counten- 
 ance. 
 
 " What if it was?" said the party addressed, "it is aisy to put 
 it on agin," restoring the lid to its proper place. 
 
 *' What if it was, eh 1 " he fiercely retorted ; " 'tis well for ye 
 that ye put it back agin, I tell ye, or else I 'd smash yer ugly 
 nose, an' that 's the best fayture in yer face." 
 
 "Handsome or ugly, whichever it is," said the young man 
 assailed, "'tis the best I have, an' raythur than have it any worse 
 than it is — although I niver was the first to strike in me life — 
 I 'd try an' save it from smashin' if ye wor as big an' as wicked 
 agin as what ye are." 
 
 " Take that on it, then," said the aggressor, aiming a blow of 
 his saucepan at the feature in dispute. 
 
 The young man parried the blow with his left arm, by a move- 
 ment so lapid that it hurled the vessel out of the hand of him who 
 wielded it j while with riglit and left, in quick succession he gave 
 his antagonist two such blows, one in the mouth and another on 
 the nose, as to alter very much the appearance of his personal 
 identity. 
 
 " That 's yer sort," said one ; " give it to him agin." 
 
 " Pay him intherest," said another. 
 
 "Munster against 
 
 Leinstei* or 
 
 Connaught for 
 
 iver," a third 
 
 vociferated. 
 
 The row soon became general, so much so, that " the hands " 
 had to be called from their various engagements to quell the 
 disturbance. 
 
 " What shall I do, Sir 1 " said the chief mate, rushing into the 
 captain's state-room ; " these wretches will kill each other about 
 
 i\ 
 
I 
 
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 ■» 
 
 76 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
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 It ■ 
 
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 the fire, and the poor women and children will be the sufferers for 
 want of their food." 
 
 " Set the hose at work on them again, and drench them until 
 the last man has to leave the spot, then I '11 make an arrangement 
 that will suit all parties," said the captain. 
 
 While the row was in progress, the chief mate busied himself 
 superintending the work of getting the hose in order. The com- 
 batants were busy paying attention to each ; so much so, as not to 
 perceive what was in preparation for them. 
 
 The lookers on and listeners (for there were many who did not 
 join in the warfare) saw many a severe blow given, not with fists 
 only, but with anything near at hand that could be used as a 
 weapon, such as tin wares of various shapes and sizes, lumps of 
 coal, ropes'-ends, belaying pins, and everything else which they 
 could seize upon in their fury. 
 
 Fearful curses, too, were poured out by each upon the others, 
 accompanied by advices to the following effect : — " Take tliat since 
 ye '11 take no snuff," " Put that in yer pipe an' smoke it," " Think 
 o' that wliin ye 're writin' home," — the word " that " being in each 
 case the demonstrative to the noun " thump," understood, or as 
 they familiarly term it, " polthogue," planted, as pugilists say, on 
 any particular part of the face, which was likely to suffer in 
 appearance from the infliction. 
 
 " Is all right there, my men ? " the mate asked. 
 
 " Ay, ay, Sir," Avas vigorously responded. 
 
 " Well, then, pepper them nicely now, work away my hearties," 
 and away went the sluice in a pouring, continuous stream among 
 the excited rabble, until every one of them was glad to take shelter 
 between decks. 
 
 When quiet was restored, the captain paid a visit to the steerage. 
 Many of the men sat sullenly in their wet clothes, uttering heavy 
 denunciations against the " invinter o' the say, an' sailors," and 
 bitterly regretting the day when they were tempted to leave the 
 gi-een fields of " owld Erin." 
 
 " That they may niver have luck wid their long leathern spout," 
 said one ; " I 'm shure I often heerd o' people that had dailings 
 wid the owld Boy, an' fegs I 'm shure sailors must, or they niver 
 could invint such a thing as that for drowndin' people." 
 
 " That I mightn't sin," says another, as he took off his coat and 
 vest to ring the water from them, " but I b'leeve they could turn 
 all the water in the say into the ship, an' drownd us all like so 
 many rats if they liked." 
 
" THE COLD WATER CURE " AGAIN PROVES EFFECTUAL. 
 
 77 
 
 " Well, then," said the captain, as soon as he descended the 
 ladder, " is anything amiss 1 " 
 
 " An' shure then there is," said one, " an' plinty o* that same." 
 
 " Well, then, let me hear it, quick ! for I have no time to lose. 
 Have you enough to eat 1 " 
 
 " Enough to eat, is it 1 Sorra a bite or sup of anything, cooked, 
 or roasted, or biled, crassed the lips o' some of uz since we kem 
 aboord. Often an* often I heerd there was no justice to be had 
 from the English, an' faiks I b'leeve it now more than iver." 
 
 " What justice do you require that you have not got? Tell me 
 who has assaulted you, and if he does not promise to behave him- 
 self, I '11 put him in irons until he grows quiet or sober." 
 
 " Och, aya ! is it to inform ye wants me 1 Fie for shame intirely ! 
 Wisha, it wasn't in regard to the little scrimmage I was spakin' at 
 all at all; we are able to settle that ourselves any day over a 
 * cruiskeen lawn,' but thin we wants our rights — what we paid for, 
 an' what we must get." 
 
 " What have you paid for that you have not got, as far as I am 
 concerned ? " said the captain. " We undertake to give you a 
 passage to New York as speedily as we can ; this we are endea- 
 vouring to do. We find you a fair supply of water, of bread, oat- 
 meal, potatoes, meat, rice, sugar, tea, coffee, molasses, and other 
 things, with fuel to cook your food, and a place to cook it in; which 
 of those things have been withheld from you ? Have not my men 
 served them out regularly, and in sufficient quantity." 
 
 " But what do they turn in the salt say upon uz for when we 
 want to settle a little dispute atween ourselves ] " said the indig- 
 nant Hibernian. 
 
 " Because you endanger each other's lives, and interfere with the 
 working of the ship." 
 
 " And hasn't one as good a right as another to get his victuals 
 cooked]" he inquired, in a half angry, half hungry tone. 
 
 " Every bit," said the captain ; " but you cannot all occupy the 
 stoves at the same time ; it is quite impossible. I cannot allow 
 this constant wrangling and fighting, but if you will listen to me 
 for a few minutes, all of you, I will show you how to do the thing 
 quietly, and in such a way that all of you can have your food 
 cooked in proper time, and in proper order." 
 
 " Och, thin, Sir, if you can do that," several of them shouted, 
 " it is all we want." > 
 
 "Well, then, appoint one of your own number, in whom you 
 have confidence, to make your fires and attend to boiling your 
 
 I', 
 
T 
 
 r 
 
 78 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I 
 
 I '1 
 
 
 a 
 
 water and cooking your food. He alone must enter the galley and 
 have command of it. He will attend Jirst to those who come first 
 with their cookery ; and as soon as your things are ready for you 
 he will hand them to you and place others on the stove or fire in 
 their stead, and you will soon find that, by beginning early enough 
 in the morning, the breakfast for all can be disposed of in a couple 
 of hours, and so with the other meals. You must pay the man 
 for his services every Monday morning whatever you agree to 
 pay him, or you can have no more cooking done. Are yon all 
 agreed ? " 
 
 •* We are. Sir," " Long life to you. Sir," " Success to you, capting, 
 an' the ooman that owns ye. Ye 're a knowledgeable man," and a 
 hundred such encomiums were lavished on him in quick succes- 
 sion. 
 
 " Well, then, whom do you choose, for I want to put him in 
 possession now % " said the captain. 
 
 They were not very long in selecting one from among their num- 
 ber, whom the captain soon invested with the office, and the result 
 was, that the peace of the community was not again broken by any 
 such occurrence as that above detailed. 
 
 The arrange riont produced good results in another direction, for 
 the small sum contributed by each family being lodged with the 
 chief mate weekly for the " cook," " doctor," " commodore," and 
 many other names and titles of office by which he was designated, 
 made a nice little fund for him when he arrived at New York. "A 
 small thrifle o' change," as he expressed himself, when conveying 
 it to his pocket on the day of landing, " does a poor man no harm 
 in a strange place, particularly in a place like New York, where 
 there are so many ready to gouge the eyes out of his head for 
 money." 
 
 During the first week on board an emigrant ship, there is 
 generally a good deal of inconvenience suifered by those to whom 
 the sea is altogether a strange element. The great majority are 
 apt to be more or less sea-sick even in fine weather. 
 
 It is very irksome to be cooped up in so confined a space. 
 People who do not know how to employ their time on shipboard, 
 the great majority of whom are total strangers to each other, when 
 thrown into circumstances in which there is a continual necessity 
 for the exercise of mutual kindness and forbearance, are apt some- 
 times to expect too much and yield too little. Forgetfulness on 
 this point is a fruitful source of disturbance, and sometimes ends 
 in actual hostilities between parties mutually wrong. 
 
A " SHUPERIOR " PERSON. 
 
 79 
 
 The Irishman though generous, is pugnacious to the last degree ; 
 and has been known to go to law — and even to risk liis life — in 
 fighting for a supposed right, which he would, even if real, yield 
 as a matter of kindness or of courtesy to any person requiring it 
 kindly or courteously. 
 
 As soon as the passengers began to recover from the depressing 
 influence of sea-sickness, and from the dread of "going to the 
 bottom " whenever the ship inclined a little more to one side than 
 to the other, the natural effervescence of the Irish humour began 
 to manifest itself in practical jokes of various kinds ; which, while 
 they contributed very much to the general hilarity of the passengers, 
 were seldom agreeable to the party against whom the laugh was 
 directed. 
 
 Any person aspiring to be thougl r '^ shuperior " to others, or 
 endeavouring to exact deference in xrt^'.tters to which others have 
 an equal right with himself, is almost certain to draw do\vn on his 
 devoted head all the banter, and, in many instances, all the annoy- 
 ance to which the wit can subject him. If he is found to chafe 
 under it, so much the better for general purposes, and so much the 
 worse for the party set upon, because, whenever the general merri- 
 ment flags, there are plenty of persons who know how to excite 
 those who manifest a querulous disposition. 
 
 If, on the other hand, he has the good sense to bear the first or 
 second attempt with good humour, and even to join in the laugh, 
 although against himself, the probability is, that those who manu- 
 facture fun will try to get more impressible material tow ork upon, 
 and let him go. 
 
 In order to illustrate this point, I must introduce to my readers 
 a very self-important functionary on board, namely Mr. John Daidy, 
 better known as "Johnny Daidy, the danciii'-masther." 
 
 Johnny was ont 'f the smallest men to be seen outside an 
 exhibition; well proportioned in body, healthy and active, but 
 disqualified by hi» aiminutive size from following any laborious 
 occupation. 
 
 He had hung about the heels of the gentry in his native neigh- 
 bourhood a good deal; had ridden as a ^^ light iveighV^ in several 
 races carried letters between places which held no frequent postal 
 communication ; till at last a circumstance occurred which de- 
 cided his choice in favour of his "perfession o' dancm'," as he 
 called it. The facts were these : — 
 
 A professor of the "light fantastic" art, from a distant city, took 
 up his quarters one winter in the town adjacent to that in which 
 
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 TIM OOOLAN. 
 
 Johnny was born and underwent the little portion of vegetation 
 allotted to him. This gentleman, on inquiring for some one to 
 conduct him to the residences of the neighbouring gentry, was 
 recommended *o try Johnny's skill as a guide, which he found to 
 be all that was requisite in that capacity ; and as his advent to that 
 part of the country was hailed by the respectable families around 
 as a boon, he thought he could not do better than hire our hero for 
 the season to act as right-hand man in whatever way he could make 
 himself generally useful. 
 
 A principal part of his business was to wait on the pupils of 
 his master while attending school, take charge of hats, greatcoats, 
 umbrellas, &c., &c., and be ready, whenever called upon, to run an 
 errand, a duty he was particularly expert in. 
 
 By observing the instructions given by his master to the children 
 of the gentry, Johnny soon " lamed the steps ; " and set up on his 
 own account as an instructor of old and young among his own class, 
 who chose to learn from him ; and, as th3 native Irish are passion- 
 ately fond of dancing, he did not find much difficulty in getting 
 " a share o* the pratees," and a glass of whiskey now and then, 
 among the peasantry, in return for his instructions. 
 
 Johnny had some failings which exposed him to a good deal of 
 annoyance. One of them was the fancy that a great many women 
 of a rank far superior to his own, were dying in love with him; and 
 another fancy, not a bit less ridiculous, that he was able to " take 
 a hoist " (as he called it) out of the biggest fellow in the neighbour- 
 hood. A third — still more trumpery in the eyes of the Irish 
 peasantry — was his constant and abortive endeavours to ape the 
 mauners and mode of expression of the higher orders, or, as his peers 
 were wont to term it, " speakin* Inglified." 
 
 Their warm affections will not allow them to address each other 
 (unless in ridicule, or in a case in which a man or woman exhi- 
 bits marks of superiority) as " Mister," " Master," or " Miss." 
 " Mick, ma boughal," or " Peggy, agraw," have more warmth and 
 freshness of equality for them by a great deal. " Misthriss," they 
 do occasionally use to a woman of their own class, but she must be 
 "fat, fair, and forty," and have a daughter known to have the same 
 name as herself, from whom it may be necessary to distinguish 
 her. 
 
 Poor Johnny's troubles at home were occasioned by the failings 
 above specified, and as the banter of his friends did not eradicate 
 them, they only fixed them the more deeply, and left him more 
 open to raillery. 
 
3i« 
 
 PRIDE WILL HAVE A FALL. 
 
 81 
 
 vegetation 
 ae one to 
 atry, was 
 found to 
 snt to that 
 es around 
 ir hero for 
 ould make 
 
 pupils of 
 greatcoats, 
 , to run an 
 
 lie children 
 
 t up on his 
 own class, 
 
 ire passion- 
 in getting 
 
 J and then, 
 
 3od deal of 
 my women 
 hhim; and 
 e to " take 
 neighbour- 
 ; the Irish 
 ;o ape the 
 as his peers 
 
 each other 
 oman exhi- 
 or "Miss." 
 varraih and 
 hriss," they 
 
 he must be 
 ve the same 
 
 distinguish 
 
 the failings 
 ot eradicate 
 him more 
 
 In order to get rid of an unappreciating world, he at first sighed 
 for " a lodge in some vast wilderness ; " but, as wildernesses were 
 not likely to furnish pupils, he decided on tiying the alternative 
 of emigration. 
 
 He had not been long on board the "Jupiter," before he began 
 to display his attempts at " Inglified " speech, which soon brought 
 his old troubles fresh upon his head. One day a number of young 
 fellows were seated outside some of the sleeping-berths. Some sat 
 on boxes, some on the deck ; others leaned against anything near 
 them that would serve for a support. 
 
 One of their number was edifying the rest with the recital of a 
 tale concerning a great hurling match " betune the boys " of two 
 rival parishes in his former neighbourhood, when " Johnny " — who 
 was very late with his breakfast, because " the quality " (to use his 
 own words) " always take a Itet breakfast " — approached with a 
 saucepan in his hand, filled with boiling coffee. Making his best 
 bow to the company, he delivered the following oration : — 
 
 "Gintlemin, I'm very sorry to disturb yer agreeable conver- 
 seetion, but I'd be greetly obligeeted to yez all, if so be ye'd 
 obleege me by allowin' me to pass." 
 
 The majority of the listeners stared at him. Some burst into a 
 loud laugh. 
 
 One very dry fellow remarked, with a provoking coolness, while 
 he drew himself up against his berth as if to make the passage 
 clear for a mammoth — 
 
 "Wisha, thin, ma boughal, that same must be done, since ye 
 axed it so yo?iteel intirely ; an', especially, bekase it 's a small taste 
 o' room 'ud be sufficient for ye." 
 
 Johnny did not feel complimented by this allaslon to his sta- 
 ture, and remarked in an angry tone, as he passed between the 
 files of young fellows, drawn up on each hand as if to let him 
 pass — 
 
 " If ye niver lamed it afore, I now give ye the informeetion, 
 that * good goods are made up in small parcels.' " 
 
 " Spoken like a man," says one. 
 
 " No, but like a joyunt," * says a second ; and many other 
 witticisms were lavished at the expense of poor Johnny and his 
 "perfession," which time will not permit us to chronicle. He had 
 nearly passed to the berth, which he had ambitiously designated 
 as " Castledaidy," when one of the practical jokers, by a pretenard 
 accident, tripped up his feet, just at a time when the vessel vras 
 
 ♦Giant. 
 
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 82 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 making a pitch forwards; this coincidence aided very much in 
 throwing the little man at full length on the deck, and spilling his 
 coffee, which, in his endeavour to save, he had hugged so closely 
 as to spoil completely the colour of a flaming scarlet vest, in which 
 he delighted to array himself. 
 
 Being very nimble in his movements, our hero was soon on his 
 feet, threw himself into a pugilistic attitude, and loudly called for 
 the " rascal that done that to come out and fight " him. 
 
 This increased the merriment in a tenfold degree. Nothing 
 could be heard among them but sliouts of — 
 
 «* Well done, little fellow ! " 
 
 " I '11 bet two to wan on Misther Daidy ! " 
 
 " So you may, an' ten to wan on the back of it ! " 
 
 " Who said the little man has not pluck in him 1 " 
 
 " Pluck, is it 1 That I may niver die in mortial sin, but he has 
 Mashins and lavins' o' that same, so he has." 
 
 When Johnny discovered that all his endeavours were in vain 
 to provoke a breach of Her Majesty's peace, and that the pretended 
 eulogiums heaped on him were merely ironical expressions of con- 
 tempt, his rage knew no bounds. He made up, fiercely, to one of 
 the strongest and largest men of the number, and, holding his fist 
 up close to the man's face, inquired, "Who thrun* me down? 
 Was it you?" 
 
 The six-footer could not forbear a laugh, while he seized Johnny, 
 as he would a boy of six or seven years old, lifted him up in his 
 arms, stroked his head caressingly, and ejaculated — 
 
 " Ye *re a fine child, God bless ye and mark ye to grace ; but, 
 indeed, I must tell ye that if ye grow much bigger, with that 
 ugly temper o' yours it won't be aisy to get a house big enough to 
 howld ye." 
 
 This mode of treatment was more successful in quelling 
 Johnny's pugnacity than any other that could have been adopted. 
 When liberated from the grasp of his captor, in whose aruis he was 
 forced to feel something of his own feebleness, he threw himself 
 on the deck, and sobbed so much like a spoiled boy, as to move the 
 pity of those who scorned his defiance. As soon as his grief and 
 rage had subsided, he took himself away to his berth, and did not 
 make his appearance until the next day. He soon found out that 
 among persons possessing equal rights and privileges with him- 
 self, it was useless to try and force from them any acknowledg- 
 ment of a superiority which had no existence except in his 
 
 * Threw. 
 
IMPROVING THE TIME. 
 
 83 
 
 much in 
 pilling liis 
 so closely 
 , in which 
 
 oon on his 
 called for 
 
 Nothing 
 
 but he haa 
 
 ere in vain 
 e pretended 
 ions of con- 
 y, to one of 
 ding his fist 
 me down? 
 
 ted Johnny, 
 up in his 
 
 ^race; but, 
 with that 
 enough to 
 
 m quelling 
 311 adopted. 
 Wilis he was 
 i-ew himself 
 Ito move the 
 lis grief and 
 and did not 
 nd out that 
 with him- 
 icknowledg- 
 sept in his 
 
 dverweening self-conceit. He was followed for a fev/ days with 
 banter, but as he had learned discretion enough to cease the use 
 of stiltified language, and to try to make himself useful and 
 afn-eeable among his equals, the very parties who bore down 
 heavily on him in the commencement, were among the first to 
 decry any annoyance to which he was subjected, so that his life 
 was rendered less uncomfortable ; and many declared, before they 
 reached New York, that " Little Johnny Daidy wasn't so bad a 
 fellow after all." 
 
 " What paper is that you are readin', Mr. Noonan 1 " said one of 
 the fellows who had been the most tormenting to Johnny Daidy, as 
 soon as quietness had been restored. Mr. Noonan was sitting on 
 the end of a chest, and had not attended to passing events, but 
 busied himself in reading a piece of paper, which was the occasion 
 of the above que^stion. 
 
 " 'Tis meself don't know what book it belongs to, or did belong 
 to," was the answer ; " but it must be a good book, if it is all like 
 this. Whin I was buyin* my say-store in Liverpool, I saw the man 
 tearin' leaves out of a big book, and wrappin' up things in 'em. I 
 got this rowled round some cheese, along with two others, for one 
 wasn't big enough." 
 
 *' Now, as ye are a schollard, maybe ye *d read some of it for uz ; 
 it will pass away the time." 
 
 " Wid all me heart," said Mr. Noonan ; but, indeed, we needn't 
 be in any hurry wid the time, for it passes fast enough, God help 
 us ! Whin our ind comes, perhaps it is pray in' to get some of it 
 back agin we '11 be." 
 
 "An' thrue for ye, — thrue for ye, avick," repeated a staid, 
 thoughtful, grey-headed woman, who occupied a similar seat to 
 that on which Mr. Noonan was sitting. " I 'm an owld ooman 
 now, but I was young wanst, an' it 's little I thought how (^uick my 
 threescore an' five year 'ud be in flyin' away from me ; but they 're 
 gone now, an' millions o' goold an' silver couldn't bring one av 'em 
 back to me. I may be in the other world any minit at all, an' it 's 
 oh the sowl ! the poor sowl ! " The speaker rocked her body from 
 side to side, as she uttered and repeated the above ejaculation, with 
 that peculiar, unaffected, natural motion and emotion which gives 
 such a glow to the eloquence of Irish sorrow. 
 
 The speaker who had interruptetl Mr. Noonan's reailing eyed the 
 aged matron with the peculiar leer of a young fellow, hetwron 
 nineteen and twenty years of age, on the look-out for a pioco of fun. 
 
 The deep earnestness of her manner chilled, at first sight, any 
 
msss 
 
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 Ml 
 
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 8i 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 intention he may have had of turning her into ridicule, instead of 
 which he sat down beside her, with all the cordiality of an old 
 acquaintance, saying, " Cheer up, granny ! cheer up, owld ooman ! 
 So long as ye keep the sperrits up there 's no fear of ye." 
 
 " 'Tis aisy said," replied the old woman ; " * keep up yer sperrits ' 
 is aisy said, but not so aisy done. Maybe you *11 think so whin ye 
 come to harrow all that I have ploughed in me life-time ; not that 
 I wish ye any harm ; by no manner o' manes. I pray God an* the 
 Vargin to bless ye an' mark ye to grace." 
 
 " Are ye in any trouble 1 " the young man soothingly inquired, 
 quite disarmed of his waggish intentions by the poor old woman's 
 sorrowful appearance. 
 
 " "Wisha, thin, no," she rejoined ; " not what people call trouble. 
 I declare I 'm betther off than many thousands in a great many 
 particulars. Me husband is dead, an' our little farm had to go 
 from uz ; but I have two sons an* a daughter in Ameriky. They 
 have good wages, an' have saved enough atune 'em to buy a hundred 
 acres o' land, an' some stock, an' I 'm goin' out to 'em now. They 
 sint me plenty o' money to buy clothes an' say-store, paid me 
 passage over, an* I expect 'em all three to be waitin* for me at New 
 York, if I live to crass the ocean." 
 
 " An* tell me," said the young man, " what makes ye so sorrow- 
 ful 1 I declare I think ye ought to bo the happiest c^man on boord 
 the ' Jupither.' " 
 
 " I 'm not findin' any fawt at all wid anybody, or anything, but 
 meself," said the woman. " God is very good to me, an' has been 
 good iver an' always ; I wish I was good to Him ; He '11 soon call 
 on me now, an* I '11 not be fit to go, I 'm afeerd." 
 
 " As to that, we must only hope for the best, an' thrust in the 
 marcy o' God. Shuro ye niver murdhered anybody, an' didn't ye 
 always go to mass, an' to confession, an' give something to the poor, 
 an' what more can people do, unless they were saints intirely ? " 
 
 " Indeed, asthore machree, that 's what Father Murphy towld 
 me the day afore I set sail ; I thought it me duty to go to him 
 an' get his blessin', an' pay up the last farthin' I owed the 
 Church. ' Mrs. Mulligan,' sez he, ' if ye are not well off in the 
 other world,' sez he, ' God help a great many others,' sez he, 
 * for ye were always kind and hospitable to the poor, and so was 
 he that God took from ye, that is now in heaven, or soo7i will he* 
 sez he, * if we could only get rid of that last nasty little throuble,* 
 sez he, * that I quite forgot when ye were here the last time,' sez 
 he. ' What throuble is that, Father James ? ' sez I. < Oh, well,* 
 
MR. NOONAN READS SOMETHING WONDERFUL. 
 
 85 
 
 instead of 
 of an old 
 Id ooman ! 
 
 r sperrits * 
 30 whin ye 
 ! ; not that 
 fod an' the 
 
 f inquired, 
 Id woman's 
 
 all trouble, 
 preat many- 
 had to go 
 iky. They 
 Y a hundred 
 low. They 
 :e, paid me 
 • me at New 
 
 J so sorrow- 
 an on boord 
 
 ything, but 
 n' has been 
 '11 soon call 
 
 rust in the 
 a' didn't ye 
 to the poor, 
 itirelyr' 
 rphy towld 
 D go to him 
 owed the 
 off in the 
 rs,' sez he, 
 and so was 
 >on will he,* 
 e throuble,* 
 ^t time,' scz 
 < Oh, well,' 
 
 
 sez he, 'bein' it was a little thing betune himself and meself,' 
 sez he, ' I thought I 'd niver say anything about it, in regard of 
 the horse I bought from him, but I thought it me duty to ask 
 the bishop about it.' 'To make a long story short. Sir,' sez I, 
 
 * me poor man, God rest his sowl ! mustn't suffer an hour for want 
 of a dirty bit o' money, for 'tis himself wouldn't let me or the 
 childher want anything that he could get for money whin he 
 was alive. The boys have sint me money for clothes an' say- 
 store, an' ye can have it all for his sake. They have strong arms 
 to work for more. What did the bishop say about iti' sez I. 
 
 * He said,' sez he, * that he wrote to his Holiness the Pope 
 about such anotlier case exactly, an' that it just made five pounds 
 additional.' "VVid that I took out me owld purse an' reckoned 
 out five goold sovereigns, so he gave me his blessin' (as a receipt ]) 
 an' away I cum to say." 
 
 "Wisha, thm," responded her new friend, "yer a great deal 
 betther off than I am, for I haven't bent me knee afore a clargy 
 for more thin a year, God help me an' forgive me sins." At 
 this juncture he caught the eye of Mr. Noonan looking intently 
 on him, and being reminded thereby that he had requested 
 that friend's assistance in killing time, he again asked him to 
 read. 
 
 The old man ^/Ijusted his spectacles across his nose (which 
 required some patience, as they were none of the best), and read, 
 in a very intelligible manner, as follows, first apologising for 
 having to commence without knowing the commencement of his 
 subject : — 
 
 " Jesus answered and said unto her. If thou knewest the gift 
 of God, and who it is that saith to thee. Give nie to drink ; thou 
 wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee 
 living water. The woman saith unto him. Sir, thou hast nothing 
 to draw with, and the well is deep : from whence then hast thou 
 that living water ? Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which 
 gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and 
 his cattle 1 Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh 
 of this water sliaii thirst again : b' t whosoever drinketh of the 
 water that I shall give him shall never thirst ; but the water that 
 I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into 
 everlasting life. The woman saith unto him. Sir, give me this 
 water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw. Jesus saith 
 unto her, Go, call thy husband, and come hither. The woman 
 answered and said, I have no husband. Jesus said unto her, Thou 
 
 M 
 
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 TIU DOOLAN. 
 
 hast well said, I have no husband : for thou hast had five husbands; 
 and he whom thou now hast is not thy husband : in that saidst 
 thou truly." 
 
 Thus the old man contiinued to read from the stray and torn 
 leaf of God's "Word what proved to be " water of life " to himself 
 and others on board the " Jupiter ; " further particulars of which 
 will appear in the next chapter. 
 
 ri i 
 
 1 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TIM DOOLAN APPEARS AS AN INTERPRETER — MR. NOONAN's COLLEGE 
 — MORE PASSENGERS ON BOARD THAN THE SHIP's LIST CONTAINED. 
 
 Mr. Noonan soon found his voice become husky with emotion, his 
 glasses bedimmed with tears, his auditory considerably increased in 
 number since he commenced, and all melted down to a similar state 
 of feeling with himself. 
 
 While taking off his spectacles for the purpose of wiping them, 
 he looked towards the woman who had exhibited such touching 
 signs of sensibility when he spoke of the value of time, and observed 
 her with her hands clasped, and her eyes uplifted, and in the atti- 
 tude of devol 3n. 
 
 The cessation of the reader's voice caused her to look around, 
 and, perceiving so many persons alike interested in the reading as 
 herself, she exclaimed with fervour, " Good people, isn't it a blessed 
 book 1 Shure it is heaven itself to be listenin' to it." 
 
 •* Ye may say that, an* more too," was responded by several of 
 that earnest group, who gave audible expression to their feelings. 
 Who that gazed on that moving scene would have thought that ere 
 the lapse of a week some of those very persons would be found 
 engaged in a conspiracy to throw overboard a minister of Jesus, 
 who endeavoured to instruot them out of that same " holy book '* 
 which they now so warmly applaud 1 
 
 " Have ye any more of that to read for us 1 " was asked by one 
 of the listeners, he being no other than our friend Tim Doolan, who 
 had ventured for the first time since his embarkation to appear on 
 the steerage. He had abstained from going thither in deference 
 to his wife's fears on his account, lest any of the passengers might 
 happen to know him, and cause a repetition of the persecutions 
 which had driven him from his native home. 
 
 He had narrowly observed all the steerage passengers since 
 he had recovered sufficiently from sea-sickness to come on 
 deck ; and, having satisfied his wife that there were none there 
 
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 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 likely to be acquainted with theii* history, he ventured among 
 them. 
 
 " I have another leaf or two," said Mr. Noonan, " an' wid yer 
 permission an' that o' the company, I'll read it for ye." 
 
 " Wid all me heart," responded Tim, and so said they all ; when 
 he proceeded as follows : — 
 
 " I waited patiently for the Lord ; and he inclined unto me, 
 and heard my cry. He brotglit mo up also out of an horrible pit, 
 out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established 
 ray goings. And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise 
 imto our God : many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the 
 Lord." He continued reading until he had finished the fortieth 
 Psalm. When he had concluded, he said, *' I wish from me very 
 heart we had the whole of the book." 
 
 " I wisht we had," replied the poor stricken old woman referred 
 to above ; " what a pity it was to tear it up." 
 
 " Well, now, there I must differ wid ye, mam," replied our aged 
 philosopher; " shure an' if it wasn't torn up, an' sint about, maybe 
 we wouldn't have a blessed word or scrap of it to read at all at all." 
 
 " Well, now, an' that 's as tlirue as the mass book," was echoed 
 from several throats. 
 
 " What 's the name o' that book, Mr. Noonan 1 " was asked by 
 one or two. 
 
 " Well, thin, that is more than I can tell ye, for I have only a 
 few laves that I got round some things that I bought in a shop in 
 Liverpool, but whativer the name of it is, the book must be good, 
 if it is all like that." 
 
 " Who was the fellow in the pit 1 " one inquired, wishing to give 
 a waggish turn to the discourse. 
 
 " Meself can't explain that same," Mr. Noonan replied; "but 
 whoiver he was, he must have been in a bad case, for he calls 
 it a ^hornhle pit,' " 
 
 "I think," said Tim, "I once heerd a man explain that very thing, 
 an' he said that the ' pit,' was a state o' sin, the state in which we 
 are all born, and which we love ; that * waitin' upon the Lord,' is 
 prayin' to Him to deliver us from our sins ; that bringin' us ' up 
 out of the pit,' is deliverin' us from the power of the divil ; that 
 * settin' our feet upon the rock,' is bringin' us to trust for salvation 
 in Jasus Christ ; that ' establishin' our goin's,' is makin' us able to 
 overcum temptation, an' to lead a godly life ; an' puttin' the * new 
 song in our mouths,' is causin' us to give all the praise of our salva- 
 tion to the Lord Jasus Christ who died on the crass /or our sins." 
 
vimivn '•^.■*" 
 
 TIM DOOLAN APrEARS AS AN INTERPRETER. 
 
 89 
 
 "Wei], to be shure," said Mr. Noonan with surprise, "I 
 declare to goodness that appears so thrue, that it makes me feel 
 as if somethiu' kindled up a great blaze o* light in me very heart 
 widin me, so it does. Why, thin, good man, whativer yer name 
 is " 
 
 " Tim Doolan is me name, with respect to ye an* the present 
 company." 
 
 "A very good name, indeed, but maybe ye can tell us somethin' 
 about the other lafe that I read afore that, about cur Saviour 
 cumin' to the ooman at the well for a dhrink o' wather "i " 
 
 " Wisha, thin," said Tim, " maybe you 'd bo so oblecgin' as to 
 read it for us agin," wishing by all means to dee})en whatf^ver 
 impression it might have made on any of the bystanders who 
 heard it. 
 
 " Wid all me heart," said Mr. Noonan. " My gracious ! 
 what wor we made for, but to sarve one another 1 an' I 'm shure 
 whin we are shut up here like prisoners, an' have nothiu' to do, 
 it ought to be a delight to uz to give aich other any help we can." 
 
 Mr. Noonan read again the narrative known by those conver- 
 sant with the Gospels as the " Woman of Samaria." When he 
 had finished reading it, he again appealed to Tim if he had ever 
 heard it before, or could ofier any explanation of it. 
 
 " Well," Tim said, after a considerable pause, "there was a man 
 who used to come our road occasionally, an' a very knowledgeable 
 man he was. I heerd him read out of a book that he used to carry 
 in his pocket, the very same story. Oh dear me, but he used to 
 explain it so beautiful. I remimber one time whin he spoke of the 
 Jews an' Samaritans havin' such inmity against aich other, showin' 
 how cruel an' wicked it was for people of one religion or counthry 
 hatin' an' persecutin' people of another religion or counthry. ' Dear 
 me,' sez he, ' shure if I'm wrong an' you are right,' sez he, ' would'nt 
 it be worth millions o' money to me, an' more, too, if you instruct me 
 an' set me right j an' it is your duty in the sight o' God to do so j 
 but ho'iv can you set me right, if you refuse to spake to me, or to 
 have a)iy dalin's wid me. Now,' sez he, 'here is a poor, wicked, 
 sinful ooman, havin' spint all her life in sin ; all the people in her 
 counthry were idolaters, worshippin' a cat/] and not the calf itself,' 
 sez he, * but the image of it, an' she, if ever she cared for worship 
 at all at all, worshipped the same thing; an' the blessed Jasus 
 didn't think it benead Him to enlighten her poor dark sowl. 
 Whin He axed her for a drink o' wather, it was only to open up 
 the way for conversation about her poor sowl. 
 
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 " ' How could you ax me for a drink,' sez she, * whin you are a 
 Jew, an' I a Samaritan? I thought you considhered yourselves 
 above uz intirely,' sez she, * an* that you 'd rayther die thin accept 
 of a dhrink from any of uz.' 
 
 " Thin our Lord chimes in. 'Ah ! ye don't understand matthers 
 right,' sez He. * If ye knew who / am, as well as I know you, 
 an* all about you an' your history, instead of me axing you, 
 you would have axed me, an' I would have given you livin' 
 wather.' 
 
 " But see how dark the poor stupid sowl of a sinner is ontil the 
 blessed Lord enlightens it ! * Why, dear me,' sez she, * how could 
 ye give me any wather, whin ye have neither pail, nor pitcher, 
 noi' dish, nor rope,' sez she, * an' the well so deep 1 You appear 
 to be only a poor travellin* man, an* our father Jacob, who gave 
 us the well, was a great prince. How do you think you can 
 come at the wather widout any manes o' gettin' it up, I 'd like 
 to know?'" 
 
 Here Tim's running comment was interrupted by a sudden out- 
 burst of " Praises be to God Most High ! Glory be to His blessed 
 name, amin 1 an' His Son's name ! an' Mary an' Joseph for iver 
 an' iver, amin ! an' amin agin ! " 
 
 He waited undl it had subsided, and resumed : " Then Jasus 
 begins to taich her what He meant by that wather, which satisfies 
 the thirst o' the poor sowl, as wather satisfies the poor parched 
 throat. * Yv'c may drink this wather a thousand times,' sez He 
 * an' be as thirsty as iver, an* even worse ; but if wanst ye dhrink 
 o* the wather of everlastin* salvation,' sez He, ' you '11 have the 
 well of it widin yer own sowl. Ye need not be runnin' about 
 thin axin' for a dhrink, for the spring will be widin you J Well, 
 thin, when the poor ooman heerd this, she sez, * Oh ! that 's the 
 very wather I want ; give me plinty of it to save me the throuble 
 o* comin' to this well.* Thinkin' all the while that it was mere 
 common spring wather He meant. Well, thin. He answers her 
 prayer very difierent from what she thought He would. 
 
 " ' Go, call your husband,' sez He, * and bring him to me.' It 
 was quite useless for her to consale her guilty life : she knew 
 that the sth ranger could tell all about her, an' off she ran to warn 
 her neighbours that the Saviour had cum an' spoken to her ; an' 
 so it was that a great many through the marcy o' God, saw an* 
 heerd our blessed Lord, an' obtained salvation just through that 
 poor sinful craythur's manes. This is the way the Gospel cums 
 to uz." 
 
A COMMENDABLE SUGGESTION. 
 
 91 
 
 "When Tim's exposition closed there was not a dry eye among 
 his auditory. 
 
 Seeing the impression which the Word had made, he quietly 
 withdrew from the steerage, and walked the deck with his family. 
 
 When Mr. Noonan and his confreres found themselves alone, 
 the old man broke silence by saying, " Well, why, whin the great 
 God condescinds to be our schoolmasther, He makes apt scholars 
 av us, so He does." 
 
 " Thrue, for you," replied first one, and then another. 
 
 " Now, boys," said the old man, as he wiped his spectacles again 
 and performed the same office for his tearful eyes, " I 'm a-thinkin' 
 it will be a great pity to have all av ye wastin' yer time an' playin* 
 thricks on one another, an' gettin' into scrimmages all the time 
 that we are to be together ; couldn't we manage some way that 
 would pass the time usefully, an' be some improvement to our 
 poor ignorant minds 1 " 
 
 " How long will the passage be, Misther Noonan ? " was asked 
 by one or more earnest voices. 
 
 " None but the great God above can tell that," was our sage's 
 answer. " It may be three or four weeks longer, or it may be six 
 or seven, or we may never reach New York, or any other place 
 but the bottom o' the say." 
 
 Here a shudder passed through the crowd, accompanied by the 
 usual expressive deprecatory pass- word for evil, " God forbid ! " 
 
 " Amin, ahierna ! " he repeated ; " but howsomiver, it is our duty 
 to thry an' do some good while we are together. Some of ye can 
 read, an' some cannot ; now, if all who can read would undertake 
 to taich all who cannot, every one would be busy, and the time 
 would be spint pleasantly an' usefully." 
 
 " A very good move," said one ; but I 'm a thinkin' ye could 
 niver carry it out in this place." 
 
 "Where are we to get the books]" one incredulous fellow 
 suggested, by way of objection, being content in his ignorance. 
 
 "Well, indeed," Mr. Noonan answered, "that may be a hard 
 question to answer ; but I 'm a thinkin' that we might get a book 
 or two o' some sort on boord the ship, an' if we had even one book 
 an* a piece o' chalk, I dar say the carpenter would plane a nice 
 piece of a boord smooth enough for to write on with the chalk, an* 
 by that manes we could make the letthers on the boord big enough 
 for a great many to see 'em at wanst, an' all could repate 'em to- 
 gether, so that by the time we gets to New York — if it plazes the 
 great God ever to take us there — a great many of ye will be able 
 
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 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 to read who don't know the letter B from a bull's foot, nor C from 
 the three-fourths of a cheese." * 
 
 ''Aisy said, but not so aisy done," was the sage remark of one 
 of the listeners, by way of taunt. 
 
 "Ditto," repeated some one else, satisfied to echo anything 
 unfavourable to the proposed effort in the way of obtaining in- 
 formation and cultivation. 
 
 "I'd rayther have a game o' cards," was the reply of a third, 
 "nor all yer readin'. Who has a pack of 'em?" he asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 "/ have" was answered from a distant end of the steerage. 
 "This way, whoiver is for a game o' cards." 
 
 " I wouldn't tell my name for cards," another replied, " but I 'd 
 give my eyes for a dance. Where 's the dancin' masther, Johnny 
 Daidy 1 Hilloa ! Where are ye, me little leprechaun 1 " 
 
 Here Johnny sidled along with all his native importance, inquir- 
 ing as he proceeded towards the voice that called him, " Who wants 
 me?" 
 
 " / do" said the party who issued the cry ; " some are thinkin' 
 of startin' a school, an' others want to play cards ; I was a-think- 
 in' we might start a dancin' school; what do ye say, little 
 fellow, eh?" 
 
 Johnny did not relish this second allusion to his size by any 
 means, so with an air of offended hauteur he replied — 
 
 " If the leedies an' gintlemin require my perfessional sarvices, I 
 shall be deloited to add to their happiniss, an' feel quoite shure 
 they '11 considher me charges very raisonable. But I don't like to 
 be made game av." 
 
 " Phillilew,t murther ! Arrah, is it charges, indeed, yer talkin' 
 about 1 Why, yer sowl to Molly Kelly, wouldn't ye have as much 
 fun out of it yerself as any of us ? Charges, indeed / " 
 
 "Every man has a right to live by his perfession," replied 
 Johnny, indignant that he should be thought so little of as to be 
 expected to give instructions in that polite accomplishment with- 
 out due remuneration. 
 
 "But, thin," replied his interrogator, "there are none of us 
 here airnin' any money, an' all we want is to pass the time. I '11 
 be bound there 's plinty on boord that ondherstands dancin' well 
 enough widout your taichin' 'em," and off he started to make up a 
 dancing party. 
 
 In the meantime Mr. Noonan (determined to put his scheme 
 * Phrases common in Ireland. t Lamentation. 
 
MR. NOONAN S COLLEGE. 
 
 93 
 
 into practice) proceeded to the quarter-deck, where he found the 
 captain busy taking his observations of the sun. 
 
 He waited deferentially for a few minutes until he found that he 
 was noticed by that gentleman, who asked him "whether he wanted 
 anything?" 
 
 "Why, thin, capting, if it wouldn't be makin' too bowld, I lave 
 a favour to ax av yer honour." 
 
 " Well, then, speak up, my man, quick ! " said the captain, 
 accustomed to give and receive communications in as few words as 
 possible. 
 
 "Why, thin, Sir, I was thinkin' there's a terrible lot of uz 
 below there, an' it may be some time afore we gets to the ind of 
 our journey, an' the thought struck me that if we could get a few 
 books, or, maybe, a boord planed smooth, an' some chalk, we 
 might have a little school among us to pass our time, an' keep 
 the young people from playin' tricks on aich other, au* gettin' 
 into squabbles, an' fights, an' shindies, aii they are apt to do whin 
 not employed." 
 
 " A. capital thought, my fine fellow," replied the captain ; " and 
 now I remember, there is a large parcel of books in a locker in 
 my cabin which a gentleman gave me for distribution among the 
 passengers before we sailed; you can take charge of them, and 
 distribute them just as you please among the steerage passengers, 
 and Carpenter, ahoy there ! " 
 
 The carpenter soon appeared. 
 
 " I want you to make a good, large, blacJ board, such as they 
 use in schools, paint it well, and put plenty of turpentine in the 
 paint that it may dry quickly ; fix it up anywhere in the steerage 
 that ^Professor NOONAN' pleases, and let him have plenty of chalk 
 for his college, and, Mr. Smith " (to the chief mate), " if these 
 fellows who will not study interrupt the exercises in any way bring 
 them to me, and they shall have a thousand lashes a-piece." 
 
 Mr. Noonan made his best bow and was retiring, when the parcel 
 of books was put into his hands. Some of them were small elemen- 
 tary books, containing the alphabet, with easy spelling and reading 
 lessons, but the great bulk was composed of useful religious tracts 
 and New Testaments. 
 
 Mr. Noonan distributed them as far as he saw prudent, which, 
 when he had done, a middle-aged gentleman from the cabin, who 
 had sufiered for the first few days from sea-sickness, and had not 
 been seen on deck before now, stepped forward and made the 
 following announcement : — 
 
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 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 " To-morrow will be the Sabbath day, and as it is to be hoped that 
 you all honour that day on which our Lord arose from the dead, 
 some of us have determined on holding religious services. It is 
 probable that we do not all think alike in every respect on religious 
 matters, and some would like to hold services distinct and apart 
 from those of a different opinion, it will be our duty, however, to 
 accommodate each other, so that the services may not clash. Some 
 of us are desirous of holding a service on deck for prayer and praise, 
 with the reading of God's Word, and exhortation founded thereon, 
 at eleven o'clock on Sabbath morning, if the arrangement will not 
 interfere with any previously made by other persons. If it does, 
 we will alter it, so as to suit all concerned. Is there any other 
 arrangement made 1 " 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 " Well, then," continued the speaker, " we will say to-morrow 
 forenoon, at eleven o'clock. We do not wish to exclude any from 
 being present who have a desire to be there ; all that we require is 
 a decent solemnity of behaviour on the part of those who may 
 attend, and freedom from interruption." 
 
 "Well said of you^^ one shouted out in a derisive tone. 
 
 " Cheer the swaddler" was the silly remark of another ; and 
 "What do you know about religion]" was the query of a third. 
 "Are you a priest?" a fourth inquired, with taunts and menaces. 
 
 Just then an accident occurred wliich drew off their attention 
 for the time from that special subject. 
 
 "A stowaway ! make way for the stowaway ! Ay, three of them, 
 lazy lubbers ! Are you there, captain 1 " the second mate shouted. 
 
 The captain soon appeai:od. 
 
 "Please, Sir, I found those three 'stowaways' down in the hold 
 among the coals," bringing forward three young, stout-looking chaps, 
 ranging from sixteen to nineteen years of age. 
 
 " What is a stowaway ? " a yoimg lady inquired of Captain 
 Williams. 
 
 " A stowaway," said the captain, " is just what the name im- 
 ports — a fellow who steals on board while we are busy in port, 
 and conceals himself somewhere until we get fairly to sea, or until 
 he is nearly starved to death ; sometimes they have confederates 
 on board who manage to supply them with food and drink for a 
 time. So, my fine rascals," addressing the culprits, " you intend 
 to have a cheap ride to New York, do you ? I '11 teach you some- 
 thing different from that, my lads ; you shall be all hanged from 
 the yard-arm, every man-jack of you," and he looked as furious 
 
 |.::: 
 
A STOWAWAY S PUNISHMENT 
 
 95 
 
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 as possible. Two of the youngsters burst into tears, and threw 
 themselves on their knees, imploring mercy, the third laughed 
 outright. 
 
 "I see," the captain said to the two frightened " stows," '• you 
 have ne /er been guilty of this trick before, have you ? " 
 
 Both declared it was their first time at sea. 
 
 "And you," addressing the hardened one, "have played the 
 same trick before now ? " 
 
 The culprit confessed that he had. 
 
 "I thought so; and you knew I could do nothing with you 
 unless it might be to turn back and take you to Liverpool or else 
 take you on to New York." 
 
 To all this the culprit merrily nodded assent. 
 
 " Well, then, you shall have your head shaved all on one side. 
 Where 's a barber 1 " Half-a<lozen fellows volunteered their 
 services. " Here, take this rascal, and shave half his head, on 
 whichever side you like, and let him assist in every way he can 
 in working about the ship. Let these two chaps be put to work, 
 too, and give them all rations out of the ship's stores. The rascals, 
 I wish we could shoot them." Captain Williams was a sailor to 
 the bone. 
 
 "Long life to ye, capting," they all shouted, and went off to 
 work wherever they were needed. 
 
 "And is it possible," some of the cabin passengers asked, 
 addressing the captain, " that you have no sharper way of dealing 
 with such people as these ? " 
 
 "Oh, possibly there may, but it would cost six times more 
 time and money, probably, than the thing would be worth. We 
 often find out such cases, notwithstanding the most vigilant search 
 we can make previous to starting. Some of them come on board 
 in casks or chests, along with their families and friends, who never 
 pretend to recognise them during the passage. Others, again, 
 have no means but this of getting out to their friends, w!^o have 
 gone before them ; and some are, probably, so destitute of coirect 
 notions of right and wrong, that they do not consider themselves 
 guilty of any fraud in the transaction. They are to be pitied as 
 well as blamed." 
 
 Mr. Noonan had distributed the tracts and books committed to 
 him, reserving one of the Testaments to himself, which he was 
 very industriously conning over, when our friend Tim espied him, 
 sitting out in the main-chains, in order to be somewhat free from 
 interruption. 
 
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 96 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 Tim thought he had a good opportunity for learning something 
 of a man wliom he regarded as a little singular in his way, and 
 yet as possessing more than ordinary shrewdness on several sub- 
 jects. Ho therefore climbed over, and introduced himself by 
 saying, "What a snug place ye found out for readin', Mr. Noonan! 
 I hope I 'm no disturbance to ye j " 
 
 " Not a bit o' that same ; indeed, 'tis glad I am for ye to cum to 
 me. An', shure, this is a delightful book. What do you think, but 
 the very first place I opened had that beautiful story about the 
 poor sinful ooman that our Lord met at the well o' Samaria ! " 
 
 " An' let me ax ye now," said Tim, with a mixture of caution 
 and curiosity, " have ye niver read that book afore 1 " 
 
 " Well, indeed, good man," he answered, " I niver did in me 
 life!" 
 
 "There 's many a delightful story in it besides that," said Tim. 
 "If ye have no objection I will show ye one." Taking the book, 
 he turned back a leaf or two, to the third chapter of John, and, 
 pointing with his forefinger to the commencement, handed back 
 the book again. " There," said he, " read that, an' give me yer 
 opinion of it whin you 've dun." 
 
 Mr. Noonan read the passage over very deliberately, and then 
 turned back and read it over again. Tim uttered a silent prayer 
 to the Father of Lights, that he would bless the reading of His 
 own truth to one whose mind appeared, to a certain extent, pre- 
 pared by Divine grace to receive it in the love of it. 
 
 When the old man had pondered as deeply as he could on the 
 matter, he said, " Well, ye axed me opinion, an' I 'm shure I 
 don't think me opinion is worth much on any subject, for I 'm an 
 ignorant man. There 's a great deal of it that I don't ondherstand, 
 an* yet the little that I can make out makes me hungry to know 
 more about it. You appear to be no stranger to the book at any 
 rate, for ye have it as pat as A, b, c." 
 
 " Well, thin, it 's mighty little I know about it meself," said 
 Tim ; " but I always ax the great God above to enlighten me dark 
 ondherstandin'. Did ye obsarve the great difference betune the 
 two people in those stories that you 've been readin' about 1 " 
 
 " I can't say that I did notice it ; but, now that ye mintion it, 
 I see a great difference, indeed. The ooman was a poor notorious, 
 bad characther ; but Nickydaymus appears to have been a correct, 
 lamed, moral, and vartuous man." 
 
 " Now, suppose," said Tim, " that two such persons wor to 
 come to ye to convarse about religion, an' ye wor anxious to set 
 
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AX EDIFYING COXVEKSATIOX. 
 
 97 
 
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 to cum to 
 think, but 
 about the 
 iria ! " ^ 
 of caution 
 
 did in me 
 
 said Tim. 
 ; the book, 
 John, and, 
 nded back 
 ve me yer 
 
 % and then 
 ent prayer 
 ng of His 
 xtent, pre- 
 
 ►uld on the 
 n shure I 
 for I 'm an 
 dherstand, 
 y to know 
 )ok at any 
 
 }self," said 
 n me dark 
 jetune the 
 at?" 
 
 aintion it, 
 notorious, 
 a correct, 
 
 } wor to 
 ioua to set 
 
 them both in the right way o' salvation, so far as ye knew it yer- 
 self, what would ye tell 'em to do first of all ? " 
 
 ** O well — circumstances alther cases materially — I'd tell one o' 
 the poor, sinful craythers to lave off her sins, an' do good works, an' 
 say her prayers regular, and thin trust in the marcy o' God." 
 
 "Well, thin, an' what about the other? " 
 
 " Oh, as regards the other, who had not committed mortial sin, 
 I'd tell him to go on as he was goin', only to grow betther an' betther 
 every day ; to give more alms to the poor, an' to be reg'lar in his 
 duties an' devotions." 
 
 " And do you think that by that manes they would both get to 
 heaven % " 
 
 " Well, I wouldn't say that any one in our days desarves to get 
 to heaven at wanst, whin they die ; but I think they wouldn't be 
 very long detained in the place o' punishmint, through the marcy 
 o' God." 
 
 " There ye differ from our Lord's taichin'," said Tim. " Don't 
 ye see that whativer difference there may be betune men, when 
 compared with aich other, we are all transgressors whin we cum to 
 compare our lives wid the law o' God. The best an' the worst of 
 uz have all broken God's holy law many, many times ; some more 
 grossly than others, but we are all guilty. Our blessed Lord tells 
 us of a rich creditor who had two debtors. One owed a large sum, 
 an' the other a small one, but nayther of 'em was able to pay a 
 fraction; so the rich man forgave 'em both. Was there any 
 difference in the treatment there 1 " 
 
 " Not a bit, that I can see," said Mr. Noonan. 
 
 " No more was there any difference in his treatment of the two 
 cases we 've been talkin' of. He says to Nickydaymus, * Except a 
 man be born agin, he cannot see the kingdom o' God.' It doesn't 
 matther who or what the person is, — whether his sins have been 
 considered great or small, into heaven he can niver enter widout 
 bein' born agin. This must be equally thrue wid regard to him 
 and to the poor ooman ye read of. He took a different way of 
 taichin' her the same thruth, by bringin' her wicked life to her 
 remimbrance, and showin' her that there was no hope from that, 
 so that she was thin prepared to receive His declaration, that He 
 Himself was the promised Sav'our to take away sin." 
 
 " Glory be to the great God above," said his astonished auditor, 
 " but ye have a wondherful way of makin' things plain. There is 
 one thing puzzles me, an' I 'd like to spake of it, as ye are one of 
 our own. I often heerd the clargy warnin' the people, both in 
 
 7 
 
 !l!ill 
 
 I 
 
r 
 
 ■■'^ 
 
 ■■k H 
 
 111: I 
 
 i I 
 
 4! 
 
 ir 
 
 
 06 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 chapel and in their own houses, aginst readin' the Scripthers wid- 
 out lave from the Bishop, for fear they *d pick bad manin's out of 
 'em; but although I niver transgressed in that way ontil now 
 (Grod forgive me if I h?i.\e done wrong), I niver could see how lave 
 from the Bishop could keep a man from puttin' a wrong or a bad 
 manin' on *em, any m re than if they had no such permission. 
 "What do you think about that, me friend ? " 
 
 Tim began to see that there was deep sincerity along with caution 
 in his newly-found acquaintance ; a strong desire for instruction, 
 with a mind naturally gifted, and yet a great destitution of spirit- 
 ual light and knowledge. 
 
 " I have no wish to desave ye," Tim replied. " You speak of me 
 as ' one of our own.' I was brought up, as were all me forefathers 
 for many ginerations afore me, a Roman Catholic ; and that very 
 idaya that you now mintioned to me often shtruck me mind. 
 Through the readin' o' that blessed book I was led to see that what 
 I called * me faith' was nothin' like what our blessed Lord an' His 
 apostles taught, an' so I had to give it up. I niver hurt or harmed 
 one o' me neighbours in his person or property, but always did the 
 best I could for 'em, an' would do it at this moment, but they 
 wouldn't be contint to let me live in pace afther I changed me 
 religion, or, as I ought to say, religion changed nie, and now I 'm 
 obleeged to thravel over the salt say in sarch of a home an' of pace 
 an' quietness, far from the owld sod where I was bom, an' that I '11 
 niver see agin." Here the Irishman's love for his native soil over- 
 came his feelings, and he wept tears as briny as the ocean which 
 dashed against the "Jupiter." 
 
 When he recovered his feelijigs, he added, " I hope the Lord will 
 afford me strength to suffer whativer it is His will should befall 
 me in consequence of me perfession ; but I don't think it would be 
 wise in me to provoke the anger o' the people on boord widout any 
 necessity. You know how furious the most of them are against 
 any one they consider an * apostate.' " 
 
 ** I do indeed," Mr. Noonan replied, " an' sorry I am to confess 
 that it is just as you say. There are some who would think it right 
 to kill you if they knew of the circumstances ! " 
 
 " God forgive 'em," said Tim, " as I do. Hush ! I declare there's 
 some orders being given, let us listen." 
 
 
thers wid- 
 lin's out of 
 ontil now 
 B how lave 
 g or a bad 
 )ermission. 
 
 ith caution 
 iistruction, 
 I of spirit- 
 peak of me 
 forefathers 
 
 that very 
 me mind. 
 
 that what 
 rd an' His 
 or harmed 
 lys did the 
 
 but they 
 [anged me 
 
 now I 'm 
 m' of pace 
 
 that I '11 
 
 soil over- 
 3an which 
 
 Lord will 
 uld befall 
 would be 
 idout any 
 re against 
 
 to confess 
 k it right 
 
 re there's 
 
 
 CHAPTER VIIT. 
 
 THE FIRST SABBATH AT SEA — A STORM ON BOARD- 
 RIGGING TO TALK IN PEACE. 
 
 -TIM ASCENDS THE 
 
 How sublimely true it is, "They that go down to the sea in ships, 
 that do business in great waters ; these see the works of the Lord, 
 and His wonders in the deep." Nor can the reader withhold his 
 sympathy with the feeling of the royal "Singer," in recognising the 
 laws of Divine Providence in the stirring exclamation — " Oh, that 
 men would praise the Lord for His goodness, and for the wonders 
 that He doeth for the children of men ! " There are occasions on a 
 voyage when those inspired words impress the mind in a manner 
 unknown to, and unfelt by, persons inexperienced in "ocean travel." 
 
 They had now arrived at a Sabbath morning, the calm solemnities 
 of which would, doubtless, suggest thoughts like the foregoing. 
 It was a glorious day, and heaven and earth seemed to be at peace. 
 
 The " Jupiter " glided gently and smoothly through the quiet 
 waters. Devout contemplation was inspired by the toning down 
 of the partially-disturbed elements, and all things seemed to 
 combine to ^^sher in the day of rest. The good ship divided 
 the placid water, which appeared to smile as they parted at her 
 bows, and united again with firmer embrace at her stern. Even 
 the sea-birds, as they floated past upon the wave, or " swooped 
 aloft on joyous wing," appeared at times inclined to be inquisitive 
 and familiar, by approaching nearer to the ship than was their 
 wont. They seemed to the imaginative ear to say — " We are safe 
 for this day, as far as the crew of the 'Jupiter ' is concerned. Her 
 captain must have some regard for Sunday. Don't you hear 
 the orders issued, ' to make everything snug and clean about the 
 ship, and the passengers and crew to appear all on deck in their 
 Sunday clothes, and that no unneceasarij ivork be done ? Every man, 
 washed, shaved, and clean.' " O blessed institution ! Would to 
 God that mankind honoured it as they ought, adapted as it is to alle- 
 viate their toils, and lead them to believe in the great Originator. 
 
 *|l! 
 
 ; n 
 
 lij 
 
 i 
 
100 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 i t 
 
 4!! 
 
 it 
 
 Such actually were the orders given, which had to be strictly 
 observed; for the commander, although we cannot write him down 
 a "pious man," had still a latent respect for the Sabbath, and knew 
 too well the benefit of cleanliness in a sanitary point of view, to 
 give any countenance to its opposite. He aiso believed that the 
 human system requires a certain portion of cessation from labour to 
 recruit its wasted energies, without attention to which it becomes 
 depraved, both morally and physically. 
 
 As soon as it was clear daylight some of the men began to come 
 on deck unwashed, unshaved, unkempt, and unshirted. The mate 
 informed them of the rules of the ship, one of which was, he said, 
 that no steerage passenger who was not as clean as water and clean 
 clothes could make him, could be allowed or suffered to go abaft the 
 main hatchway on Sunday. Some of the wiseacres undertook to 
 reason the matter with the officer. 
 
 "An' sure," one of them said, "what is it to the capting if we niver 
 washed ourselves ? He has our money safe enough for the passage 
 over, an' he needn't care or throuble himself about our washin'." 
 
 " Is that so, my beauty ? " said the mate : " where is your twin 
 brother, or the triplet of you 1 You must have come of a very wise 
 family / don't think; that is, if your forefathers were only as 
 knowledgeable as yourself." 
 
 " An' tell me now," said the bully (bristling up at the idea of his 
 forefathers' wisdom being called in question), " what have you to 
 say aginst me forefathers, eh 1 Although I 'm poor, maybe I had 
 as rich an' as honourable a pidigree as any Sassenagh in the ship, 
 ay, or in England either." 
 
 The mate was a good-natured, sensible man, and not desirous of 
 making any disturbance ; he therefore turned it off as jocularly as 
 he could, by saying, " I know that, my tight fellow. I know it all, 
 and for that reason as well as oL'^ ^rs, I want you to do honour to 
 your pedigree. What 's your name ? " 
 
 " O'Halloran is me name, Sir" (touched in the soft place >, "at 
 your sarvice.' 
 
 " Well, then Mr. O'Halloran, I wish you to honour your noble 
 pedigree, by showing an example to some of those dirty people 
 below there, worthy of what a man with noble blood in his veins 
 can do. Go and put on your best Sunday clothes, and then you 
 and I will go down among them and try to knock something like 
 decency and enlightenment into their heads." 
 
 Our hero's wrath was completely disarmed by this stroke of 
 pleasantry. He was a fine-looking young countryman, a circum- 
 
 \M ^^ 
 
THE O'hALLORAN's IDEA OF DIGNITY. 
 
 101 
 
 be strictly 
 him down 
 t, and knew 
 [)f view, to 
 d that the 
 n labour to 
 it becomes 
 
 an to come 
 The mate 
 as, he said, 
 r and clean 
 ;o abaft the 
 dertook to 
 
 if we niver 
 the passage 
 washin'." 
 your twin 
 1 very wise 
 re only as 
 
 idea of his 
 ive you to 
 aybe I had 
 1 the ship, 
 
 desirous of 
 
 ocularly as 
 
 :now it all, 
 
 honour to 
 
 3lace), "at 
 
 p^our noble 
 rty people 
 his veins 
 then you 
 thing like 
 
 stroke of 
 a circum- 
 
 stance which ho seemed to be well aware of, and had often cal- 
 culated, under the tuition of his doting mother, what a splendid 
 tlgure he would make at a Lord Lieutenant's levee ; or at a dross 
 ball, dancing with the daughters of the highest aristocrats in the 
 land, if some *'good luck" would only put him into possession of 
 the large estate of Ballyscalligan, forfeited, according to family 
 tradition, about seven or eight generations back, by the fidelity 
 of the then reigning O'Halloran to his Church and his 
 chieftain. 
 
 " Luck," however, seemed to be so tardy in the matter, that 
 Denis had to avail himself of the opportunity afforded by emi- 
 grating to a "furren counthry," as none of the high-born dames 
 in question seemed anxious to cultivate his acquaintance either 
 at levee, ball, church, or elsewhere, so long as the rent-roll of 
 Ballyscalligan loomed so far awa^ in the tli,-fance, and found its 
 way to other hands. In less than half-an-iiour he appeared on 
 deck, having undergone a complete P''(^i;amori)liosip He had 
 previously "suffered from f*. broad t \ ahoebrusli beard, stuck 
 beneath his nose ; " but being provided with i razor that " would 
 shave, and having "soaped himself " to Ms yatisfaction, he was 
 soon divested of that ugly appendage. ITo had literally "but- 
 tered his brogues " with some of that substance called " butter," 
 and sold in Liverpool shops as such, to emigrants. His "nate 
 Caroline hat," blue coat, with treble gilt buttons, yellow " Cassi- 
 niere " vest, corduroy breeches, and white worsted stockings, with 
 a shirt, if not as Jfine as a prince's, certainly at least as v.^hite 
 and clea7i ; and with the necessary accompaniment to an Irish- 
 man's full dress, namely, "a blackthorn shtick in his fisht," 
 Denis was soon made to look (as the mate jocosely expressed 
 himself), "fit to wait on Her Majesty." 
 
 "Now, Mr. O'Halloran, we'll " 
 
 " Beggin' your parding, Mr. Mate," interposed Denis, with an 
 expression of ofiended dignity on his brow, " I mane no offinse. 
 Sir, at all, but I '11 feel obligated to ye intirely if you '11 not 
 'Misther' MEagin." 
 
 "Not 'Mister' YOU," said the mate; "why, are you not as 
 good a * Mister ' as the best of us ? Respect yourself, man, and 
 others will respect you," said the mate. 
 
 ♦* So I always intind to do. Sir ; but thin * Mister,' although a 
 very good title for other 2)€oplCf don't belong to me, an' I '11 have 
 nothin' to say to it, good, bad, or indifierint." 
 , " Oh, you cannot tell what luck is in store for you in the new 
 
 II 
 
 :■•(■ 
 6;^: I 
 
 ili\ 
 
 I 
 
 ! 1, 
 i' 
 
Ill ^1 
 
 n 
 
 \^' 
 
 I i 11 ^''^ 
 
 
 ii L 
 
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 I 1 
 
 I III 
 
 I ' 
 
 102 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 world," replied the mate; "who knows but in seven or eight 
 years you may return to Ireland again, with a million dollars in 
 your pocket, arsd then I presume you wouldn't entertain much 
 objection to be addressed as * Mr. O'Hallorisn.' " 
 
 " As much as I do now," was Denis's reply : " and — without 
 thinkin* that ye intinded the laste disrespect- -I 'd have you and 
 others to know, that I *m * THE O'Halloran,* an,' consequintially, 
 above such^titles. It^isn't always that we insist on the distinction, 
 but as this is me birthday, an' as I *m the head o' the faction o' 
 the O'Hallorans, I like to maintain the dignity o' the family, 
 wanst in the year at laste." 
 
 " Very right in you," he answered ; " you will please to excuse 
 me, and attribute to my ignorance of your illustrious descent any 
 want of respect that you may have noticed in my manner — make 
 way there for The O'Halloran, will you? — quick !" 
 
 They soon found themselves in the steerage, where the mate 
 announced his errand, that the captain expected them all to appear 
 on deck, clean and well-dressed, otherwise they should not have 
 the privilege of going aft of the main hatchway during the whole 
 of the day. 
 
 " An' whisper here now, Mr. Mate," one passenger asked ; 
 " where 's the use o' bein' clane in such a place as this, where 
 nobody comes to see you 1 " 
 
 " Nobody ! Nobody ! Here we have five hundred people on 
 board; enough to people a good village, and you call us all 
 'nobody,' do you? The captain will be down among you after 
 awhile, and probably some of the cabin passengers with him — Do 
 you call them 'Nobody'? And here is our illustrious friend. The 
 O'Halloran of BallyscalUgan, — is not he somebody? Why not 
 copy his example, and appear as you ought to do ! If you don't 
 copy him, and obey orders, you '11 be sorry." 
 
 " Och, we will, when we goes ashore ; but it 's no use here at 
 all at all, so it ain't." 
 
 " But who 's The O'Halloran^ will ye be tellin' uz?" a humour- 
 ous, shock-headed fellow asked contemptuously. 
 
 " A fellow that 's able to take the consait out o' spalj^eens," 
 Denis rejoined, with a shake of his head, which threatened war, 
 even to the butt end of his cudgel. 
 
 "Now, O'Halloran," said the mate, "don't be rash. You must 
 not take up everything in earnest that is said in jest. Let your 
 dignity control you." 
 
 " Och," said the insulted representative of the O'Hallorans, 
 
 .1 ? 
 
 II <^ 
 
A STORM RISING ON BOARD. 
 
 103 
 
 n or eight 
 
 dollars in 
 
 tain much 
 
 I — without 
 ve you and 
 iquintially, 
 listinction, 
 I faction o' 
 he family, 
 
 ) to excuse 
 jscent any 
 ler — make 
 
 the mate 
 I to appear 
 
 not have 
 the whole 
 
 er asked ; 
 lis, where 
 
 people on 
 all us all 
 you after 
 him — Do 
 lend. The 
 Why not 
 you don't 
 
 e here at 
 
 liumour- 
 
 )alpeeiis," 
 ned war, 
 
 Toil must 
 Let your 
 
 Tallorans, 
 
 " it isn't always the thing that's said that does the mischief, it is 
 the waij of sayin' it." 
 
 " True enough, my fine fellow ; but, then, we must be all good 
 friends while we remain together ; it will not be very long. And 
 now I have come to tell you, that we are to have religious services 
 at eleven o'clock, and the captain expects that all who attend them 
 will come as clean and well-dressed as they can. All who like 
 may attend ; there's no compulsion." 
 
 " "Will there be a priesht there ? " one asked. 
 
 " I don't know," said the mate. " No one wants to interfere 
 with the religious opinions or scruples of others. If any of you 
 wish to attend, nobody shall prevent your attendance ; and if any 
 do not, they can stay away. If any of you desire to hold religious 
 exercises for yourselves, your honest convictions must and will be 
 respected, and time and place must be afforded you for that purpose." 
 
 " How much money will we get for attindin' % " was asked by 
 another. 
 
 " Och ! there 's no money goin' now, only the bits an' scraps 
 from the capting's table," was drily put in by one whose face was 
 concealed from view. 
 
 " Well," the mate said good-humouredly, " look alive there, lads 
 and lasses. Take example by * The D'Halloran/ and come on deck ; 
 and when you do, come in a state fit to be introduced to company. 
 Good morning to you all." 
 
 A faint " Good mornin' " was uttered by one or two in reply ; 
 but when he had disappeared, a low and earnest conversation (tak- 
 ing the shape of an Irish discussion) was carried on between a 
 number who had congregated in the after part of the steerage. 
 
 " The swaddlers are goin' to have a meetin', and by the " 
 
 (we forbear inserting the rest), " if they do, we '11 give 'em bellows 
 to mind." This was uttered, a word or two at a time, by an assas- 
 sin-like fellow, named Shanley, who, at each pause between his 
 utterances of the same, bit a piece off a plug of tobacco, spit the 
 pieces into the hollow of his left hand, and rubbed them together, 
 for the purpose of loosening the twist of it, in order that he might 
 fill his pipe. I beg the reader's pardon for this statement, but it is 
 Irish to the bottom. 
 
 " An' sarve 'em right, too," one named O'Hourigan answered. 
 " I 'd like to know what right they have to bother uz wud their 
 
 prayers an' their praichments. If it wasn't for thim sons o' , 
 
 Ireland wud be happy an' prosperous to-day, an' those o' the thrue 
 faith would have it all their own way, so they wud." 
 
 Hf 
 
 % 
 
 'Hill 
 
 tf 
 
r 
 
 104 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ! . t 
 
 ill 
 
 ■•■ ! 
 
 'I 
 
 
 ll 
 
 *» 1. 
 
 "• What had we better do to 'em i " Shanley inquired. 
 
 " The best thing to do," suggested O'Hourigah, " would be to 
 get a piper, or a fiddler, if we could, an' have a dance, jist at the 
 time, in the place where they 'd want to be standin'." 
 
 The cry went round immediately, " Is there a piper aboord 1 " 
 
 " Wliat for 1 " was as eagerly asked by a great many. 
 
 " Och, nothin', only jist to get up a dance, an' put an ind to the 
 swaddlers' meetin'." 
 
 No performer on the bagpipes being forthcoming, various 
 expedients were proposed instead, none of which seemed either 
 available or to meet with general approbation. In the meantime, 
 the discussion went on in suppressed tones between the parties 
 who had commenced it, until tliey privately concluded on a plan, 
 which will come to light before the chapter closes. 
 
 About half-an-hour before the time fixed on for commencing 
 public worship, the sailuiaker appeared at the cabin door, request- 
 ing to see the captain privately for a few minutes. 
 
 "To be sure, 'Sails," said the captain. "Step into my state- 
 room for a minute or two, and I will follow you immediately." 
 
 When he had despatched the business in hand, the captain 
 entered, saying — " Now, then, quick. What can I do for you 1 " 
 
 Only a few closing remarks of what passed between the captain 
 and the sailmaker were overheard, and those only by one or two 
 cabin passengers. 
 , "How did you come to hear them?" the caj^tain asked eagerly. 
 
 " Please, Sir, the second mate sent me into the store-room that 
 is aft of the steerage, and divided by a temporary partition from 
 it. The boards of the partition are rough pine, and do not fit close 
 togetlber. They have small chinks at every joint. 
 
 "Are you positive," the captain asked, "that they talked of 
 throwing him overboard ? " 
 
 " Please, capt'n, I couldnH be mistaken. I heard every word, 
 and -.nought it my duty to mention it to you." 
 
 " You were quite right, Sails. Go to your duty, my man. I 
 am obliged co you." 
 
 The man gave a lively " Ay, ay, Sir," and withdrew. 
 
 " Now, who 's for worship 1 " said the captain, as he proceeded 
 to the deck. " Mr. Hudson " (to the chief mate), " pass the word 
 along there, and tell them there is to be no hindrance to any one, 
 and no force on any one. These people must be free from inter- 
 ruption. And, hark ! " He whispered something which was 
 
 conveyed to the other ofiicers of the ship privately, so that when 
 
A SATISFACTORY COMPROMISE. 
 
 105 
 
 ould be to 
 jist at the 
 
 boord ? " 
 
 ind to the 
 
 ?, various 
 tied either 
 meantime, 
 he i^arties 
 3n a pLan, 
 
 mmencing 
 r, request- 
 
 my state- 
 Ltely." 
 e captain 
 r you ? " 
 e captain 
 le or two 
 
 eagerly. 
 
 )om that 
 
 ion from 
 
 fit close 
 
 pked of 
 
 [y word, 
 
 lan. I 
 
 )ceeded 
 word 
 
 ly one, 
 inter- 
 
 3h was 
 when 
 
 the assembly was gathered aft, near to where the preacher stood, 
 the captain, mates, and crew might be seen distributed here and 
 there among the passengers. 
 
 The captain and some of the sailors were Episcopalians, as were 
 several of the passengers, both in the first and second cabins. 
 There were also Wesleyans, Congregationalists, and Baptists, of 
 each a considerable number. 
 
 While the minister, who was a Dissenter^ was looking over his 
 hymn-book in order to find a h3ann suitable for their first Sabbath's 
 exercises at sea, the captain asked in a very kind tone — 
 
 " Does any one here object to a few prayers being read from the 
 Church of England prayer-book 1 " 
 
 He paused, and hearing no reply, added, " As captain of this 
 ship, I make it a point to read prayers every Sunday, unless there 
 are any on board whose religious scruples lead them to prefer 
 extemporary prayer." 
 
 " I confess I don't like forms of prayer," said one young man 
 with a considerable degree of warmth and apparent self-confidence ; 
 " I 'd rather have one prayer from the heart than a dozen of them." 
 
 " / confess," said another with apparent warmth, too, " I prefer 
 a form. It does not follow that a prayer is heartfelt because it is 
 extemporaneous, and vice versa, but rather than be without prayer 
 at all, I 'd like to have it either way that is most agreeable to the 
 majority." 
 
 " What do you say. Sir ? " the captain asked of the gentleman 
 who was about to give out a hymn. 
 
 " O my dear friend," he said, with much solemnity and affection, 
 *' if the substance of a prayer commends itself to my conscience, 
 I '11 not make myself or anybody else unhappy about the form of it. 
 I assure you I am not fastidious in the matter." 
 
 Here a thoughtful-looking, silent man, who had not made his 
 voice heard very much from the time of his coming on board, 
 remarked in a very happy manner — 
 
 " The state of the case seems to me to be this. Those who priefer 
 the form of prayer would rather have extemporary prayer than 
 none at all. 
 
 "Those who prefer extemporary prayer woulr. rather have it 
 according to form than none at all. It therefore amounts to this, 
 that the preferences of one party must override those of the otlie*, 
 or there must be a compromise, if it can be made without sin. 
 
 " Let me ask those who prefer deform of prayer if they think it 
 is a sin to pray extempore ?" 
 
 w 
 
106 
 
 TIM DOOLAJf. 
 
 iii 
 
 !Mi 
 
 .HI 
 
 I ! 
 
 Il 
 
 
 I 
 
 hll^ 
 
 " Certainly not," was answered by many voices simultaneously 
 from the assembly. 
 
 " Do those who prefer extemporaneous prayer think it a sin to 
 pray with the use of a fom. 1 " 
 
 " Most assuredly not," was as quickly responded on the other hand. 
 
 " Then," said our grave, pacific friend, " as you do not want to 
 thrust your preferences on me, and as /don't want to force mine upon 
 you, the thing is in a nutshell, as we say. Let us have both ; and to 
 save time let the captain, as master of the ship, read whatever selec- 
 tions he is in the habit of using from the liturgy, and we may have 
 as many extemporaneous prayers afterwards as the time will allow." 
 
 " Blessings on your peace-making soul," said the minister, start- 
 ing up and seizing the speaker by both hands ; " what a peaceful 
 Church and world we should have if all were like you. Sir." 
 
 The matter being thus adjusted, the captain — for reasons which 
 will soon appear obvious — delegated his share in the matter to the 
 kind-hearted man who had proposed it. 
 
 The latter selected a few prayers, confessions, and collects from 
 the liturgy of the Church of England, with which he appeared very 
 well acquainted. Nor was he less acquainted with the use of 
 extemporaneous prayer, as was felt and acknowledged by many who 
 heard him, after he had closed the book, and presented the wants of 
 the passengers and ship's company in his own eloquent language 
 before the " Majesty on High." 
 
 The minister then gave out, verse by verse, that beautiful hymn 
 
 of Henry Kirke White's, known as "The Star of Bethlehem," 
 
 which was sung, from the beginning of the third verse to the end, 
 
 with becoming seriousness : — 
 
 " Once on the raging seas I rode, 
 
 The storm was loud, the night was dark, 
 The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed 
 The wind that tossed my foundering bark. 
 
 Deep horror then my vitals froze, 
 
 Death -struck I ceased the tide to stem ; 
 When suddenly a star arose, 
 
 It was the Star op Bethlehem. 
 
 It was my guide, my light, my a'l, 
 
 It bade my dark forebodings cease ; 
 And through the storm and danger's thrall 
 
 It led me to the port of peace. 
 
 Now safely moored, my perils o'er, ' 
 
 I '11 sing first in night's diadem, 
 For ever and for evermore, 
 
 The Star, the Star of Bethlehem." 
 
 ^imip 
 
THE FIRST SABBATH SERVICE ON BOARD. 
 
 107 
 
 After the singing of the above sweet stanzas, he read with 
 devout solemnity and impressiveness, the one hundred and seventh 
 Psalm, in which the Psalmist so graphically sets forth the utter 
 powerlessness of man when God commands and raises the stormy 
 waves of the mighty sea. 
 
 The aw^e of many minds seemed to be profound, and a death- 
 like stillness reigned throughout that audience, composed of some 
 hundreds, when the preacher selected for his text that portion of 
 Scripture in the eighth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew, twenty- 
 fourth and twenty-fifth verses, " And behold there arose a great 
 tempest in the sea, insomuch that the ship was covered with the 
 waves : but He was asleep. And His disciples camo to Him, and 
 awoke Him, saying. Lord, save us : we perish." 
 
 He described to them in simple language the distress of the 
 disciples when the angry winds and waves threatened to swallow 
 up their little vessel with all its living freight ; the fearful howl- 
 ing of the tempest, deadening the cries of the mariners as they 
 attempted to cheer each other in their unequal struggles against 
 the fury of the tempest ; the angry, blinding surges, dashing against 
 the prow of their frail barque, and hissing and seething along the 
 deck as they swept away every loose thing that obstructed their 
 passage ; the last resource of the bewildered men, as they gave up 
 all effort (as the text has it), they appealed to Jesus for succour in 
 their distressing circumstances. Then with what soul-subduing 
 pathos he appealed to all his his auditory somewhat as follows : — 
 
 " Is not this, my dear fellow sinners, a true picture of our fallen 
 race, of all who are destitute of that safety which faith in the 
 precious blood, and prevailing intercession of the Lord Jesus, 
 aflFords to all who believe with the heart unto righteousness t 
 Was there danger of perishing in the condition of those men, 
 when the angry waters rushed on board their little craft, and 
 threatened to sink her beneath the waters of that lake 1 Far 
 greater is his danger who has set sail down the stream of sin and 
 folly to the wide ocean of eternity ! Far more terrible must be 
 the wrath of God to such a soul, than the angry tempest to those 
 boatmen. But was their case utterly hopeless? Truly so 
 indeed, as far as any power of their own was concerned. Yet 
 help, Almighty help, was near. The agonizing cry, * Lord, save 
 us: we perish,' awoke the apparently sleeping Jesus, and the 
 words, 'Peace, be still,' uttered by the Son of God, caused the 
 winds to cease and the waves to subside. The rolling of the 
 vessel is now at an end, and all is calm. There is even a great 
 
 »]■ 
 
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iu 
 
 31 \ 
 
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 i t; 
 
 i ^ 
 
 108 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 calm. However hopeless your case, O sinner, as far as you are 
 concerned j however lost and guilty you may be ; however 
 threatening the danger which exists of your soul being lost for 
 ever, ycu have only to appeal to Jesus as a perishing, guilty 
 creature, and such appeal is never rejected by Him. 
 
 " He may appear to be heedless of your case. He may (to your 
 apprehension) be fast asleep, but that precious Saviour's eye is 
 ever over those who appeal to Him. His ear is ever open unto 
 their prayers. Therefore let us all now, as perishing sinners, 
 call on Him to save u^from our sins." 
 
 All heads were bowed in prayer, and the preacher's eyes, with 
 those of many others, closed during the exercise, when suddenly 
 he heard a trampling, then a heavy fall, succeeded by a. scream ; 
 and after that a simultaneous rush of his audience towards the 
 bows of the vessel. 
 
 Finding it next to impossible to proceed amid so much confusion 
 and tumult, the preacher opened his eyes to ascertain what was 
 the matter, when he beheld the captain striking away right and 
 left, — a Patlander falling to the deck at every blow ; others while 
 
 trying to escape. 
 
 falling 
 
 over those already down; while the 
 
 roars and groans of the layer that was unfortunate enough to be 
 undermost, formed a strange admixture of the pitiable and the 
 ludicrous. 
 
 The captain's bile once aroused was not so easily allayed. As 
 soon as he ceased to hear the minister's voice, he looked back 
 and exclaimed, "Go on with your prayers. Sir, 1 11 manage 
 those rascals. Villains as they are, to interrupt the worship of 
 God — I '11 serve them out — I will" — (still paying out right and 
 left as before). "I '11 let them know how they interrupt the wor- 
 ship of God. Mr. Hudson " (to the chief mate), " whenever these 
 people want to have worship here, come you and stand by them, 
 and if any one interrupts them, bring him to me, and he shall 
 have three hundred lashes." 
 
 It is needless to add that such a scene brought the public 
 exercises to a close, but the determination of the captain so com- 
 pletely cowed the dastardly assailants, that worship was regularly 
 held on Sabbath and other days during the remainder of the 
 passage, when weather permitted ; and no interruption whatever 
 was afterwards attempted or offered. 
 
 Some months after his arrival in America, the minister who 
 preached on that occasion was walking with a New York clergy- 
 man, to whom he related the foregoing circumstances^ - ■• 
 
HOW THE CONSPIRACY WAS FRUSTRATED. 
 
 109 
 
 
 He was very much surprised on discovering that that clergyman 
 knew something more of the matter than he did himself. 
 
 The clergyman in question was a particular friend of the captain's, 
 who often spent an evening at his house when in New York. 
 
 Here the preacher learned for the first time that a conspiracy was 
 actually formed to throw him overboard ; it was to be done while 
 he was engaged in prayer. Parties were stationed in such positions 
 that he was to be seized at a signal agreed upon, hustled from one 
 to another until he was beyond the reach of aid ; and this was 
 providentially prevented by the sailmaker overhearing the plot, 
 and communicating it to the captain. The latter gentleman ibre- 
 bore to make it known to the subject of the conspiracy, lest he 
 might be placed in fear for his life during the remainder of the 
 passage, and thus deterred from officiating again. An intimate 
 friend of his, a minister who preceded him from England but a few 
 months, had a similarly narrow escape with his life, under very 
 similar circumstances in every way. 
 
 When the crowd had cleared away from the deck, the majority 
 of the passengers having gone below, and dinner being disposed of 
 in the interim, Tim Doolan might be seen anxiously pacing up and 
 down the ship's quarters. 
 
 His wife had been exceedingly terrified by the commotion which 
 had summarily cut short the service, and begged him not to appear 
 on deck during the remainder of the passage. She knew well the 
 intensely bitter hatred wherewith Roman Catholics are thought to 
 regard those whom they consider " apostates,^ and feared that her 
 husband, in his zeal to benefit the souls of some of his misguided 
 countrymen, might give them some clue by which they could discover 
 that he had formerly been a Papist, and thus expose himself to 
 their vengeance. 
 
 He was anxious, particularly so, to ascertain what was passing in 
 his new-found friend's (Mr. Noonan's) mind, and succeeded so far in 
 calming his wife's apprehensions by assuring her of his determination 
 to act cautiously, that she reluctantly assented to his going on deck. 
 
 He was a consider;! 1)le time on the look-out before he could 
 discover the object of his solicitude. He watched every head that 
 protruded itself above the coamings of the forehatchway, but in 
 vain. 
 
 Turning his eyes upwards, he saw a form in the foretop, partly 
 concealed from view, and soon discovered that it was some person 
 who had managed to creep up thither, so as to read without being 
 subject to interruption. - • ' 
 
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 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 Tim determined to hazard the (to him) perilous ascent, and after 
 many wishful looks upwards, and some regrets that he had suffered 
 himself to be tempted from the solid deck, he succeeded, with Mr. 
 Noonan's assistance, who pulled him up through lubber's hole, in 
 climbing into the foretop. 
 
 " Well now, Tim," said his friend (as he tugged him up by the 
 collar of his coat), " I 'm afeerd you '11 nivir be much of a sailor." 
 
 " Who knows 1 " said Tim jocosely ; " sure it 's an owld sayin', 
 ' every beginnin' is wake.' Maybe I could get down fasther thin I 
 kem up." 
 
 "Threw for ye thin, ma bouchal," his friend replied, "but I'd 
 have ye be keerful, an' not go down too fast." 
 
 " Indeed, thin, a man might do that same, an* nivir be able 
 to tell how fast he thra veiled ; but I was anxious to see ye, and 
 to ax ye what ye thought of our countrymen an* their conduct 
 to-day r* 
 
 " Indeed, thin, Tim, meself was ashamed of it, an' sure enough. 
 O dear me ! wasn't it scandalous 1 " 
 
 " Scandalous ye may say, an' worse than that. Shure I wouldn't 
 blame 'em so much if the good man said anything that was offinsive 
 to any sect or party ; an' if he did, wasn't there room for 'em else- 
 where 1 There was no necessity for 'em to listen to his discoorse, 
 if they choose to stay away. What a blessed, good discoorse it was 
 intirely ! " 
 
 " Very good, indeed, to them that was good enough to enjoy 
 it ; but as for me, God help me, I needn't talk about any one of 
 'em that made the disturbance, for I 'm as bad as any of 'em, if 
 not worse." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that, Mr. Noonan," said Tim, whose 
 eyes glistened as he spoke. " How long is it since ye began to feel 
 in that way, may I ax ? " 
 
 " Well thin, not very long. Of coorse I often thought that I 
 was not as good as I ought to be, an' I strove all I could to be 
 betther, an' to do my duty regularly. I thought whin I attinded 
 to that, that I was a great deal betther thin many others. I used 
 to envy the saints, an' the hermits, an' people that used to lead a 
 retired, religious life, an' have nothin' to do but to pray, an' I 
 wished I was one av 'em ; but, somehow or other, since I began to 
 convarse wid yotOf an' to read this little book, I don't have any 
 paice or aise in my mind, at all at all, not a bit. 
 
 " Sometimes I think I hear a person talkin' to me, an' sayin', 
 ' Tut, ye fool ! don't be discouraged. If you are not well off here- 
 
 iLk^ 
 
 mm- 
 
TIM FINDS AN OPPORTUNITY TO TALK IN PEACE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 and after 
 i suffered 
 mth Mr. 
 s hole, in 
 
 ip by the 
 
 sailor." 
 
 Id sayin', 
 
 er thin I 
 
 'but I'd 
 
 be able 
 ye, and 
 conduct 
 
 enough. 
 
 wouldn't 
 offinsive 
 em else- 
 iscoorse, 
 !e it was 
 
 enjoy 
 r one of 
 fern, if 
 
 whose 
 to feel 
 
 that I 
 to be 
 ;tinded 
 I used 
 lead a 
 an' I 
 gan to 
 ve any 
 
 sayin', 
 ■ here- 
 
 after, God help thousands of others. Don't be afeerd ! you have 
 not robbed or murdered any body.' How beautiful that good man 
 spoke to-day, whativer his name is, whin he said, * that poor sinners 
 are just as helpless to save themselves as those poor sailors wor 
 whin they came to our blessed Lord, an' called on Him to save 'em.' 
 Praises be to the great God, I tell ye the truth, Tim, as if I was 
 dyin' this minit, I nivir hurt or harmed a fellow-craythure in person 
 or property ; but, oh my poor sowl, that 's a poor excuse to make 
 a Saviour out of. Good man ! pity me, an' pray for my poor sowl, 
 that God may forgive all my sins, an' take me to heaven when He 
 sees me fit for it." 
 
 " What do you think of havin* 'em singed off in purgathory after 
 ye die 1 " Tim asked. 
 
 " Well, now, the blessed thruth is the best ; an', to tell ye the 
 thruth, Tim, an' the whole thruth, an' nothin' but the thruth, I 
 think, an' have thought for a long time, that it 's a poor depin- 
 dince for a poor sinner like you or me, an' especially meself." 
 
 " I suppose you attinded confession regular," said Tim ; " did you 
 ever think of axing your confessor about it ? " 
 
 " Och, then, 'tis myself that did, plump an' plain. God be good 
 to poor Father Slattery wheriver he is. Sure I axed him one day 
 at confession, ' Father James,' sez I, ' isn't it poor comfort for the 
 poor sowl,' sez I, ' to have to spind perhaps a thousand years in 
 purgathory, afore iver it sees the light o' glory 1 My dear Father 
 James,' sez I, * if ye could tell me anyihin' that would shorten that 
 sufferin', even to layin' down me very life, I 'd do it.' " 
 
 " What did he say to that 1 " asked Tim. 
 
 " Well, he looked at me wid his eyes bursting wid tears, an' 
 rockin' his body back'ards an' for'ards, like a ooman that had lost 
 a child, he put his hands on me head. He couldn't speak for a 
 long time, but whin he did, he said, sez he, ' God bless you : God 
 Almighty bless you ! I hope you'll nivir know the misery I 
 suffer.' " 
 
 " Did he satisfy ye about yer question, though 1 " was Tim's 
 further inquiry. 
 
 " No, indeed, Tim, that he didn't, an' what is more strange to me, 
 it was reported a few days afterwards that he was mad. Some said 
 he turned Protestant, an' went off to furrin pai-ts. Some said one 
 thing an' some another j but I believe me confession was the last 
 he ever heerd, in our part o' the country, at any rate." 
 
 " 'Tis true for ye," Tim remarked, " that purgatory is a poor 
 substitute for the precious blood o' the Lord Jasus. That book in 
 
 n 
 
 
I'll 
 
 l.« i 
 
 i» 
 
 112 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 Ill 
 
 yer hand tell us that * we have redemption in His blood, the for- 
 giveness of our sins, according to the riches of His gi'ace.' 
 
 " * He that belie veth on the Son of God hath eternal life.' * Beinjr 
 justified by faith we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus 
 Christ.' Now, if we have redemption, an' eternal life, an' peace by 
 believin' in Jasus, what have we to go spend a thousand years, or 
 even one hour, in purgatory for, when God tells us that the * blood 
 of Jasus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin * ? 
 
 " Surely if we are washed from our sins in His precious blood, 
 we are not roasted from them, nor are they burned off from us in 
 purgathory." 
 
 " Dear me ! dear me ! I wish I was washed from me sins in His 
 blood ; but I'm not good enough, an' nivir can be." Mr. Noonan. 
 uttered these words in an agony of feeling. 
 
 " Well, now," said Tim (taking him by the hand), " you 're right 
 an' you 're wrong. Right, in saying ye aren't good enough. Nobody 
 is. Wrong, in thinkin' that yer own goodness is to have anythin'^ 
 to do in savin' ye. I wish every good man was a thousand times 
 betther than he is, but the goodness o' Christ is that which saves. 
 It saved a Magdalene, an' a thief on the cross, an' a Paul, an* 
 thousands more, an' it will save you too, my friend Noonan." 
 
 " Do you think so?" Mr. Noonan queried sorrowfully. 
 
 " It is just like this," answered Tim ; " I owe a hundred pounds, 
 an' the sheriff seizes me, an' is takin' me to prison. You come 
 along with plenty o' money, an' say to me, * Just believe me word, 
 an' you will be all right.' You draw a check for the whole amount, 
 an' the money is paid at wanst, an' I am as free a man as if I nivir 
 owed a pinny." 
 
 Mr. Noonan's eyes glistened. He seized Tim's hand, and 
 pressed it to his heart, " Glory be to God," he said, " can this be 
 thrue ? — am I dreamin' 1 " Then with a momentary look of incre- 
 dulity, he added, " An' sure, Tim dear, you wouldvUt desave me 
 poor sowl, would ye?^' 
 
 " Not for millions o' worlds," said honest Tim. 
 
 " O no ! excuse me, you wouldn't. It was God who sent ye 
 acrass my path — Oh ! how can I iver sin any more aginst ine 
 marciful, forgivin' God." 
 
 Thus ended Tim's first and last visit to the foretop. The men 
 descended safely in silence and sought their respective quarters 
 for the rest of the evening. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ROME AND ROMANISM — "POOR LITTLE TERRY " "THE HEART 
 
 KNOWETH ITS OWN BITTERNESS " — LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 On the evening of that Sabbath in which our ministering friend had 
 nearly suffered martyrdom, without being aware of the danger, a 
 number of the cabin passengers were assembled in the cabin con- 
 versing on the event of the morning. 
 
 " It seems to me," said a lady who affected to shrink from the 
 idea that any considerable portion of intelligence existed in the 
 minds of the common people, "that time and trouble are thrown 
 away in endeavouring to instruct such low, vile creatures as some 
 of those on board, for we do not find it does them any good. 
 Indeed, the reverse is the fact, for education makes them dissatisfied 
 with their condition, and they are never thankful for anything done 
 for them." 
 
 These words were addressed to another lady who sat next to the 
 speaker, engaged in showing and explaining to her two children 
 some pictures illustrative of Scripture history. 
 
 The lady addressed said very quietly, " I cannot agree with that 
 view in any particular." 
 
 " Indeed," said the first speaker, " how so, pray 1 " 
 
 " In the first place, time and trouble are not thrown away in 
 endeavouring to instruct any one, even if you should fail to com- 
 municate much to those whom you endeavour to instruct, for you 
 do yourself a benefit if you cannot benefit others. Secondly, the 
 proofs are multiplied every day that the lowest tribes and races of 
 men, the lowest classes in society, and even minds in all classes that 
 have been considered and called idiotic, have been benefited by 
 education. As to their ' not thanking ' us, there are, of course, 
 many instances of the kind, but that furnishes no reason why we 
 should neglect our duties ; and as to making them ' dissatisfied 
 with their condition,' I think it the interest and duty of all persons to 
 try and make their condition in life better, if they can do it honestly. 
 
 8 
 
 .1: 
 
114 
 
 TIM DroLAN. 
 
 iip 
 
 M^ 
 
 
 " 1 say tlieso things of mere secular oducation, and it is much 
 more clearly our duty to impart, to all who need it, the education 
 that will fit them for heaven." 
 
 " But," said the first speaker, " what good can you do them 
 spiritually? If you increase their amount of knowledge you 
 increase their accountability, and will it not be better for them in 
 the other world to have remained ignorant in this, as they will 
 thereby have less sin to account for ? " 
 
 " To your first query I reply," said the lady addressed, " that 
 the question, 'What good will it doV should never influence us 
 for a moment in a matter of duty. You would not allow your 
 children or servants to question your commands every moment by 
 asking, ' What good will it do to wash clothes ? scrub floors 1 light 
 fires 1 learn lessons 1 ' and so on. 
 
 " The simple fact that God commands us to * preach His Gospel 
 to every creature ' is our authority for doing so, and makes it a 
 duty binding on us, although no apparent good were to accrue from 
 it. As to their having fewer sins to account for by remaining in 
 ignorance, that appears to me to be a great mistake, because by 
 imparting spiritual knowledge you impart power over sin as well 
 as the knowledge of the way of salvAtion from sin by Christ Jesus. 
 Ignorance never yet led a soul to hate sin and forsake it, but a 
 knowledge of the Gospel has had these results in numberless 
 instances." 
 
 At this stage our fastidioua lady felt herself much relieved by 
 an Italian gentleman who was present joining in the conversation. 
 This afforded her the opportunity of slipping out of it. 
 
 Mr. Foscari, the gentleman alluded to, was the only son of 
 an Englishman, an artistic painter by profession, who went 
 to Italy in early life to study. While in Rome he married an 
 Italian lady, and being careless on religious subjects, thought 
 one religion as good, or probably as bad, as another, so that to 
 save himself trvouble he professed the same religion as did his 
 wife. 
 
 When their only child was about two years old, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Foscari removed to London, where ,ce soon died. Mrs. Foscari 
 continued to reside in England until her death, which occurred 
 when her son was about seven years of age, but not before she had 
 become acquainted with the Gospel of salvation. 
 
 Any other particulars respecting the <on we need not relate, 
 further than to say, that he shall tell part of his own story in the 
 conversation which ensues. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
ROME AND ROMANISM. 
 
 115 
 
 I it is much 
 he education 
 
 ou do them 
 
 )wledge you 
 
 for them in 
 
 IS they will 
 
 Bssed, " that 
 influence us 
 allow your 
 moment by 
 [oors? light 
 
 His Gospel 
 makes it a 
 iccrue from 
 maining in 
 because by 
 sin as well 
 irist Jesus, 
 i it, but a 
 mmberless 
 
 Jlieved by 
 Lversation. 
 
 ly son of 
 '^ho went 
 arried an 
 
 thought 
 that to 
 
 did his 
 
 tnd Mrs. 
 
 Foscari 
 occurred 
 
 she had 
 
 fc relate, 
 V in the 
 
 * 
 
 j/y^ /; — " Excuse me for interfering in your conversation, but 
 as it is instructive, I Avish to hear as well as to speak of the 
 * glorious (gospel of Christ.* " 
 
 "It is a precious and unfailing theme, indeed," said the lady; 
 "how did you enjoy the religious services on deck?" 
 
 Mr. F. — "I was very much pleased, indeed, and profited, I 
 humbly hope. I thought it matter of deep regret, though not of 
 astonishment, that any should be found so very much averse to 
 the promotion of their own best interests as to interrupt so well 
 mean- an effort to do them good, and even to attempt injuring the 
 person who took so deep an interest in their concerns." 
 
 " Why should it not be a matter for astonishment as well as 
 regret?" replied Mrs. Lyon, for we may as well know the lady by 
 that name as by any other. 
 
 "Because," replied Mr. F., "it is a matter of such frequent 
 occurrence. If I were an angel, and on this day held my first 
 intercf /fse with men, and learned their enmity against God and 
 His ricii provision of mercy for their lost souls, I would have 
 wondered, I su})pose, but being somewhat acquainted with the 
 enmity of the carnal mind, and personally acquainted with the 
 fiict that Popery fears nothing so much as the light of revelation, 
 I long since ceased to wonder at the matter. On these principles 
 it is that Popery is averse, not only to the reading of the Scriptures 
 and the preaching that is founded on them, but has always shown 
 herself an enemy to the spread of education and the deductions of 
 enlightened reason." 
 
 Mrs. L. — " Can you, from pergonal acquaintance with Roman 
 Catholics and their system, confirm the charges that are brought 
 against them of claiming for that system the unquestioning assent 
 and devotedness of its subjects % " 
 
 Mr. F. — "Assuredly I can. There is no difficulty about the 
 matter. The devotee of Rome is forbidden, not only to exercise 
 himself in reading the Scriptures, but even Protestants visiting 
 Roman Catholic countries have their baggage searched, and they 
 themselves subjected to many indignities, in order to ascertain 
 whether they have Bibles with them. 
 
 "The people are not allowed to exercise their reason on the 
 most absurd dogmas and superstitions, but must receive them with 
 unquestioning faith as the teachings of God Himself. I was born 
 at Rome, of which city my mother was a native, and whither I 
 was removed after her death to live with my grandmother, who 
 was always very fondly attached to me. 
 
116 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I 
 
 ilt.t 
 
 h 
 
 " I remember, when between nine and ten years of age, going 
 one Sunday morning with my grandmother to church. 
 
 "A great crowd of people, amounting to many thousands, 
 attended, as it was understood that a number of pieces of the 
 Saviour's cross would be given away on that day. The dear old 
 lady was fortunate enough to get a piece, and considered herself 
 particularly blessed thereby. 
 
 " On the way home I asked a good many questions, and held a 
 dialogue with her in something like the following terms : — 
 
 "Little boy. — 'Grandma, how do they know that it is apiece of 
 the very cross on which our Saviour, Jesus Christ, suffered death ? 
 It looks like a chip of common wood.' 
 
 " Grandma. — ' What a foolish child ! Sure everybody Jcnows it 
 is part of the true cross. Does not the holy Father say so 1 ' 
 
 " Little boy. — ' How long ago is it since our Lord was nailed to 
 the cross, grandma 1 ' 
 
 " Grandma. — ' Eighteen hundred years, my child, and more.' 
 
 ^'Little boy. — ' And have they been giving away pieces of the 
 cross or selling them every year since then, grandma ? ' 
 
 " Grandma. — ' To be sure they have. What silly questions you 
 ask, my child.' 
 
 " That evening," continued Mr. F., "I sat up later than usual 
 calculating very profoundly with a slate and pencil. My grand- 
 mother told me repeatedly to get away to bed, and I told her as 
 frequently that I was just going ; but this being a matter of 
 frequent occurrence, she was not surprised. 
 
 " ' I do declare,' she said, ' that boy will go mad over his books 
 and slate. I never saw such a lad as he is.' 
 
 "At last I threw down the slate and pencil, saying — 'Grand- 
 mamma, I don't believe a word of it.' 
 
 "'Don't believe what?' she cried, 'I knew the boy v;ould go 
 crazy with his learning.' 
 
 " ' Why, Grandmamma, I have just been calculating, and I feel 
 certain it would take a hundred big forests to furnish wood enough 
 to make up all that has been distributed for eighteen hundred yearsy 
 as the " true cross." ' If I ever saw fear and astonishment on any 
 countenance they were depicted on hers. Her next argument wa» 
 a cane, which soon made me disappear for the night. 
 
 " Before I had been long in my chambei*, I heard my dear old 
 grandmother's footstep approaching up the stairs. ' Fred,' she 
 said, 'here is a piece of silver for you, and you must promise 
 me never to mention that matter again to any one. If you do, a 
 
ROME AND ROMANISM. 
 
 117 
 
 number of great, ugly, armed men will come for you some nigLt 
 and take you away to where you will never see pooi <rrandraamma 
 
 agam. 
 
 " I remember how very much frightened I was by the threat 
 held out to me, and how resolute I was for a long time in keeping 
 my feelings to myself ; but the * argumentum ad baculum ' failed 
 to convince me about the identity of the wood with the cross, or 
 even the possibility of its having any relationship thereto, that 
 could be traced by the most learned genealogist." 
 
 Ifi's. L. — " Poor blind people ! I hope the day will arrive which 
 shall usher in the light of God's Holy Word to their minds. Do 
 you think that there are any successful efforts made to enlighten 
 theml" 
 
 Mr. F. — " Certainly there are ; many copies of the Holy Scrip- 
 tures are circulated in Rome itself, despite all the diligence that is 
 used to prevent it." 
 
 Mrs. L. — " Oh ! I am so delighted. But how is it done ? I 
 thought the vigilance of all the parties interested in the suppression 
 of it was so great as to render it impossible to get a copy of the 
 Bible within the gates." 
 
 Mr. F. — " The vigilance exercised is certainly very great, but 
 then, the vigilance of the children of God ought certainly to be a 
 match for that of the children of the devil. As soon as I begun to 
 hope that God, in His rich mercy, had enlightened and saved my 
 own soul, the very first emotions aroused within me were pity for 
 my fellow-countrymen, and a desire to benefit them, so as to make 
 them partakers of the same rich blessings. I accordingly deter- 
 mined to introduce among them the Holy Scriptures, and succeeded, 
 by the Divine blessing, in introducing and circulating many hun- 
 dreds of copies. 
 
 " You appear to be astonished, but I will enlighten you on the 
 subject. 
 
 " I first got some coats made with a good many pockets each 
 sufficient to hold five or six Bibles or a dozen Testaments. My 
 next step was to pass in and out so frequently as to become person- 
 ally known to a great number of the guards, and to make it absol- 
 utely irksome to them to search me so often. Taking care for a 
 long time never to have anything with me that was contraband, and 
 always walking up to them confidently, as if inviting or defying a 
 search, and they came at last to look upon me as a sort of half 
 nuisance or half acquaintance, and to let me pass without any 
 search, sometimes giving mo a nod and sometimes not. 
 
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 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 " As soon as I found the coast thus clear, I managed to convey 
 great numbers of copies, taking care previously to ascertain who 
 the parties were whose duty it was to search, and that I observed 
 on the watch at any given time, taking advantage of them or other- 
 wise." 
 
 Mrs. L. — " And could you get persons willing to run the risk of 
 receiving them, and reading their contents ? " 
 
 Mr. F. — "Many. Of course great caution had to be used. All 
 parties at first would profess indifference ; and some, absolute 
 hatred towards them, for they did not know whether or not I was 
 a spy, endeavouring to entrap and accuse them to the authorities ; 
 but as soon as I could gain their confidence so as to feel that in me 
 they had a friend, they were generally willing enough to receive 
 the Holy Word, and to read or hear it read." 
 
 Mrs. L. — " What arguments were you in the habit of using in 
 order to disarm their opposition." 
 
 Mr. F. — " I never chose to enter into argument on the subject 
 to any great extent. It would be unwise. It was known to a good 
 many that my father was an Englishman, and that I had spent some 
 years of my early life in England. This used^ of itself, to open up 
 an opportunity to speak of the great blessings enjoyed under the 
 British Constitution, and the causes which led to the great extent 
 to which personal liberty and property are protected there. This 
 would naturally lead them to ask me the reasons why England 
 should be so blessed above all countries, her institutions so liberal, 
 and her people so free and happy. My answer to these queries was 
 generally a short one, namely, ' If you fasten the door I will tell 
 you.' People living under any degree of despotism are generally 
 very eager to listen under such circumstances, so that when the 
 door was properly secured, and all the inmates gathered round me, 
 I would draw a New Testament from my pocket, and say, ' You 
 see this little book?' 'Yes,' would be the answer. 'Well,' I 
 would say, ' within this little volume lies the whole secret. This 
 book emancipated England from tyranny as bad as that under 
 which we groan, and when its teachings come to be generally 
 received in this or in any other land, such land must become free 
 and happy.' You may be sure they would by this time be eager 
 to listen to it." 
 
 Mrs. L. — "And used you to leave them a copy on going away? " 
 
 Mr. F. — " Not always at first. I used to sharpen their appe- 
 tite, by calling a few times, so as to excite a strong desire to 
 possess the book, and then leave a copy with them. Those who 
 
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i to convey 
 ■ertain who 
 I observed 
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 the risk of 
 
 used. AH 
 
 > absolute 
 not I was 
 ithorities ; 
 bat in me 
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 f using in 
 
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 ' open up 
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 e. This 
 England 
 
 > liberal, 
 I'ies was 
 will tell 
 Bnerally 
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 This 
 
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 eager 
 
 way?" 
 
 appe- 
 
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 B who 
 
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 M 
 
 THH KMIGRANT HAl'.V THK DAY BEFORE ITS DEATH. 
 
 1'. 119. 
 
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A SUDDEN INTERRUPTION. 
 
 119 
 
 could pay for them were very glad to do so. Such as could not 
 pay received them gratuitously with great readiness." 
 
 Mrs. L. — " And were you never watched and detected in those 
 exercises 1 " 
 
 Mr. F. — " Watched 1 I believe I was, many times, but detected 
 never. Once I was very near it, I confess. I was in a house to 
 which I frequently resorted ; all the family were extremely fond 
 of reading, and conversing on, the Scriptures. They had several 
 copies of the New Testament, which they used to keep secured 
 under the seats of chairs by straps, so that when the book stood open 
 before them, two straps across the bottom of the chair or stool, as 
 the case might be, confined the book to its position. The only 
 inconvenience arising from it was a little delay in turning over a 
 leaf, and tucking it under the strap at the opposite side. The 
 chair had to be turned bottom upwards, of course, in order to 
 admit of the book being read. One day, as I was thus engaged, a 
 knock was heard at the door. The chairs were restored to their 
 natural positions, two officers entered, searched the room, searched 
 the clothes of every one of us, and, in fact, searched every place 
 almost where the books were not. 
 
 " They found a volume of Tasso, or some such thing, which I 
 carried for a blind in one of my pockets, and soon went away, 
 with some sort of apology for the trouble they had occasioned 
 us. 
 
 " You may be sure I thought, for a little while, that my personal 
 liberty wa^ nearly at an end. The fact is, I could fill a volume 
 with such stories," 
 
 The following incident suddenly ended ohe conversation : — 
 " Oh, docthor ! docthor ! Where is the docthor 1 " 
 " What ails you, ray good woman 1 " the doctor replied, putting 
 his head out at the door of his state-room. 
 
 " Oh, docthor, my child is dyin' ! Can you do anything for him 
 at all at all 1 O what bad luck I had ever to come to say wud my 
 poor child ! " 
 
 This lamentation was poured forth, along with a vast deal more 
 in the same strain, by a poor woman from among the steerage 
 passengers, whose baby had been suddenly taken ill with convul- 
 sive fits. Hearing that there was a doctor on board, she hurried 
 off to the cabin, and, without waiting for an introduction, rushed 
 in a state of frenzy among the passengers, with the clamorous 
 appeal above mentioned. 
 
 Her own excited state, and the sufierings of her babe, vvere more 
 
 S'!.l, 
 
 IV 
 
 
120 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 1 i 
 
 i'^ 
 
 than a sufficient excuse for her want of etiquette in introducing 
 herself. 
 
 "What ails your child ? " said the doctor. " Show it to me." 
 He endeavoured to take it from her arms, but she grasped it, as if 
 she herself were drowning, and the babe the only thing by which 
 lAie could hold fast to save herself from destruction. 
 
 The cabin door and windows were so beset by this time with 
 sympathizers and curiosity-seekers, that the captain had to order 
 two men to stand guard and keep them off, in order to admit a 
 sufficiency of light and air. 
 
 The doctor, who was the husband of Mrs. Lyon, referred to 
 above, said to his wife, " You will be better able to soothe the 
 poor thing than / can. She is almost as ill as the child." 
 
 "I am very sorry, indeed, for your poor child," said that lady. 
 " Come here and sit on this sofa, and we will see what the doctor 
 can do for it." 
 
 " I have tin pound in me box. Ma'am, an' he shall have it all, 
 if I have to beg aftherwards, so that he saves my child," the 
 woman imploringly ejaculated. 
 
 " The doctor will do all he can for him without charging you 
 anything ; but you must let me hold him for you, and compose 
 yourself J s much as possible." 
 
 " O ]\Ia'am," she said, as she relaxed her grasp of the babe, and 
 surrendered it to Mrs. Lyon, " he was the finest child that anybody 
 iver saw. Shure it was given up to him be all the neighbours 
 round, that they niver saw so fine a child with rich or poor, gentle 
 or simple. Don't hurt him, my lady, if ye plase." 
 
 " Arrah now, Biddy," said a man who stood at the cabin door 
 with his hat in his hand, while he wiped big tears off his cheeks 
 with the cuff of his coat, " how bowld ye spakes to her ladyship. 
 Indeed, Ma'am, me wife is always p'lite to the quollity, only ye 
 must excuse her now, she is so frightened about little Terry she 
 don't know what she is say in'." 
 
 " Are you this woman's husband]" said the captain ; " come in 
 and sit beside your wife ; the doctor has gone to his medicine-chest 
 to pi'epare something for your baby." 
 
 " Don't be onaisy, Biddy," said Darby Shereen, as he took his 
 seat beside her, "her ladyship will spake to the docthor an' coax 
 him to do the best he can for him. I'm afeered, Ma'am," address- 
 ing Mrs. Lyon, " that poor little Terry '11 niver open his eyes any 
 more ; an' it 's Terry we calls him for shortness' sake, but Terence 
 was the name the priest put upon him, an' there has been one o' 
 
 ii 
 
POOR LITTLE TERRY. 
 
 121 
 
 that name in our family ever since the first of 'em, who was a great 
 writer in the owld anshint times long agone, an* a distant relation 
 of ours, me lady." 
 
 The doctor now appeared with a draught for the child, who, a^ 
 he saw at a glance, was in a convulsed state, but the poor little 
 sufferer's jaws were so rigidly set, that it was impossible to get 
 anything into his mouth. The steward who had been despatched 
 for a bath in which to place the infant, soon appeared with that 
 article, followed by a lad bearing a bucket of hot water in one 
 hand and another of cold in the opposite. 
 
 The patient was placed in a warm bath, in which, after a few 
 minutes, the rigidity of his muscles relaxed, so that he soon became 
 capable of swallowing, when the doctor gave him a soothing draught, 
 and after a short fit of crying, Mrs. Lyon handed him back to his 
 mother in a gentle sleep. 
 
 " Glory be to God," the poor woman shouted, as she rushed 
 from the cabin, " me child is saved ! me child is saved ! " 
 
 " You must excuse my poor ooman. Ma'am," said Darby, as he 
 picked up his hat from the floor on which he had deposited it ; 
 " to-morrow, whin she comes to her sinses, she '11 give ye thanks. 
 Do you think, Sir," addressing the doctor, " that he 's quite well 
 now 1 " 
 
 " He has got through this paroxysm," said the doctor, " and 
 may get through a few more of them, but it will not surprise me 
 at all to find that he is taken away from his sufierings, probably 
 before the end of the passage, possibly before many days." 
 
 The poor fellow, whose hopes had been excited by the temporary 
 recovery of his child, sat down on the foot of the " companion "- 
 way, pressed his head between his hands for a moment, then started 
 up with the exclamation, " God help us, yer honour, then I '11 
 have to lose 'em both, for she '11 niver be separated from poor 
 Terry, in life or in death." 
 
 It turned out as the doctor anticipated ; the poor little sufferer 
 lingered for a week, rolling his head from side to side, tossing his 
 arms over it, and squeezing it as if to hold it together ; screaming, 
 grinding his teeth, and again stiffening in rigid convulsions. The 
 fits succeeded eath other in quick succession, on each of which the 
 doctor and Mrs. Lyon were appealed to, the little store of money 
 repeatedly offered, and as repeatedly refused; " me lady" as fre- 
 quently entreated to " coax " her husband to think of something 
 else that would be certain to cure " poor little Terry," who, perhaps, 
 most happily for himself, " played his part in the great drama of 
 
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 122 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 III 
 
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 li'l!! ' 3? 
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 « 
 
 life " within a much briefer space than did his short-lived, witty, 
 and illustrious namesake, in honour of whom, according to his 
 father's account, he had been called. 
 
 At the end of the space of time above mentioned, the mother, 
 who was worn out with watching and tending her infant, fell into 
 a doze for about an houi m awakening and perceiving no signs 
 of animation in her babe she became alarmed, calling violently on 
 Darby to run for the doctor. 
 
 Darby did as his wife requested ; the doctor was by her bedside 
 in the steerage in a few minutes, but the little sufferer had passed 
 away, and a look of calmness and perfect freedom from pain had 
 commenced to settle down on its now placid features. 
 
 As soon as the doctor, by the light of his lantern, had looked in 
 the face of the deceased infant, he exclaimed involuntarily, " OIi, 
 how beautiful ! " 
 
 " What does your honour think o' poor little Terry ? " Darby 
 asked with the air of a man who expected that the answer might 
 contain his own death-warrant. 
 
 " Terry," said that benevolent physician, " will never suffer any 
 more pain." 
 
 " What does he say ? " gasped the mother, her emotion nearly 
 choking her. 
 
 " He says," replied the father, " that we are poor and desolate 
 this holy Monday mornin'. The light is gone from our eyes an' 
 the sunshine from our path now in airnest. Oh, Biddy ! Biddy ! " 
 and the man sobbed like an infant. 
 
 Biddy made no answer, but rocked herself, as her country-women 
 do, from side to tide in mute agony. 
 
 The doctor, unable to render any further assistance for the 
 present, took up his lantern and disappeared from the steerage. 
 
 " How is poor Biddy's child, my dear ? " asked his wife when 
 he returned to his state-room. 
 
 " Its sufferings are over," he said ; " it must have died an hour 
 or two back, while she was sleeping. And now that the traces of 
 pain are wearing away, it looks tLe loveliest child I ever saw. It 
 will be hard work, I fear, to get the corpse away from her in order 
 to bury it. She is a woman of strong natural emotions, and I do 
 not doubt but she will fight like a tigress when it comes to the last." 
 
 " But don't you think, love," said Mrs. Lyon, " that I could get 
 her to give it up by talking to her, and trying to get her into a 
 reasonable frame of mind ? " 
 
 " I do not, indeed, my dear," he said ; " reason appears to me 
 
" THE HEART KNOWETH ITS OWN BITTERNESS." 
 
 123 
 
 4 
 
 perfectly powerless in such cases. In fact, reason is dethroned 
 altogether; and where there is no true religious principle, you 
 have nothing to work upon." 
 
 The doctor sought res jnce more, and was not again disturbed 
 that night. 
 
 In the course of the next morning, a little after breakfast, the 
 boatswain entered the cabin with, " Please, capt'n, what am I to 
 do with that ere consarued wild Irishwoman? She clawed my 
 face, and pulled my hair — and, sakes alive ! she does go on so ; 
 ' nineteen to the dozen.' " 
 
 " The woman with the dead child ? " 
 
 " Yes, capt'n." 
 
 " What did you say to her, boatswain 1 " 
 
 " Nothing at all, only, ' Sakes alive, Missus,' says I, ' don't 
 be kickin' up sich a fuss an' sich a rumpus about this ere babby,' 
 says I. ' Give it here to me,' says I, ' an' I '11 bury it ; ' and 
 sakes alive ! capt'n, if she didn't make me clear out o' that, it 's 
 a caution, an' no mistake." 
 
 " Very likely she did make you clear out of that, going to her 
 in the way you say you did. Let the poor thing alone ; we '11 
 try some way to get it from her by-and-by. Go to your duty." 
 
 "Ay, ay, Sir." 
 
 " Doctor," said the captain, " we must try, when her grief sub- 
 sides somewhat, to get the corpse from her. Is she in a state to 
 listen to reason on the subject?" 
 
 " Not the least," said the doctor ; " indeed I fear for her reason, 
 lest she may lose it altogether. She is in especial danger of that 
 now, having lost the child. But we will go down to see her after 
 a little while. If she could be induced to sleep, it might be taken 
 from her without her being aware of it at the time." 
 
 Towards noon the doctor and Mrs. Lyon proceeded to the 
 steerage, in company with the captain. Darby sat on a chest, 
 outside ^the berth, with his elbows resting on his knees, and his 
 face buried in his hands. Some of the women were gathered 
 around the berth in deep conversation. 
 
 One of them, turning to the poor man, said : "An' tell me now, 
 Darby, what day o' the week was it whin ye left home ? " 
 
 "Oh!" said Darby, with a shrug and a shudder, "I forgot 
 that. That was the worst of all ; an' I might ha' known I 'd ha' 
 bad luck. It was on a Monday, sure enough, sure enough ! " He 
 dwelt with prolonged bitterness and emphasis on the last word. 
 " It was on a Monday," he continued, " that me father broke 
 
 .111 
 
 ■H 
 
 
 
tniii 
 
 i:i ' 
 
 i * 
 
 124 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 liis leg. On a Monday the spotted cow died. On a Monday 
 night, about tliree o'clock on Chewsday mornin', our bam was 
 burned down. On a Monday I left home to come to Ameriky ; 
 an' now, the weightest blow that ever fell on me happens on the 
 same mornin' o' the week. But it was * laid out ' for rae, an' I 
 must go through it. There's no escapin' one's luck — there ain't." 
 
 The parties were so earnestly engaged in the above conversation 
 as not to perceive the visitors. 
 
 The captain interrupted them, at length, by saying, "Now, 
 Darby, my man, here are Mrs. Lyon and the doctor come to see 
 your wife." 
 
 The crowd of women stood up, curtseying respectfully to the 
 lady. Darby also stood up, with the expression on his lips, " God 
 bless her ladyship ; but it's no use." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Mrs. Lyon, " it will be of use, I think. Biddy, 
 come now, open your eyes. Don't you know me ? " 
 
 A fellow-passenger, a woman of kind and motherly feeling, was 
 sitting up beside Biddy in the berth. She had been in that 
 position for some hours, vainly endeavouring to persuade her to 
 give up the child for interment. " God bless you, Madam ! " she 
 said, "'tis yerself as is the kind good lady to throuble yerself 
 about the poor, but I 'm afeerd she '11 die afore iver she lets go her 
 howld o' the same corpse." 
 
 " Rouse yerself, Biddy, — now, do. There 's a good sowl. 
 Shure there 's the doctlior, an' his lady, an' the capting come to 
 see ye. Cum now, — there 's a good ooman." 
 
 -AH her friend's persuasives were utterly powerless to awaken 
 any consciousness in poor Biddy. Her kind friend said she had 
 been asleep for some time, but the doctor found that she was in 
 a state of coma. It was not difficult then to take the corpse from 
 her, which was done, the captain giving directions to have it put 
 in a proper place until night, when it should be wrapped in a 
 piece of canvas, a weight attached thereto, and the burial effected 
 some time during the night, when it would be least likely to 
 excite the mother's attention. 
 
 The doctor and his wife remained with Biddy an hour or more, 
 when she began to show signs of consciousness. Before she could 
 speak, she felt wildly at her breast, and not finding her babe in 
 its accustomed place, passed her hands anxiously over the bed- 
 clothes several times. 
 
 " Here now, Biddy," said Mrs. Lyon, " the doctor has mixed a 
 nice cordial for you. Drink it, and it will make you feel better." 
 
 
THE GRIEF TOO DEEP FOR TEARS. 
 
 125 
 
 an' I 
 
 " Where is my child 1 " she exchiimed with fury, sitting up in 
 the berth, and screaming — *' What luivo they done wid me cliild? " 
 
 " Say something likely to make her weep copiously," said the 
 doctor. " It will be impossible to get her to take anything in her 
 excited state, and if she can shed tears there may be some chance 
 for her." 
 
 " I feel very sorry for you, indeed, my poor woman," said Mrs. 
 Lyon ; " I wish I could do anything to assuage your giief, which 
 must be very great. I know how to feel for you, having lost two 
 sweet babes when they were about his age." 
 
 "You did, Ma'am?" said the poor, bereaved woman, with an 
 incredulous look. 
 
 " I did," said the lady, " and that circumstance makes ine feel 
 ray own grief over again, now that I see you so tried." 
 
 " An' tell me," she said, " wor they as fine childer as my 
 Teny 1 " 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the kind lady, " but they were mine, and 
 they were all I had then. I thought I never could have borne so 
 heavy a stroke, but my gracious Lord gave me patience j I knew 
 the hand that smote me so tenderly and lovingly was His hand, 
 and when I felt sure that the precious Saviour had taken my dear 
 lambs and folded them in his own faithful bosom, where they 
 could never know sorrow or sin, I was enabled to sai/ and to feely 
 ' Thy will be done, O Lord ! ' " 
 
 The only answer that could be obtained from the poor woman 
 was, " They wor not like my Terry." 
 
 Seeing they could be of no service to the poor agonised creature, 
 the doctor and his wife departed, giving directions to the people 
 i)iesent to call on him at any time if they thought his services 
 would be of use. 
 
 " "Well, to be sure," said one, as the lady disappeared from among 
 them, " Isn't she an angel 1 " 
 
 " Wisha, she is, a saint upon airth — if tliere is one," was the 
 asservation, in which many of them joined. 
 
 Biddy soon threw herself back upon her pillow and fell into 
 the same state of unconsciousness as before. No entreaties or 
 persuasions could induce her to partake of food or drink. She 
 held no conversation with those whose kind assiduities were 
 lavishly tendered. She sometimes fell into a kind of stertorous 
 doze, from which she awaked muttering to herself and vainly 
 feeling at her bosom for " poor Terry." 
 
 About twelve o'clock that night a sailor came and touched 
 
 1 1( 
 
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 ji,: 
 
 "^'^^^'sH^-^'i 
 
126 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 Darby on the shoulder as he sat in the attitude before described, 
 listening to various persons, chiefly females, who had denied 
 themselves a night's rest in order to keep up their old custom of 
 " waking the corpse," although at sea. 
 
 Those who had lost cliildren of their own had their wounds 
 opened afresh by the circumstance which had so recently occurred 
 in their midst. 
 
 Those who had none to lose declared they could not see " why 
 such a fuss should be made over a child." They could see some 
 reason in grieving for one on whom the support of a family 
 depended, but to grieve for an infant was nonsense in their 
 estimation. Such were their sympathies. 
 
 Darby arose abruptly and followed the messenger. 
 
 •* See here, my poor fellow," said the chief mate, " I feel very 
 sorry for the loss of your child ; if I could restore it to you it 
 would soon be done, but that is impossible." 
 
 " It is, Sir," said the poor bereaved father ; " you 're very kind, 
 indeed, an* so is the capting's honour, God bless him, an' the 
 docthor, an' his lady, an' everybody else ; they all has the con- 
 solin' word for me, and for poor Biddy, but as for her part I 'm 
 afeerd it 's no use ; she '11 niver get over it." 
 
 " I want you," said the mate, " to be present at the burial. 
 It will try your feelings, to be sure, but that cannot be avoided. 
 See, here it is," and he opened the door of a little house which 
 stood on the deck, " take your last view of it, before we sew it 
 up in this canvas." 
 
 " Wouldn't you let me show it to Biddy, Sir, for a minute," 
 
 said the poor fellow ; " it may do her some 
 
 good 
 
 to kiss poor 
 
 little Terry wanst more," and he rubbed the cuff or sleeve of the 
 Munster man's invariable covering for all seasons — his "loose 
 coat " — across his face, to wipe away the blinding tears. 
 
 " The doctor thinks it will '»e better for her not to see it again," 
 said the mate. 
 
 " God's will an* His bless* d Mother's be done," was the poor 
 fellow's reply ; " I '11 be led an* said by my betthers. What do 
 poor people like me know about anything 1 " 
 
 He kissed the alabaster forehead of the sleeping infant, and 
 silently sat himself down on a coil of rope near by, to weep real 
 tears of sorrow. 
 
 " Now, my sweet lads," said the mate, " roll him up gently, and 
 sew the canvas nicely about him. How like he is to the corpse 
 of my little Will, that died when I was home about two y 
 
 it' 
 
THE MIDNIGHT BURIAL. 
 
 127 
 
 Hang this plaguy cold in my head," and he turned about under 
 jiretence of looking for something, to let the streams flow freely. 
 
 Curiously enough, each of his assistants was jylcKjjied with just 
 such another cold in the head at that precise moment. 
 
 Why should men be ashamed of those honest manly, teai-s 1 — 
 tears which show that all the kindliness and sym2)athy are not 
 sliaken out of us by the surging tempests of even a seafaring life. 
 
 In the captain's absence the mate acted as chaplain. While he 
 went to his chest to look for hia prayer-book, two of the sailors took 
 the little corpse, rolled in its winding-sheet, and laid it gently on 
 a board on the deck beside where an opening had been made in the 
 bulwark of the vessel for the purpose of the burial. The mate soon 
 ai)peared with his prayer-book; a sailor held a lantern so as to throw 
 its light on the page while he read the service for burials at sea. 
 
 When he arrived at those words, " We therefore commit his body 
 to the deep," the board was gently elevated at one end, and the 
 body slid down with a heavy splash into the water ! Little Terry 
 is there till the sea gives up its dead ! 
 
 Ere a second had elapsed, or the men had time to wipe away the 
 tears that would force themselves forward, a dark form rushed past 
 them with a fearful scream. " My child " was the only utterance, 
 and another splash in the water revealed the awful fact that Biddy, 
 a moment of aberration, having her hearing preternaturally 
 
 ni 
 
 quickened to what was going forward on deck, had rushed from her 
 berth, in which she had lain for some hours in a state of apparent 
 utter unconsciousness, and sought the same watery grave with her 
 lost treasure. 
 
 " Mercy on us," cried the mate, " what is that? " 
 
 A burst of agony from Darby, who had recognised his wife's 
 scream, and was rushing forward in the mad endeavour to save or 
 perish with her, told the sorrowful tale. 
 
 "Let me folly* her, for the sake of the Holy Vargin," he 
 entreated, while he struggled fearfully with two of the sailors 
 who had grasped him by the collar ; but they succeeded in holding 
 him firmly until three or four of his fellow-passengers, who had 
 come on deck when they perceived the wild rush of the poor 
 distracted woman, took him in charge, and conveyed him back to 
 his berth again. 
 
 The wind and sea had been rising for the last hour or more, 
 and the darkness of the night Lad just begun to clear away before 
 the bright beams of the rising moon. It was a fearful peril, 
 
 * Follow. 
 
 M 
 
128 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I m ! 
 
 
 i 
 
 and pronounced by the oldest sailors on board " a mad piece of 
 business to lower a boat into such a sea and on such a night." 
 
 In an instant after the plunge of the poor demented woman into 
 the seething waters, two or three spars that lay on the deck were 
 thrown overboard, as also a long coil of rope, and a pail or two, 
 with the distant and almost hopeless hope that some one of them 
 might float near enough for her to lay hold of. 
 
 " Now, my beauties ! let us lower a boat," the mate sung out ; 
 " who '11 volunteer to go with me to rescue or to death ? " 
 
 " I," " I," " I," each sailor of the watch shouted. 
 
 " Trust you all ! I knew you were the sort for it," replied the 
 mate, with as much evident satisfaction as a man feels when he 
 praises his father or mother. " Well, Thompson, T '11 take yoit 
 along, and nobody else ; two lives are enough to risk on such a 
 night as this — as many as could be spared from the ship. As you 
 have no wife you can be better spared than some others — that is, 
 i/ anything should happen." Meanwhile they were busily at work 
 lowering a boat as fast as their hands could ply. 
 
 "You boy, Bill," he shouted. 
 
 "Ay, ay, Sir." 
 
 "Fetch me a lantern, quick." 
 
 " Had not I better call the cap'n ? " one of the men suggested. 
 
 "If you dare call him till after we are gone, I'll knock you 
 down with a belaying pin or a handspike. No, Sir ! He 'd be for 
 calculating the value of lives too nicely for me in a matter of this 
 sort. Now, then, Thompson — here we are — jump in — bravely done 
 — let go the painter there — my love to the captain, if we don't come 
 back." 
 
 Brave souls ! Three hearty cheers from " all hands," who had 
 been aroused by- some means, and rushed on deck, gi-eeted them 
 as they parted from the ship. The moon now slicme brightly 
 on the waves, rcivealing their curling, angry-looking, foamy crestSj 
 as they dashed and br"ke, and sunk and rose again, apparently 
 to boil in xiercer eddies, and engage afresh in more deadly 
 conflict. The boat's lantern could be seen after those on deck 
 failed to recognise the little craft itself, at every time that' it 
 mounted one of those fierce billows that threatened every moment 
 to swamp her. 
 
 " My precious stars, here's a mess," the captain vociferated, as he 
 sprang up the compauion-way. " Why did you not call me before 
 they went 1 I have a mind to put yo ^ in irons, and order you five 
 hundred lashes." 
 
ili- c' 
 
 LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 129 
 
 id piece of 
 ight." 
 Oman into 
 deck were 
 il or two, 
 e of them 
 
 5ung out ; 
 
 ^plied the 
 when he 
 take you 
 >n such a 
 As you 
 —that is, 
 y at work 
 
 [gested. 
 lock you 
 'd be for 
 ' of this 
 ely done 
 n't come 
 
 vho had 
 3d them 
 brightly 
 5^ crests^ 
 3arently 
 
 deadly 
 on deck 
 
 thai it 
 inonient 
 
 d, as he 
 2 before 
 ^ou five 
 
 " He wouldn't let me, Sir," said the sailor, evidently in no terror 
 or apprehension of the " five hundred," although he took good care 
 to keep out of the way of the captain's fists just then, when he 
 saw him excited, his mercury being up to '•^ one hundred." 
 
 " Wouldn't let you. Sir ! Go tell that somewhere else, Sir. 
 I '11 let hoth of them know I 'm master here, when I catch them. 
 I 'U put them in irons, Sir, I will. Hoy ! 'bout the ship there, all 
 hands." 
 
 " Ay, ay, Sir," rung aloud from the whole crew. 
 
 " Yes, I '11 put both of them in irons, I will as sure . Think 
 
 of that mad-cap, harum-scarum of a mate,^ with a wife and two 
 children, rushing like this without orders into peril." 
 
 The good ship obeyed her helm, and wore round trimly to the 
 larboard tack, all eyes being strained in the direction of the boat, 
 whose light was becoming dimmer and dimmer every time it was 
 seen, until at last it seemed to disappear altogether for a minute 
 or moie, the suspense lengthening each minute. 
 
 Very soon the light gi'ew brighter, and increased as the boat 
 neared the ship, and becoming more and more obser-vable, the 
 excited passengers (who were now all aroused and on deck) made 
 a simultaneous rush to the side where the boat was to be seen, 
 and caused the vessel to heel to port, so as materially to endanger 
 her safety, and occasioned the captain and crew much trouble 
 to get them below again. TS'or would they be persuaded until he 
 assured them repeatedly they were imperilling their own lives 
 without doing any good, and at last his arguments were listened 
 to, and all good-naturedly complied, the more readily when told 
 that they should all hear whatever good or bad news came, which 
 would be reported to them, as far as possible, by one of their own 
 number placed at the fore-hatchway, to inform all between decks 
 how matters wei-e progress! ug. 
 
 " Are they likely to get back safe % " one and another would ask 
 the sentry. 
 
 " Och ! an' who can tell % an' shure there 's a ^ ^ to-night that 'd 
 drown'd a whale, so it wud. -Visy, aisy there ! i. declare they 're 
 comin' nearer an' nearer, so they are." 
 
 " Po ye think they 've got poor Biddy % " 
 
 "Arrah, man alive, don't make a fool o' yerself; they n iglit 
 as well search for a needle in a bundle av hay. How could they 
 tell which way she wint, onless it was down to the bottom 
 intirely?" 
 
 "Och! an' 'tis there she's gone L^iur. enough, poor crathur,'* 
 
 9 
 
 • ir 
 
 1' ■ , 
 
 •N' 
 
 I. 
 
 vjmA 
 
 .. n 
 
130 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ) \ i. 
 
 and thus the conversation ran on among tht peoplo below, and all 
 eager to know the result. 
 
 Nearly an hour elapsed from the moment of the catastrophe up 
 to the approach of the boat to the ship to be within hailing 
 distance. The captain walked backward and forward on the 
 quarter-deck, "practising his threatening lest he should forget it^^ as 
 old Tom, the ship's cook, expressed it in sailor fashion. *' Yes, 
 I '11 give them fellows salt instead of sugar in their tea ; I will jls 
 
 sure . You '11 see if I don't," and at the finish of the threat 
 
 he heard a shout from the mate, " Throw us a rope and lower 
 
 A COT — BE QUICK ! BE QUICK ! " 
 
 "Hoy! Hoy! Mr, Hudson; got back again?" shouted the 
 captain, who heard the demand for the " rope," but not for the 
 *' cot ; " " you 've disappointed me sadly ; T never expected to see 
 either of you again. You 've lost your labour and might have lost 
 your lives." 
 
 " We have neither lost om* labour or our lives, captain," repli. d 
 the mate. 
 
 " What ! have you got the woman % As sure as I live there she 
 is in the bottom of the boat ! " 
 
 A "cot" was hastily let down, in which, drenched and shiver- 
 ing, the insensible Biddy was speedily placed and hoisted safely 
 on deck, amid the silent rejoicings of all present and the praises 
 of the gallant conduct of the mate and his brave companion. Not 
 a moment was lost by the excellent doctor and his good lady, 
 whose kindness and exertions were all that could be wished. 
 
 The poor woman was at once conveyed to the cabin and wrapped 
 up in blankets, cordials were judiciously administered, friction em- 
 ployed, and all that skill and humanity could devise were resorted to. 
 
 In about an hour poor Biddy began to give signs of returning 
 animation, and before morning consciousness seemed to resume its 
 seat. She spoke a little, but had no recollection of anything tran- 
 spiring between the death of her babe and finding herself the 
 subject of so much kind solicitude on die part of Doctor and Mrs. 
 Lyon, as well as the officers and men of the ship. 
 
 During the remainder of the voyage Mrs. Lyon found means 
 to employ her in her cabin ; and in order to prevent her mind as 
 much as possible fi'om recurring to her grief and bereavement she 
 conversed with her freely and read useful books to her ; and above 
 all the " Book of books," the lessons of which are able to " make 
 us wise unto salvation." Let us hope tho,t in this case the " Word " 
 did not return to the Divine Author void. 
 
 "> 
 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 GREAT A ! — WHICH IS GOOD ENGLISH 1 — AN ILLUSTRATED PROVERB 
 BY A NEWLY-ELECTED PROFESSOR — AND AN ILLUSTRATION OF 
 POPERY MORE STRIKING THAN AGREEABLE IN ITS APPLICATION. 
 
 i 
 
 We must now introduoe our readers to the school of " Professor 
 Noonan," as the captain, when in one of his facetious moods, 
 called our venerable friend. 
 
 The captain (as previously stated) had given orders to the car- 
 ]>enter to supply him with a black board, chalk, and such other 
 necessary apparatus for conducting his " seminary " as he needed. 
 One end of the steerage had been appropriated by consent of the 
 passengers to the purpose; and the professor raised his tall, 
 patriarchal figure as high as the 'tween decks of the ship would 
 suffer him, while with chalk in hand he shouted, "Now, boys, 
 pay attintion to what I 'm goin' to tell ye. Open yer books an' 
 find yer Ah, B, C, every one o' ye. 
 
 " Look at the first letther there. See, I '11 make it, or the same 
 iiv it, on the black board, only it'll be a great dale bigger, just to 
 j:;ihrike the eye. 
 
 " Can any one in the class tell me what is the name o' that 
 "euher'<'' 
 
 Tlie learned professor paused, like Brutus, for a reply, but tliero 
 Nvn . aone. " Silence reigned around." 
 
 " i.'ch, an' I 'm ashamed o' the set o' ye, so 1 am. Why, there 's 
 some o' ye eight or nine years owld, an' have niver been at school 
 afore. Well, it 's betther to begin late than niver. Boys, now 
 listen to me. The name o' that letther is * Ah.* I was in Ingland 
 wanst, an' it would make ye laugh to hear the way they used to 
 call the letthers there ; I wint into a school in the counthry one 
 f'lay, an' the masther had a class up taichm' 'em their ' Ah, B, C,' 
 isn' to see how they used to have to & rew up their mouths to say 
 * Ih.ji* for ^ Ah* would make anybody laugh that had a laugh in 
 'ihi. Thin, agin, there's *-fi^,' the fifth letther; we calls it ^Ay,* 
 
 I i 
 
 l! 
 
 ■;i". 
 
132 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 r< 
 
 but they must be so Inglified they calls it ' He ; ' an' ' /,' the ninth 
 letther that ye see there, they calls it ' Ili ; ' an ' ' they calls 
 * Ho ' in like manner. I was takin' some horses to Lon'on to sell, 
 an' on me way from Bristol at the the first place I stopped to feed, 
 the hostler conies to me, an' sez he, 'Do ye want to feed yer 
 'oi-ses V *1 do,' sez I ; so away he goes to his masther, an' I lieerd 
 him tellin' him, ' That ere Hirishman says he wants boats an* 'ay 
 for his 'orses.' Well, but that isn't the best of it, for I had a 
 
 donkey with me, too, an' he comes back to me with, ' I say, Mr. 
 Hirishman, shall I find boats for the bass, too 1 ' 
 
 " ' Oh, nivir mind givin' the bass hany boats,' sez T, tryin' to 
 imitate him. Well, why I tell ye he was mad, so he was. ' What 
 hails ye, Mistl^'jr Ostler?' sez I to him. * Oh, nivir mind,' sez he. 
 * You can speal - i?'r Hirish,' sez he, ' an' let me speak wt/ Hinglish. 
 Hi think Hi h j islands it betther than yov, do.' 'Indeed, an' 
 so ye ought,' sez ^ L'in' as I 'm a stranger an' a furriner in a 
 furrin land,' and there I drapt him." 
 
 Without pretending for the present to decide which were the 
 most laughable. — Mr. Noonan's "brogue," or the prevalent erro- 
 neous pronunciation he so amusingly attacked — one thing is certain, 
 if Mr. Noonan's provincial peculiarity be laughable, so was that 
 of Mr. Ostler ; and there that matter shall remain. The narration, 
 by way of illustration, was doubtless very diverting to the 
 pupils. 
 
 Mr. Noonan continued to fill the chair in tlie institution, already 
 described, with considerable success for upwards of two weeks, so 
 that some of the children were beginning to spell very nicely, and 
 to read easy lessons of one or two syllables, as well as to add and 
 " suhstract " (as he expressed it), when it became rumoured that 
 he was either a Protestant in disguise, or a Catholic about to be- 
 come a turncoat, and destroy the souls of the children ; so that 
 Popery — ever true to hor lying aphorism, that Ignorance is the 
 mother of Devotion — found a plea for breaking up this useful 
 establishment. 
 
 We cannot dismiss this account of the scholastic institution on 
 board the " Jupiter," without giving the substance of one of the 
 master's moral lectures. True it is that he called it, in his own 
 simple style, " a story," but if a rose will " smell as sweet " when 
 called by another name, then the name, whether " lecture " or 
 " story," can make no difference as to the matter before us. 
 
 It arose out of the following incident : — 
 
 One of the little boys in the school lost some trifling toy or 
 
 ^ 
 
AN ILLUSTRATION OF AN OLD PROVERB. 
 
 133 
 
 lie ninth 
 ley calls 
 1 to sell, 
 
 to feed, 
 feed yer 
 
 I lieerd 
 s an' 'ay 
 I had a 
 say, Mr. 
 
 tryin' to 
 'What 
 ,' sez he. 
 [mglish. 
 leed, an' 
 ler in a 
 
 rere the 
 nt eiTO- 
 certain, 
 v^as that 
 irration, 
 to the 
 
 already 
 eeks, so 
 ely, and 
 idd and 
 ed that 
 i to be- 
 so that 
 ; is the 
 3 useful 
 
 ition on 
 3 of the 
 his own 
 " when 
 ire " or 
 
 toy or 
 
 plaything, which was picked up by another, who considered 
 "findin' keepin'," as the children say, and he kept it, pleading 
 that it was hisy because h^ found it, although he knew well that it 
 belonged to the other boy. 
 
 Our lecturer took for his motto the well-known maxim, viz., 
 " Honesty is the best policy." 
 
 Although there are gi^eat differences of opinion on the subject, 
 our friend had no doubt whatever of its being absolutely and 
 universally true. He illustrated it in the following manner, 
 showing its truthfulness, in his own case at least : — 
 
 "Boys," he said, "now mark me words, an' everything I'm goin' 
 to tell ye is as thrue as ye 're there^ an' I 'm here. 
 
 "I was sittin' one day in me cabin, by the fireside, widout any 
 work to do, an' widout any money to get food for me family. I 
 had a wife an' three childher thin. There was no employment at 
 home, for it was a bad saisin for crops, an* I had no manes to go 
 abroad to look for anything to do. 
 
 " ' Peggy,' sez I to the poor ooman, ' isn't it a bad prospect 
 intirely that's afore ye, an' the poor innocent lambs that God gev 
 iizr 
 
 " ' Och, thin, it is,' sez she ; 'but I don't blame you, for you \l 
 work if ye had it to do,' sez she. 
 
 " We worn't intirely in want, for a huxther* in the village gev 
 me a hundredweight o' male on credit, an' it was burnin' the 
 heart out o' me, every mouthful I ate of it, for fear I 'd niver be 
 able to pay it. Just as we wor talkin' in this way, in me little 
 colleen t runs wid a beautiful jiochet-hook in her hand. ' Look at 
 what I found,' sez she, howldin' up the book. * Far off God sinds,' 
 sez Peggy, her face brightenin' up ; ' maybe there 's luck in it for 
 uz,' sez she. 
 
 " ' Peggy,' sez I, as sevare an' sharp as I could, ' if there was a 
 million o' money in it, it doesn't belong to uz ; an' I 'd die, an' see 
 ye all die, afore I 'd lay hands on a shillin' ov it.' She knew that 
 whin I said the word, it was useless to argee % wid me ; so the 
 poor sowl put her hands to her face, an' cried like a child. 
 
 " If there was any name on the outside, I wouldn't have opened 
 the book ; but I had to open it, to see if the name was in the 
 inside, so that I might restore it to the owner. 
 
 " A.S soon as I opened it, I saw it was full o' bank-notes ; an' 
 there was two or three lettei-s in it, aich of em havin' the name 
 
 !li 
 
 IM: 
 
 
 
 % ' 
 
 ;:*;■; 
 
 
 A small shopkeeper. 
 
 t Girl. 
 
 t For "argue." 
 
134 
 
 TI3I DOOLAN. 
 
 V I 
 
 r 
 
 ■| 
 
 an' address of a gintleman that lived a few miles off. So I put on 
 me old cawbeen of a hat, an' tuck me shtick in me fisht, an' away 
 I wint to his house. Whin I got there I rapped' at the dure, an' 
 a sarvant opened it. * Do ye want to see the masther '? ' sez he. 
 * I do,' sez I. * Well, ye can't see him to-day,' sez he. ' I must 
 see him,' sez I, *if I have to stay all day, an' night too.' 'Well,' 
 sez he, makin' answer agin, ' ye can't see him for he 's in a terrible 
 bad humour. If it is any justiceing business ye have,' sez he, * go 
 to some other magisthrate,' sez he. 
 
 " ' I'll not lave this,' sez I, * till I sees him ; an' that 's enough 
 about it,' sez I. 
 
 •' * Well,' sez the footman, ' tell me what yer business is, an' I '11 
 convey the message to him.' 
 
 " ' No,' sez I, ' I will not. I have private bizness that consarns 
 himself, an' he mightn't be plaised with me for diwulgin' ^ it.' 
 
 " Whin he found that he couldn't get me away, nor larn me 
 bizness, he went an' towld his masther that the most obstinatest 
 man he iver seen in all his born days was in the kitchen, an' 
 wouldn't take an^ refusal, but must see him. When he found 
 that I was so stiff, he ordered the sarvant man to let me go into 
 the study for a few minutes. So I waited till I heerd him comin', 
 an' whin he entered the door, I had the book in me hand. * Good 
 mornin', yer honour,' sez I. * Good mornin', Noonan,' sez he. ' I 
 b'lieve, Sir,' sez I, ' that is your property ? ' 
 
 "'Upon my honour it is, Noonan,' sez he; 'an' I have had a 
 nice start about it. I felt sartin I 'd niver see it agin, there were 
 so many people passin' and re-passin' to the fair. There were 
 fifteen hundred pounds in it,' sez he. >. 
 
 "'I don't know how much is in it, Sir,' sez I, 'only I know 
 there is money there, for I was obleeged to open it in ordher to 
 see if there was any way of makin' out the owner's address. The 
 book is jist as me little colleen brought it to me, an' now, Sir, I 'd 
 thank ye to reckon it, an' see that all is right.' So he opened it 
 an' reckoned thirti/ fifty 'pound notes. ' It is all quite right, 
 Noonan,' sez he, ' I lost it this mornin' as I rode along from town, 
 an' cannot tell how or where I dropped it.' 
 
 " ' I 'm glad it is all right, Sir,' sez I ; so he put it into his coat 
 pocket an' rang the bell for a sarvant. Whm the man came he 
 ordered him to take me to the cook to get me dinner, so I wint 
 an' ate a hearty dinner of all sorts o' good things, an' went away 
 home." 
 
 * In some diatricts they sound " v" as " w." 
 
 ■■■i 
 
ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER. 
 
 135 
 
 'Good 
 he. a 
 
 i 
 
 '*Bad manners to him," ten or a dozen vociferated togctlier, 
 " didn't he give ye anything for findin' it ] " 
 
 "Wait now awhile, me lads," said the narrator; " whin I wint 
 home Peggy an' the little girl wor expectin' somethin' nice, for 
 they thought I must get twenty or thirty pounds at any rate, but 
 they looked as blew as indigo whin I towld 'em that I didn't get 
 one pinny. * I 'm sorry to me heart,' sez she, ' that ye didn't keep 
 it all.* * I 'm ashamed o' ye, Peggy,' sez I, ' so I am. Why should 
 I keep what wasn't me own ? an' if I did keep it an' consail it, 
 wouldn't I be in dread an' terror o' me life a'most, an' how could 
 I face the great God at last ? ' 
 
 " Well, three weeks passed away, an' the handful o' meal was 
 runnin' out fast, and no work to do. I was sittin' in the cabin 
 bemoanin' me condition, whin I sees the same gintleman ridin' up 
 the road in company wid a nobleman, an' outside me cabin door 
 they stopped, talkin' for two or three minits, till at last his lord- 
 ship said, * Come along, Harding, an' let us take a good long ride.' 
 * If yer lordship will excuse me,' sez he, * for one minit or two, I will. 
 I want,' sez he, ' to spake to a poor man that 's here, an' if he is 
 poor,' sez he, * that is the very wors+^ can be said of him. Noonan,' 
 sez he, callin' oi'^ ' Here, Sir,' sez j., takin' me hat in me hand 
 an' rushin' out ; ' what 's yer honour's pleasure ? ' sez I. ' Mc 
 pleasure is,' sez he, * to render you a sarvice, for ye rendered me 
 one, an' " one good turn desarves another," ' sez he ; 'ye know 
 that farm of two hundred acres,' sez he, ' down near the crass-roads 
 o' Ballymullane, that Driscoll used to live on ] ' 'I do, Sir,' sez 
 I, thinkin' that (i)erhaps) he 'd say, * Watch that place for me ontil 
 I get a good solvin' * tinant for it ; ' but it was no such thing. ' I 
 want yoit,' sez he, * to go and farm that land, an' pay me whativer 
 yearly rint ye think it is worth, afther affording yerself an' family 
 a comfortable livin', and somethin' to put by for owld age.' 
 
 *' My dear, ' I didn't know whether I was standin' on me head 
 or on me heels,' as the sayin' is, for three or four minits, till he 
 said to me, * What frightens ye, man 1 Can't ye spake V ' I 'm 
 obligated to yer honour intirely,' sez I, * more thin I can find words 
 to express, but 'tis of no use for a poor labourin' man like me, 
 lookin' for a day's work at tinpince or a shillin' a-day, ar' unable 
 to obtain it, to think of goin' on a farm like that widout money or 
 manes o' me own. I 'd be only 'poverishin' yer honour's land, an' 
 makin' a bad carackther for meself,' sez I. 
 
 " * Don't say you have no manes,' sez he, ' while I have money 
 
 * Solvent. 
 
 i 
 
 I! 
 
 y ii 
 
 'iiii 
 
 Ii 
 
 - iiiiLt 
 
136 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 ii. . 
 
 i ; 
 • i i 
 
 i ' r 
 
 i 
 
 i;i, 
 
 1' 
 
 
 or credit. Go into town to-morrow mornin',' sez he, ' an' meet me 
 at the door o' the Provincial Bank at half -past tin or eleven o'clock,' 
 sez he, * an' ye shall have a hundred pounds o' yer own, an' I '11 
 lend ye as much more as ye think necessary to enable ye to stock 
 an' work yer land.' 
 
 " * Praises be to the great God above,* sez I, ' but He is good, 
 an' I 'm indebted to yer honour's goodness. How much an acre 
 will be the rint of it ? ' sez I. * Driscoll paid me,' sez he, ' thirty 
 shillings an acre, that is, he j^romised to pay it, but the rascal run 
 off to Ameriky owin' me three years' rint. The next thing I 
 expect to hear of him is that he is "Capting" or "Major" 
 O'Driscoll, or a mimber av Congress,' sez he. * But as to the rint,' 
 sez he, * I '11 lave all that to the man who could ^\\A fifteen hundred 
 jjolinds o' me money an' return it, without oi)enin' the parcel or 
 lookin for fee or reward.' 
 
 " ' As to that, Sir,' sez I, ' I only done me duty.' 
 
 " ' You did,' sez he, ' an' I intind to do my dtity by you an' yer 
 family,' sez he, ' as long as I live. Don't fail to meet me at the 
 Bank to-morrow,' an' away they both rode, lavin' meself standin' 
 lookin' after 'em wid amazement. 
 
 " Whin I wint into the house I didn't purtind anything, an' 
 ]ioor Peggy was lookin' as black as midnight. 
 
 " Naythur of us spoke for tin minits or so, till she said at last, 
 ' What did Mr. Hardin' want o' ye ? ' ' If I meet him in town 
 to-morrow,' sez I, * he '11 get me some kind of employment if he 
 can.* 
 
 " ' How liberal he is,' sez she ; ' I was watchin' to see him hand 
 ye a bundle o' bank notes to reward yer 'onesty, but it 's no use to 
 be 'onest ; I see the rogues doin' betther in this world thin you '11 
 iver do with all yer 'onesty ; sorry I am that we didn't keep that 
 money.' 
 
 "'Indeed,' sez I, 'you'd be sorrier if we had kep' it, 
 an' you'd niver have a continted mind, livin' or dyin', so ye 
 wouldn't.' 
 
 " ' Maybe so,' sez she despairingly, ' but it 's hard to see the 
 last bit o' male disappearin' an' nothin' to put in its place. 
 There 's nothin' but hardship an' sufferin' afore me poor childher 
 in this world,' sez she. * How-an'-iver, there 's one comfort in it, 
 if we suffer much in this world we '11 have the less to suffer for 
 our sins in the other. But what I thinks worst of is, to see that 
 proud, hard-hearted man ride up to yer door as if he was a king, 
 an' niver make ye the smallest recompinse, afther the sarvice ye 
 
 i 11^ 
 
THE REWARD OF HONESTY. 
 
 137 
 
 an 
 
 ;i 
 
 lintlered him, nor as much as purtind that he knew that meself 
 an' me childher had no food to eat.* 
 
 " ' Indeed, Peggy,' sez I, * you 're wrongin' him, an' not only 
 him, but you 're wrongin' the great God that 's above us. He 's 
 not proud nor hard-hearted ; an' for me own part, I don't see that 
 we are so very badly ofif ; we niver wanted a male o' victuals yet, 
 an', with God's blessin*, we niver will.' 
 
 " * Well,* sez she, * we 've always had enough to ate with 
 pinchin' an' scrapin*. I '11 allow that much ; but where is the 
 next to come from ? Ye have no work, an' ye have no money, 
 an' ye have no more credit, an' in a couple o' days ye '11 have no 
 food in the house, so ye may put that in yer pipe an' shmoke it, 
 for ye '11 not be able to get any more tobaccy ! ' 
 
 " ' Well, now,' sez I, at last, ' you 've said a great many things 
 that arn't true, jist because o' your peevish timper that always 
 looks at the worst side of affairs.' 
 
 " ' What did I say that wasn't thrue,' sez she, quite in a pet. 
 
 " * Why, ye said that Mr. Hardin* was proud an' hard-hearted, 
 which isn't thrue, for he spoke to me jist as he would to his own 
 aiquils, an' as kind as iver ye spoke to one o' them childher of 
 ours. Ye said also that I have no money, which isn't thrue, for 
 there 's a hundred pounds o' mine in the bank, an' as much as 1 
 wish to borry besides, which shows that I have good credit ] an' 
 there 's that two-hundred-acre farm that Driscoll left, an' run 
 away with the rint of, an* that Mrs. Noonan will be raisthress of 
 before another month, an' ' 
 
 " Well, to make a long story short, when I towld her all her 
 good fortune, she fell down on her two knees an' burst out cryin', 
 an' confessed how wicked it was to feel as she did, an' to talk in 
 the way she did, an' from that day to this we have niver wanted 
 any thin'." 
 
 " An' what makes ye go to 'Meriky by yerself ? " one of his 
 astonished juvenile auditors asked. " Where have ye left yer 
 family ? '* 
 
 " Well, as to that," he replied, " if we have not trials of one 
 kind, we must have them of another. It would not be good for 
 us to be without 'em. One of my sons made a foolish match 
 about seven years ago, an* went off to the States. We got a 
 letther about two months since, givin' an account of his death, 
 an' I 'm goin' over to bring his wife and three little childher 
 home, for they have no occasion to be there any longer among 
 sthrangers, and their poor father had no necessity to lave his 
 
 I' 
 
 
 H 
 
 "I' 
 'I 
 
 ■ 1 1 
 
138 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I :i 
 
 ii 
 
 m 
 
 ■ [I 
 It 
 
 own counthiy, where be had plinty of everythin' ; but bis foily is 
 all past now, an' I must do the best I can for his survivin' faiaily. 
 Now, boys an' girls, depind upon it, * honesty is the best poiicy.' 
 Come now, we have been too long idle, let us learn to do some 
 sums in Addition." Professor Noonan cleaned his black-board 
 and proceeded with his instructions. 
 
 " Now, boys," he gravely observed, " don't be discouraged if 
 ye 're not able to comprehind it all at wanst. Ye all know the 
 owld sayin', an' it is thrue, * Rome wasn't built in a day,' an' 
 there's another aiquilly thrue, * Ivery big'nin'* is wake.' If ye 'II 
 larn a little at a time, it '11 amount to somethin' in the ind ; but 
 don't make up yer mind that a thing is very hard to be larned, 
 an' then throw it away widout makin' any attimpts at it. Whin 
 I was a schoolboy, we had some very idle lads who were detar- 
 mined not to larn what the masther wanted to taich 'era ; but 
 there 's one verse which they used to taich aich other, an' they 
 used to have it be heart : — 
 
 * Multiplication it is a wcxation, 
 Division is twice as bad, 
 The rule of three quite puzzles me, 
 An' practice sets me mad.' 
 
 There's nothin' in any o' thim simple rules to make anybody 
 mad, only we must have patience wid 'era at first." 
 
 My readera raust not imagine from the low state of education 
 here represented that the Irish peasantry were, even at the period 
 when the scenes here depicted took place, totally destitute of edu- 
 cation. At that time, and long before it, the excellent system of 
 National instruction for Ireland prevailed, but marred by the with- 
 drawal of the Bible. Still, as to secular instruction, the scale was 
 a good one, and many well-qualified draughtsmen, penmen, account- 
 ants, and even mathematicians, have arisen to do honour to these 
 National Schools. But beside these more humble institutions for 
 mental culture, there have always been a considerable number of 
 private schools, in which classics and the higher branches of science 
 have been and are taught, and where some of our brightest geniuses 
 sat beneath their Gamaliels. Ireland can boast of the most 
 elaborate scholars, the greatest lawyers, and most popular and 
 gifted statesmen, and many of them raised honourably from the 
 ranks. This is, doubtless, a digression ; but the reader will excuse 
 an Irishman holding up his country, though far away from it. 
 
 And now to return. At the time of which I am writing there 
 
 . * Beginning. 
 
AN ILLUSTRATION OF POPERY MORE STRIKING THAN AGUEEABLE. 139 
 
 ye '11 
 
 was a very prevalent disposition among conceited people to ape 
 a pronunciation, and appear Johnny Daidys, by saying "teech^' 
 for " teach," and " preech,^' for " preach," instead of being of the 
 vulgar order, pronouncing the one taich and the other praichj 
 both flat, thus aiming at gentlefolk, and making themsei^cS 
 ridiculous. 
 
 There were many (previous to embarkation) in the steerage, 
 between the ages of ten and twenty, who had learned to read, 
 write, and cipher, at the National Schools, but who looked upon 
 our honest friend Noonan as a little too " old-fogyish " for them. 
 Nevertheless, the majority of the steerage passengers among the 
 juveniles, and nearly all of the seniors, were unable to read, and 
 consequently to write. 
 
 An incident occurred during the third week of the passage 
 which totally destroyed Mr. Noonan's popularity and usefulness 
 as a schoolmaster, and caused him to be spoken of in such terms 
 on the part of the ring-leaders of the anti-Protestant party, as to 
 make the captain remove him for safety to the conn)anionsbip of 
 his friend Tim Doolan and family, in the second cabin, which was 
 most kind and generous. 
 
 There were in the steerage, among the Irish passengers, three 
 or four Englishmen of the labouring class, who were likewise 
 emigi'ants. At the dinner hour, on a certain Friday, one of these 
 men took from his chest a piece of cold pork, which he had left 
 after dinner from the day previous, and very composedly com- 
 menced operations upon it, without the least apprehensions. 
 
 It often occurs that the most bigoted are to be found amongst 
 the most illiterate and profane. One of the latter class, whose 
 oaths and obscenity were terrifying and disgusting to many of his 
 fellow-passengei's, lifted up his hands and eyes in affected holy 
 horror and amazement, offensively exclaiming — " Why thin, 
 bad luck to yer Sassenagh* sowl, is it aitin' mate ye are, this 
 blessed Friday 1 " 
 
 "What do you think?" said John Bull, '^ his deepest, omi- 
 nous, guttural tone, without taking his e;. )S his occupation 
 for a moment. " If you can't see what I 'm a doin' on, perhaps 
 you could light a candle and look closer at me. But 1 '11 tell you 
 what it is, Mr. Patlander, you may heat meat or let it alone, until 
 you grow black in the face, and I '11 never interfere with you ; 
 and as for myself, I '11 heat meat hany day that a dog will. I have 
 my way, you have yours." 
 
 * Means " Saxon-Englishmaji," or "Protestant," as the case may be. 
 
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 ill 
 
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 t1 
 
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 M 
 
 
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 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 " So I thought," replied liis confronter, " whin I saw the big 
 mutton head o' ye. Aren't yo afeared it'll schtick in ycr throat 
 an' choke ye 1 " 
 
 " Not while I take my time to it. And as to fear — I am not 
 even afraid of you, big and noisy as you are." 
 
 "Holy saints an' angels purtect us!" cried the zealous cham- 
 pion of Friday abstinence. " Wouldn't it be a charity to throw 
 all the likes o' ye overboortl. We '11 niver go safe to New i 
 
 while we have I'riday meat-aithers among us, I think." 
 
 The " meat-eater " waited for nothing further, but rising from 
 his chest, on which he was sitting, and laying his eatables aside, 
 he dealt his antagonist a blow on the forehead, which sent him 
 tumbling down a hatchway into the hold, where some of the sailors 
 were at work stowing away empty water-casks, which had got 
 loose and rolled about the deck. "There," he said, as he saw 
 
 the fellow disappear, " go to h , and tell the d 1 I sent 
 
 you to him." 
 
 The quickness of the movement overawed the zeal of the other 
 anti-Friday-meat-eaters for a few minutes (all of whom looked 
 astounded). It was soon discovered that the man was badly hurt 
 by the fall, which, when the bystanders discovered, a ter '^le 
 clamour ensued, during w^nch it was pretty generally agre o 
 despatch the pugnacious Englishman by some means or w. .., 
 the only difference of opinion among them being as to the how 
 and the loheii of doing it. On the matter coming to the captain's 
 ears, he considered the best way of preventing bloodshed was to 
 " coji/ine " the man during the rest of the passage for the asp"ult. 
 He accordingly removed him, in irons, to a place of safety Irom 
 threatened danger or apprehenion. 
 
 As soon as matters had cooled down sufficiently that evening 
 to admit of conversation, the subject of " the sin of dirt mate on a 
 Friday " began to be pretty freely discussed among the people. 
 
 " It is a mortial sin," said one. 
 
 "No," said a neighbour, "it is only a vaynail transgression. 
 Shure if it was a mortial sin, there 'ud be no absolution from it ; 
 an' if ye imy for lave to ate it, it is no sin at all." 
 
 A third held that " the Church allowed a gineral dispensation 
 to all thravellers on the oshint (the ocean or sea) to ate it on all 
 days in the year." 
 
 A fourth argued that such could not possibly be the case, for 
 that he had " with his own hands paid Father Flannery * tin ' 
 shillin's an' sixpence for special lave to ate mate on Fridays 
 
MR. NOONAN LOSES HIS POPULARITY. 
 
 141 
 
 during the * woyage ' to Ameriky j not that he iiitiuded to avail 
 himself of it, by any manner o' means; his intintiona bein' to 
 accumuhito a gi-eatcr stock o' merit to himself, by aUstainin' whin 
 he had permission to ate it." 
 
 There was not much disagreement between them as to the sin- 
 fulness of the act, but a great deal as to the degree of sinfulness. 
 Mr. Noonan was referred to as umpire in the matter. 
 
 "If ye want me opinion," he said, "about the onpleasant 
 thransaction betuno the two men, I '11 give it to ye in very few 
 words. I think both the min wor wrong. If it was wrong for 
 that man to ate his mate to day, it was wrong for the other to 
 intherfare wid him, unless in a quiet friendly way to try and 
 conwince him that he was wrong. An' it was aiqually wrong 
 in him to strike the other. T think they both desarve what 
 they got." 
 
 "But ye didn't tell us what you think about atin' the mate," one 
 observed. 
 
 " Well, indeed," he answered, knowing that great caution was 
 necessary on a subject on which they were so much excited " the 
 Church herself isn't quite agreed about that. She has left it 
 unsettled." 
 
 " Well done, old turncoat !" a fellow roared out. " I thouglit 
 the two hundred acres would bring ye over." 
 
 " He 's an owld swaddlin' Black Monday Protestant," another 
 shouted. 
 
 "If ye want to know me own practice," he said, "I nivir ate a 
 bit o' mate on a Friday in me life, nor any other fast-day o' the 
 Church ; an* I nivir was inside the doors of a Protestant place o' 
 worship ; but I don't take upon me to condimn any man. He '11 
 have t' appear afore the great God, an' so will I." 
 
 "Do you b'lieve in purgathory] " some one shouted. 
 
 He hesitated for a moment, when ten or fifteen voices united in 
 reiterating the question. 
 
 " If ye wants to know what my depindence for etarnal life an' 
 salvation is placed on," he answered, " E thrust to the precious 
 blood an' intercession of the adorable Jasus Christ, an' to Him 
 alone ! I'm a sinful, vile craythur, God knows, but I thrust to His 
 precious blood, that cleanses from all sin." 
 
 " An', ov coorse, ye pitches the Vargin an' all the saints to the 
 dvAl " was roared out by some stentorian voices. 
 
 " Indeed I don't do that, by any manner o' manes, nor wish you 
 there, nor anybody else. I don't wish harm in this world o>- the 
 
 I 
 
 Ji 
 
 
142 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I. , 
 
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 t; 
 
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 'lilt! 
 
 i! 
 
 
 next to any man, or mother's son. I pray that you may all obtain 
 salvatioi- in this world, an' glory in the world to come, through the 
 merits of our precious Redeemer." 
 
 " Arrah, don't bother us wid yer praichin', I 'd depind as much 
 on the prayers of * * *." 
 
 " Indeed," replied our imperturbable Noonan, " they wculd do 
 ye as much good, if ye do not repent an* forsake yer sins, an' thrust 
 in the merits o' Jasus alone for etarnal life." 
 
 " I suppose," some one sung out from among thft crowvl that had 
 now congregated around where the old man was sitting, "I suppose 
 ye don't think the saints have any merits at all to bestow on the 
 likes o' you or me ? " 
 
 " Indeed," he replied, " I don't think they had r.ny merit in the 
 sight o' God to save themselves ; an' if they had not any for them- 
 selves they have none to spare for us. The blessed Mary heraelf calls 
 the E,edeemer ' My God and Saviour ;' and if she was saved by His 
 merits she wasn't saved by her own, an' therefore, she had no stock 
 to dispose of in that lire." 
 
 " Oh ! the owld hypocril^e ! " 
 
 " Oh ! the Orange theef ! " 
 
 " Oh ! the Sassenagh ! " 
 
 « Oh ! the Friday dog ! " 
 
 " Oh ! pelt the swaddler ! " 
 
 " Pull the owld Black Moinlay gissard out av him." 
 
 These and scores of worse epithets assailed him from all sides. 
 There now was undisguised Popery. 
 
 The angry tones and expressions attracted the notice of Tim 
 Doolan as he passed by the main-hatchway a few times, in order to 
 try whether a visit to his friend Noonan would be safe. He soon 
 learned the state of aflairs, and lost no time in communicating his 
 fears respecting the old man's safety to the captain. 
 
 " Capting, honey," said he, " if anything wor to happen to the 
 poor owld man I 'd nivir forgive meself, in a manner." 
 
 "What's amiss? quick!" said the captain in his impetuous 
 manner, so usual to him when excited. 
 
 " I 'ra afeerd for his life, Sir, an' that 's the thruth. I know 'em 
 well, an' they're not to bo trusted whin they think they are sarvin' 
 theii' religion by prosecutin' av him." 
 
 In a few minutes the captain, the chief mate, and three or four 
 of the sailors, armed with pistols and cutlasses, appeared at the 
 main-hatchway. 
 
 " Hallo, there ! " vhoute J the captain. 
 
A SPEEDY RESCUE. 
 
 143 
 
 Some of the crowd looked up and became alarmed at his appear- 
 ance and that of his men. 
 
 "Stay where you are every one of you till I get among you." 
 He shouted again, " Men, follow me ! " and he juraped down the 
 hatchway. 
 
 " In an instant the precipitateness of the flight was like that 
 on deck on the occasion of the preaching related in a former 
 chapter. 
 
 " Why did you not stay as you were, you cowardly scoundrels ? " 
 he said as he looked around him. " Where are they all gone ? " 
 he said to Noonan, who remained sitting on his chest in the 
 postur< in which he had been previously for an hour or more. 
 
 "Well, indeed, capting," he said very dryly, "I b'leeve they're 
 all gone to bed purty quick. There were lashins of 'em here a 
 minit or two since." 
 
 " Is this your chest? " the captain asked, giving it a touch with 
 his foot. 
 
 " It is, Sir," said the old man. 
 
 " Pick it up, sharp ! " he said to his men. 
 
 "Ay, ay, Sir." 
 
 " Follow me," he said to Noonan. 
 
 The old man did as he was directed. 
 
 " Find aim a bertli in the second cabin," he said to his mate. 
 "And 2/OW," addressing Noonan, "keep close and quiet for a few 
 days. I tell you, you are in great danger." 
 
 Mr. Noonan thanked his " honour," and went to his nev/ quarters 
 happy enough. 
 
 " It amazes me above all things," said the captain, addressing 
 himself to Dr. Lyon as he entered the cabin; "I cannot account 
 for it." 
 
 " What can you not account for 1 " the doctor asked. 
 
 " I cannot ao ?ount for how it is that those people are so dread- 
 fully tetchy, and not only so, but so malignant on the subject of 
 religion, especially towards persons of their own persuasion of whose 
 soundness in Catholicism they entertain any doubts. They were 
 fully bent on injuring our old schoolmaster just now, and would 
 have dealt severely with him, I do not doubt, if I had not gone to 
 his rescue. I had to remove him to the second cabin to his friend 
 Doolan." 
 
 " Who 1 — Old Noonan 1 " several inquired. 
 
 " Dear me ! " shouted out the fastidious lady before spoken of, 
 that comes from trying to instruct such creatures. I knew it was 
 
 f 
 
 m 
 
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 : '^' 
 
 lU 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 of no manner of use whatever. If tliey were to attack us in the 
 cabin what should I doV (What indeed !) 
 
 " Do not be under the least apprehension, my dear madam," the 
 captain replied, more in earnest than in jest. " I '11 wager a guinea 
 that you would scream loud enough to frighten a thousand of 
 them." 
 
 '* Ah, now, captain," she said, as siniperingly as she could, "you 
 do so plague me about my nervousness. Dear me ! the very thought 
 of the savages rushing in here and murdering us all, makes me 
 almost faint ! ! " 
 
 "Tut," said the captain, "the murdering if Dthing, madam! 'tis 
 
 the eating: that is most to be dreaded. However, 
 
 and I have 
 
 .j^ ...^. ... — . ^^v,..^.w, you 
 
 one consolation, that in such an event we would be k ill the last, 
 as I reckon wo would be rathe?' tough for their powei^ of mastica- 
 tion." 
 
 This covert thrust at her age sent the lady to her room, for her 
 efforts to appear very young were equalled only by her endeavours 
 to appear very nervous. She very resolutely and constantly con- 
 fined herself to the said room for the remainder of the passage,- very 
 much to the comfort and delight of many in the cabin. 
 
 " What was the occasion of their ire agaiiist the old schoolmaster'?" 
 Mrs. Ijyon inquired. 
 
 " I really cannot exactly explain that," said the captain, " but if 
 you desire it, I will send for him, and he will, doubtless, enlighten 
 us all on the matter." 
 
 It was agreed on all hands thft Noonan should be called. A 
 cabin-boy was accordingly despatched for liim, and our venerable 
 friend was not very long in making his appearance. 
 
 " I 'm obligated to ye intirely, capting," he said, as he entered 
 the saloon. " Indeed, if it wasn't for ye, perhaps they would have 
 done me some harm." 
 
 " I don't understand how it came about that they should make 
 an attack on you,' the captain said. " I thought you were a 
 favourite with them." 
 
 " So I was. Sir, for a time, but they managed to get me into 
 a controvarsy upon religion aginst me will, and, as I couldn't 
 agree with 'em in everything, they gi'ew mad at me, and wor 
 gettin' worse every minit, whin yewr honour kem an' ordered 
 me away from 'em. But, indeed, capting," he said, " an' ladios 
 an' gintlemin, all av ye, there's worse people in the world thin 
 they are. Many of 'em would risk their lives for a frind, or 
 share their last pratee wid a beggar, an' it is only whin they 
 
WHAT IS A PROTESTANT 1 
 
 145 
 
 think their religion is condimned or spoken lightly of that they 
 act so wickedly." 
 
 The company called on the old man for a recital of the circum- 
 stances leading' to their intended ili-treatment of him, which led 
 to his narration of that matter, and that in turn brought out some 
 of the history of his own life, as before related in this chapter, in 
 in his lecture or "story." The result was, that he became quite a 
 favourite with some of the cabin passengers, who liked his honest, 
 manly ways, his unassuming modesty, and the ease with which he 
 carried himself in the presence of his superiors. Ho was respect- 
 ful, without cringing, truly dignified in his deportment, and too 
 proud, as he expressed it, *' to ape any character," but that which 
 truly belonged to him. 
 
 " How long is it since you became a Protestant 1 " the clergy- 
 man inquired, who had as nearly suffered martyrdom as he had 
 himself. 
 
 " Well thin. Sir," said he, with native good humour, " you 've 
 axed me a hard question, for meself don't know that I 'm a Pro- 
 testant at all at all." 
 
 " No matter about the name of the thing," replied his friendly 
 interrogator. " How long is it since you learned to cease trusting 
 to yourself and to saints and angels, and to look solely and entii-ely 
 to Christ as your Saviour, and to no other '? " 
 
 " Indeed, Sir," he replied with glistening eyes, " that 's the most 
 beautiful question I ivir heerd axed in all me life. It 's so plain, 
 an' comes home to the heart so much, so it does. It 's mighty 
 aisy to answer that, so it is. I nivir lamed to saise trustin' in 
 meself an' the saints, an' to look to the Lord Jaysus aJone, ontil 
 afther I kem on boord this ship ; an' I nivir read a page in the 
 Tistamint, owld as I am, ontil a little while ago, whin it helped to 
 show me the need of a Sav'our, an' that Jaysus was one. If you 
 would like to know the way I kem be that knowledge, it was by 
 readin' accidint'ly a lafe of a New Tistamint that was tied round 
 some groceries that I got in Liverpool j but, as I have very little 
 knowledge of these things, I'd like yer riverince to see Tim 
 Dooleu, that 's in the second cabin. He 's a powerful scriptorian 
 entirely, so he is, yer riverince. But if that that ye said (* givin* 
 up thrustin' to meself, an' thrustin' in Christ alone ' ) makes a 
 Protestant, thin, of coorse, I'm one, although I nivir yet was 
 inside of a Protestant place o' worship." 
 
 True to the old man's suggestion, Tim was introduced, who 
 proved himself fully up to the recommendation given of him as a 
 
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146 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 ! 
 
 * 
 
 
 "powerful scriptorian." The simple tale of his own reception of 
 the truth as it is in Jesus ; his perseeutiins for conscience' sake ; 
 his departure from the poor old country of his affections, drew 
 tears from many eyes, and led some of the cabin passenger, after 
 Tim and his convert had withdrawn, to converse until a late hour 
 that night on the things which " God had wrought " for and in 
 them. Oh, how powerful is truth ! What wonders it achieves ! 
 How amazing the plans and purposes of Omnipotence ! How true 
 that His ways are past finding out ! The Gospel of the grace of 
 God finds its way by sea and land, and even its enemies aid and 
 help in spreading the Divine seed when bitterly opposing it. 
 
 
 i 
 
 b 
 
 / 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 NOONAN's perplexity relieved, and MRS. HOPKINS ENLIGHTENED 
 
 ON MORE POINTS THAN ONE — A WHALE OR NOT A WHALE ? 
 
 THE DOCTOR DECIDES. 
 
 '1 
 
 4 
 
 " Tim," said Mr. Noouan, one morning, after the passengers in 
 the second cabin had cleared away their breakfast things, " I 'm 
 in great throuble o' mind about a thing I read in the Tistamint 
 yisterday." 
 
 " What makes it throuble yer mind so much 1 " said Tim. " At 
 the same time I 'm glad to hear that yer throuble is connected with 
 readin' the blessed book. May God be blessed and praised for 
 iver, for givin' it to the likes of uz, poor sinners. Our blessed 
 Lord is shure to clear away such throubles as that." ' 
 
 "Get yer Tistamint out o' yer pocket," said Mr. Noonan, 
 heaving a profound sigh, "an' tell me, if ye can, what the 
 manin' o' the nineteenth varse in the third chapter o' the First 
 Epistle o' Pether is? I can't fathom it at all at all. I wanst 
 heerd a friar, who used to go about the counthry praichin', an' it 
 was one time whin there was a grate dale o' controvarsy goin' on 
 betune the Protestant clargy an' the priests. The friar preached 
 from that text, an' he said (I remember his words well), that he 
 took it from the Protestant Bible, to confute 'em out o' their own 
 mouths, as it were. 'Now,' sez he, 'what can be plainer than 
 the taichin' o' Pether, that there is a third place, a prison to which 
 sowls go afther death 1 It can't be heaven,' sez he, ' for it would 
 be blasphemy to call that holy place a " prison ; " an' it can't be 
 hell,' sez he, *for out o' "hell there's no redemption," as we 
 see in the case o' the rich man, who wint there, an' nivir thought 
 of askin' Abraham to get him out of it; for he nivir left a 
 shillin' of his money for the good of his poor sowl afther death ; 
 an' he nivir kep the fasts o' the Church, for he/aisted " sumptuously 
 every day ; " an' if it 's naither heaven nor hell,' sez he, * it must he 
 a third place, an' to that third place Jasus wint aftlier He died^ to 
 
 V 
 
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 li.« 
 
1 ^ 
 
 
 ll' 
 
 148 
 
 TI3I DOOLAN. 
 
 get poor sowls out, that had been sufFerin' there ivir since the days 
 o' Noah. An' I defy all the heretic locusts in the world,' sez he, 
 * to deny that argumint.' " 
 
 He waited for a minute or more, expecting Tim to furnish him 
 with an immediate answer ; failing to receive which, he asked him 
 to solve the problem which had been to himself the source of so 
 much anxiety. 
 
 " Thrue enough," said Tim ; " some of it." 
 
 " What is true 1 " said Mr. Noonan, in a sort of despairing tone, 
 as if Tim's failure to demolish it by a sudden onslaught had taken 
 the last plank whereon he was supported from under his feet, and 
 let him down into the depths of misery and despair. 
 
 " Thrue enough," he replied, " that that prison in which those 
 sowls were held was nayther heaven nor hell, an', consequintially, 
 it must be a tliird place." 
 
 " Pillaloo ! " groaned the discomfited Noonan, " an' what third 
 place was it, my dear friend Tim ? " 
 
 " What place covld it be ? " said Tim, with that sort of smile 
 wherewith one regards the bewilderment of a child whose em- 
 barrassment he intends to relieve immediately. 
 
 " What place could it be, only the airth we live on 1 " 
 
 " Oh, well now," the incredulous Mr. Noonan ejaculated, " that 
 baits cock-fightin' altogether, so it does." 
 
 "Baits yer gran'mother," said Tim; "arrah, man alive, put 
 on yer specks agin, an' read it. Shure 'tis as plain as the nose 
 on yer face. Those sperrits in prison were the people who lived 
 before the flood, an' their prison was the same as that which 
 confined you until the blessed Jasus set ye free from the clumsy 
 chains an' drivin' slavery o' sin an' Sattan. The passage tells 
 us whin they were in prison, *whin the ark was preparin' or 
 buildin', and it tells us in what way an' time Jasus praiclied to 'em. 
 There isn't a word about His praichin' to 'em afther His death; but 
 it was long, hundreds o' years afore His birth, an' it tells us that 
 He praiched to 'em by His Spirit in Noah, whom Peter calls 
 (2 Pet. ii. 5 th verse) '« p*aic/ter o' righteousness.' Don't ye 
 see that?" he said, looking steadfastly at Mr. Noonan, who ap- 
 peared very much like a person awaking from a swoon to a state 
 of consciousness. 
 
 The old man dropped his Testament, and clapping his hands 
 with delight, exclaimed, "Glory, glory, glory be to the blessed 
 God, Father, Son, an' Holy Sperrit, for ever an' ever, amin ! O 
 Tim, agrah " (laying his hand on his friend's knee), " 'tis yerself 
 
NOONAN S PERPLEXITY RELIEVED. 
 
 149 
 
 e days 
 sez lie, 
 
 sh him 
 ed him 
 e of so 
 
 g tone. 
 I taken 
 et, and 
 
 1 those 
 ntiallj'', 
 
 t third 
 
 »f smile 
 ose em- 
 
 « that 
 
 ve, put 
 lie nose 
 10 lived 
 ; which 
 
 clumsy 
 ge tells 
 arin' or 
 I to 'em. 
 ith; but 
 
 us that 
 ;er calls 
 )on't ye 
 who ap- 
 
 a state 
 
 s hands 
 
 blessed 
 
 lin! O 
 
 I yerself 
 
 has lifted the load o* distress from my poor sowl this mornin'. May 
 heaven be yer bed when ye have fulfilled yer mission in this world." 
 
 " Acushla machree," said Tim, " God is a great taicher entirely, 
 so He is." 
 
 " A powerful taicher, in troth ! " was the response of the 
 delighted Noonan. " Powerful ! powerful ! ! Oeh, haven't I a 
 wicked heart 1 " 
 
 "Ye may say 'wicked,' an' 'desperately wicked, too,"* said 
 Tim. "Who can onderstand his errors? May the good Lord 
 cleanse us from all sin. I have wan thing to tell ye, however. 
 Ye don't know half, nor a thousandth part av its desatefulness 
 yit, an' it '11 require watchin' the longest day ye live. An' whin 
 ye think it is so gintle, an' quiet, an' humble, 'tis then the pride 
 an' rebellion of owld Nick himself will be ready to burst forth 
 from it. Dofesn't the blessed book say, * Keep thy heart jwith all 
 diligence, for out of it are the issues of the life.' It wouldn't 
 require all our diligence to watch it, if it wasn't a treacherous 
 inimy, an' as desateful as treacherous." 
 
 " My gracious ! " said his astonished friend ; " what a power o' 
 knowledge ye have, to be sure. I declare it is as good as praichin' 
 to be listenin' to ye. What '11 I do at all whin it comes to our 
 turn to part 1 You '11 go one way, an' I '11 go another, an' 'tis 
 likely we'll nivir meet again ondher the canopy o' heaven. 
 Who '11 advise my poor ignorant sowl whin you '11 be far away 1 " 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Noonan," said Tim, " it is sorrowful to think of. 
 But shure this world is made up o' meetin' an' par tin', so to spake. 
 How-an'-ever, there is wan thing we ought to be thankful for, an* 
 that is, that the grate an' good God ivu* brought us together at all. 
 It would be more gratifyin' to the feelin's, of coorse, to remain 
 acquainted now that we know aich other ; but as God's purpose 
 in throwin' us together has been answered, should we not adore 
 His name, an' be ready to sarve Him anywhere He may have 
 work for us to do 1 " 
 
 "'Tis the thruth yer spakin'," said Mr. Noonan, "but as for 
 me, I can nivir do any good to any one. I 'm so ignorant an' 
 wake in meself, I want to get all I can from every one that can 
 instruct me. I feel meself just like that infant there in that good 
 woman's arms — may God bless the lanna* — or just like a little 
 bird peepin' out of its nist for the first time in its life an' wand- 
 herin' what a big place the world is, whin it sees a few yards 
 around it on every hand." 
 
 * Child. 
 
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1BI 'ir< — —— 
 
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 150 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 " Well, now," said Tim, " I'll tell ye a story I wanst lieerd o' a 
 man ; he was a ' Quaker,' I think they call it. 
 
 " He used to be greatly troubled at seein' so many poor childher 
 wandherin' about without edication, so he collected two or three 
 hundred together into one school, an' none o' thim knew their 
 letthers. 
 
 " The people used to call him a fool for imaginin' he could taich 
 so many scholards. 
 
 " ' Wait aisy awhile,' he used to say ; * great things require 
 time and patience.' 
 
 " So, to make a long story short, he took fifteen or twinty o* 
 the sharpest lads an' larned 'em the first three letthers, an' thin 
 he gave to aich o* them about tin boys an' girls in a class. * Now, 
 gossoons,' sez he, * go an* taich them three letthers to every one in 
 aich o' yer classes, an' whin they all have 'em larned, come back 
 to me an' I '11 taich ye three or four more.' It appears every one 
 o' thim larned the alphabet in a week, an' thin he wint on taichin' 
 the taichers the lesson for every day an' lettin' thim taich it agin 
 to others. 
 
 " If we would only do that in religion, every one could be larnin* 
 an' taichin' at the same time almost. Surely if you or I do not 
 know much, we can taich some one more ignorant thin ourselves, 
 an' thin, maybe, the good God would taich us another lesson." 
 
 " Oh ! if the Lord only stands by me, an' keeps me from fallin'," 
 said Mr. Noonan, "I'll be safe." 
 
 " Fall, man ! Ye can nivir fall while ye howld on yer way an* 
 remain humble, watchful, an' prayerful," his mentor answered. 
 " But I 'm afeerd we 're annoyin' you, ma'am," said Tim, addressing 
 himself to a woman who sat on a trunk in front of her berth, her 
 teara falling thick and fast, and her eyes swollen with weeping. 
 
 " No, she said, " you do not annoy me in any way. Be kind 
 enough to go on with your conversation, for although it is the cause 
 of my tears, I like to hear it. There is something in it that 
 appears suitable to me, and therefore I [shall be glad to hear 
 more." 
 
 " Glory be to the great and good God ! " he answered, " what 
 a wandherfiJ thing it is that we 're always doin' ayther good or 
 harm. If we say a bad word or indulge in coiTupt conversation 
 it hardens and blackens our own minds, an' thin, people who 
 hear us will be repatin' it to others, an' they to others agin, an' 
 that's the way that wickedness is spread about from one to 
 another. Just in the same way this good man here axes me a 
 
 
MRS. HOPKINS ENLIGHTENED. 
 
 151 
 
 , her 
 
 g-. 
 kind 
 
 cause 
 
 that 
 
 hear 
 
 question about God's Holy Word, an' I give hiin the best explana- 
 tion of it that I know how, an' that lades you to tliinK about it ; 
 an' maybe whin we are all dead in our graves those dear boys an' 
 girls " (a number of whom had crowded around during the conver- 
 sation) " will be thinkin' of it, an', I hope, praisin' God for His 
 marcy." 
 
 " And tell me now," said the woman thus addressed, " what 's 
 your opinion about different religions ] They say that no one can 
 be saved out of the one true Church, and that no Church but ours 
 can lay claim to a descent from the apostles, and that those who 
 cannot do so must be all lost, or else left to the unco venai- tied 
 mercy of God." 
 
 " There are a great many advantages," Tim replied, " in belongin' 
 to a Church of a truly spiritual, scripthurally taught people, but the 
 matther of our salvation is an individual an' a personal thing, an' 
 is not to be detarmined be Churches or gatherin's any more than 
 be the colour av one's coat, or be the cut of it. The Scripthure 
 tells us that * we must all appear before the judgment sate o' 
 Christ to rindher an account o' the deeds done in the body.' He 
 doesn't say that we must account for whether we belong to this 
 Church or to that Church, or indeed to any Church at all. Still, I 
 confess that a great dale of our comfort an' happiness on the way 
 to heaven, a great dale of our growth in grace an' in the knowledge 
 of God and of His Holy Word, will depind on the company we 
 keep while thravellin* on. The poor Jews, v/hin our Lord w^as on 
 airth, depinded altogether on belongin' to the thrue Church, an' 
 our Lord towld 'em over an* over agin that it was of no use to 'em 
 to thry an' make a sav'our of such a thing as that. Don't we read 
 of the rich man (in the parable of our Lord) who wint to hell an' 
 aftherwards called Abi'aham his father. Still a thrue Church is a 
 great help to a believer, although no Church can save liim." 
 
 The woman to whom he addressed himself was one of those 
 respectable, middle-class Roman Catholics who are generally pretty 
 fairly educated, brought up strictly with ]:"egard to morals, and 
 taught to devote themselves fully to the teachings of their priests. 
 Her husband, at the time to which our tale refers, was on deck ; 
 he was a person of the same class in life, brought up to business 
 pursuits, well informed on general subjects, utterly regardless of 
 his soul's interests, and, like a great number of his class who 
 frequent Romish assemblies in his native country, pretty well 
 assured that Popery is an imposture, and consequently that 
 Protestantism must necessarily be more so. Brought up in 
 
 II 
 
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 152 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 constant familiarity with those arguments which, by a speciousness 
 peculiar to them, go to show that Romanism is the oldest, purest, 
 and best form of Christianity, they argue that if such be the beat 
 what must the worst be ? and thus take a short cut to infidelity. 
 The natural unbelief of the human heart affords great assistance to 
 them in thus enabling them to get rid of the restraints which even 
 a false system professes to place on the passions of the human soul. 
 "If I thought," the woman observed, wiping her eyes, "if I 
 thought that I could obtain salvation by going to the most distant 
 \yArt of the earth, and suffering the greatest privations and tortures, 
 I would do it. I do everything now that my advisers recommend, 
 and I pray daily to God and our blessed Lady to lead me in the 
 right way, but it seems to me as if I was born to be miserable for 
 ever. There is no comfort or peace comes to my mind ; and when 
 I think of the long future after I leave this world all is gloom and 
 darkness to my poor heart. When I heard you both speaking 
 the thought struck me that I would give all the world to be like 
 you. I 'd like to learn how you became so good. Do pray tell it 
 to me." 
 
 "There now, Misthriss," said Tim, "you'll excuse me for 
 making so bowld wid ye, for you 're above my class in life, so ye 
 are, but if it wouldn't be makin' too free, I'd say that ye mistake 
 the thing altogether. There 's no goodness in us, poor craythers, 
 not a bit, an' our blessed Lord doesn't seek for any goodness in us 
 av our own, but forgives our sins an' makes us happy for His own 
 name's sake." 
 
 " I cannot believe that, jhe replied ; " it stands to reason that 
 we must make ourselves worthy of God's goodness and mercy 
 before He will have any regard to us or our poor prayers. Are we 
 not the most wretched sinners 1 I '11 answer for myself at any rate." 
 "Indeed, Misthriss," said Tim respectfully, "if you'll excuse a 
 poor ignorant man for makin' so bowld wid ye, I say it because I 
 wish well to your soul, you 're a greater sinner than ye seem to 
 know anything about yerself." 
 
 Tim was, to use his own phrase (or rather his country's), a 
 "mighty ignorant" man, and might be considered by great 
 numbers a "mighty wake" theologian, but he had studied his 
 Bible, and in connection therewith had followed a parallel study — 
 too much neglected by professors of religion — his own heart, and 
 from a knowledge of its deceitfulness and sin-bent tendencies he 
 was determined to be ftiithful with souls as far as Providence 
 enabled him. 
 
THE GOSPEL PREACHED. 
 
 153 
 
 The lady was evidently piqued at the opinion expressed by Tim. 
 She was one of those persons who feel to a certain extent, that 
 they are sinners, and imagine that it is a very religious, if not a 
 meritorious thing, to abuse tliemselvea very roundly. 
 
 While she accused herself of being a gi'eater sinner, and doubt- 
 less desired to be relieved from the condemnation which she felt 
 because of her sins, she, very manifestly, wished to make others 
 Tmderstand that she was far better than the generality of people. 
 When Tim expressed the opinion of her being " a gi-eater sinner 
 than she suspect-^d herself to be," she immediately retorted with 
 great animation ana warmth, " And pray what harm do you know 
 ofmel" 
 
 He saw that he had " hit the right nail," and had hit it on the 
 head too, and he determined to drive it home. " Don't be vexed 
 wid me now, Misthriss, an' 1 '11 tell ye wan very bad thing, an' if 
 ye don't confess it yerself in two or three minits' time I 'm mistaken. 
 Ye committed a great sin since we commenced talkin' here." 
 
 "Holy MaryT' she ejaculated, "listen to the man how he 
 accuses me ! " 
 
 Without appearing to take notice of her excitement, he pro- 
 ceeded, " Ye have talked of makin' yerself worthy of God's marcy. 
 By sayin' this ye contradict the blessed God Himself, as if He was 
 a liar, by makin' a sav'our of yerself^ whereas He has declared in 
 His Word that there is hut one Saviour and Mediathor, the Lord 
 Jasus. 
 
 " Besides this, it is nonsense to talk of 'makin' ourselves worthy 
 of His mercy.' Surely a child may know that if we are worthy 
 we don't require marcy. 
 
 " Mercy is only for the guilty. I have no doubt that ye feel 
 sin as a burthen^ an' desii'e to get rid of it in ordher to come to 
 Christ an' be saved at last, but we must come to Him FIRST, or 
 we cannot get rid of the burthen. We nivir read in the Holy 
 Scripthures of our Lord curin' any people bekase they wor weUy 
 but bekase they wor sick^ nor of His savin' any bekase they wor 
 worthy, but bekase they felt themselves sinners desarving hell." 
 
 "I never thought," she replied, "that I was so bad as that. 
 I defy all the world to say that I ever said or did anything that 
 I need be ashamed of. I was very strictly brought up by the 
 best father and mother that ever lived. All my words and actions 
 were scrutinized closely ; they took me constantly to * prayers ' * 
 with themselves; if they saw the value of a pin with me, and 
 
 * A familiar name for public worship in general. 
 
 Hii 
 
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I' 
 
 154 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I I 
 
 (lid not know how I came by it, I was obliged to account for the 
 possession of it ; and no companions were allowed to me whose 
 training at home and conduct abroad were not of the strictest 
 propriety, so that if I am not to be well off in the other world, 
 God help a great many whom I kndw ! But for all that, one 
 cannot avoid feeling uneasy at times when we think of death and 
 judgment. It is very easy to forget our duties and not attend to 
 them at all times as diligently as we ought." 
 
 "While the above attempt at self-vindication was being delivered, 
 Tim's heart was lifted up for light and guidance from " the Father 
 of Lights." Several times he felt on the eve of interrupting the 
 fair speaker, whose case he deeply pitied. He wished to be faith- 
 ful withoiit being offensive to a superior, and without compromising 
 his faithfulness to the Most High. By a great effort he restrained 
 himself from offering any interruption to the eloquent flow of 
 words to V, 'uch he was compelled to listen ; an effort in which liis 
 " Caroline nac" came off as the principal sufferer, and which, being 
 somewhat new and rather a favourite, ho held for safety under his 
 left arm. In his efforts to hold in the words which struggled for 
 utterance till the proper time for their delivery should come, he 
 suited the action to the thought that occupied his mind, by squeez- 
 ing the hat until he had squeezed it as flat as a pancake, a circum- 
 stance which caused him to hear of his forgetfulness in both his 
 ears when Mrs. Tim Doolan came to find it out. 
 
 When quite sure that Mrs. Hopkins (for that was the lady's 
 name) had finished her oration, he very quietly said, " Well now, 
 Madam, if ye wouldn't think me too bowld intirely I think I could 
 show ye, with the help o' the great God above, that ye have said 
 and done, and left -wnsaid and «tndone, very many things for which 
 ye ought to be greatly asliamed." 
 
 " Then, Sir, if you can, you are at liberty to begin at any 
 moment you please," she said with a tone and look equally defiant, 
 her dignity being touched. 
 
 " Aisy now a little minit," he replied ; onghn't a person to be 
 ashamed of proving ungrateful to a friend who had bestowe ^ the 
 richest treasures an' marcies upon him, an' continue*^ thr ; treasures 
 an' marcies to him for many years ? " 
 
 She at once confessed that there could be i .^pute on tl. -fc 
 subject, but could see no connection between tu. f and ^ hat had 
 been the subject of discourse as applied to her. 
 
 "And," he continued, "oughtn't a person to be ashamed of 
 his dishonesty who would claim for his own the property of 
 
THE AUGUMENTUM AD IIOMINEM. 
 
 155 
 
 another person, and strive to hold it 
 
 tighter 
 
 and 
 
 tighter 
 
 whin 
 
 ady's 
 
 now, 
 
 could 
 
 said 
 
 which 
 
 to be 
 
 ' the 
 
 tl D 
 
 t had 
 
 ed of 
 
 ty of 
 
 accused of his conduct 1 " 
 
 Again she acknowledged the conclusion equally clear, but in 
 which she liad no participation. 
 
 He proceeded still further, " And ought not a person to sink 
 into the gi'ound for sh^rae who could be guilty of robbing the son 
 of a benefactor such as I named afore, and striving to strip him of 
 the honour that his father bestowed upon him 1 " 
 
 All this she quietly conceded, but alleged that it was totally 
 irrelevant to her case. 
 
 " Excuse me now, Misthress," he humbly pleaded, " for I am 
 spakin' for the gi'eat King of kings, an' not for meself. HE 
 knows that I don't feel meself aiqual to some that may have 
 claned yer shoes, still if ye don't condemn yerself, God forbid 
 that I should condemn ye. Such a father an' mother as ye spake 
 of are seldom given to mortals. Have ye proved grateful for such 
 training as ye say they gave ye 1 " 
 
 " I have always tried to do my duty," she replied, with some 
 degree of down-coming from that offended elevation which she 
 had before exhibited. 
 
 " I don't dispute that now," Tim replied ; " but, thin, for what 
 did ye strive to do yer duty 1 Was i^. to glorify the Giver of such 
 parents as those who blessed yer earliest years, or was it for yer own 
 sake merely, in order to be happy an' escape goin' to hell 1 " 
 
 She was obliged to confess that her own interests alone had led 
 her to such a course, and that gratitude to her gi-eatest benefactor 
 had never actuated her in a single pi'ayer, penance, or fast, or any- 
 thing else. 
 
 " Now, acushla," he said, half imploringly, half coaxingly, 
 " don't ye see that ye are ongi'ateful 1 " 
 
 There was no verbal reply to that query, but copious tears told 
 that the fortification had been " sapped," and the " mine" sprung. 
 Ah, Tim ! Tim ! weak and foolish as men of this world esteemed 
 thee, thy weapons were " mighty through God to the pulling down 
 of strongholds." Hadst thou disputed or denied the excellency of 
 those parents, thy point would not have been gained, jjei'haps at 
 ALL, certainly not then. 
 
 But 
 
 I digi'ess from the dialogue. 
 
 I 
 
 He followed up the victory so far achieved. 
 " An' now, asthore machree,* I '11 be honest wid ye. You 've 
 robbed the blessed Lord Jasus, by strivin' to take His glory from 
 
 * Soul-touching Irish phrases. 
 
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 156 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 Him. His Father gave Him from etarnity the glory of savin' 
 all the sowls that iver wor saved, or iver shall be saved ; an' 
 you 've thought to take the crown off HIS glorious brow, an' to 
 wear it yerself, by strivin' to save yer own sowl indepindint of 
 Him." Here her sorrow, which had hitherto been silent, rose to 
 a positive wail of anguish. Oh, what a charge ! 
 
 Tim saw that further ground had been gained, and determined 
 on holding it. 
 
 "An' just now I remember a story I read in a book about a 
 brother o' yours. If ye have no objection, I '11 read it for you." 
 
 She stared with astonishment for awhile, and then said, " O Sir, 
 you must mistake altogether, or — 1 am dreaming — I never had a 
 brother." 
 
 " AYait, aisy now, till I road it for ye. An' shure, didn't he 
 write the story himself] An' if ye don't acknowledge the brother- 
 hood, I '11 give it up, so I will." 
 
 He read from the Douay version of the New Testament, 
 Philippians, chap, iii., 3rd and following verses, the apposite 
 " story about a brother of hei-s." I give it with his pronuncia- 
 tion : — 
 
 " ' For we are the circumcision, who sarve God in spemt, an' 
 glory in Christ Jasus, not Iiavin' confidence in the flesh. 
 
 " ' Though I might also have confidence in the flesh. If any 
 other thinketh he may have confidence in the flesl. , I more : bein' 
 circumcised the eighth day, of the stock of Izzarell, of the thribe o* 
 Binjamin, a Haybrew of the Haybrews ; as to the law, a Pharisee j 
 as to iiale, persecutin' the Church o' God ; as to the justice that is 
 in the law, convarsin' without blame. 
 
 " ' But what things wor gain to me, those I have counted lo8S 
 for Christ. 
 
 " ' But indeed I esteem all things to be but loss for the excel- 
 lent knowledge of Jaysus Chi-ist me Lord, for whom I have 
 suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but as dung, 
 that I may gain Christ and be found in him ; not having my 
 justice which is of the law, but that which is of the faith of Christ 
 Jaysus, the justice which is of God in faith.' 
 
 " There now, are you aisy, Misthriss ? " he jisked. " If that 
 wasn't a brother o* yours, 1 '11 be a bishop, an' there 's no great 
 likelihood o' that same ever takin' place." 
 
 " What book is that you have been reading from 1 " she inquired, 
 as if her unbelief had found out a new prop against which she might 
 lean for supporc. 
 
MR. HOPKINS OPINION OF RELIGION. 
 
 15< 
 
 I dung, 
 
 Sav'our Jaysus 
 
 I wondered 
 be Catholic 
 
 "It is the New Tistamint of our Lord an' 
 Christ," replied Tim, reading from the title-page. 
 
 " Oh ! " she ejaculated, " A Protestant Testament ! 
 when I heard you reading. I knew it couldn't 
 doctrine 1 
 
 " Whether it is accordin' to other Catholic docthrines or not," 
 he replied, "I '11 not take on meself to detarniine. It is the Doiiay 
 Tistamint, printed in Dublin, under the sanction of Dr. Troy, an' 
 hia successor. Dr. Murray, both of 'em archbishops. To convince 
 ye, here is the book, which ye may keep if ye like. I have a 
 Protestant Tistamint in my pocket, an' I will read the passage from 
 it. Ye can compare one with the other as I go along. You '11 find 
 some little difference in the words, but none in the mainin'." He 
 handed the book to her, while he read anew the same passage in the 
 Authorised Version, which done, he closed the book, and looking 
 intently at her swollen eyes, inquired, " Now what have ye to say 
 for yerself, Ma'am, afther that 1 " 
 
 ** Nothing," she replied, " only that I am the greatest sinner in 
 the world wide, and there cannot be any salvation for me." At 
 this stage her grief seemed to transcend all bounds, so that her 
 husband, who happened to be passing by on deck and heard her 
 lamentations, ran to her assistance immediately. 
 
 He was a kind man to his wife, and felt greatly alarmed at her 
 distress, the cause of which he did not then clearly understand. 
 When she explained to him the real state of the case, he became 
 quite angry, and denounced all religions, with a terrible curse, as 
 equally worthless ; not merely so, but absolutely had. 
 
 " O now, Hopkins," his wife said, " I implore you not to speak 
 so. How could you possibly come to think any such thing ! But 
 you don't think so. I know you don't." 
 
 "How can I think otherwise," he asked in a kind of frenzy, "when 
 I see religion divided between the sincere and the hypocrites 1 
 
 " The hypocrites make it a cloak for everything that is mean, 
 and rascally, and sordid, and selfish. The sincere, on the other 
 hand, make it an engine of perpetual torture to themselves, so that 
 the more religious one becomes, the greater his misery here, and 
 the greater his dread of purgatory when his life is at an end. 
 
 " You are a living example of it yourself. When I can get you 
 to stir round and forget your sanctimoniousness, you always feel 
 better; but when you get anybody to nurse you up in your sanctity, 
 you are miserable yourself, and make me so, and everybody else 
 that comes near yoiu I grant you that our religion is the oldest. 
 
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 158 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 and may be the best ; but if the best religion in the world makes 
 everybody miserable, save me from it, I say. You tell me, every 
 day almost, that I am so wicked because I don't go to confession ; 
 but, hang it, I see no sense in confessing to men as bad or worse 
 than myself. If I could meet with a real saint, one whom I knew 
 to be such, I would have no objection to confess to him, in the hope 
 that it would do mo some good." 
 
 "Well, now," his wife replied, "you have the face to talk of 
 women's tongues going. Did anybody ever hear such a man ? I 
 am sure if you had been here listening to those two good men read- 
 ing and conversing as I have, it would have been much better for 
 your soul. I know and feel that I have been a gi'eat injury to you, 
 for what I took to be religion was just what you describe it to be, 
 * the means of making you and myself miserable ; ' but I do wish 
 you had been here, nist to hear the reading and conversation of 
 those two good men." 
 
 " What good would it do me 1 " he inquired. " I am always 
 happy, and you want me to be miserable ; you yourself are 
 always miserable, and, like the English, only happy when you 
 can become more so. In the name of Jupiter, if you do change 
 your religion, change it for a happy one. I don't care a farthing 
 what it is. If it makes you happy, I am sure it will make me so 
 too." 
 
 A sudden shout from a hundred voices on deck brought Mr. 
 Hopkins to his feet, along with all the men in both cabins, as well 
 as in the steerage ; another minute, and all who had been below 
 were on deck ; the ship was gently scudding along at the rate of 
 eight or nine knots, and a sudden rush of so many persons to lee- 
 ward made the vessel heel a-starboard, so that she nearly capsized. 
 A precipitate retreat of a considerable number to the opposite side 
 caused her to right again, which done, those who had recently come 
 on deck found time to inquire what the reason was why they had 
 been so abruptly aroused from below. 
 
 " Och, my gracious ! don't ye see how they blow the wather up 
 out o* the back o' their heads, just as if the ocean was all inside 
 of 'em." 
 
 "What are they at all at alH" another would ask, gazing out 
 into vacancy. 
 
 " What are they, is it 1 " another would reply. " Faiks meself 
 don't know, only they're as long as the ship, an* longer I b'lieve. 
 Och, my jewel ! if we had one o' thim down stairs in the howlt o* 
 the ship, wouldn't he save a dale o' pumpin' ! " 
 
TOO MUCH FOR PAT S CREDULITY. 
 
 159 
 
 " If they had them fellows in Liverpool, how they would wather 
 the streets for them," was the sage reflection of another ] and an- 
 other still suggested that they would come very handy for extinguish- 
 ing large fires, while yet another wished they could be harnessed to 
 the ship, so as to tow her speedily to New York. 
 
 " Tell me, Mr. Mate," said one to a sailor, " what do they call 
 thim big fishes that blows the wather up in the air ? " 
 
 " Call them, Spooney 1 — they call them whales. Have they no 
 whales in the rivers in Ireland 1 " 
 
 " No, in troth, an' we wouldn't want 'em but as little. I 'm 
 shure it would take a good big river to make a drink for one o' 
 thim brutes. What good are they at all 1 " 
 
 " Oh, they are very good for many things. Ore carcass yields 
 a great number of barrels of oil. That is used for various purposes ; 
 and you have seen what is called whalebone, which is likewise a 
 very iiseful thing in many respects. I spent two years whale-fish- 
 ing myself." 
 
 " Arrah, is it fishin' for things like thim ye mane 1 " 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Pat, for just such things as those yonder." 
 
 " Be the powers o' pewte:. thin, here 's the boy that 'ud like to 
 see yer fishin'-rod. Well, that takes the coal aff* me pipe complately. 
 An' what sort of a fishin'-line did ye use 1 " 
 
 "A moderate - sized line, about as thick as this rope in my 
 hands." 
 
 " An' what sort of a worm did you put on yer hook to ketch 'em 
 wid?" 
 
 " We didn't use worms in whale-fishing." 
 
 " So I thought. Well, thin, let me ax ye how many av ye it 
 took to haul one on board when ye kecht him 1 " 
 
 " We generally had all hands at work. We used to jump on to 
 his back and cut him up in pieces, a lot of us at a time." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Mate, or Cabbage, or Pratees, or whatever your 
 name is ! ye may go to Ulster, an' tell that to the Protestants, for 
 I 'm towld they '11 b'leeve anything ; but mark me, ye won't get 
 any county Cork or Kerry min to b'leeve it," and he moved olf as 
 if satisfied that the man wanted to impose on his credulity. 
 
 " Stay a moment or two, man," the sailor cried out; "come this 
 way again, I want to tell you more." 
 
 " Well, what is it 1 " he gruflly inquired. 
 
 " I like to talk to you," said the sailor. " I think you a^e a 
 farmer. My father is a farmer too ; he lives in the north of Eng- 
 land." 
 
 r' 
 
If 
 
 160 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 \'l ) 
 
 " 'T is often I heerd that nothin' good ever came out o' the black 
 North, an' I 'm sure of it now," said Paddy. 
 
 " Well, Sir, good or bad, as the case may be, I have not done 
 telling you all I know about the whales yet." 
 
 " Go on if ye haven't ; I may safely wait to hear the rest as I 
 heerd so much," our friend from Cork or Kerry replied. 
 
 " When I came home from my whale-fishing, I brought a pair of 
 jaw-bones of a whale to my father to malce posts for his gate at the 
 entrance to his grounds. Every respectable farmer there has them, 
 and I thought my old * dad ' as good as any, so I brought him a 
 pair." 
 
 Pat declared he could stand that no longer, wondered the ship did 
 not sink with such a liar on board, and, holding up his pipe as he 
 moved off, exclaimed, " Be this pipe in my fisht, if I had you near 
 the groves o' Blarney, I 'd make ye know whether I 'm a fool or not." 
 
 The sailor laughed, and, turning to one of his shipmates, observed, 
 " Pat thinks I may go and tell those tales to the marines." 
 
 The whales in the meantime seemed to enjoy the fun of staring 
 at the wondering passengers as much as the passengers enjoyed the 
 stare at them. 
 
 Sometimes they w ould come within a very few yards of the ship, 
 show a gi*eat part of their bulk out of the water, seem to scrutinize 
 the vessel as if they thought it was something of their own kind 
 with which they wanted to scrape acquaintance, puff up a great lot 
 of water into the air, as much as to say, " I don't care that spirt 
 for you," and again disappear with a flourish of their gi-eat broad 
 tails, which threatened annihilation to anything coming within 
 its reach. 
 
 Thus they continued for nearly half-an-hour, alternately rising 
 and disappearing, to the great delight of numbers who then beheld 
 such creatures for the first time in their lives. 
 
 Tim and his friend were near together as usual, in fact they had 
 now become inseparable. 
 
 They stood with their elbows resting on the ship's bulwark. 
 One of them was a little forward, the other just aft of the main 
 shrouds. 
 
 Mr. Noonan was the first to break a long silence. He saw his 
 friend Tim looking with fixed and wondering eyes at that point, at 
 or near which he thought one of the monsters might rise again to 
 the surface. 
 
 ** Well, Tim," he said, " are not the works o' the great God above 
 wandherful 1 " - 
 
HOW A PRIEST TRIED TO PROVE TRANSUBSTANTIATION. 
 
 161 
 
 e black 
 
 Dt done 
 
 st as I 
 
 pair of 
 e at tlie 
 LS them, 
 t him a 
 
 ship did 
 pe as he 
 ou near 
 or not." 
 bserved, 
 
 f staring 
 oyed the 
 
 the ship, 
 crutinize 
 wn kind 
 great lot 
 lat spirt 
 sat broad 
 y within 
 
 ily rising 
 !n beheld 
 
 they had 
 
 bulwark, 
 the main 
 
 e saw his 
 
 point, at 
 
 I again to 
 
 rod above 
 
 
 " Wandherful intirely, intirely,* they are, Mr. Noonan ! 
 shure enough. Tell me, did ye iver read the story about one of 
 the prophets (Jonas was his name) that was three days and nights 
 in the stomach of one of thim whales, an' was aftherwards thrown 
 up on dhry land ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, I didn't read it ; I nivir read any of the Holy 
 Scripthers till I kem on boord this ship, but I did read somethin* 
 that our Lord says about it in the twelfth o' Matthew, an' tbin I 
 remimbered that I wanst heerd a preest praichin' about that very 
 
 i> 
 
 thing. 
 
 "You did ! Tell me here, what did he say about ill" 
 
 " Well, he thried to prove transubstantiation by it. It was at 
 the time I towld ye of, whin there was a gi-eat dale o' controversy 
 goin' on in our parts. ' The Protestants say,' sez he, * that it was 
 onpossible for our Saviour to be sittin' alive an' whole at the table 
 talkin' to His apostles an' to be goin' down their throats at the 
 same time in the shape o' bread, but there 's nothin' onpossible 
 I with God,' sez he. ' I 'd like to hear one of 'em try to answer 
 an infiddle,' sez he ; ' them infiddles laugh at the story of the 
 whale swallyin' Jonas, for a great many of em' have seen whales 
 cut up,' sez he, ' as the docthers cut up a corpus, an' they say 
 its throat is so small that it couldn't swally anything much bigger 
 thin a herrin', let alone swallyin' a man alive an' throwing him up 
 alive agin.' " 
 
 "Well, why to be shure," quoth Tim, evidently very much 
 amazed at the profound erudition of the priest, " I declare the 
 likes o' that I nivir heerd afore in all my born days. An' tell me 
 agin, Mr. Noonan," he said, dropping his voice to a half whisper, 
 "what do ye think of it yerself?" 
 
 " I declare, Tim, I don't know wliat to say, but I 'm detarminod 
 from what ye taught me to-day, nivir to allow such a thing to 
 throuble me mind. If there is anj^thing in God's blessed book 
 that I don't ondherstand, that is bekase o' me ignorance. The 
 Lord God is a God of thruth, blessed bo His holy name for ever 
 and ever. Still, although Pm ignorant on that subject, an' you 
 may possibly be too, others may be able to explain it fully, an' if 
 they aren't, I '11 wait till my blessed Lord insthructs me on it in 
 any way that plaises Himself, here or hereafter." 
 
 The bulk of the passengers were too intent in conversing about 
 what they had lately seen to take any notice of Tim and his 
 
 * They repeat this term by way of a euper-superlative, if the expression may 
 be allowed ; it means beyond all calculation. 
 
 11 
 
 m 
 
 !|t 
 
 ' ill 
 
 \% 
 
 IMi 
 
 Wf^ 
 
 '■ !l 
 
 ■Mb. 
 
rrp: 
 
 I:. 
 
 i 
 
 162 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 friend, both of whom they now began to treat with suspicion and 
 avoidance. 
 
 Mr, Hopkins and the doctor were both in the ratlines imme- 
 diately over the heads of the two men. They had gone thither 
 for the purpose of having a good look-out, an advtintago with 
 which they were favoured. They also overheard a great number 
 of the remarks that were made, and of the questions and answers 
 put and given by one and another on the appearance of those 
 strange unwieldy monsters. 
 
 To give all these in the precise language in which they were 
 uttered would subject the writer of these pages to the suspicion of 
 a desire to produce a jest-book. 
 
 He would not wish his readers to understand that he is averse 
 to their enjoying a good, earnest, hearty laugh. 
 
 He does not desire them to understand that he is averse to such 
 relaxation of the risibles himself; on the contrary, he enjoys it, 
 and (as Paddy said by way of excusing himself for snoring in his 
 sleep) he " pays attintion to it." 
 
 He believes in that part of the Bible, as well as in all the rest 
 of it, which says, "there is a time to laugh;" but will leave the 
 intelligent reader to determine the " time " for himself. 
 
 " What a likely story that is," said Mr. Hopkins, " about the 
 whale swallowing Jonah. I 'd require to see it before I 'd believe 
 it. I think, Tim " (addressing himself to that individual), " that 
 the writer of that story must have thought his readers all capable 
 of swallowing the whale and Jonah to boot." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir," said Tim, " I confess I 'm not able to answer 
 many things that might be said on that subject, but it strikes me 
 as mighty quare intirely, that the story does not say it was a 
 whale, for here is the very place; I lound it out this blessed 
 minit, only it says, * The Lord had prepared a great Jish to swallow 
 up Jonah, and Jonah was in the belly of the Jish three days and 
 three nights,' an' in two other places in the second chapter, it 
 always says, * thejish^ an' not * the whale.' " 
 
 Mr, Hopkins and the doctor had by this time descended to the 
 deck. The former of whom expressed great surprise that one of 
 liis favourite sneers should be so unceremoniously and ruthlessly 
 plucked from him. 
 
 His courage was renewed, however, when he heard the doctor 
 interpose as follows : — 
 
 " That would be very well, Tim, if our Lord, in speaking of it 
 in Matthew xii. 40, had not said, * As Jonas was three days and 
 
A WHALE OR NOT A WHALE. 
 
 163 
 
 on 
 
 and 
 
 imme- 
 thithei* 
 ro with 
 number 
 mswers 
 •f those 
 
 ;y were 
 licion of 
 
 s averse 
 
 ) to such 
 njoys it, 
 g in his 
 
 the rest 
 save the 
 
 30ut the 
 
 1 believe 
 
 I), " that 
 
 capable 
 
 answer 
 
 ikes me 
 
 ; was a 
 
 blessed 
 
 swallow 
 
 days and 
 
 lapter, it 
 
 id to the 
 at one of 
 uthlessly 
 
 e doctor 
 
 ing of it 
 lays and 
 
 three nights in the whalers helhj, so shall the Son of Man be three 
 days and three nights in the heart of the earth.'" 
 
 " Eight again," Hopkins almost shouted ; " right again. I knew 
 it was there, although I never read it myself." 
 
 The doctor turned a look of benignity on him and said, " I am 
 very sorry for you, if you have never read it. I think you ought 
 to read it, and further (don't be oflfended with me for saying it), 
 God will not hold you guiltless if you neglect to read it." 
 
 " But where 's the use of my reading such stuff as that 1 " Mr. 
 Hopkins asked in an offended tone. "Have you not just now 
 shown that it is not to be believed, and that Jesus Christ Himself 
 taught that it was a whale that swallowed Jonah ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't think the Saviour intended that His expression 
 should be understood as at all decisive of the particular kind of 
 fish or animal, whatever it was, that swallowed and again disgorged 
 the prophet; for the word translated ^wJiale^ is now generally 
 acknowledged to be a generic temi, applicable to any large occupant 
 of the sea." 
 
 " I 'd like to see how you make that out," said Mr. Hopkins. 
 
 " Come and let us all four sit down amicably," the doctor said, 
 and treat the Holy Scriptures as fairly as we would any other 
 books. They demand no more, and justice should not be satisfied 
 ynih. less." 
 
 They all moved to a seat on the quarter-deck, and he proceeded 
 thus : — 
 
 "I will allow — for argument's sake — if you please, that the 
 popular mode of speaking of this transaction in our Saviour's day 
 (and prior to it), was to call what the prophet describes as a * great 
 fish,' * prepared ' by God for that special purpose, by the name of 
 * whale,' that fish being the largest sea-monster generally known. 
 The Jews were not a maritime people, and the term ' whale ' might 
 answer their purpose, as well as any other, to perpetuate the 
 memory of that event. Our Lord in mentioning it by the name 
 generally used, was not lecturing on natural history, much less on 
 the capacities of the gullets of various animals for the voracious 
 reception, or swallowing prey or food. It would have answered 
 the purpose of our Lord's teaching equally w^ell, had the popular 
 belief been that Jonah had been swallowed by a cod-fish or a shark, 
 for it was not His object to fix either the genus or the species of 
 the animal, but to make the disappearance of Jonah for a given 
 time, in the miraculous way set forth in that narrative, as a pro- 
 phetic and typical representation of His own burial and resurrection. 
 
 I 
 
 ( I: 
 
 d; 
 
 ,Ji;t 
 
Ih 
 
 U i 
 
 ii 
 
 ■^ M 
 
 f t 
 
 164 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ** To illustrate this. Do you believe in the appearance of ghosts 
 on ordinary occasions, and their maliciously hunting people up and 
 down through the country ? " 
 
 "Not a bit of it." 
 
 "You don't. Well, did you ever read of the 'Fakenham 
 Ghost'?" 
 
 " I think I did, and many a time it frightened me. It was one 
 of the first pieces of poetry that was taught me when I was a 
 chUd." 
 
 " You are aware of what the cause of the alarm was in reality." 
 
 " Yes, it was nothing more or less than a little innocent filly 
 
 that had lost its dam, and followed a young girl a long distance. 
 
 She, thinking it to be a ghostj ran from it, till she was nearly 
 
 frightened to death. I imagine it is very like the * whale' 
 
 'story." 
 
 " Very like — very like ! " the doctor said again, emphasizing 
 the two words strongly, until they grew into great, glaring Roman 
 capitals. " You feel persuaded that in that afiair there was no 
 ghost." 
 
 " Most certainly I am." 
 
 " Now if you wanted to call that incident to my mind, what 
 name would you give to that apparition, as tallying with the 
 popular mode of expression respecting it 1 " 
 
 " "Well,"j said the half-bewildered Mr. Hopkins, perceiving the 
 drift of the argument and feeling it against him, " I suppose — I 
 would call it — as — as other people did call it — ' The Fakenhaui 
 Ghost.'" 
 
 " You would" said the doctor ; " you would call it * The Faken- 
 ham Ghost,' just because you knew that the popular mind was 
 familiar with the term, and it would be the readiest way to turn 
 their attention to it. Now if I were to g ) into the cabin, and tell 
 the captain and passengers there, that Mr. Hopkins is the most 
 superstitious of men, he believes in the appearance of ghosts, and 
 as a proof of it he told me how he had learned the story of ' The 
 Fakenham Ghost,' when a child, what would you say of the fair- 
 ness of my statement ? " 
 
 "I would not like it, I confess," he answered. 
 
 "Precisely so do you treat our Lord Jesus. You have posi- 
 tively averred that He taught that it was a whale, and nothing 
 else, that swallowed Jonah, whereas His teaching in that case 
 was illustrative of a far difierent subject ; and, if he had stopped 
 to lecture the people on natural history. He must have turned 
 
CONCLUSION OF THE CONFERENCE. 
 
 165 
 
 gliosis 
 ip and 
 
 :enham 
 
 vaB one 
 was a 
 
 •eality." 
 jnt filly 
 [istance. 
 J nearly 
 < whale ' 
 
 thasizing 
 r Roman 
 J was no 
 
 their at/tention off from the great object He had in view. Now 
 give me your opinion candidly of the matter." 
 
 Just then Mr. Hopkins remembered that his wife might require 
 his attentions, so he started off without c< remony. 
 
 " Docthor ! " said Tim, taking off his liat and bowing nearly to 
 the ground, " I 'm obligated to yer honour intirely, so I am. How 
 good the larnin' is whin it is put to the right use, an' it is a clargy 
 ye ought to be instead of a docthor ; but who knows, maybe you 'd 
 be taichin' poor sinners yet the way to glory." 
 
 " That he may," said Mr. Noonan, "an' I 'm sure I 've larned a 
 power ^ from him this evening." 
 
 The conference was abruptly closed by the bell in the cabin 
 calling the doctor to partake of supper. He kindly shook hands 
 with Tim and his friend, and wished them a good night. 
 
 * A great deal. 
 
 Hil^ 
 
 id, what 
 with the 
 
 ving the 
 ppose — I 
 akenhaiii 
 
 e Faken- 
 Qind was 
 f to turn 
 and tell 
 ;he most 
 osts, and 
 of ' The 
 the fair- 
 
 4 I 
 
 ill! 
 
f ? 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A CASE OP "cramping" IN REVENGE — A DOUBLE AWAKENING — 
 "fire, fire" — AN IRISH CHARACTERISTIC EXEMPLIFIED UNDER 
 DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 My readers must not imagine that because persecution was re- 
 strained into silence on board tlie "Jupiter," therefore it was 
 totally subdued; if they indulged such a hope from previous 
 statements they are very much mistaken, as the sequel will prove. 
 The parties thereto merely changed their tactics, a course usual in 
 all warfare. 
 
 At first they — the Romanists — thought of making a show of 
 equal zeal and devotion with the Protestants ; and some were of 
 opinion that this was only a trap artfully laid to induce the latter 
 to repay them in their own coin by creating a party disturbance 
 on board. 
 
 If this were the case they completely failed in their object, for 
 not only was there no opposition made to their morning and 
 evening matins and vesjiers (which they kept up very regularly 
 for a few days), but the Protestants used every means within 
 their reach to keep things quiet while the prayers were being 
 repeated, and even urged on a few, who claimed to be Roman 
 Catholics, but refused to attend those services, the consistency of 
 observing what they professed to believe. 
 
 "Whether it was from want of opposition or not, the chronicler 
 is not prepared to say, but, at any rate, the newly- awakened zeal 
 very speedily died out ; and except among the few truly sincere 
 persons among them, all appearance of religious ardour or of 
 devotion was soon at an end. 
 
 Not so with the spirit of enmity still nursed against the lovers 
 of the truth. 
 
 To be seen speaking to one of those who read the Holy 
 Scriptures, to plead for them in any way, or to show any 
 of them a kindness, was sure to be visited on the person so 
 
A CASE OF " CRAMPING." 
 
 167 
 
 NINO — 
 UNDEK 
 
 was re- 
 it was 
 irevioiis 
 11 prove, 
 usual in 
 
 show of 
 
 ! were of 
 
 he latter 
 
 urbance 
 
 )ject, for 
 ^ and 
 regularly 
 s within 
 re being 
 Roman 
 stency of 
 
 hronicler 
 ened zeal 
 y sincere 
 ur or of 
 
 he lovers 
 
 he Holy 
 low any 
 kerson so 
 
 offending, at a time when he was least likely to bo prepared for 
 it. 
 
 At one time a bucketful of salt water would be thrown into 
 the berth of such a person when the night was sufficiently dark to 
 allow of it being done without the probability of the oliunder being 
 identified. These are the tender mercies of Popery ! 
 
 Delicate women and sick children were not sufficient pleas to 
 induce such miscreants to exercise compassion, a feeling of the soul 
 ignored by Popery. 
 
 One very dark night, during which rain fell jdentifully so as to 
 clear thj deck of nearly everybody exco[it the watch, a little after 
 eight bells told the hour of midnight, a fearful noise was heard to 
 issue from the second cabin. 
 
 Cries of most excruciating distress, accompanied by appeals for 
 help, first greeted the ear. Women and children, awnkened by 
 the noise and imagining that the ship was sinking, mingled their 
 cries with those of the sufferer in the direst confusion and dis- 
 cordancy. The light had been extinguislud, and no one could tell 
 the cause of the alarm. 
 
 Loudest of all were old Mr. Noonan's cries for "help," and 
 addresses to the God of all grace for patience to bear — hu knew 
 not what 
 
 Three or four minutes elapsed in this state, when the chief 
 mate descended with a lantern and found the sufferer's pain to 
 have been caused by what is called "craz/i^Jin^." It is done as 
 follows : — 
 
 A stout cord, with a noose on the end and attached to a rope, 
 passed secretly from below to a person on deck who was prepared 
 to receive it from the manager. This person must have stolen 
 down clandestinely and cautiously into the second cabin, having 
 previously assured himself of Mr. Noonan's berth, lest he should 
 mistake. This done, the lower villain No. 1 dexterously and 
 softly slipped the noose under the clothes round the great toe 
 on the right foot of Mr. Noonan, and by a signal No. '2 pulled, 
 and in another instant both villains and others were pulling, until 
 the good old man was literally partially suspended out of bed by 
 the toe, reminding one of the palmy days of Popery when the out- 
 of-fashion thumbscrew was in use, and other similar machinery. 
 As soon as the outcry was heard, the actors in this petit drama 
 made the rope fast to a belaying pin and disappeared to their 
 respective berths. 
 
 The mate soon cut him down with his jack-knife, observing, 
 
 f I 
 
 
 ^ il 
 
 ; ! 
 i 
 
 ' 1 
 
1G8 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 
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 , 1 . 
 
 T 
 
 : » 
 
 1 
 
 
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 j 1 
 
 1 ' 
 
 T 
 
 1 
 
 
 t ■ 
 t 
 
 l:i, 
 
 ill' 
 
 " Well, old boy, I reckon it is pretty painful, but not half so bad 
 as if your lieiid had been where your toe was." 
 
 " Glory be to God that it is no worse, Mr. Mate," the sufferer 
 exclaimed, as soon as he could breathe with sufficient composure ; 
 " I declare now, the toe is a small niiniber o' the body, but I didn't 
 think I would feel so much pain if all the fingers an' toes I have 
 were cut off o' me. Shure, 'tis ashamed o' meself I am intirely to 
 make such a noise about so little a thing, an' more especially 
 bekase o' puttin' all these dacent people up out o' their beds at 
 this hour o' the night or mornin', whichsumever it is, for meself 
 don't know from Adam." 
 
 " That 's a small matter," said the mate, " compared with the 
 suffering you have undergone. I know what it is to be ' cramped; ' 
 but never mind, it is not much when the pain is over. Don't 
 walk about much or put the foot under you for a day or two, and 
 I will get you a lotion from the doctor in the morning which will 
 cool it and keep it from becoming swollen or inflamed. Wet a rag 
 in vinegar and put it to it for the present." 
 
 By this time many of the passengers had dressed or half dressed 
 themselves and gathered around the sufferer, who sat on the floor 
 with a blanket thrown over his shoulders, while he nursed the 
 limb that had been exposed to such severe suffering, and rubbed 
 it with his hands to restore the circulation. 
 
 " Mr. Mate," said one good woman (who sj^eedily manufac- 
 tured a rag by tearing a piece off her baby's frock, and applying 
 ity wetted with vinegar, as directed, to the smarting toe), " isn't 
 it a shame that dacent people are not allowed to sleep in their 
 beds without bein' murdered, an' kilt, an' tossicated in this way by 
 bliggards 1 " 
 
 "It is a shame," the mate replied, "upon my honour; but 
 how can I help it 1 " He said this, determining in his own mind 
 to keep a good look-out, and to set some of the sailors to keep 
 their eyes and ears open, to discover, if possible, the perpetrators 
 of the outrage, and to ascertain if they intended to play off' any 
 more such tricks. 
 
 The good woman, while she bound up the afflicted member, 
 indulged in some very hearty expressions of ire at such miscon- 
 duct, in which she was joined by some of the lookers-on. 
 
 " If I had my will," she said, " I 'd have 'em hung, drawn, an' 
 quartered, so I would, for their vagabond conduct to an innocent 
 man." 
 
 " Hangin' would be too good for the likes av 'em," another replied. 
 
 lii 
 
80 
 
 bad 
 
 sufferer 
 [)0sure ; 
 I didn't 
 I have 
 ;irely to 
 ipecially 
 beds at 
 L' meself 
 
 yitli the 
 amped ; ' 
 , Don't 
 two, and 
 liich will 
 ^et a rag 
 
 f dressed 
 the floor 
 irsed the 
 i rubbed 
 
 manufac- 
 applying 
 e), " isn't 
 in their 
 ls way by 
 
 )ur ; but 
 
 )wn mind 
 
 to keep 
 
 petrators 
 
 r ofi' any 
 
 member, 
 miscon- 
 
 [rawn, an' 
 innocent 
 
 jr replied. 
 
 AN EXAMPLE OF POLITENESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 IGO 
 
 " Thruo for ye thin," a third added, " 'tisn't hanged they ought 
 to be, but roasted alive." 
 
 " Oh, God forbid ! " said the i)rincipal party concerned. " I ho])e 
 nobody will ever suffer death or any other punislinient for my poor 
 .sinful carcass. That would be a poor way to do them any good. 
 ]May the good Lord have mercy on 'em, I pray." 
 
 " Marcy, indeed ! " the former speaker repeated with emphasis, 
 " they don't desarve any marcy, and they oughtn't to get it ; I 'd 
 like to know what marcy they showed to that poor innocent owld 
 man, that wouldn't hurt a worm, not to mintion a Christian." 
 
 " You have said, Mrs. What 's-yer-name, for I don't know it from 
 Adam, that the acthors in this outrage didn't desai've marcy 1 " 
 
 " I did indeed," said the woman addressed, " an' I '11 stick to 
 it too." 
 
 " Success to the women for sticking to a thing when they say 
 it," said a voice from a top berth. " Now, old lady, you and 
 Ml'. Noonan for it. I'd like to hear you and him discuss that 
 matter." 
 
 " Arrah, is that you, Mr. Hopkins 1 " Mr. Noonan inquired, 
 calling out so as to be heard in every berth around. " I must 
 'pologise. Sir, to yei-self and the Misthiss for the noise I made 
 a while ago." 
 
 " There is no ajjology necessary, my dear Sir. "VVe both feel 
 very sorry for the pain that you suffered. But you remind me 
 very strongly of a French officer of whom I read yesterday." 
 
 " How is that. Sir 1 " Mr. Noonan inquired. 
 
 " A cannon-shot took off his right arm, causing the blood to 
 bespatter the person standing beside him. He took off his hat 
 with his left hand to beg the gentleman's pardon, and then with 
 his handkerchief wiped the blood off." 
 
 " Well, Sir, that caps me altogether." 
 
 " Now," Mr. Hojikins rejoined, " I want to hear your argument 
 with Mrs. Casey. I caused you to wander from the subject, and 
 feel bound to state the case, as it stood before the time of my 
 interruption. She had said that * some people don't deserve mercy,' 
 and you seemed to disagree with her, at least she undei-stood you 
 so, for — like a true woman — she determined to stick to her text, 
 nail her colours to the mast, and everything el»»e that is expressive 
 of thorough determination. Now I want you both (for the benefit 
 of all concerned) to argue that point out. It is not likely that any 
 of us want to sleep any more to-night." 
 
 " Well, why," said Mrs. Casey, " what a purty * kittle o' fish ' 
 
 i 
 
 :( I 
 
 »l! 
 
 I i 
 
 nl 
 
170 
 
 TIM UOOLAN. 
 
 M 
 
 I ( 
 
 it is, that one can't speak an innocent word, but it must be taken 
 advantage of. Ye may argee it out yerselves, if ye wish ; but for 
 my part, I see nayther sinse nor rayson in makin' so much talk 
 av it." 
 
 "As to that," Mr. Noonan answered, " the docthor's lady lint 
 me a little book yesterday that settles all that, beautiful. I declare 
 to you it was jist the same as lookin' at a beautiful picther, it was 
 so plain." 
 
 " Very well," Mr. Hopkins answered ; " I ^d like to hear it made 
 plain. Tell us the gist of the argument." 
 
 " Well to be shure. what a miserable thing it is to be a poor 
 schollard," Mr. Noonan replied. " Are ye awake, Tim Doolan 1 " 
 he shouted. " I want ye to help me out o' this hobble, as ye have 
 done out of a good many others." 
 
 " Och ! work away for yereelf, my old friend," Tim shouted ; 
 " you 're well able to do it. At any rate ye can't have me with ye 
 always, so that the sooner ye lam to go on yer own pins the betther 
 it will K; for ye." 
 
 " Thiue ior ye, Tim, thrue for ye," Mr. Noonan repeated with a 
 sigh, " a poor craythur I '11 be whin I have nobody to insthruct me 
 poor sowl. Howsomever, as Mr. Hopkins was anxious to hear 
 somethin' on that subject, I '11 try to make it as plain as I can — 
 that is, accordin' to what I read — for I have no knowledge nor 
 gumption o' me own, God help me. 
 
 " This good woman said that some people don't desarve any marcy. 
 Now, as we say sometimes, * it is thiiie,' an' it is * not thrue.' 
 
 " It is thrue, bekase no one desarves any marcy, an' it is not 
 thrue, bekase whin Ave apply it to some people, we speak as if 
 others did desarve it. Och, dear me, how plain that little book 
 makes it intirely. I declare, Mr. Hopkins, Sir, if ye won't be 
 displased with me, I '11 ask the docthor's lady to allow me to 
 lind it to ye, bekase it wouldn't be becomin' in the likes o' me 
 to make so free with the lady's book as to lind it meself, 
 although 'tis well plased the same good ooman would be for all 
 the world to read it ; but it says, * Marcy may and can be obtained^ 
 but it can't be desarvecL' I very sowl o' mt>n that has reached 
 heaven has obtained marcy, but no one sowl of thim iver de- 
 sarved it. That which a man desarves, he can claim as a reward, 
 but marcy is shown to those who are guilty, and to those only. 
 The Queen a few days ago made one man a lord, and saved 
 another man from the gallows. She showed marcy to the latter, but 
 she rewarded merit in the other. Och, dear me, I can't tell ye 
 
 ilH 
 
OPENING THE EYES OF THE BLIND. 
 
 171 
 
 taken 
 at for 
 a talk 
 
 ly lint 
 leclare 
 it was 
 
 b made 
 
 a poor 
 olan?" 
 re have 
 
 loutecl ; 
 vs'ith ye 
 betther 
 
 L with a 
 ruct me 
 to hear 
 I can — 
 Ige nor 
 
 r marcy. 
 
 B.' 
 
 is not 
 k as if 
 e book 
 on't be 
 
 me to 
 
 is o' me 
 
 meself, 
 
 for all 
 htainedy 
 reached 
 iver de- 
 reward, 
 se only, 
 saved 
 bter, but 
 tell ye 
 
 in my poor way half the beauty o' that, sweet little book. Are ye 
 asleep, Tim, avourneen 1 " 
 
 " Not a wink over the eyes of the same fellow," Tim briskly 
 replied ; " I 'm listenin' with me eyes and me ears, too. Well 
 now, there 's no use in talkin', but that is very plain. Isn't it, 
 Mr. Noonan 1 " 
 
 " Plain enough thin whin a body sees it, but dark as midnight 
 whin he doesn't,'* Mr. Noonan added. " My giacious," he con- 
 tinued, "everything is plain whin the Almighty God makes it 
 plain ; but 'tis Himself that is the right sort of a taicher, glory for 
 ivir be to His blessed name, amii;.'* 
 
 "Now you have said the rig-ii thing," Tim answered. "Whin 
 HE taiches, the poor sowl can learn fast, and bless His name, He 
 nivir taiches anything but thruth." 
 
 "Do you know what my wife says?" Mr. Hopkins roared out 
 with a laugh ; " if that is true, there is no merit in all her prayers, 
 and she has thrown away the labour of several years, but she does 
 not believe a word of it." 
 
 " Misthiss Hopkins," said Tim, " may I make so bowld as to ax 
 ye one question 1 " 
 
 " Indeed you may," she replied, " a hundred ; but you can never 
 convince me of anything contrary to that." 
 
 " If I cannot, maybe the great God above can do it," he replied. 
 " But would ye give up prayer altogether if ye thought there was 
 no merit in yer prayers 1 " 
 
 " Certainly I would," she said ; " where would be the use of 
 praying unless one was to obtain salvation by it 1 We are such 
 wicked sinners., that we deserve to be punished for our sins, and, 
 if we punijli ourselves by ])rayers, God will punish us all the less 
 hereafter" 
 
 "Go.' ^ ^.ess us, an' save us, an' have marcy on us," said Tim, 
 remember!" q; " the rock whence he had been hewn, and the hole 
 of the pit whence he had been digged." " God have marcy on us. 
 Indeed, Mrs. Hopkins, if ye were once brought to see that yer 
 prayers have no merit, you 'd nivir cease prayin' to God for His 
 marcy till ye felt sure that Ho had granted H' marcy to ye, an* 
 after that you 'd pray all yer life long in a manner. Thin you 'd 
 ' pray without ceasin',' as the 'postle Paul sez. Excuse me, Madam, 
 I say it for your sowl's sake. You 're a very sincare and religious 
 ooman, but I don't think ye ivir prayed in yer life." 
 
 " There, old lady," Hopkins roared out with evident delight, "you 
 have got your tea now without sweetening. What say you to that]" 
 
 I I 
 
 it 
 
 ^'!l 
 
f ' 
 
 172 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 V 
 
 Ih 
 
 " I know very well," Mrs, Hopkins answered, " that Tim would 
 not say anything with the intention of giving me offence ; but still 
 I do not see how what he says can be true. If it is true, there is 
 no salvation for us at all." 
 
 " Plenty o' that same," said Tim, with true heartfelt fervour, 
 " without money and without price ; but I think I can see where 
 there is something wrong that ye do not take into the account. 
 You appear to me Ma'am, not to be lookin' for salvation at all, only 
 for a reward." 
 
 "I certainly think it only fair to be rewarded for my good 
 deeds, as well as punished for bad ones," she answered. 
 
 " Och thin, ye may as well give up calling that ' salvation,' " 
 says Tim ; " I know very well. Ma'am, that ye would like to go to 
 heaven whin ye die, an' the way by which ye want to get there is 
 by havin' more good deeds to be rewarded than bad ones to be pun- 
 ished ; shure it was the way with all of us, wasn't it, Mr. Noonan 1 " 
 " Indeed, I can spake for one poor sinner, an' that is meself ; 
 that was the only way I iver heard of gcttin' to heaven till the 
 Almighty God, praise be to His holy name for iver, showed mp 
 how foolish an' wicked it was. I was always seekin' to be rewarded 
 an' indeed my own idaya * is, that a man will niver thruly seek to 
 be sa* cjd ontil he feels himself to be lost." 
 
 " Lost ye may call it, indeed," Tim replied. " How beautifully 
 our blessed Redeemer taiches that in three parables, all in the 
 Gospel o' St. Luke, .and in the same chapter there is the lost sheep, 
 the lost money, and the lost son. And again He tells us in the 
 nineteenth chapter, ' The Son o' man is come to seek and to save 
 that which was lost.' " 
 
 Mrs. Hopkins made no reply except by audible sobs, which told 
 Tim pretty plainly that the word " spoken in season " was about 
 to " prosper in the thing whereto God had sent it." 
 
 Quietness began again to settle down over those so lately con- 
 fused and disturbed. Many had dropped asleep while this 
 conversation was going on. Mr. Noonan, whose frame had been 
 so racked with pain, yielded to the first influence of " nature's 
 sweet restorer," and Tim himself began to think of following in 
 the same direction, when a heavy sigh from Mr. Hopkins drew 
 his attention. 
 
 " Does anything ail you, Mr. Hopkins 1 " he good-naturedly 
 inquired. 
 
 "Indeed, Tim," he frankly answered, "if all tl] 
 
 you say 
 
 Idea. 
 
would 
 nt still 
 here is 
 
 ervour, 
 ! where 
 ccount. 
 11, only 
 
 '7 
 
 good 
 
 > » 
 
 ation, 
 to go to 
 there is 
 
 be pun- 
 Donan ] " 
 
 meself ; 
 L till the 
 owed mp 
 ewcirded 
 y seek to 
 
 autifuUy 
 11 in the 
 st sheep, 
 us in the 
 to save 
 
 hich told 
 ivas about 
 
 Ltely con- 
 Ihile this 
 Ihad been 
 I" nature's 
 |lowing in 
 
 :ins drew 
 
 Inaturedly 
 lou say is 
 
 ANOTHER AWAKENING. 
 
 173 
 
 true — and I have not much doubt of it — a great deal more ails me 
 than I ever thought of before. I wonder if the Saviour came to 
 seek and to save such a one as me." 
 
 " Ye need have no wonder or doubt about it," Tim replied ; " if 
 ya feel that ye are one of the lost ones, one of those that have been 
 goin' away from God, and wandherin' about to every muddy stream 
 for the watlier o' life, rayther thin drink it pure from the fountain 
 that God Himself has opened, ye may be sure that He came both to 
 seek and to save ye. ' Ho came not to call the yighteous, but sinners 
 to repintance,' an' ye ought to know which of the two classes ye 
 belong to." 
 
 " Indeed," replied his now Immbled friend, " I have always felt 
 that I was not as good as I ought to be ; but then I tried to comfort 
 myself by thinking that I was not as bad as many whom I knew." 
 " Poor comfort for the poor sowl," replied Tim. 
 " I never opened my lips to any one on the subject before," said 
 Mr. Hopkins, " but I have wondered occasionally, until I have 
 thought that I must go mad, and then again I have said to myself, 
 ' My only chance for quietness and peace lies in banishing all 
 further thought upon the matter.' " 
 
 "That would be a very good plan intirely," said Tim, "if banishin' 
 thought could banish death an' judgment, an' if it could blot out 
 our sins, but as it can't delay even one of them a single instant, nor 
 blot out one's sin from God's book, it a])pears to me a foolish thing 
 to try to banish the thoughts av it." 
 
 " Dear me ! What would have become of us the other night whin 
 that gi-eat storm came on, only that the ca})ting prepared for it 
 aforehand! I heerd him saying to the sailors, 'Now, boys,' sez he, 
 ' make everything nice and snug," sez he ; ' shorten sail an' keep a 
 good look-out, for if this breeze shifts a pint or two to the aisht, 
 we '11 have a dirty night av it,' an' thrue it was for him, a dirty 
 night we had sure enough. Don't ye think it was wise of the capting, 
 Sir, God bless him, to prepare for the storm?" 
 
 "Did you speak to7ue, Tim?" Mi\ Hopkins asko<l, in a half 
 absent mood. Then, as if detecting himself, and without waiting 
 for an answer, he replied — 
 
 " Wise ! wise to prepare for the storm 1 yes, certainly. 
 What a queer question 1 What do you think a captain is for 1 " 
 he asked of Tim, in rather a strange tone of voice, 
 
 " Indeed," Tim said gravely, " he is of gi'eat iise in many 
 respects, but I think it is a great part of his business to look out 
 for storms." 
 
 I 
 
 4 
 
 M 
 
 .^li 
 
 i'i 
 
 
11 
 
 wmmm 
 
 174 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 •I! 
 
 i; 
 
 n 
 
 I I 
 
 hi' n 
 
 i 
 
 t 
 
 iHi 
 
 " Just so, Tim ; just so," resumed his new friend. 
 
 " Just so thin, Sir ; an' indeed the Word o' God tells of a 
 weightier storm intirely, that 's comin' on our sinful race, an' how 
 few are lookin' out for it." 
 
 " I confess I have not done so," Mr. Hopkins replied. 
 
 ** But I Jiave" his wife added, with an air of bitter disappoint- 
 ment, "I have been always preparing for it, and now to be told that 
 * all I have done is of no use to my poor soul,' is too bad, indeed it 
 is," and she wept bitterly. 
 
 Tim meditated for a short time, and then replied, "Mr. Hopkins, 
 let me tell ye a story." 
 
 " Tell on, Tim, do," was the brief response, spoken as if in utter 
 despair. 
 
 Tim proceeded : "We will suppose three men goin' on a journey. 
 Jest as they are ready to start, a friend calls on thim, an' sez, ' Ye 
 are goin' to have a most terrific storm ; it will come on afore night, 
 ye may depind upon it. Here let me supply ye wid watherproof 
 overcoats ; they 'll not let in a drop of wather, an' you 're welcome 
 to thim, " free, gratis, for nothin' at all." ' Well, why, one of 'em 
 sez — stepping out into the sunshine — 'I don't b'lieve a word of that 
 croakin' about a storm. The owld fellow may keep his overcoat to 
 himself, for anything I care.' The second looks up an' sez he, 'I 
 b'lieve there will be a storm shure enough ; but thin I don't want 
 to be indebted for an overcoat to anybody.' So he takes and makes 
 one for himself out of brown paper. The third sez, 'Ah! I b'lieve 
 the storm is comin' shure enough, an' I clearly see that yer paper 
 coat will not keep ye dry, so I will accept the proper coat an' be 
 thankful for it too.' They all set off on their journey, an' by an' by, 
 the storm comes. The poor fellow that disb'lieved in it is wet to 
 the skin. The same thing happens to him that b'lieved in the storm, 
 but b'lieved as much in himself, while the third is firmly purtected 
 aginst it, through the kindness of his friend." 
 
 " I see," Mr. Hopkins said, " you mean my wife and mc. I am 
 tlie disbeliever who laughed at the threatened storm ; she, although 
 not disbelieving the ftict, makes an inadequate provision against its 
 fury by trusting to her own contrivance, and the third — who is he, 
 Tim?" 
 
 " He," Tim replied solemnly, " is, whosomever is satisfied to 
 thrust in the merits o' the blessed and adorable Jasus. He takes 
 the proffered covering." 
 
 " Ha ! " said Hopkins, catching at the word " trust," " my 
 motto is, ' Never trust to anybody.* I like to be completely 
 
 an 
 
 V 
 
 III I 
 
TIM S ILLUSTRATION OF FAITH. 
 
 175 
 
 of a 
 i' how 
 
 )point- 
 kl that 
 deed it 
 
 apkins, 
 
 n utter 
 
 oumey. 
 ez, ♦ Ye 
 e night, 
 lerproof 
 Bvelcome 
 le of em 
 I of that 
 prcoat to 
 Kzhe, 'I 
 t want 
 makes 
 b'lieve 
 er paper 
 an' be 
 y an' by, 
 s wet to 
 le storm, 
 lurtected 
 
 I am 
 
 although 
 rainst its 
 ho is he, 
 
 isfied to 
 takes 
 
 )' (( 
 
 my 
 
 Impletely 
 
 independent of everything and everybody. The old saying, ' God 
 lielps those who help themselves," suits me to a 'T.* One reason 
 why I dislike the keeping of servants is, tliat one learns to depend 
 on them so much, as often to be rendered completely helpless in 
 their hands. Trust in your own powers and exert them properly, 
 and you will come out right at last." 
 
 " There is the brown paper coat out an' out," said Tim, " as 
 complate as if the tailor took yer measure for it. Shure, Sir, ye 
 won't be offinded wid a poor ignorant fellow like me for spakin' 
 his mind, when he 'd thravel a thousand miles to do ye good," He 
 said this in an apologizing tone, for he knew he had a haughty 
 spirit to deal with. 
 
 "No, Tim," said the other, "fire away. If it is a fellow's luck 
 to be miserable, he need not tight against it. It will come despite 
 of fate itself." 
 
 " Meself can't dispute on what ye said last," Tim answered, 
 " bekase I don't ondherstand it ; 'tis too Inglified for the likes o' 
 me intirely. Bat in regard o' not trustin' anybody or anything, as 
 ye mentioned a while back, I ditfer wid ye out an' out. (Iraciuus 
 goodness mo ! — now whisper here, Sir. What are you an' all av 
 us doin' this minute but thrustin' in somethin' or other*? Yon. are 
 thrustui' the wather that is ondher ye, an' the boords that 's atune uz 
 an' the wather ; an' you 're thrustin' the winds, an' the waves, an' 
 the capting, an' the sailors ; an' if there was no thrust atime man 
 an' man, what 'ud become of us at all at all ? Every da}, an' every 
 hour, we are thrustin' things an' people that may desavp us, or that 
 may not be able to help us, however well inclined they may be ; 
 an' refusin' to thrust in the Almighty Sav'our, that can't fail to 
 help an' save us, if we rely on Him, and thrust in Him." 
 
 "But how am I to thrust in tho Saviour, Tim? I cannot see 
 Him." This was said in a subdued tone. 
 
 "Whishper here again, Sir," said Ti)n sootliingly ; " whish[)er 
 here. How could ye thrust the Queen's proclamation ] l>id ye 
 ever see her ? " 
 
 "No then, I never did, Tim. But I don't think it necessary to 
 see her in order to l)olieve her word. If / have uot seen her, there 
 are immy who have." 
 
 " Just so then, Sir. Here ye thrust in the testim<i||Mi| others, 
 an' who are generally right, although we may possiblytn' desaved 
 by our fellow-men on many subjects; but the gixxl (^ )d above 
 niver desaved anybody, an' niver can. We are tii thrust in the 
 Sav'our just as we thrust in a man, only with a thousand times 
 
 f t 
 
 n 
 
m 
 
 17G 
 
 TII DOOLAN. 
 
 
 ■;^i* 
 
 i ,. 
 
 1] 
 
 more confidence. "We thrust a man when we take his promise, 
 or whin we b'licve his evidence, an' so we do with the Lord God 
 Himself." 
 
 " Ay, but now comes the puzzle," Mr. Hopkins said, with dog- 
 matism, catching apparently at the last straw that he hoped would 
 sustain him. " How am I to know what is His Word and what 
 is not ? You will, doubtless, tell me * the Holy Scriptures are the 
 Word of God ; ' but how am I to tell the true version from the 
 false 1 Protestants have one, Catholics have another : each claims 
 his own as the true one." 
 
 " Now, Sir," said Tim, " don't be offinded at a question I'm goin' 
 to ax ye. Did ye ever read ayther of 'em 1 " 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth, Tim, I never did ! " 
 
 " Why thin indeed, Sir — excuse me for bein' so bowld intirely — 
 more 's the l)ity. An' indeed, I '11 go farther — more is the shame 
 for ye. Whishper again. Sir. If yer father was to die — God be 
 good to him — if yer father was to die, an' ye found a writin' that 
 professed to be his will, an' another parson produced a writin' that 
 he declared to be yer father's will, do ye think it would be a good 
 way to find out the thrue from the false by neglectin' to look into 
 ayther of 'em 1 " 
 
 " I declare, Tim, I confess you have nailed me fart there. I am 
 guilty, positively guilty." 
 
 "An' let me make so bowld agin as to spake to ye, Sir. 
 Wouldn't ye examine the language of it, an' say, 'Tliat's exactly lilve 
 what me father used to say; ' or, * That is totally unlike me father's 
 words an' carackther.' Or agin, * This part agrees with the beginnin' ;' 
 or, * That contradicts itself, an' can't be me father's will ? ' " 
 
 « Perfectly true, Tim. Go on." 
 
 " It isn't for the likes o' me, Sir, to purtind to larnin', or to 
 know the differ o' various languages. College-reared gintlemin 
 knows thim things; but, indeed, me own opinion is, that if a 
 man was to reed the Scripthei's much, in ayther the Catholic or 
 Protestant Bible, he wouldn't remain a Catholic very long. I 
 knew a Roman Catholic schoolmasther in our counthry, an' he 
 wint to the praste for permission to read the New Tistamint. 
 ' Go along about yer business,' sez the praste. ' What do ye 
 want wid the Scripthers? Don't ye get enough o' thim in the 
 prayers o' the Church ] an' don't ye hear me praich from 'em 
 almost ivcry Sunday?' 'I do indade, yer riverince,' sez the 
 schoolmasther ; * but it is in regard of a man that sometimes 
 comes across me, who is terrible at argumint, an' sez that the 
 
;omise, 
 •d God 
 
 til dog- 
 [ would 
 d what 
 are the 
 om the 
 I clamis 
 
 m goin' 
 
 tirely — 
 B shame 
 -God be 
 :\n' that 
 tin' that 
 e a good 
 ook into 
 
 3. I am 
 
 ye, 
 
 Sir. 
 
 ictly lilve 
 
 father's 
 
 fginnin' ;' 
 
 n', or to 
 intlemin 
 hat if a 
 .tholic or 
 I 
 he 
 
 long. 
 
 an 
 tstamint. 
 It do ye 
 li in the 
 
 L'om 'em 
 
 sez the 
 
 Imetimes 
 
 that the 
 
 "fire! fire 
 
 177 
 
 prastes would be afeered to let us read our own Bible, for foar 
 our eyes 'ud be opened.' 'Did he say the likes o' thati' sez the 
 praste. * Thim very words,' sez the sehoolmasther. * Well,' sez the 
 praste, 'just to show that heretic fool that he is a liar, here is a 
 Bible for ye, the thrue Doway B'lhle ; but be sure ye don't put a 
 bad mainin^ on it.' * How could I put a bad mainin' on it ] ' sez 
 the sehoolmasther. * Isn't it a good book V * O yes,' sez the 
 praste, * but ye must be sure to interpret it accordin' to what the 
 Church has ever an' always b'lieved.' So, to make a long story 
 short, the man took the Bible, an' soon larned enough from it to 
 convince him that he was wrong in submitting to take his faith 
 on the mere authority of man, an' that he only is right who is 
 guided by the Word o' God." 
 
 A sudden alarm of fire from the steerage biought nearly every 
 one on board to his feet, and a sudden rush of the passengers from 
 below to the upper deck was the consequence. " Fire ! Fire ! " 
 resounded throughout the vessel, and was echoed from stem to 
 stern, mingled with the agonising shrieks of women and children, 
 the frantic ravings of frightened and distracted men, and died 
 away for an instant only to be caught up again, in wilder and longer 
 protracted chorus, after a very brief interval. 
 
 Within a few seconds from the first alarm, the captain, mate, 
 and all hands were on deck, but their efibrts to do anything in 
 order to get at the fire, so as to extinguish it, were utterly un- 
 availing. 
 
 The noisiest and worst conducted of the passengers were among 
 the most tei-rified. 
 
 Alarm took the most strange and often dissimilar vagaries. 
 Some p»'rt;i/ec? in the most incoherent and frantic manner, others 
 swore with equal in coherency. Many ran about quite flushed and 
 excited, while others again stood still and pale as death. So great 
 was the commotion, that the sailors could not move so as to work 
 the pumps and bring the hose to bear on the fire, which had not 
 made its way through the dock. 
 
 The captain consulted for a few minutes vith the chief mate 
 and cabin passengers as to what was best to be done so as to reduce 
 them to something like order, and so to render it possible for the 
 sailoi*s to move about the ship, as there were plenty of means of 
 subduing the fire if they could get the opportunity to work at it. 
 Some of them advised one thing and some another. Mr. Noonan 
 stood at the captain's elbow, hearing their various proposals. 
 " What do you think is best, Mr. Noonan 1 " said the captain. 
 
 It 
 
 n 
 
 \ I 
 
 ; i 
 
 ' r H 
 
 ; ♦ 
 
 ^ \ 
 
178 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ]' 
 
 ,]s/ 
 
 
 ' • 'I 
 
 !H ! 
 
 ■I:m 
 
 ;) .' 
 
 " Well, Sir, me own opinion is that they are terribly afeerd of 
 any great noise, especially if they don't know what it is caused by, 
 or where it comes from, an' if yerself, or one of the mates was to 
 go down into the cabin an' make a terrible noise with the spakin' 
 thrumpet they 'd think it was the day o' judgment, or some sich 
 thing, was comin' on 'em, an' they 'd all be as meek as mice an' 
 hide themselves." 
 
 No sooner suggested than tried. The chief mate rushed down 
 the companion-way, and with the speaking trumpet to his mouth 
 roared out, "Now where are those fellows who killed the police- 
 man ? " 
 
 The crowd became as if electrified ; every voice was hushed to 
 silence, each expecting some revelation of his own crimes from the 
 invisible being from whom they thought the voice proceeded. One 
 poor wretch elbowed his way to where the ca[)tain was standing, 
 and dropping on his knees crossed himself very devoutly, then, 
 pale with terror, stammered out, " I '11 tell God's truth, captiug, as 
 it is no use for me to deny it to yer honour. I was present whin 
 the deed was done, but I had no hand, act, or part in the transac- 
 tion more thin the child unborn, nor did I know that they were 
 goin' to do any sich thing." 
 
 " Who did it, then 1 " he asked, in a tone of stern authority, 
 and, without waiting for an answer, ordered the sailors to dash in 
 amongst the crowd, who readily fell back through fear, so as to 
 allow a free passage anywhere that was reqviired. The hose was 
 rigged in a few minutes, the pump set to work, and a full supply 
 of water being had, the fire was soon subdued, but not before it 
 had destroyed considerable property belonging to the passengers, 
 consisting of sleeping berths, beds and bedding, and other mis- 
 cellaneous articles. 
 
 As soon as the danger was surmounted, the captain instituted a 
 rigid inquiry as to the origin of the fire, hoio it commenced, and 
 where. No one seemed to know anytliing about it ; all were 
 oblivious as to hoiu it began, where, or the cause. 
 
 The steerage passengers were allowed a lamp at nights (as 
 stated in a former chapter). At ten o^clock it was extinguished 
 by one of the "watch." It was discovered, however, once or 
 twice by the chief mate, that the lamp guard had been removed 
 and was re-lighted for the purpose of afibrding smokers an indulg- 
 ence in their favourite, but useless and often mischievous pro- 
 pensity. On each of these discoveries the mate remonstrated and 
 even threatened to report the matter to the captain, and get them 
 
eerd of 
 iseclby, 
 was to 
 spakin* 
 me sich 
 nice an' 
 
 }d down 
 J mouth 
 3 police- 
 
 ished to 
 from the 
 id. One 
 standing, 
 ly, then, 
 ipting, as 
 ent whin 
 } transac- 
 hey were 
 
 uthority, 
 o dash in 
 , so as to 
 hose was 
 11 supply 
 before it 
 issengers, 
 Ither mis- 
 
 stituted a 
 iced, and 
 all were 
 
 .ghts (as 
 
 linoui'^hed 
 
 once or 
 
 removed 
 
 Ln indulg- 
 
 Vous pro- 
 
 kted and 
 
 get them 
 
 WAS IT STRANGE A FIRE SHOULD OCCUR? 
 
 179 
 
 deprived altogether of the lamp, should there be another infrac- 
 tion of his orders. He took the greatest pains to show them the 
 danger that might arise out of these irregularities, not only to the 
 ship, but to their own safety, and the peril of all on board. This 
 reasoning, however, was misplaced, for those to whom it was 
 addressed treated it with reckless levity. One of the hearers 
 replied to it with a snatch from an old song : — 
 
 " Och, I gev the capting six thirteens* 
 
 To carry me over to Margate, 
 Before we got more than half the way, 
 
 It blew at a terrible hard rate. 
 'Now,' sez the capting, 'down we go,' 
 
 Sez I, ' I don't care a farthin', O, 
 For ye promised to take me to !Margate, 
 
 An' I '11 make ye stick to yer bargain, O.' 
 
 An' shure ye know well enough the capting is bound to carry us 
 safe to New York." 
 
 " He '11 do his best to do that for his own sake and yours too," 
 said the mate ; " but none of us will ever roach there in safety if 
 matters ? bove or below are left to your management, that is easily 
 seen." 
 
 " Och, one of them chimed in, " I '11 niver be keepin' a dog an' 
 be barkin' meself. What did we pay our money for only to have 
 'commodation, which we 're as well intitlcd to as any one else, an' 
 Avhy shouldn't we have light like other people ? In the first cabin 
 they have it all night long, but we 're thrated differently bekays 
 we ain't grandees." 
 
 " What do you complain of in your treatment 1 " the officer 
 asked. " Is it the not being allowed to burn the ship and all in it 1 
 Now, my fine courageous fellow, if you have a mind to drown your- 
 self, just go to the ship's side and jump over without injuring any 
 one else, but, mind you, try and get to the bottom at once, for if I 
 follow you and can lay hold of you, I '11 give you such a rope's-end- 
 ing as will keep you out of the water for years to come." 
 
 " An' sarve him right, Sir," said another ; " you 're spakin' for 
 his good, an' the good of all of us." 
 
 The mate prided himself a little on his sharpness, but some of 
 the Paddies outwitted him, and were near sacrificing themselves 
 into the bargain. 
 
 On the night following that in which the mate threatened them 
 with the deprivation of light, in case of another breach of the rule 
 
 * The British shilling up to 1826 jiassed ior thirteen pence Irish currency, 
 but at that date the currency of both countries was assimilated. 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 > I 
 
 ■'H 
 
 J I'- 
 
 . 'i 
 
180 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 referred to, a man was sent, as usual, to " douse the Uyht" and 
 faithfully pei-fornied his duty. He had not long turned his back, 
 however, when the fellow who had taken up the determination of 
 the celebrated " Billy O'Rourke," in the song from which ho had 
 just before quoted, managed to re-light it. Another of them 
 thought himself woiihy of special praise for tying a shawl around 
 it, so as to conceal the light from the observation of the mate, or 
 any one who might casually look down to see whether all was right, 
 and observed with great complacency, " There, I often heerd yo 
 might chate the * owld boy ' * himself in the dark." 
 
 "Indeed, thin," one more sagacious than the rest remarked, 
 " no one iver chated the same * owld boy ' that didn't chate him- 
 self into the bargain ; an' now, young man, ye think ye 've done a 
 very clever thing, but mark me words, ye may live to be sorry 
 for it. It isn't good to have too much of our own way in this 
 world." 
 
 The revelations of that night, or rather of the following morning, 
 proved the correctness of the old man's observations in the disaster 
 just recorded. 
 
 It took a couple of hours for the smoke and steam fully to clear 
 away, and the smell of burned woollens to be so far dispelled, as 
 to permit the people to go 'tween decks again. A sad scene of 
 discomfort met their gaze everywhere they turned. A great many 
 had their beds, bedding, boxes, and clothing utterly destroyed, 
 together with whatever money they possessed to begin life with 
 in their new sphere ; the generality of that class of persons pre- 
 ferring to have it always within reach of their own hands, rather 
 than to lodge it in any ba ik and obtain an order for the amount, 
 payable on their arrival in the New World. Ignorance is, in 
 many instances, the cause of this. Not being able to read and 
 write, and being naturally desirous of concealing as much as 
 possible the fact of their possessing any money, they do not like to 
 disclose either their ignorance or theii possessions to any third 
 party ; and are very frequently known to hoard what they have, 
 much to their own loss. 
 
 Dozens of them who on the day previous to the fire would not 
 acknowledge the ownership of sixpence, bewailed the loss of scores 
 of pounds on the day succeeding it. Those whose beds and bedding 
 were not consumed, had them so saturated with water as to have 
 the beds completely destroyed, and the bedclothes unfit for use 
 until they were thoroughly dried. 
 
 * A cant name for the devil. 
 
 
 ♦ 
 
AN HUSH CHARACTERISTIC EXEMPLIFIED. 
 
 181 
 
 ' and 
 back, 
 Lon of 
 3 had 
 them 
 round 
 ite, ov 
 right, 
 3rd ye 
 
 arked, 
 him- 
 done a 
 ) sorry 
 in this 
 
 The captain gave them the option of giving up tlio transgi-essor 
 who had nejirly destroyed all tlieir lives, or having the h\mp 
 removed from tlio steerage altogether, during the remainder of the 
 passage. 
 
 They chose the latter alternative, and many who blamed the 
 cause of the calamity very much, spurned with the greatest in- 
 dignation the idea of their turning " informers." Nothing, in 
 fact, is so abhorrent to the feelings of an Irishman as the idea of 
 being "an informer." They will screen the thief, the burglar, 
 the houseburner ; not only so, but thoy will protect the murderer, 
 and afford him every facility to escape from the hands of justice ; 
 while they will execrate and pursue to death, without pity and 
 without remorse, him whom they suspect of having acted as a spy 
 or an informer. 
 
 Mr. Daidy will appear upon the stage in the next chapter. 
 
 !^ 
 
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 11 
 

 
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 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DANCING MADE EASY — A FATAL ACCIDENT INTRODUCES A FORTUNE- 
 TELLER TO NOTICE. 
 
 Il, in 
 
 
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 h' 
 
 A FEW chapters back we informed the kind and courteous, and 
 gentle and indulgent reader of these pages, concerning Mr. 
 Noonan's dehut in school-teaching on board the " Jupiter," and of 
 the abrupt and summary manner in which his labours in that 
 capacity were brought to a close. Now that the true sons of the 
 Church had the steerage all to themselves, their joy appeared to 
 know no bounds. They seemed to feel that they had won a great 
 victory on a hardly-fought field. 
 
 Having no employment for their time, they were driven to the 
 necessity of inventing means of getting rid of it, and when the 
 weather permitted, they assembled in numbers on deck, gazing 
 out over the bulwarks, wondering how far they were from New 
 York, and inquiring of each other when they thought the passage 
 likely to come to an end. 
 
 Some thought it impossible for them ever to arrive there, or 
 at any other place, with certainty, in consequence of land being 
 completely out of sight, and it being, in their estimation, im- 
 possible to tell whether they were* going north, south, east, or 
 west, under such circumstances. The sailors were frequently 
 appealed to, who answered in various ways, according to the dif- 
 ferent temper of each, or the mood in which he happened to be 
 when interrogated. Sometimes one would venture to ask the 
 captain, whose answers were sure to be anything but satisfactory 
 to the querist. If one chanced to say — *' Capting, yer honour, 
 whin are we goin' to New York?" he probably received for 
 an answer — " You are going there every moment," or, " We are 
 going towards Liverpool now," or the equally lucid reply, " What 
 makes you so anxious 1 Are you tired of my company already ? 
 Well, I am in as great a hurry to be there and get rid of you, as 
 you can be to get rid of me." 
 
TIME ALL IMPORTANT. 
 
 183 
 
 ORTUNE- 
 
 )US, 
 ing 
 
 and 
 
 Mr. 
 
 " and of 
 
 in that 
 
 IS of the 
 
 eared to 
 
 I a great 
 
 II to the 
 s^hen the 
 
 gazing 
 
 lorn New 
 
 passage 
 
 there, or 
 id being 
 liion, im- 
 
 east, or 
 eqnently 
 
 the dif- 
 ed to be 
 
 ask the 
 isfactory 
 
 honour, 
 
 ived for 
 
 We are 
 " What 
 
 already t 
 you, as 
 
 " Why do you not employ your time in some way 1 It hangs 
 heavily on your hands no doubt ; but if you had allowed old 
 Noonan to get along with the school, it would have done some of 
 you some service, and you would not feel time such a burden." 
 
 "Och, capting, don't mintion the dirty owld turncoat. Bad 
 'cess* to himself an' his school." 
 
 Such was the state of things and of feeling which ensued after 
 the expulsion of Noonan from the steerage. 
 
 Darkness always hates light, and the children of the one do not 
 feel at home in the company of those of the other. 
 
 " Couldn't we think of anything in the world wide to pass the 
 time away, Shawmish?" said one to another, two or three days 
 after the above occurrence took place. "We may have a long 
 voyage afore we git to our journey's ind. Has any one a pack o' 
 cards itself? we could have some fun out o' tliim." 
 
 " What a hurry you 're in, boys, to get rid o' the time," said a 
 grey-headed old man, as he gasped for bi-eath in a fit of the asthma ; 
 " I was like you wanst, whin 1 was young an' full o' life, but now, 
 God help me, — now — now — I think it too short — too short to 
 atone for my sins — I do — indeed I do. Holy Mary, pray for me, 
 — all the saints an' angels in heaven pray for me. If I could only 
 live till I get to New York itself, to have the hand o' the priesht 
 on me wanst more, I 'd be aisy in me mind. Do ye think I '11 live 
 to get that far ? " he eagerly asked. 
 
 "How can we tell," said one of them, "whether any of us will 
 live to get there 1 " 
 
 " Thrue for you," said the sufierer, " thrue for you. If we don't, 
 God help my poor sowl." 
 
 " Haven't you as good a chance as another ? " one of them asked. 
 " Shure ye nivir murther'd anybody." 
 
 " With God's help I nivir did," said the poor man ; " but O — 
 death — death / is a solemn thing. It is ! It IS ! " 
 
 " Who has a pack o' cards 1 " one of the young men shouted. 
 " I '11 play any fellow a game o' five-au'-forty for his mess o' mate 
 at dinner." 
 
 "I'll toss ye for it," one shouted. "Headt / loin, Harp you, 
 lose.^* 
 
 " Done," said the first challenger. 
 " Done again," said the second. 
 
 * " 'Cess " is an abbreviation of " success.^' The reader will aee the application, 
 t Alluding to an Irish copper coin, with a.n Ii'ish harp on one side, and the 
 head of George III. on the other. 
 
 I-I 
 
 M t 
 
 I 
 
 ' Hit 
 
 _.J.i 
 
)*' 
 
 184 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 'Yi I 
 
 1^ ii 
 
 .1 
 
 I Ll 
 
 s , 
 
 They tossed ; the loser accused the winner of the pork of " chatin' 
 him /air, before his two lookin* eyes." The accused called the 
 accuser a liar, and watched his opportunity at dinner-time to grab 
 or seize the share of the pork which he claimed to have won. 
 
 A challenge to single combat with the fist was to decide who 
 had truth and honour to support him. They accordingly pom- 
 melled each other until matters begun to wear the shape of a 
 general melee, when the captain made preparations to treat them 
 to another dose from the hose, which put an end to the matter for 
 that time. 
 
 On the following day some one proposed to make another attempt 
 at conciliating the dancing-master, and, in order to induce him to 
 ojjen school, they made a collection, by which they raised a con- 
 siderable bulk of coppers, the weight of which, the collector declared, 
 nearly forced the crown out of his "owld hat." 
 
 The dancing-master being propitiated, he proceeded at once to 
 organise his academy. 
 
 "Ladees and gintlemin!" said the "professor," "dancin' is 
 the most p'litest 'complishment that young people can practise. 
 I don't mane the common dancin' that 's practised in ivery low 
 jig-house, where thrampin', an' roarin', an' screechin' passes for 
 dancin' ; but what is practised by the quollity, an' larned from 
 the Frinch. 
 
 "Whin you spake to aich other ye mustn't say 'Jerry,' an' 
 ' Bill,' an' * Judy,' an' ' Kit,' as ye used to do at home whin ye had 
 nivir thra veiled half a mile bey ant the sight of a pigsty. Ye must 
 spake ginteel an' purty, this way" (walking up to one of the girls), 
 " Miss Bridget, I beg the banner o' dancin' a reel wid ye. Now, 
 Miss Bridget, you say what / say afther me." 
 
 Jfiss Bridget proceeds. — " Miss Bridget, I beg the han — " 
 
 Professor. — " O Miss Bridget, ye spoke too soon intirely." 
 
 Miss Bridget. — " I can't remimber it all. Why didn't ye let 
 me say the fust thing fust 1 " 
 
 Professor. — " I was jist goin' to tell ye what to say. Now wait 
 till I have done spakin' to ye, an' whin I have done, you answer 
 up purty, an' don't be afeerd at all." 
 
 "Wid all my heart. Sir." 
 
 The professor again essayed. 
 
 " Miss Bridget, I beg the banner o' dancin' a reel wid ye." 
 
 Whereupon Miss Bridget, evidently without any fear, answered, 
 " Wid all me heart an' me liver. Sir." 
 
 This bit of repartee amused the boys amazingly. 
 
DANCING MADE EASY. 
 
 185 
 
 " chatin' 
 lied the 
 } to grab 
 on. 
 
 side who 
 ?ly pom- 
 ape of a 
 3at them 
 latter for 
 
 r attempt 
 ce him to 
 3d a con- 
 • declared, 
 
 i,t once to 
 
 dancin' is 
 L practise, 
 ivery low 
 passes for 
 rned from 
 
 erry,' an' 
 
 lin ye had 
 
 Ye must 
 
 [the girls), 
 
 re. Now, 
 
 I't ye let 
 
 Tow wait 
 lu answer 
 
 re. 
 
 inswered, 
 
 " More power to ye, Bridget, my girl," was shouted out by three 
 or four at once. 
 
 " There now," cried the deeply-offended master. " Didn't I tell 
 ye not to call * Bridget '1 T wish you'd larn manners." 
 
 " MISS Bridget," they all shouted. 
 
 " That's right," he cried ; " now you've the good of larnin' to 
 be ginteel." 
 
 " Before you larn any o' the stips," the professor continued, 
 " ye must fust larn the ' pursitions.' Can any o' you young 
 ladees or gintlemin tell me how many pursitions there is in 
 dancin' 1 Can you, Misther Hourican '? " 
 
 " The sorra a one o' me knows from Adam," was the answer to 
 his query. 
 
 " You — You," he repeated, going along the line of attentive 
 listeners, whom he had arranged in a row opposite to him. 
 
 " Nor me," " Nor me," ran from one end of the line to the 
 other. 
 
 " Bad enough," he responded ; " but how could yez know it till 
 I towld ye? There 's jist^ve pursitions, an' ye must always be in 
 one or other of 'em whin ye are dancin'. If ye don't, mind I '11 call 
 ye to 'count for it. Here they are — see" (goes through the positions 
 with his feet), " wan, two, three, four, five. 
 
 " Now I '11 give ye the word o' command like the officers do to 
 the sogers, an' whin I say, 'fust pursition,' bring yei two heels 
 togither this way, an' let yer toes form an angle o' sixty degrees." 
 
 " What 's that, for the dear life 1 " one of the girls shouted out. 
 
 " No talkin' in the ranks there, Miss Finucane," said the irate 
 " professor." " It isn't manners to spake whin anybody else is 
 spakin'." 
 
 " Manners or no manners," said the offended beauty, " I don't 
 know what it is, an' how can I do it ? " 
 
 " Don't know what * what is ' ?" inquired he. 
 
 " Why, the thing ye said awhile ago," she replied ; " meself don't 
 remimber the name of it." 
 
 " An angle o' sixty degrees," said some one behind ; " maybe 
 he don't know it from Adam himself." 
 
 This remark came so very near the truth that he felt it best to 
 retire on his insulted dignity until better thoughts prevailed. 
 
 " I taich ye the very same," he replied, " that I heerd the 
 Frinch masther taichin' the quollity, an' if that isn't grand 
 enough for yez I can't help it. Now, do as I do— /ust pursition ; 
 second pursition j thh'd pursition ; fourth pursition ; Ji/th pursition. 
 
 ri 
 
 
 !:;w 
 
 ._lj 
 
f'i!l/ ■ 
 
 186 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 •iff 
 
 1!.^ 
 
 Very good, indade. Now, let me see yez go through widout me 
 showing ye." 
 
 They accordingly went through that part of the performance by 
 tliem selves, completely to the satisfaction of their instructor. 
 
 " The next thing, ladees an' gintlemin," he added, " is to larn 
 yer ' steps,' an', be right, we ought to have music. Is there any 
 one here who can whistle well ? " 
 
 " Ned Gow," said one of the pupils, " is a jewel for that same. 
 He can whistle like a blackbird. I heerd wan o' the sailors tellin' 
 him yistherday to stop whistling, the wind was beginnin' to blow 
 so hard, or we 'd soon have a storm." 
 
 " Ned Gow," " Ned Gow," was shouted from one end of the 
 steerage to the other ; and then, all along the deck, " Where are 
 
 ye, 
 
 Ned Gow?" 
 
 " Who wants me 1 " Ned bawled out. 
 
 " Come down here, we have imploymint for that purty mouth 
 o' yeours," said the dancing-master. " We want yew to whistle 
 for these young ladees an' gintlemin to dance. Can yew whistle 
 ' Mrs. M'Leod's Reel ' 1 " 
 
 " I can," said Ned, " from this till daylight in the mornin' if 
 I 'm paid for it. Who 's to pay me 1 " 
 
 " Is it paymint yeu 'd be afther 1 " said the " professor " of the 
 " light fantastic toe." " Paymint indeed ! I 'd see yer neck as 
 long as me arm fust. Who else can whistle 1 Don't all spake at 
 wanst ; wait a bit for aich other." 
 
 To this there was no response. 
 
 " Well," he said, " there 's no cure for spilt milk. I can't whistle 
 well meself, but I can sing a tune that '11 do. Here 's the fust step, 
 see — this way " (walking through the motion), " wan, two, three ; 
 wan, two, three. Ain't that aisy now ? " 
 
 They all acknowledged how very easy it appeared. 
 
 " Now," he added, " I '11 sing an' dance togither. Remimber to 
 
 ind the step with the ind o' the bar o' the music, an' do that step. 
 
 * Wan,' ' two,' ' three,' twice, while I sing — 
 
 ' Ri-tom-tee-iddle -torn -tee. Ki-tom-tee-i-tee. 
 Ri-tom-tee-iddle-tom-tee. Ri-tom-tee-i-tee.' 
 
 An' always do the exact thing that I do. 
 
 " Now, when I say, * Ri,' aich o' yew lift the right fut, ail* 
 imitate me in everything." 
 
 " We will. Sir, shure enough," they all responded. 
 
 He then commenced — 
 
 " Ri-tom-tee ," 
 
out me 
 
 mce by 
 r. 
 
 to larn 
 ere any 
 
 ,t same. 
 :s tellin* 
 to blow 
 
 1 of the 
 here are 
 
 ,y mouth 
 > whistle 
 7 whistle 
 
 AN AWKWARD CATASTROPHE. 
 
 187 
 
 aornin 
 
 'if 
 
 " of the 
 neck as 
 spake at 
 
 t whistle 
 fust step, 
 o, three ; 
 
 limber to 
 lat step. 
 
 fut, ail' 
 
 Just at this juncture, a motion of the ship occurred, which threw 
 him flat on his face. 
 
 A waggish young fellow, following out the instruction, " imitate 
 me in evei'ij thing," immediately threw himself on the professor. 
 Another, who relished the joke, did likewise, and in a second or 
 two, nearly the whole class had thrown its weight on his diminutive 
 framework, until he was obliged to roar as if caught in a vice. To 
 add to his chagrin, two persons who had come to the rescue seized 
 him by the hands to pull him out from under the human heap, and 
 two others, seizing him by the feet, pulled in the opposite direction. 
 Those who were uppermost thought the joke so good, that they 
 were in no hurry to relieve him for a considerable time. 
 
 When, at length, they thought the joke long enough, they let 
 him come forth, vowing indignantly that " no one on the livin' 
 airth could taich such an ignorant pack." He pocketed the 
 affronu, however, with the coppers, and thus ended the dancing 
 speculation. 
 
 Two men leaned their backs one day against the ship's bulwark, 
 one of whom held by the hand a fine little boy of three or four years 
 old. The child's mother sat (together with one or two other women) 
 on a spar that lay on the deck, as a reserve in case of the loss of a 
 mast or yard. 
 
 The child's father was a carpenter by trade, and carried — in a 
 pocket of his pantaloons — a rule such as carpenters use in the pro- 
 secution of their work. 
 
 The little fellow drew the rule from his father's pocket, s".ying, 
 " Daddy, measure me." The father, being engaged in conversation, 
 was at first inattentive to the child's request ; but, on its repetition, 
 determined on gratifying it. In order to do so it was deemed 
 requisite that the man with whom he conversed should lay the little 
 fellow at his full length on the deck ; while the father applied the 
 rule to ascertain his height. This being done, the child appeared 
 well pleased, and the incident passed off without any further remark 
 at the time. 
 
 About a week subsequent to this, the father and child, one snn- 
 shining day, were again on deck. There was a somewhat stiff 
 breeze blowing at the time, which caused considerable motion in 
 the vessel. The boy had wandered a few feet from his parent, 
 when a sea struck the ship, causing her to heel, in consequence of 
 which a copper boiler just taken from the fire and emptied, but not 
 yet lashed to the side of the vessel (so as to secure it from rolling 
 with the lurch), pitched right over the dear child, throwing him 
 
 ; 
 
 i I 
 
 I'll j 
 
\r 
 
 188 
 
 TBI DOOLAN. 
 
 i|;i( 
 
 )f 
 
 '^h 
 
 IM 
 
 :i' ih-. 
 
 i- i 
 
 I 
 
 I ^ 
 
 '1 
 
 
 '\ 
 
 fj 
 
 down and inflicting an injury of which the dear little fellow died 
 in a couple uf days. 
 
 The grief of the mother at the loss of her child was only equalled 
 by her ignorance and superstition, in both of which she was sup- 
 ported by many equally ignorant and superstitious with herself. 
 " Oh," she exclaimed occasionally, " I might have known be me 
 dhrames that misforthune an' bad luck were in me road afore I kem 
 on boord at all ; an' why hadn't I the good forthune to stay at home 
 an' not tirapt the wild oshint? Shure didn't I dhrame of a black 
 greyhound, three nights runnin', about a week or two afore I left 
 home ; an' I often heerd that it was unlucky to dhrame of a black 
 hound. An' didn't Peg Hanley — the fox-headed throllop — cum to 
 the cabin to me, the day afore I left home, an' take away the live 
 coal o' fire from ofi" the hairth in her tongs, widout sayin' by yer 
 lave or a ha'porth. An' who should we meet the first thing, bright 
 an' airly on the road, the mornin' we left the owld sod, but herself 
 an' her foxy head 1 An' didn't I tell me husband to turn back, 
 an' wait till the next day? for all the world knows that 'tis 
 onlucky to meet a foxy-headed ooman the first thing in the morn- 
 in'. O wirra ! wisha ! worn't I the misforthinit craythur not to 
 liave me own way for wanst, an' to turn back ; but Dan laughed 
 a: me, so he did. Maybe he 'd b'leeve me now, whin he lost iiis 
 fine boy. Och, shure there worn't the likes of him in the whole 
 parish round. Och hone. Father Doyle ! 't was little ye thought 
 the day ye christened poor Thigue, an' kissed him when ye handed 
 him back to me arms — 't is little ye thought that day that I 'd 
 have me poor child threwn* to the fishes on the road to 'Meriky. 
 O Dan, Dan ! have ye no comfort for me at all at all, in the wide 
 world ! Isn't it we that '11 be desolate in our new home 1 But the 
 bad luck wor afore me, an' I couldn't escape it ! I couldn't ! I 
 couldn't ! " 
 
 " Misthiss Devlin," said a very dogmatic old woman, who sat 
 on a chest beside the bereaved mother ; " Misthiss Devlin, I 've 
 been a long time in this world, an' I 've seen as many of its ups 
 an' downs as most people, but now, there's no use in talkin', 
 what is to happen 7niist happen, an' that 's all about it.t You 
 may b'leeve me or let it alone, as ye plaise — that 's naythur here 
 nor there, for I 'm only a poor owld onsignified craythui*. 
 B'leeve me or b'leeve me not, there 's no escapin' our luck. 
 Whativer is afore iis we must go through it. Gracious goodness ! 
 me heart misgave me the other day, whin I see Dan an' that 
 
 * "Thrown." t The Roman Catholic Irish are fatalists out and out. 
 
IGNORANCE THE PARENT OF SUPERSTITION. 
 
 189 
 
 ow 
 
 died 
 
 equalled 
 was sup- 
 herself. 
 rn be me 
 re I kem 
 ■ at home 
 if a black 
 re I left 
 f a black 
 — cum to 
 f the live 
 in' by yer 
 iig, bright 
 ut herself 
 urn back, 
 that 'tis 
 the morn- 
 lur not to 
 n laughed 
 lie lost tiis 
 the whole 
 e thought 
 e handed 
 that I'd 
 'Meriky. 
 the wide 
 But the 
 ildn't! I 
 
 11, who sat 
 |vlin, I've 
 of its ups 
 n talkin', 
 litt You 
 thur here 
 craythui\ 
 our luck, 
 goodness ! 
 an' that 
 it and out. 
 
 other man stretch out the poor gossoon on the Sure above, an' 
 measure him wid the two-foot rule ; just (for all the world) as if 
 they wor takin' his measure for a coffin. It was foreshown to me 
 that minit that somethin* bad was goin' to happen; an' sure 
 enough, we see what's the ind of it." 
 
 She ended this sage oration by taking out of her pocket the tip 
 of a cow's horn, which had been rudely made into a snuff-box ; 
 and throwing the contents out on the palm of her left hand, 
 invited the afflicted mother to take a pinch ; adding by way of 
 recommendation, " 'T will rouse the cockles o' yer poor heart." 
 
 A white-headed man safc near them, his head resting on his 
 hands, both of which were clasped around the top of a blackthorn 
 shillelah, the bruised bark on which gave evidence that it had 
 seen good service when accounts had to be settled at fairs and 
 markets with a hostile faction. 
 
 The sorceress, who spoke last, addressed him after a brief pause, 
 by saying, " What do you think, Shawmus ? Am I right 1 " 
 
 " I won't say that you 're right, an' I won't say that you are 
 wrong, ^^ Shawmus replied, " but I '11 say one thing, an' that 's not 
 two, we couldn't have luck or grace while there 's turncoats, an' 
 Judases, an' 'postates aboord. If I had me own way, we 'd soon 
 be rid o' that sort o' cattle. 'Tis thim that 's the cause of it all. 
 Shure didn't I hear Friar Tobin once praichin' about Jonas, an' 
 the sailors in the ship wid him couldn't get any fine weather ontil 
 they threw him overboord, bekase he wouldn't execute the 
 commands o' God. ' And ivery one,' sez he, * that refuses to obey 
 the Church refuses obaydience to God, an' the best thing that 
 could happen their sowls sometimes, is for their bodies to suffer.' 
 He did say all that, an' more, as thrue as I am sittin' on this box, 
 an' I b'lieve ivery word of it." 
 
 " Och," said the old woman before referred to, " that 's nay- 
 thur here nor there now, the inimies o' the Church have it all 
 their own way here, an' we mustn't budge; but in the owld 
 ancient times it worn't so. Howsomdever, to cum to me story, 
 Misthiss Devlin — as I was tellin' ye a minit or two ago — it was 
 foreshown to me that something wor goin' to happen aboord this 
 ship, only I couldn't tell 'zactly what ; bekase why. You see I 
 wor takin' a cup o' tay alone by meself, not having chick or child 
 wid me, only the four that 's in 'Meriky these six years, an' 't is to 
 thim I'm goin' now — may the grate God sind me safe to 'em, 
 amin — I was takin' me cup o' tay by meself, all alone, an' be the 
 same token it wor the last grain I had that I put in the tay-pot 
 
 i 
 
 M 
 
 i 1^ ; 
 
 
 11 
 
 in 
 
 i : 
 
 * 
 
 ' 1 
 
 t ' 
 
 Mi 
 
 -ii 
 
 i 
 
190 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 that mornin', an' more betoken, a rale cup o' 
 
 I * 
 
 shiire a srood 
 
 right 
 
 stingo 
 
 it made — 
 
 it had whin I gave thrippince an ounce for it 
 
 at Morley's shop in Daunt's Square in Cork the day afore I left- 
 an' as I was sayin', I wor takin' me cu^: o' tay all alone be meself, 
 an' if I wor, me deer, jist as 1 emptied me last cup — I didn't think 
 o' doin' it whin I was emptyin' the fust or the second — I wor 
 takin' me cup o' tay, as I said, an' jist as I wor emptyin' out me 
 last cup o' tay, it cum into me mind to give the cup a ' toss ' in 
 the name o' the Father, Son, an' Holy Ghost, crassin' meself as I 
 said it, an' if I did, me deer, what did I see as plain as print, 
 painted in the fine grounds o' the tay that wor in the bottom o' 
 the cup whin I emptied the slop out of it, — wliat should I see but 
 the figure o' two min measurin' a little child for his cofRn. 'Tis 
 as thrue as I tell it to ye this livin' minit, Misthiss Devlin, me 
 deer ! It wouldn't be any nse for me to tell ye a lie ; God forbid 
 that I should desave anybody. No indeed, not I." 
 
 Mrs. Devlin looked with awe and dread on her who claimed to 
 be so conversant with the future, but ventured to suggest that if 
 she had known so much beforehand, probably she knew all about 
 the afiair, and that it would have been an act of kindness had she 
 informed her of it, in which case, she said, " I 'd have taken good 
 care they shouldn't measure me poor child." 
 
 " Didn't I tell ye," she said, with gi-eat emphasis, handing Mrs. 
 Devlin her palm, which still acted the part of snuff-box, keeping 
 the fingers shut, with the exception of the middle one, which she 
 raised by way of imitating the opening of a lid, " didn't I tell ye 
 that it wor the last grain o' tay I had that I wet that day ; an' 
 indade — to make no resarves wid ye — I turned out the last dhrop 
 I had in the cruiskeen * into it. Och, I '11 be bound if I had any 
 more o' the same shtuff, 'tis meself that could throw it all out from 
 beginnin' to indin'." 
 
 " Could ye, thin 1 " the poor, credulous woman inquired. " O 
 Thigue Devlin ! " and then, addressing herself to her husband, she 
 said, " Are ye listenin' ? " 
 
 The poor fellow, who felt his bereavement most keenly, and was 
 quite as superstitious as his wife, still held his head between his 
 hands, and in the depth of his grief groaned out, "I'm listenin', 
 but there 's no use in tellin* us now that the thing is done ; couldn't 
 she tell us whin there wor time to save the child. " 
 
 " Tut, ye foolish man," his wife replied, " ye niver would be 
 led or said be me. How do we know but there 's more bad luck in 
 
 * Whisky-bottle. 
 
made — 
 ce for it 
 I left— 
 ; meself, 
 I't think 
 — I WOl" 
 out me 
 TOSS ' in 
 self as I 
 as print, 
 )ottom o' 
 I see but 
 an. 'Tis 
 3vlin, me 
 )d forbid 
 
 aimed to 
 it that if 
 all about 
 ,s had she 
 iken good 
 
 ling Mrs. 
 
 :, keeping 
 hich she 
 I tell ye 
 day ; an' 
 st dhrop 
 had any 
 out from 
 
 fed. 
 )and, 
 
 "0 
 
 she 
 
 and was 
 
 iween his 
 
 listenin', 
 
 couldn't 
 
 rould be 
 Id luck in 
 
 THE FORTUNE-TELLER BEGINS TO USE HER " ARTS 
 
 191 
 
 our road ? and maybe," here she lowered her voice to a whisper, 
 " if we thrate her well she may let us know it in time to escape." 
 
 " Whativer bad luck or misforthin is in store for me," her 
 husband rejoined, " I must grin and go through it, but at any 
 rate it isn't lucky to disoblige people like her. Maybe she 's the 
 power to put something onlucky in our road if she can't take it 
 out of it, an* it 's best always to kape the devil — Lord save us an' 
 keep us from all harm " (here he devoutly made tlie sign of the 
 cross), — " it 's best to * kape the devil in countenance for feer he 'd 
 hurt ye.' If ye like, give her two or three cups o' strong tay ; ye 
 have plinty of it in the chist." 
 
 " I 'm shure," his wife added, while she fumbled in her pocket 
 for the key of the chest, "she 'd like a dhrop o' the thing ye know." 
 
 " Give her plinty o' that same," the husband replied, glad to get 
 lid of the subject, yet never changing his attitude. "Make it 
 strong enough to stand upright on its own legs, an' ye may thicken 
 it with sugar till a poker would stand in it." 
 
 Bet* Lucey (as the fortune-teller was called) affected to be 
 quite indifferent to what was passing between Devlin and his wife. 
 She pretended to have her attention suddenly called away to some 
 invisible beings, invisible to all but herself, who were earnestly 
 contending with her for power to inflict further punishment on 
 the Devlin family. She carried on a long colloquy with them ; 
 and was careful so to shape the conversation as to make the poor 
 people think that she had full power to allow them to be destroyed, 
 while the conservation of their interests in her hands would depend 
 very much on the extent to which " the grain o' tay, an tlie cruis- 
 keen " were forthcoming on occasions. 
 
 " Do you think, Mrs. Lucey,' Mrs. Devlin inquired, " that ye 
 could tell me if me poor child is happy ? " 
 
 Bet started as from a reverie, and, with an authoritative wave of 
 the hand, commanded her to " go and do whatever she had to do," 
 which was saying in effect, " Let us see the tay-tacklins and the 
 black bottle." She saw that she had already begun to establish 
 her empire over the poor, superstitious woman, and was determined 
 to profit by it. 
 
 Mrs. Devlin went to the galley to procure some boiling water, 
 leaving her husband sitting in the posture before described on the 
 lid of the chest, and the seeress buckled up in a lump nearly at 
 his feet. 
 
 In order more fully to establish her power over Devlin, of 
 
 * " Bet " is a contraction of Elizabeth. 
 
 I'P 
 
 ■ J; ; 
 
 «M 
 
 tmm 
 
192 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ■II' 
 
 whom sLe was not quite so sure as she was of his wife, she mut- 
 tered a great deal, some of which she intended to be intelligible, 
 and some not. " Dark clouds overhead ! " " Deep roads ! " 
 " Bad signs ! " Such were some of her broken exclamations. 
 Again she would appear to be reasoning with some one, or with 
 a number of persons. 
 
 "I tell ye now, let the dacent couple alone. Maybe there's 
 some one sthronger thin you ! 
 
 " Isn't it enough for yez to take away the poor child from 'em ; 
 an* what more do yez want, eh ? " 
 
 Suddenly starting, as if from a profound dream, she said to 
 Devlin, " You must have some powerful inimies somewhere. Did 
 ye iver offind the * good people ' * in any way ] " 
 
 " Wisha, I don't know," he answered, raising himself at last 
 from his stooping position, "maybe I did, an' maybe I didn't. 
 Who knows ? By all accounts it would be aisy to do that same 
 widout knowin' it." 
 
 " Where did ye live afore ye started for 'Merikyi" she inquired, 
 in a tone that seemed to say, " I am talking now only for talk's 
 sake, without any reference to your affairs or 7ny own." 
 
 " "Wisha, then, I lived all me days, an' me forefathers afore 
 me, in the j)arish of Skull, in the west o' the county Cork," he 
 answered. " I farmed a few acres o' land there, an' worked at me 
 trade occasionally, an' so did all my ' kith, kin, and relations,' 
 as the sayin' is, ontil the bad times came ; an' I thought it 
 betther to lave, while we had a little manes to lave with, an' 
 buy a bit of a farm where we are goin', as I onderstand land 
 is chape in 'Meriky, an' a poor man can live widout a landlord 
 drivin' him." 
 
 The poor fellow did not consider that he was n. "'ing disclosures 
 which enabled her to plunder him of all he possessed, and cast 
 him a wreck on the shores of their anticipations, without sufficient 
 to provide for himself and his wife for a week after their arrival, 
 or to pay their fares to any distant place at which he might hope 
 to get employment. 
 
 " Was there any owld castles, or forts, or churches, near ye," 
 she inquired, "or any places that the 'good people* used to 
 f requaint 1 " 
 
 " Well, then, there was an owld fort on the ground ; but I 
 used to hear the neighbours say that me father ploughed it 
 whin he wor young. He was a roUickin' man, an' didn't 
 
 * Fairies. 
 
THE FORTUNE-TELLER PROTESTS TOO MUCH. 
 
 193 
 
 ilie mut- 
 iUigible, 
 roads ! " 
 mations. 
 or with 
 
 I there's 
 
 •om 'em ; 
 
 I said to 
 re. Did 
 
 f at last 
 I didn't, 
 hat same 
 
 inquired, 
 for talk's 
 
 ers afore 
 :)ork," he 
 ed at me 
 elations,' 
 lought it 
 with, an' 
 and land 
 landlord 
 
 isclosures 
 and cast 
 sufficient 
 r arrival, 
 ight hope 
 
 near ye," 
 used to 
 
 ; but I 
 )ughed it 
 n' didn't 
 
 care for the divil, nor the 'good people,' nor any of thiui 
 things." 
 
 " Had he good luck on the place ] " she asked. 
 
 " Ho had in general — that is, till the year his pigs an* cattle 
 begun to die, an' he had ' a run o' bad luck ' for three or four 
 yeers ; but he recovered it all agin, an' made more money than ivcr 
 towards the ind." 
 
 " So much the worse for liis son," she replied. " Were yo?t his 
 only son 1 " 
 
 " I was thin his only child." 
 
 "Worse and worse still,^^ she muttered, "that is, unless I 
 can find some way of helping you out of the throuble. Oh, it 's 
 bad to get the ill-will o' the 'good people.* I tell ye ii '.^ivcs 
 me hard work at times to ai)pease 'em. But," and she gi .isped 
 his hand with the appearance of affectionate emotion, " 1 11 tliry 
 an' do me veri/ best to assist ye. Indeed an' I wi'" , and she 
 wiped away, what he supposed to be, a tear trom her bleared v.-yos. 
 
 "Misthiss Luctj/ the poor fellow cned with atfp'-tiouate 
 gratitude, "pnvthing at all that I can do that's raysonablu, I'll 
 give ye as a recompinse for yer throuble." 
 
 " Fie ! fie ! fie ! " she shouted, " don't mintion sich a thing. If 
 you don't promise nivir to think of pay in' me for anything I do 
 for ye, I '11 wash me hands out of it altogether. Paymiid indeed ! ! 
 This ' gift ' * has been in me family for thirty ginerations, an' no 
 one of the family has ivir taken anything in the way of paymint 
 for anything they have done. If I were to take paymint the gift 
 would be taken away from us for iver an' iver. Och hone ! I'm 
 wake entirely through strugglin' with those inimies o' yours, but 
 here she comes with the cup o' comfort for me poor owld heart. 
 Mrs. Devlin," she then said, addressing herself to the good woman, 
 " 't is I that would be sorry to add to yer sorrow ; but yer husband 
 has said one thing that offinds me, an' unless he takes that back, 
 I can't do anything to help ye nor to turn the bad luck out o' yer 
 road." 
 
 " Why should you offind the dacent ooman ? " his wife inquired. 
 "Ye know well enough she manes to do ye good." 
 
 "He didn't intind any offinse, I know," the crone replied, 
 "but that makes no difierence. Afore I go one step, or 
 take bite or sup wid ye, both you and yer husband must 
 promise nivir to mention such a thing to me as paymint. 
 Me business is, to do all the good I can, an' forewarn the neigh- 
 
 * Fortune-telling. 
 
 13 
 
 
 »iii 
 
 i m 
 
 A. 
 iJ • III 
 
 il? 
 
 
 1 
 
 I ' I 
 
 I, I 
 
7^ 
 
 194 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 'I I 
 
 !'■' 
 
 
 bours of any trouble I see ..jmin' on 'em ; but, if I take any- 
 thing in paymint, all me power is gone ! teetotally gone ! for ever 
 gone ! " 
 
 " I '11 answer for him an' meself too," replied the astonished 
 woman, " naythur of us will ever even * it to you agin." 
 
 This assurance having appeared to satisfy the disinterested 
 woman of destiny, and Mrs. Devlin having spread a cloth over 
 the lid of her "chist," out of which she had previously taken 
 the cups and saucers, bread and butter, sugar, and particularly 
 the black cruiskeen, the party fell to work at their tea-drinking, 
 anxiously expecting the revelations as to futurity which those 
 prophetic tea leaves and grounds were to disclose to the gifted and 
 most unselfish being, Mrs. Lucey. 
 
 Mrs. Devlin soon filled the tea- cups from a tin vessel, in which 
 she " boiled the tay^^ to get the strength well out of it. 
 
 " I haven't a spune in the wide world," she said, as she thrust 
 her fingers into a paper containing some brown sugar, and threw 
 a quantity into Mrs. Lucey 's cup, sufficient to convert the beveridge 
 into very bad molasses ; " I bought two av 'em as bright as 
 silver, for three halfpence a-piece, the last day that Charley 
 Higgins, the dalin' man,t kem round in our direction, an' mis- 
 forthin" (that attending lady) "attinded 'em both. My poor 
 laima bawn, that 's to sleep in the cowld salt say to-night, thrun 
 one of 'em into the fire the day afther I bought it, an' it melted 
 like lead ; an' the next day agin, the pig chawed up the other, 
 bekays it fell on the flure, whin we wor atin' the pratees, an' 
 there was the sign of some egg upon it. Here now, make free 
 wid the cruiskeen, Mrs. Lucey, agra ! That I may never see 
 anything worse than meself, but you're intirely welcome, so ye 
 are, as welcome as the flowers o' May. Och, put a good stifi" sup 
 in it," she said, giving the old lady's elbow a slight shove, which 
 sent the spirit dashing into the tea-cup, and overflowing that vessel 
 into the saucer. 
 
 "I declare," said Mrs. Lucey, "as to the spoons, Misthiss 
 Devlin, fingers wor made afore 'em; but I'm afeerd you've 
 drownded the miller intirely, by that shake ye gev my elbow. 
 Och, millia murther ! " (tasting the liquid, for this deponent knows 
 not the name thereof), "'tis sthrong enough to knock down a 
 dragoon. I can't dhrink it, Misthiss Devlin ; it '11 rise in me head, 
 so it will, an' I 'd bo ashamed out o' my life, so I wud." 
 
 " No now," said Dan, interposing ; " 't is wake, so it is, an' 
 
 * To propose or suggest. t A pedlar. 
 
THE CHARM WORKING. 
 
 195 
 
 lever see 
 
 won't rise in yer head, not a bit. Maybe what 's afore ye to-night 
 will require you to be sthrong to go through it. Perhaps ye don't 
 think yerself intirely welcome," he said, looking at her with that 
 air of touched honour, so observable in his class when any one 
 refuses those simple hospitalities which they often lavish so profusely 
 on the greatest strangers. 
 
 On such occasions the greatest honour you can confer on your 
 entertainer is to "make a baste o' yerself," at his expense. "Drink 
 till you fall under the table." * 
 
 " I know the goodness o' yer hearts," she responded ; " but — " 
 here she fetched a deep sigh — "ye spoke truth. I have a hard 
 struggle afore me to-night. Hard, hard, indeed ! Well, here 's 
 towards the repose o' the dear babe that 's gone ; " and with this 
 pious effort at resignation to the loss of her neighbour's child, she 
 emptied her saucer, leaned her elbows on the box which served as 
 a table, and remained mute for several minutes. 
 
 After these had elapsed, she muttered some words which were 
 inaudible, looked wildly around her, and bent her fist in a threat- 
 ening attitvide, as if she would keep off an enemy. Then sent the 
 remains of the liquid which were in the cup after the contents of 
 the saucer. 
 
 Cautiously twirling the cup round in one hand, so that the 
 dregs of the tea might spread over the whole of the inside and 
 adhere to it, she turned the cup, bottom upwards, into the saucer 
 to drain. 
 
 When the remains of the liquid had run off, she lifted the cup 
 very adroitly by the rim around the bottom, and peered into it 
 with all the sagacity of a monkey peeping out between the bars 
 of his cage at a ripe orange in the hand of some admiring child. 
 This done, she looked significantly at Dan, surveyed his counte- 
 nance for a while ; then, turning to his wife, performed a similar 
 scrutiny towards her. " Don't ax me any questhuns," she said 
 snappishly, " good, bad, nor indifferent ; there 's a powerful weight 
 on me entirely. That offer o' paymint awhile ago wor bad — as if 
 I 'd sell the gift o' God for the dirty lucre o' this world. Ye didn't 
 mane anything bad I know, and for that raison I will yet conquer 
 thim for ye, wid God's help. I will, I will." 
 
 Taking up the tea-cup again, she said to Mrs. Devlin — " See 
 there, look ! ! ! " 
 
 * Thus Lover— 
 
 " I 've made myself, drinking your health, quite a haste, 
 So, I think — after that — I may talk to the priest." 
 
 fi^ 
 
 m 
 
 
 IL 
 
_ ; 
 
 'r^- 
 
 196 
 
 --w™ 
 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 Hi 
 
 i 
 
 t ; 
 
 " I see sometliin'," said the innocent woman, " but I don't know 
 what it is." 
 
 " Do ye see that figure there all above the others, wid the wings 
 spread out?" the fortune-teller asked in a mock frenzy; " he 's flyin' 
 up'yards wid a baby in his arms." 
 
 " I see that plain enough," said the poor trusting mother, more 
 than half-forestalling the woman's next remark. 
 
 " That," she replied, " is good to begin with ; I wish everything 
 else looked so bright an' happy for ye as that, but who knows ? 
 Perhaps a good dale may depind on yer own actions. That 's the 
 Angel Gabriel, that has conquered yer child's inimies, an' is bearin' 
 him off to heaven straight, this blessed minit ! Look at that crowd 
 of black-lookin' figures there ! They are gazin' up afther the others. 
 See the tails of 'em ! all on fire, like. Don't ye see ? Look, Dan ! 
 Look, both o' yez ! " 
 
 They both stared credulously into the cup ; and, of course, being 
 now tmder the control of an adept in such delusions, they saw 
 everything that she wished them to see. She had only to name the 
 object, or to will it, and it was present to their superstitious 
 imaginations, then and there. 
 
 "Thim," she said, "is the black crew that I have so much throuble 
 with. They have a hoighth o' power intirely ; but the great God 
 is above 'em ylt, at any rate, glory be to His blessed name, am in. 
 'T is meself that 's glad for yer little angel, though I am so wake wid 
 inward sthrugglin' for him. Shure, what good are we at all, if we 
 don't sarve our fellow-craythurs 1 " 
 
 ** May the good God above, an' all the saints an' angels reward 
 ye," prayed the delighted mother. " 'T is solithary an lone me poor 
 harth '11 be -set in case I iver have the like agin — widout his in- 
 nocent talk. Howsomever, I don't begrudge him to the good God 
 above that gev him to me. He 's welcome to His own, an' I desarve 
 to suffer. The more we suffer in this life, the less we '11 have to 
 suffer in the next. God help us." 
 
 " Thrue for ye," replied her husband ; " but I 'm afeerd I '11 have 
 to answer to Almighty God for his death. Shure if I had the good 
 luck to turn back that momin' whin ye told me, afther meetin* foxy 
 Poll, or whatsomever her name is, if I only had the luck to turn 
 back " 
 
 A scream from the prophetess, or pythoness, out short the sen- 
 tence to which he had partly given utterance. 
 
 She had rolled from her huddled-up position, so as to lie at 
 full length, and was uttering the most franiic, incoherent howl- 
 
A GOOD ACTOR. 
 
 197 
 
 l!i.! 
 
 I't know 
 
 tie wings 
 3 's flyin' 
 
 er, more 
 
 erything 
 knows 1 
 at's the 
 s bearin' 
 at crowd 
 e others. 
 >k, Dan ! 
 
 se, being 
 hey saw 
 aame the 
 3rstitious 
 
 throuble 
 reat God 
 le, am in. 
 yake wid 
 ill, if we 
 
 reward 
 
 me poor 
 
 it his in- 
 
 ood God 
 
 desarve 
 
 have to 
 
 : '11 have 
 the good 
 tin' foxy 
 to turn 
 
 the sen- 
 bo lie at 
 it bowl- 
 
 ings. Her gesticulations and contortions shortly became fright- 
 ful, so as to be the means of gathering around her quite a crowd 
 of the emigrants, some of whom pitied her, while others jested ; 
 but a far larger number treated her while in this Satanic fury as 
 a superhuman being, whom it would be impious and foolish to 
 offend, because of her supposed power of conferring good and of 
 inflicting evil. Nay, others who disbelieved in her capability to 
 do good, looked upon her curse, when pronounced, as a sure presage 
 of evil, and feared, for that reason, to offend her. Such was the 
 state of affairs. 
 
 She clapped her hands, beat her breasts, tore her hair, hit at 
 those around her, muttered between her clenched teeth, rolled her 
 eyes about in their sockets, and exhibited all the diagnostics of one 
 possessed, — in fact, she seemed a demon. 
 
 Various were the opinions expressed as to her state, tlie causes 
 and cure thereof. 
 
 One fellow waggishly suggested "a good dose of the oil of 
 strap." 
 
 A second thought that " cudgel oil " would be preferable ; while 
 a third suggested a mixture of the two ingredients, laid on by two 
 stout fellows, both operating the same time. A fourth suggested 
 a bucket of salt water thrown over her would be more efficacious 
 and less severe ; while a fifth very gravely intimated that, in his 
 opinion, " as the person afore 'em was one who had dalings wid the 
 other world, the best thing to be done wid her was to hand her 
 over to the cap ting, and thrate her to the pump." 
 
 After a quarter of an hour spent in this way, she reached her 
 hands to Dan, as if pleading for help to enable her to sit up. This 
 was quickly afforded, and she speedily became calm again, in con- 
 sequence of which the crowd, not expecting an immediate repetition 
 of the scene, dispersed to their respective berths, or went on deck, 
 as fancy or circumstances required. 
 
 "That was dhry, hard work," she said, after rising to the 
 sitting posture, **but I don't care if it was tin times is hard, if 
 I can sarve my fellow-craythurs. What signifies a little sufferin', 
 whin it does good 1 " 
 
 The poor dupes of her craft thought they could not lavish 
 blessings plentifully enough on her head for her self-sacrifices in 
 undergoing so much suffering for their exclusive benefit. 
 
 " Another rousing cup o' good sthrong tay would be of benefit 
 to ye," said Mrs. Devlin (equally anxious to serve her suffering 
 friend, and to pry still further into the unknown world), " an' I 
 
 ^ j„ 
 
 ;I I 
 
 I'! 
 
 .1 
 
 1 1 
 
 
 •^ i 
 
 '( 
 
 .'■ l 
 
 "r 
 
 
 
 '^ i 
 
 
 i f 
 
 lii 
 
 t 
 
 
 i;. 
 
 ■ggMM 
 
 h\\ 
 
 m 
 
I)i 
 
 It 
 
 l< m 
 
 !^>': 
 
 ,'1' ■ 
 
 hi 
 
 ',' 
 
 f^il 
 
 
 198 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 liave a nice bit o' fat mate in the box, maybe you 'd like a bit of 
 it, as this isn't a fast day." 
 
 " O let me alone about atin'," she said ; " it is not atin' that 
 throubles me now, but one must take some kind o' nourishment, 
 or they can't get through, can they 1 " 
 
 " Well, thin, take plinty o' the other thing in yer tay. I towld 
 ye ye were entirely welcome. Don't be afeerd to take it, for Dan 
 has three gallons of it down in the howlt o' the ship. He thought 
 it would be good in the case of any accident." 
 
 The benevolent Mrs. Lucey resigned herself again to the sug- 
 gestion of her friend, and very accommodatingly took another 
 cupful of the hybrid mixture before described. Another very 
 careful twisting and inverting of the cup followed, pending the 
 draining of which she rested her aching head on her knees, and 
 seemed absorbed in the deepest thought. 
 
 " I 'm anxious to see what our luck is this time" she said, as she 
 raised the cup, and again looked ominously into its revelations. 
 " Let me see what is here." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Devlin looked and felt like persons on trial for 
 their lives, when they see the foreman of the jury appear, bearing 
 in his hand the verdict which is to give them liberty, or to consign 
 them either to prison or to the gallows. 
 
 Before speaking, she put the cup down in an agitated manner, 
 as if some fearful mystery had been revealed to her, which she was 
 unwilling to communicate to those most concerned. 
 
 After a long pause, she proceeded — 
 
 " Many a bright momin' has brought a dark evenin', an' many 
 a rainy morain' has ended with bright sunshine. There is some- 
 thing here I cannot ondherstand. You see here," pointing with 
 her forefinger to a clot of tea-dregs on the side of the cup, " here is 
 a ship sailin' aisht,* the way we 're goin' ourselves." Dan and his 
 wife peered eagerly to where she pointed her forefinger, but knew 
 so little of the geography of tea-cups, or of their ser -going course, 
 that if she had said *' south " instead of " east," it would have an- 
 swered as well. " There ye see the masts, an' the sails, an' ivery- 
 thing." The poor people agreed that it was a perfect miniature of 
 the ship. " Here agin is a child's funeral. God be good to the 
 poor babby's sowl." They agreed that the funeral was very plain. 
 
 " Here agin is a young couple in grate greef. That 's yerselves 
 both, and thin there's a fox, that's (ever an' always) a sign o' 
 throuble an' distress. Bad luck to 'em for foxes I Look how 
 
 * Eastwardly. 
 
1 bit of 
 
 in' that 
 shment, 
 
 I towld 
 for Dan 
 thought 
 
 he siig- 
 another 
 er very- 
 ling the 
 3es, and 
 
 1, as she 
 jlations. 
 
 ;rial for 
 bearing 
 consign 
 
 manner, 
 she was 
 
 ti' 
 
 Pg 
 
 many 
 is some- 
 with 
 here is 
 and his 
 it knew 
 course, 
 lave an- 
 ivery- 
 ature of 
 to the 
 plain, 
 erselves 
 sign o' 
 ok how 
 
 ' 'li 
 
 THE " POX," A BAD OMEiJ. 
 
 199 
 
 he turns his head a one side, moryagh* he 's not minding 'em, an' 
 there he is afther their heels, every step they take. Oh, ye wicked 
 theef ! " Here she bent her fist as if striking at the fox in the cup, 
 and, hitting the cup, sent it off in three or four pieces ! " That 's 
 a bad sign," she said ominously, " or, indeed, it may mane good ; 
 but I didn't obsarve what follyed the fox, I was so vexed with his 
 dirty, sneakin' look. Well, why, to be shure, — the poor honest 
 ooman's cup, — I must buy her one whin I gets to New Yark to 
 replace it." 
 
 "Misthiss Lucey," cried the offended Mrs. Devlin, "I iiope 
 you '11 niver mintion sich a thing to Dan an' me agin. What lucre 
 is a dirty little tay-cup ? " 
 
 " Oh, but I must pay for it," she said, " bekase if I didn't it 
 would be as bad as takin' pay for my sarvices, an' I 'm detarmined 
 niver, niver to do the likes o' that while I live ; that 's not me 
 way." 
 
 " Well, well," said the poor woman, " plaise yerself, but indeed 
 ye must have another cup or two between ye an' the grief. My 
 goodness ! ye look so jaded an' disthressed, ye must take it," and 
 she speedily supplied the place of the broken cup with another of 
 much larger dimensions, which was as speedily filled, and the con- 
 tents transferred to the same receptacle as the former ones. 
 
 " Don't gi' me much more toy," she enjoined on Mrs. Devlin. 
 
 " Well, thin," said the latter, " I '11 be said by ye ; but if I do, 
 ye must obey me in another thing, for the cup must be full. 
 Don't say ' no,' now, for I will have me own way this wanse," and 
 so saying, she mixed a cupful, one-third tea and two-thirds whisky, 
 which, after sundry protestations that she " never would " submit 
 to drink it, that it would make her " as drunk as a lord," that 
 she'd "rayther have her head cut off," and many other similar 
 modest declarations, the contents were soon disposed of like all its 
 predecessors ; all travelling the same road. 
 
 In consequence of the tea having been pretty low in the sauce- 
 pan previous to the last draught upon it, the deposit, so rich in 
 revelations as to the future, became thicker, for which reason a 
 larger quantity was deposited on the inside of the cup. 
 
 The usual process was repated, and the eager gaze of the three 
 again directed to the unfolding of its mysteries. 
 
 "The very same thing repated," she said, with a shudder; 
 "the very — same — thing/ V/hat was foxes made for at all, to 
 bring so much throuble on me poor old bones ? What 's done can't 
 
 * Pretending. 
 
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200 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 be ondone. Well, why, this bates me out an' out ; here 's the dirty 
 slieveen of a fox follyin* 'em both, an' here are two roads, one to 
 the right an' the other straight forward. Ye see them plain ? " 
 
 Both testified that they saw everything "as plain as * prent.' 
 
 " Now, thin, here's a poor owld ooman that wants to persuade 
 'em to go one road, and the fox appears anxious to 'tice 'em off 
 to the tother road. At the ind o' the road the owld ooman is 
 ladin' 'em, ye can see a gi-and house with horses, an' carriages, 
 an' sarvants to resave 'em, an' to wait upon 'em, but the other 
 road appears to have robbers and murdherers in plinty, waitin' 
 till the fox lures 'em on. Farther thin that I can't see, for I 
 don't know which road they'll take, but ye both are that 
 couple." 
 
 " Misthiss Lucey," said the poor woman, " as ye have done so 
 much for us I know you '11 do all ye can." 
 
 " What more can I do % " she asked. " Perhaps ye only think 
 me a poor fool and despise me advice, or will not take it if I give 
 it to ye." 
 
 "Depind on it we will, both of uz. Won't we, Dan?" Mrs. 
 Devlin said, appealing to her husband. 
 
 " For my part," he said, " I '11 do anything she plaises to tell 
 me." 
 
 " There 's something else I seen in that last cup," said the hag, 
 ** but I can tell it to one of ye only. If there are three in the 
 saycret the charm will be broken, an' the fox will get his own way. 
 It depinds altogether on the parson to whom I tell it whether we 
 can baffle the fox or not. If that parson takes me advice all will 
 be right ; if not, all me labour is gone for nothin'. Take your 
 choice now ; let one of ye come wid me up to the deck, an' I '11 
 tell that one everything I know about the matter. The other must 
 not lave this place till we come back." 
 
 " 'T is you have the best right to go," Dan said to his wife. " As 
 ye are both women, settle it among yerselves." 
 
 This was precisely what Mrs. Lucey wanted. Accordingly she 
 led her unsuspecting victim up to the deck ; and there, choosing a 
 place where they could converse in private, she opened her mission 
 as follows : — 
 
 She had already obtained from Dan the information that he had 
 noney to purchase a farm in America. She concluded that he 
 would, like all men unaccustomed to the transaction of money 
 matters, prefer to take it with him '.n goiJ. Seeing Mrs. Devlin 
 open her chest two or three times and turn a good many things 
 
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. 
 
 201 
 
 "As 
 
 money 
 
 Devlin 
 
 things 
 
 over, she had observed her lift a heavy parcel very cautiously, 
 and saw, by the way m which it was bound up, and the care she 
 took in restoring it to its accustomed place, that it contained their 
 little hoard ; their riches, indeed, for it was a sum sufficient to 
 start people of their rank comfortably in America. 
 
 "Misthiss Devlin," she proceeded to say, "be advised by me. 
 Ye saw plain enough the poor owld ooman in the tay-leaves 
 wanting to lade ye in the road to full an' plinty. Then ye saw 
 the fox, that 's the divil, tryin' to lade ye off to have ye murdhered, 
 an' kilt, an' robbed. Now, I ax ye, didn't ye see thim plain 
 enough?" 
 
 "Indeed I did," said the confiding Mrs. Devlin; "an' much 
 obleeged I am to ye for the same." 
 
 " Well, thin, don't thank me, but thank the great God that 
 gev me that knowledge for yer good. There was one thing I 
 could not tell to more than one of ye. I saw in that last tay-cup 
 that ye had a parcel of money tied up with a long piece of string 
 tied round it ten or fifteen times, an' a number o' men plotting 
 to get it from you. Ye have inimies among the ' good people,' 
 bekase your husband's father found his money in one o' the owld 
 forts that he ploughed up. It was all foreshown to me before 
 this thing happened at all. The only way for you to brake the 
 power o' the ' good people ' is to take that money this night unbe- 
 known to your husband, turn it over and over three times in one 
 hand, makin' the sign o' the crass with the other ) and if there is 
 any one in this ship that you have confidence in, slip it to 'em and 
 say, ' Keep this for me till twenty-four hours afther my child is 
 buried.' Don't tell the person what is in it, an' don't reckon it 
 when ye are givin' it to 'em. By this manes you '11 baffle the 
 inimies that put the spell over ye, and their power will be gone 
 for ever. 
 
 " Can ye think of any one ye could thrust to do it for ye ? 
 Whoever it is must not mention it to a sowl, livin' or dead." 
 
 "Indeed, Misthiss Lucey," said her eager hearer, with the 
 greatest confidence in the world, " there 's not a livin' sowl I'd put 
 as much confidence in as I would in your own four bones. If you 
 won't undertake it for me I don't know what' to do, for we don't 
 know anybody in the ship sufficient to rest so much confidence in 'em." 
 
 " Wirrastrew ! " said the faithful Mrs. Lucey, " must I have 
 another struggle with them ? Is there nobody but poor owld Bet 
 to take the responsibility ? 'T is I 'd willingly give up all this 
 battlin' an' fightin' wid the powers o' darkness. 
 
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 202 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 " Howsomever, here I am. If ye give anything into my care 
 I '11 take charge of it. But if ye tell me a word about what it is, 
 ye '11 desthroy yerself an' me too. 
 
 " Come down stairs, it 's cowld up here. Now mind what I tell 
 ye ! Not a word to any one ! I 'm sorry I didn't bring Dan up 
 wid me. He might lay the burden on some one else, but as ye 
 have put it on me poor owld shouldhers, I must submit." 
 
 About midnight that night Mrs. Devlin crept cautiously from 
 her berth, unlocked her chest, sought in the dark for her treasure, 
 found it, and noiselessly conveyed it to Mrs. Lucey, whose itching 
 palm was extended for its reception. Twenty-four houi-s after 
 the burial of her darling the poor woman received again from the 
 syren who had robbed her a heavy parcel, apparently the same as 
 that deposited for safe keeping, and replaced it in her chest with- 
 out the knowledge of her husband. 
 
 A day or two previous to landing he had occasion to look for 
 this parcel, and suspecting nothing wrong proceeded to open it. 
 What was his dismay on doing so to find his gold transmuted 
 into copper. 
 
 The history of the circumstance by which he discovered his 
 loss must be reserved for another chapter. 
 
 - ' i 
 
 i '* 
 
 N 
 
 1: 
 
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CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 i\ 
 
 L-ed his 
 
 "witches, and warlocks, and long-nebbed things"— the 
 
 -all 's not lost that 's in danger. 
 
 "good PEOPLE "- 
 
 About a week after the occurrence of events disclosed in the latter 
 part of the foregoing chapter, our friend, Tim Doolan, and his friend, 
 Mr. Noonan, stood at the windward side of the vessel leaning over 
 the bulwark conversing on various topics, when the latter addressed 
 the former on this wise : — 
 
 " Why, thin, Tim, isn't it a quare thing I 'ra going to ax ye now 1 
 an' maybe you'll laugh at me, but I can't help thinkin' about 
 it at times. What do you think about forthin-tellers ? Meself 
 don't know much, good or bad, for I always kep' clear o' such 
 people ; but be all accounts they do tell strange things at 
 times." 
 
 " I think they 're a pack o' schamers and villyans," said Tim. 
 " They 're always purtindin' to enrich everybody that consults them, 
 and they 're always ' as poor as church mice,' though they 're as 
 greedy after money as they can be. What manes have they of 
 tindin' out future things any more than you or me "i " 
 
 "I declare that's more than I can tell," said Mr. Noonan; 
 "but it puzzles me to think how they can find out things. 
 There 's a poor couple ablow there in the steerage, by the name o' 
 Devlin — them that lost their poor child last week, God rest 
 the baby's sowl — an' indeed now, 't is amazin' where that owld 
 ooman they calls Bet Lucey could get all the knowledge she 
 towld thim peeple the day their lannav was lyin' dead. The poor 
 craythur was tellin* me yestherday about it herself, an she sez 
 that Dan (her husband) b'leeves in her too, although he used to 
 be very much aginst all such peeple, an' wouldn't pay any attin- 
 tion to her only for the throuble he was in about the loss of his 
 child." 
 
 " She saw the peeple wor in throuble," said Tim, " an' all the 
 world knows that at sich times peeple are very apt to give way 
 
 4 
 
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 •' [I'-ii 
 
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 204 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 to shuporstition who wouldn't do it on other occasions. Wliin 
 peeple haven't the love and fear o' God in their hearts it is easy 
 to terrify 'em whin in throuble. That owld Jezebel knew this 
 very well, an 'tarmined to make a haul on 'em. Mark me words, 
 Mr. Noonan, they '11 be nothin' the richer of any information they 
 got from owld Bet." 
 
 " Och, thin, you 're wrong there," said Mr. Noonan ; " an' more 
 betoken, Mrs. Devlin said that she was as mad as a March hare 
 whin Dan mintioned, ' promiscuous like,' * that he would reward 
 her for her throuble. She almost washed her hands out o' the 
 business altogether." 
 
 " 'T is aisy enough to be wrong," said Tim, " but ye may depind 
 on me words, although I 'm no prophet, that she '11 have it out of 
 'em ' be hook or be crook,' as the owld sayin' is. I hope God will 
 forgi' me if I wrong the ooman, but I don't like sich peeple nor 
 their ways. Shure there was one of that crew robbed me mother 
 out o' twinty goold guineas wanst upon a time." 
 
 " She did, ayah? " Mr. Noonan inquired, with much astonishment, 
 " O thin, tell me how she did it, Tim." 
 
 " Well, thin, as the day is long, an' we have nothin' particular 
 to do, I '11 be afther doin' that same," Tim replied ; " an' ye may 
 listen wid both yer ears. 
 
 " Wanst upon a time a young brother o' mine died. It was 
 whin all me father's an' mother's childher wor young ; an' if he 
 died, why, he was berred, av coorse. 
 
 " It was in the time o' the pratee harvest, an' me father wor out 
 in the pratee field diggin' along with a couple o' min an' any o' the 
 family that was big enough to pick up the pratees. The young 
 childher wor out playin', an' nobody in the house but me poor 
 mother be herself, an* she spint the most of her time cryin' for the 
 poor babe that was gone. Who should come into the house to her, 
 an' she cryin', but a strange ooman, an' she took a sate be the fire, 
 an' didn't spake a word for a long time. 
 
 " At last sez me mother, breaking silence, ' A fine day outside,' 
 sez she. Well, the stranger made no answer, an' afther a long 
 spell me mother sez agin, ' Have ye thra veiled far to-day ? ' The 
 ooman made no answer agin for a good while, only kept starin' 
 about, an' me poor mother didn't know what to say. One time 
 she thought the ooman was deaf an' dumb, an' thin she thought 
 her mad, an' twinty things kem into her mind, till at last she didn't 
 know what to think. 
 
 * For "inadvertently." 
 
the 
 
 if he 
 
 a long 
 The 
 starin' 
 time 
 ihought 
 
 tim's story of the witch. 
 
 205 
 
 " Afther a good while the stranger spoke up and said, * I belong 
 to the "good people,"* an' we have a passage through this house, 
 an' ye had betther mind yerselves or something worse will happen 
 to ye than the loss of yer child.' ' It couldn't happen much worse 
 than that,' says me mother, makin' answer, an' ready to drop on 
 the flure wid fright ; ' but what have we done to harm ye,' says 
 she, 'that ye should have any spite against uz?' *It isn't my 
 bisness to tell ye,' sez the other, * ye '11 have to find that out ; but 
 we're detarmined that if ye don't make aminds for all the harm 
 ye 've done to uz, we '11 not lave you cliick or child, or so much as 
 a cow, or a horse, or a stool to sit upon.' 
 
 " Me mother wor sittin' in the middle o' the flure, on a chair, 
 whin up the other rises, an' takes a bit of a stick out o' the fire, 
 an' makes a black circle all round her chair ; thin, lookin' at her 
 straight atune the two eyes, she sez, * Sit there ontil I relase ye, or 
 pay our people twenty goold guineas.' 
 
 " Well why, if me mother was to get * Darner's estate ' for it, she 
 couldn't rise from her sate, nor lift hand or foot, although she 
 could spake well enough. So afther tryin' her best to rise, she 
 said to the ooman, ' Here, take the kay o' that brown chist out o' 
 me pocket, an' you '11 find twenty guineas in a little sthockin' at 
 the bottom o' the chist; an', in the name o' God, go away from 
 me, an' don't throuble me any more.* So wid that, she takes the 
 kay o' the chist out o' me mother's pocket, an', shure enough, she 
 soon found out her little store that was saved up to pay the rint. 
 She thin imptied it out into her fisht, an' sez she to me mother, * If 
 ye mintion a word about this to any livin' sowl for a week from 
 this day, I '11 take the two boys ye have left afore another month 
 is out ; * an' ofi" she wint, leavin' me poor mother as if she was 
 glued to the chair. I don't know whether she was unable to stir, 
 or whether she was afeerd to thry, but there she sot on her chair 
 in the middle o' the flure. 
 
 " Well why, me father was oneasy in his mind, knowin' how me 
 mother grieved for the child, an' he couldn't be continted in the 
 field ; so he throws down his spade, an' sez to us, * I' 11 jist run up to 
 the cabin, an' see if yer mother wants anything.* Jist as he was 
 within a few parches o' the door, he met this ooman goin' from the 
 house, an' thought there wor somethin' suspicious in her appear- 
 ance. As soon as she passed him, and saw where he was goin', she 
 started to run ; an' if she did, he started afther her an' caught her. 
 * I 'm not so owld or so ugly,' sez he, ' that the looks o* me should 
 
 * Fairies. 
 
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 206 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 til :' 
 
 friken ye. What makes ye run V * I can rim or walk,' sez she, 
 ' as plaises meself best.' ' Well, thin,' sez he, * if it 's quite agree- 
 able to ye, yon '11 take a walk wid me back to me cabin, as I see 
 you 've jist come from it ; an' if it 's rfmgreeable to ye,' sez he, 
 ' ye '11 have to do the same thing ; for whin I take a strange likin' 
 to anybody, they have to do as I plaise, unless they 're sthronger 
 than meself.' Wid that she spakes up : * I '11 give ye ivery ha'pinny 
 of it,' sez she, * if you '11 let me go.' * I '11 make no rash promises,' 
 sez me father. * So now you '11 come back wid me, or I '11 carry ye.' 
 
 *' She seen there wasn't any use in gostherin' about it, so back 
 she kem, an' whin me poor mother saw me father comin' in the 
 dure, an' the doxy along wid him, she plucked up courage, an' 
 sprung from her cheer. She soon towld me father the whole 
 transaction, but — to shorten me story — me father took his money 
 from her, threw a couple o' pailfuls of cowld wather over her, an' 
 let her go about her bisness. 
 
 " We found out in a few days that she wor a forthin-teller, an' 
 used to go round iverywhere, robbin' peeple in one way or another. 
 Mark me words for it, Mr. Noonan, that ooman, Bet Lucey, has 
 got confederates on board this ship, an' there'll be some peeple 
 short of their little sthock o' money, through her manes. She '11 
 not keep what she gets that way herself. She '11 slip it to some of 
 her cronies, an' they'll divide it whin they gets to land." 
 
 "Well, I declare, Tim, yer story is intherestin' enough. It was 
 well for yer father that he thought o' returnin' home to the house 
 so soon as he did. Is yer father an' mother alive still, an' do they 
 know anything about the blessed Gospel ? " 
 
 " They are alive still, or wor alive whin I left home," said Tim ; 
 " an' they sartainly must know somethin' of the Gospel, for I 've 
 read many parts of it to 'em, but they haven't as yet given me any 
 raison to suppose that they have been saved by it. But look, Mr. 
 Noonan ! Am I dhreamin', or losin' my sinses ? Isn't that a bird 
 comin' towards us ? " 
 
 " It is, indeed," said Mr. Noonan, who had scarcely uttered the 
 words when a small bird alighted in the rigging of the vessel, and 
 had not been there many minutes before it was caught and caged 
 by one of the sailor-boys belonging to the ship. 
 
 " That 's a sign we are near land," said one of the sailors, who 
 saw the people staring as if they had never seen a bird before ; 
 "birds frequently get blowed out to sea by storms, and cannot 
 return again, so that they must fly on, until they become 
 exhausted and drop into the ocean, unless some ship happens to 
 
FIRST SIGNS OP LAND. 
 
 207 
 
 caged 
 
 be near on which they can alight. When they do alight they are 
 frequently so exhausted as to allow themselves to be cought withe at 
 any trouble." Within the course of two or three houi*s several 
 others of different sizes were taken, and the news spread speedily 
 through the ship that land was expected to be in view in the course 
 of that or the following day. 
 
 New life seemed suddenly to have been infused \fiio the liitherto 
 dejected mass of human beings. In spreading the news from mouth 
 to mouth, various were the additions and transformations it received. 
 Some had it that they were about to land immediately, and could 
 scarcely be persuaded that they had sufficient time to wash and dress 
 themselves, so as to make their very best appearance before the 
 public of "New Yark." Great numbers of them used up all the 
 fresh water received for cooking and drinking in getting themselves 
 and families ready for ^'t occasion. Within two hours from the 
 arrival of the first bird in the rigging, one would imagine that an 
 Irish fair was being held on deck. The best clothes, which had 
 never been brought to light since the sailing of the ship from the 
 Mersey, were soon donned, and many a face, which a short time 
 before wore the expression of deepest anxiety, or of hope so long 
 defeiTed as to have turned to blank despair, was now beaming with 
 delight. Nearly all were almost boisterous in their merriment. 
 Few of them cared for their food, so sure had they made themselves 
 that their next meal was to be taken, if not among their friends, at 
 least amid all the surroundings of comfort which are to be enjoyed 
 on shore. Some of the girls declared they would do nothing for a 
 week, but walk about, and look in at the shop windows ; and men 
 were found in abundance who promised never to be sober for a week 
 after landing. 
 
 There was a straining of eyes constantly in the direction in 
 which they hoped to see the land. Every dark cloud on the horizon 
 was thought to be the wished-for object. Many declared, and 
 probably thought, they saw trees, houses, cattle, and even men 
 and women walking about, and were inclined to be quarrel- 
 some with any who called iii question the correctness of their 
 vision. 
 
 Day wore away, and the shades of night began to ftiU without 
 bringing into view the anxiously-looked-for object — land. 
 
 The sailors were all busy in making preparations for entering port. 
 Everything about the ship had to be put into as nice trim as hands 
 could make it, and they were kept busy running hither and thither, 
 scrubbing, cleaning, regulating, and what not. 
 
 1 , Ml 
 
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 208 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 The excited people, crowding the decks as heretofore, were a cause 
 of considerable obstruction in the discharge of the seamen's duty ; 
 in addition to which they were constantly plying them with questions 
 which it was impossible for them to answer and attend to the orders 
 of their officers as well. 
 
 Some swore at them, others pushed them about, or threw them 
 down in running to obey orders, while many jested with their 
 ignorance, and assured them they were all going to Botany Bay to 
 be sold as convict slaves. 
 
 Just about dusk a large bird, of the hawk genus, made its 
 appearance and alighted in the main shrouds. 
 
 Its appearance at that time, when the hope of seeing land had 
 just begun to fade from their minds, the gliding spectre-like motion 
 when, after some minutes' rest, it again took wing, and, after 
 flitting noiselessly around the vessel in a few gyrations, it again 
 settled itself on the cross-trees, impressed the superstitious minds 
 of many of the poor people with so much awe that many of them 
 were nearly terrified out of then* wits ; especially when one of the 
 sailors, in order to get rid of the annoyance of being asked so many 
 questions, told his interrogator, "that it was a messenger from Satan 
 1.0 take the greatest rascal in the ship before he would suffer them 
 to land." 
 
 This information, coupled with the fact of the wind rising and 
 blowing from landward at the time, and continuing all night so 
 fiercely as to drive the ship several miles out of her course, had a 
 most astonishing efiect upon them. It spread like wildfire. Those 
 most profane at other times now became most clamorous in calling 
 on all the saints in the calendar to preserve them and land them 
 Sf c; in New York, promising, among other things, never to venture 
 to sea again. 
 
 The wind blew in fitful gusts that night, and the vessel staggered 
 and trembled at each blow of the angry surges, as if her timbers 
 would separate from each other at every shock. 
 
 Many clutched their beads closely, and counted them over and over 
 again ; nor could they be persuaded to answer a question or pay the 
 least attention to anything that was said to them. 
 
 Others conversed all night on the probabilities or otherwise 
 connected with their seeing land. 
 
 Some looked at it as quite a serious matter that they were 
 about to be taken to " Bottomy Bay " * to work in chains the 
 remainder of their lives, while many expressed their perfect 
 
 * Botany Bay, but seldom pronounced other than in the text. 
 
a cause 
 \ duty; 
 lestions 
 J orders 
 
 w them 
 
 h their 
 
 Bay to 
 
 lade its 
 
 and had 
 5 motion 
 id, after 
 it again 
 IS minds 
 of them 
 le of the 
 so many 
 jm Satan 
 rfer them 
 
 !'■■■ 
 
 smg 
 
 and 
 
 night so 
 30, had a 
 Those 
 n calling 
 md them 
 ) venture 
 
 staggered 
 timbers 
 
 and over 
 r pay the 
 
 jtherwise 
 
 ley were 
 
 lains the 
 
 perfect 
 
 BET PROPOSES TO THROW A " JONAS " OVERBOARD. 
 
 209 
 
 willingness that it should be so, if they could only feel secure Ox 
 " life an' dhry land wanst more." 
 
 " I'd like to know what owld Bet Lucey thinks of it," said one, 
 who tried to be, or to appear, facetious, but very evidently threw 
 out the observation as a feeler, in order to get her opinion and the 
 opinions of others as to whether he had any chance of ever 
 beholding either New York or " Bottomy." 
 
 Bet was listening, but thought it more prudent not to answer 
 until she heard something from some other party. 
 
 "Bet knows no more about it," another remarked, "than my 
 owld shoe. If she could tell what wor afore others she could tell 
 what was afore herself; but she can't, nor any one else. If I 
 thought she could, I'd be for thro win' her overboord for not warnin' 
 us aforehand that there was sich a starm as this coming upon us." 
 
 " Bight well I knew it, thin," she replied, " but what 'ud be the 
 use o' me tellin' you ? Ye wouldn't be guided be a poor owld 
 craythur like me. 'T is only when people are in sorra an' throuble 
 they comes to the like o' me." 
 
 " Well, I '11 tell ye what it is now," said the previous speaker, 
 " I '11 give ye five pounds down into yer fisht if ye '11 tell 
 me correctly what day we '11 land, an' the name o' the first man 
 that '11 come aboord the vessel whin we reach New Yai'k. Isn't 
 that fair r' 
 
 Many said it was a fair challenge. 
 
 Bet pleaded that she could tell nothing only what was foreshown 
 to her. It could not be expected that she could know everything. 
 " However," she said, to divert attention from herself and her 
 pretensions, " me mind misgives me that tliat bird that kem last 
 night worn't for any good, onless the right person goes along wid 
 him. It may be all right wid the rest afther that." 
 
 " What do ye mane 1 " said the man, whose name was Slattery. 
 
 " Och, ye knows well enough who I mane," the hag replied. 
 "What the sailor said was right enough, that dark-lookin' bird 
 didn't come for nothin'. The owld boy must get what belongs to 
 him or *he '11 know for what,* an' it will be betthe to have the one 
 Jonas go along wid him thin to have all our lives lost." 
 
 " An' who is the ' Jonas,' " Slattery inquired, " unless it may be 
 yer own self]" 
 
 " 'T is well we all know," she answered ; " who could he be, only 
 some o' thim Bible-readin' Judases in the second cabin 1 — bad luck 
 an' misforthin to the whole pack." 
 
 " I '11 tell you what it is now," said Sit'ttery, " let you and me 
 
 14 
 
 I 
 
 ■ii- 
 
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 U'>\ 
 
 

 210 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 mind our own religion, if we have any — an' as for some of nz it 
 isn't much that same thing throuhles uz. If thim poor people 
 done wrong for their own so wis, that 's no rayson that we should 
 do wrong to thim. Let the grate God above do as He plaises with 
 everybody. HE '11 do right, I '11 be bound for it. I tell ye 
 what, owld mischief-maker ! it is the likes o' ye has got many a 
 dacent fayther's an' mother's son into throuble. If any o' those 
 foolish young people here wor to be so silly as to b'lieve in yer 
 deviltry, an' thry to injure those poor men, Doolan an' Noonan, or 
 whatever their names are, ye could not get them out o' the throuble 
 ye got them into. 
 
 " It would be best for ye to pray to God to mark ye to grace, 
 Betty, an* to be thryin' to ' make yer poor sowl ' * now, in the 
 latther ind o' yer days, thin to be ladin' poor ignorant peeple 
 asthray wid yer philanderin'. It would be well for ye if ye had 
 as little sin on yer poor sowl as that innocent bird above yandher. 
 But, indeed, I 'm thinkin' if it 's the worst in the ship he wants, 
 you yourself stand as much chance o' promotion in th<>t line as 
 anybody else." 
 
 " If you don't lave off prow okin' me," said the old Jezebel, in a 
 furious rage, "I'll let yo-'i know that I have power; I'll go on 
 me two binded knees an' give ye me bitther curse, an' I 'd like to 
 see who iver thruvf under Bet Lucey's curse." 
 
 "Wisha, Betty, as far as that goes," said Slattery, with the 
 greatest composure imaginable, "ye may go down on yer two 
 binded knees an' curse me this minit, an' to make shure work of it, 
 imploy yer elbows into the bargain ; an' thin ye '11 be playin' ' all- 
 fours ' be yerself. But mind the owld sayin', ' Curses an' chickens 
 always fly home to roost.' " 
 
 " You 're no Catholic," she screamed, endeavouring to turn the 
 attention of the bigoted among them, whom she knew to be the 
 greater number. " You 're a Judas yerself, an' a 'postate." 
 
 " I nivir was anything else but a Catholic,'" the man replied, 
 " although I confess meself a very bad one ; but if there were no 
 betther Catholics than you, I 'd be a turncoat the very night afore 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Thus the colloquy went on. Some listened with fear and 
 trembling ; many slept all the more soundly for the storm ; while 
 others, awed by superstitious fear, continued to tell over their 
 beads, and repeat their aves, and addresses to saints and angels, 
 known and unknown. 
 
 A phrase indicating care for eternity. 
 
 f Throve. 
 
THE RIGHT RELIGION — WHAT IS IT 1 
 
 211 
 
 uz it 
 people- 
 should 
 s with 
 :ell ye 
 nany a 
 i' those 
 
 in yer 
 nan, or 
 irouble 
 
 ) grace, 
 
 in the 
 
 peeple 
 
 ye had 
 andher. 
 I wants, 
 , line as 
 
 bel, in a 
 '11 go on 
 I like to 
 
 ith the 
 
 Iyer two 
 
 •rk of it, 
 
 L^in' ' all- 
 
 Ichickens 
 
 Iturn the 
 be the 
 
 replied, 
 were no 
 iht afore 
 
 fear and 
 
 while 
 
 [er their 
 
 angels, 
 
 After three or four hours the storm abated, the wind, which 
 had blown them several miles out of their course, again became 
 fair, and the " Jupiter " was, by the morning's dawn, again on her 
 direct course to New York. 
 
 With the cessation of the tempest the fears, and, alas ! the piety 
 of too many of the passengers subsided, and when the sun rose, 
 the major part of those who remained sleepless through fright 
 were enjoying soundly their repose. 
 
 Our two friends, Tim and Mr. Noonan, were early awake and 
 on deck. 
 
 " Good morrow mornin' to ye, Tim," said Mr. Noonan, as he 
 caught his hand, at first stepping on deck. 
 
 " The next day to you, Mr. Noonan," said Tim, " an' a great 
 many av 'em. What's the best news this bright mornin', Mr. 
 Noonan 1" 
 
 "Why thin, indeed, Tim, I suppose 'tis all good, but some part 
 of it is pleasanther than the remaindher. I heerd the captain 
 tellin' the mate just as I came on deck that we'd see land about 
 noon, an* he towld him to be on the look-out for a pilot." 
 
 " Pleasant enough," Tim replied, " but what is it that makes ye 
 so blue this mornin' 1 " 
 
 " Wisha, Tim, I 'm ashamed o' meself, so I am ; but I'm afeerd 
 I '11 be as bad as iver agin whin I loses yer company. God help 
 me poor, ignorant sowl ! Could ye gi' me any good advice at all, 
 that I '11 be thinkin' of whin I can't see ye ? " 
 
 " Well, now, I declare I 'm a'most vexed wid ye," said Tim. 
 " Did anybody iver hear the likes o' it? Sbure, 't isn't I that can 
 keep ye good. Isn't the great an' good Lord ivery where alike 1 " 
 
 " Thrue for ye, ma bouchal ! " exclaimed his friend and pupil. 
 
 " Well, thin, if He is, look to Him, pray to Him, confess yer sins 
 an' yer ignorance, an' yer wakeness to Him, read His blessed Word, 
 an' go to hear it read an' explained iverywhere ye can. Don't be 
 
 axin iverybody, 'Who has the best 
 
 religion ? ' 
 
 or 'Who 
 
 is the 
 finest praicher?' but find out who explains the Word o' God 
 best, an' the people that live most in accordance wid that Book 
 have the best religion. Wheriver ye find thim stick to thim. 
 People will be tellin' you that your religion is no o wider than 
 Luther, an' theirs is as owld as Pether. God Jielp 'era, the 
 religion of some of 'em is as owld as the *owld boy' himself. 
 The right religion is that which makes men holy an' happy, 
 inlightens their minds, an' keeps 'em from sin. Find that out, an' 
 stick to it, me boy." 
 
 '' t . 
 
 I > 
 
 
 t ' 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 uA 1 
 
 m 
 
iwf , t im 
 
 212 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ' ' I 
 
 "With God's help, I will," said his friend. 
 
 " Now, Tim," he added, after a pause, " before we leave this ship 
 we must agree to stay as much together while in New Yark as we 
 can, an' though the wide say will be betune uz whin I return, as 
 I expect to do soon, we must write to aich other an' niver forget 
 aich other in this world, an' I feel shure we '11 know aich other in 
 the next. You're a young, strong, hearty fellow, an' have a 
 healthy wife an' family, God bless 'em, an' God has good luck in 
 store for you, Tim. I 'm an owld man now, an' before very long 
 I '11 have to quit this world. The good God has given me more 
 than I want for in this world, an' as I know you hnve had hard 
 times at home, an' hard battles to fight, you cannot have very 
 much to begin with in the new counthry. Besides, it may be a 
 good while before you get employmint. I brought Jlfty pounds 
 wid me, an' don't expect to want half of it, but if I do, I can write 
 for more an' get it by writin'. Take ten pound to keep ye, an* in 
 case ye should be long widout gettin' employmint, an' if God blesses 
 yer work in Ameriky, ye can sind it to me, or those that come 
 afther me, whin ye have got settled an' brought out yer father an' 
 mother ; but ye needn't be in any hurry about it, avick, for I don't 
 care if I niver see it agin, I don't." 
 
 " I 'm greatly obligated to ye entirely, Mr. Noonan, so I am," 
 said Tim ; " yer friendship in makin' the offer is all the same as if 
 I were to take it ; but I don't need it. I have a few pounds o* 
 me own, sufficient to keep us for a little while, an' God was good 
 in throwin' a gintleman in me way that ordhered the capting to 
 gi' me a thrifle whin I 'm lavin' the ship. If I wor in need o' yer 
 ginerous offer, I 'd take it in a minit, but I 'm not, thanks be to 
 God for the same." 
 
 "Why, thin, where do yer people live?" said Mr. Noonan, 
 a new thought appearing to strike him. " Ye niver towld me as 
 far as I can remimber ; but if iver I get back to owld Ireland, an' 
 go widin twenty miles o' the place where ye were born an' rared, 
 I 'd think meself guilty o* sacrilege a'most, if I didn't go to see it. 
 Shure it was the blessedest day o' me life that God sint ye in me 
 way. The day me little colleen found the pocket-book that brought 
 * full an' plinty ' to me home, was nothin' whativer in comparison 
 of that." 
 
 Tim gave the requisite information as to the whereabouts of 
 his nativity and residence up to the time of his embarkation for 
 * the west country." 
 
 "Hallo there, you, what's your name?" roared the captain 
 
 
3 ship 
 as we 
 m, as 
 forget 
 her in 
 ave a 
 ick in 
 ylong 
 3 more 
 i hard 
 e very 
 ly be a 
 pounds 
 a write 
 , an' in 
 
 blesses 
 it come 
 ther an' 
 
 I don't 
 
 I am," 
 
 me as if 
 
 »unds o' 
 
 as good 
 
 pting to 
 
 o' yer 
 
 s be to 
 
 Toonan, 
 me as 
 [and, an' 
 i' rared, 
 see it. 
 :e in me 
 [brought 
 iparison 
 
 )0uts of 
 Ltion for 
 
 captain 
 
 FOREWARNED, FOREARMED. 
 
 213 
 
 from the quarter-deck, directing his voice to where the two men 
 
 were conversmg. 
 
 Tim touched his hat respectfully, and asked, " Did you spake to 
 me, capting ? " 
 
 " Yes, come this way. Remember when we arrive at New 
 York, I owe you Jifty dollars.^^ 
 
 "Fifty what, Sir?" says Tim, evidently puzzled at hearing a 
 word that had never sounded in his ears before. 
 
 " Fifty dollars, you blockhead." 
 
 " Meself don't know what they are from Adam," says Tim, as 
 bewildered as ever. " What sort of things are they at .all, Sir ? " 
 he asked, with apparent surprise. 
 
 " Money ! money ! man. Didn't you hear the owner order me 
 to give you ten pounds ? " 
 
 " Shure enough. Sir, I did." 
 
 "Well, then, the money in America differs from the money in 
 Ireland and England. You '11 have to look sharp, or you '11 get 
 cheated every way you turn in New York. They'll draw the very 
 teeth out of your head, if they suspect they are made of money. 
 Don't you leave the ship for a day or two, until I drill you a bit, 
 and teach you how to reckon your money, and get proper change. 
 Do you hear ? " 
 
 " I do, Sir, and 't is obligated to ye I am." 
 
 The captain too^- a turn or two on the quarter-deck, and again, 
 in his quick, sharp way, calls out, " I say again, Doolan ! " 
 
 "Here, Sir." 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 " Any labourin' work, Sir, that I am able for." 
 
 " Well, then, you may as well fall to, and help to unload the 
 ship when we arrive. I think you are an honest fellow. If you 
 do that well, I '11 speak to a friend of mine to look out for you and 
 get you some employment. A man wants a friend at the helm, 
 I tell you, before he gets acquainted with the ways of a new 
 country." 
 
 Tim thanked the captain, and rubbed his hands with satisfaction 
 and deJight, strengthened in the belief that God cared for him, and 
 marked out his course. 
 
 I 'I 
 I' 
 
 i'it 
 
 ' t 
 
 W' 
 
II ' ^^ 
 
 \ ' f 
 
 
 m i 
 
 hi. 
 
 ' :i5 
 
 ■»h, 
 
 -' t 
 
 I \ 
 
 % t 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " LAND AHEAD " — HOPES AND FEARS — MAJOR TOBIN AND THE 
 " WIDDEE " — LAND SHARKS. 
 
 Another weary day had nearly passed over the passengers in the 
 " Jupiter," and the shades of evening began to draw on when the 
 cry of "Land ahead" was heard from one of the watch, and 
 "Land!" "Land!!" "Show it to me," "Where is it]" echoed 
 from hundreds of voices. Meanwhile a rush was made towards 
 that part of the vessel whence the cry was first heard, so great 
 that she heeled ovei considerably to that side, and a wave striking 
 on the bow drenched the majority of the outlookers to the skin. 
 This, under ordinary circumstances, would have sent them shiver- 
 ing to bed j but, on the present occasion, seemed to be totally dis- 
 regarded. 
 
 " Dickens a bit o' land I see at all at all," said one fellow, after 
 he had looked first at the sky, then at the water, and finally gave 
 the matter up in despair. 
 
 "Maybe 'tis to Bottomy Bay we're goin', shure enough, God 
 help us," said an old man, who tried in vain to discover the desired 
 object. 
 
 Night soon fell, and put an end to their speculations ; but the 
 mate assured them that if they would only get out of the men's 
 way, and allow them to work, or, what was better, go to their 
 berths and sleep soundly, they would reach New York sooner than 
 they expected. 
 
 There was little or no sleep in the steerage that night, the bitter- 
 tio of their disappointment at not being able to see land when it 
 «" ^> reclaimed to them was more than they could bear. 
 
 OT.iQ talked of throwing all the ship's crew into the " say," and 
 tiikivig pocsossion of the ship themselves. 
 
 " Whi:* i would we be able to do wid her % " some one asked, after 
 they had pretty thoroughly ventilated the proposal by their own 
 peculiar mode of discussion. 
 
■■b;!^ 
 
 ." and 
 
 HOPES AND FEARS. 
 
 215 
 
 (( 
 
 I '11 engage," the proposer of it said, " we 'd go somewhere or 
 other." 
 
 " That *s not where I am goin' to," said the querist ; " I paid my 
 money to be taken to New Yark, an' indeed I 'd like to have betther 
 navigathors thin any of ye to take me there." 
 
 " What fools we wor to thrust ourselves an' our lives to a set o' 
 bloody Englishmin," was the repentant suggestion of another. " I 
 wish I was safe back agin in the owld bog of Clonbocklish, wid me 
 five-pound note that I paid for passage -money in me pocket. Sorra 
 a bit o' land one of us will iver see agin, I 'm thinkin', till they take 
 us to Africa an' sell iis for naygurs." 
 
 " There 's a pilot come on boord," said one fellow, who cleared 
 the space between deck and steerage at a bound, being too much 
 overjoyed to go through the vulgar routine of descending the ladder 
 step by step. 
 
 " A what ? " cried an old man, who started upright in his berth 
 at the first mention of the word 
 
 " A pilot ! " answered the other. 
 
 " An', whisper here," the old man replied, " what is it like at all 
 at all 1 for I heerd them outlandish sailors above, about a week ago, 
 talkin' about the likes o' that ; but meself couldn't make out their 
 manin' be any manner o' manes." 
 
 " It 's very like a man," replied the young fellow who brought 
 the intelligence, " only he 's as hairy as a goat, and has a beard on 
 him longer than the beard of any goat I ever see in all my bom 
 days." 
 
 " Bless us an' save us," a woman shrieked out, " we '11 be all ate 
 up alive. I read in a book that all tliim pilots was cannivles an' 
 robbers. Shure they couldn't be good. The bad drop is in their 
 family ever since the fust of 'em crucified our Sav'our." 
 
 " Wirrasthroo ! hadn't I the bad luck ever to set my foot on 
 boord this onlucky ship. Good Christians, pray for me ; I 'm goin* 
 to faint, I am ! — I 'm go — go — in' to " 
 
 " Och ! don't, if you can at all help it, Kitty Dawley," a droll, 
 rollicking fellow shouted. Then, after a long yawn or two, he added, 
 " Bad manners to ye, yerself an yer cannivles. 'T is snug I was in 
 the owld comer at home, be the fireside, wid a big lump of a 
 roasted spud * in my fisht, an' half-a-dozen more of 'em in the hot 
 turf ashes at my feet. I was just puttin' a bit of one of 'em into 
 my mouth whin the screech o' ye spoilt my supper, an' I found it 
 was dramin' I was." 
 
 * A kind of large potato. 
 
 >m1 
 
 i 
 
 |i ! 
 
 lii 
 
 PJ 
 
 A;\' 
 
 li: 1 
 

 k' i 
 
 216 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ti 
 
 
 
 mfl ■■ 
 
 I (in 
 
 ii, 
 
 i 
 
 
 i' 
 
 I 
 
 I < 
 
 I? 
 
 Kil 
 
 " Och ! don't be talkin' of atin' or dhrinkin'," says Kitty Dawley. 
 " Don't minchin sich a thing. Och, millia murther in Irish ! to 
 be ate alive by cannivles. Och ! Och ! T wish we wor in New 
 Yark, so I do." 
 
 " Och ! don't be afeerd o' that," the fellow answered, determin- 
 ing to torment her ; " ye may depind they '11 cook ye to yer satis- 
 facshin. The likes of 'em niver was fond o* raw mate ; an', indeed, 
 I 'm a thinkin' that you have a betther chance of escape thin a 
 grate many in the ship ; ye know the raisin yerself." 
 
 "My blessin' on ye every day ye see a pavin' stone," replied 
 Kitty, catching with avidity at the grain of consolation thrown to 
 her, and feeling, moreover, flattered to some extent by the remark, 
 as she was somewhat vain of her personal beauty, which, however, 
 had not helped her out of the ranks of the spinsterhood, although 
 she had — to use the lackadaisical style — "reckoned some forty 
 summers." 
 
 " Tell me," she continued in hope of hearing some further com- 
 pliment from the swain who appeared to have divested her of all 
 alarm ; " tell me, what makes you think ye so ? " 
 
 " Well," said the fellow drily, " I often heerd * it 's a bad 
 wind that blows nobody good ; * but, from all reports that I 've 
 heerd from the sailors, those cannivles don't ate any one that 's over 
 fifty, onless they 're terribly punished with the hunger intirely." 
 
 " Indeed, thin, Mr. Gow ! " said Kitty, with offended pride, " me 
 age need be no th rouble in life to ye. Whin I puts me * come- 
 hether ' on ye, it will be time enough for ye to make free about 
 me age ; an', indeed, SiVy 1 'd have ye to know that I could have 
 althered me condition many times over an' over agin, only for 
 refusin' them that I considhered your betthers. How do ye like 
 that?" 
 
 " Phillalew ! murther ! " cried Gow, " an' shure it 's only thryin* 
 to console ye I was. Meself didn't care a fig if they made croo- 
 beens of ye, the very first in the ship." 
 
 " Maybe they wouldn't do us any harm at all," said a poor 
 woman who had left her berth, and was engaged in trying to quiet 
 a crying child. 
 
 " Maybe not," said the man who first started the subject ; 
 " but I heerd it from one o' the sailors, an', more be token, there 's 
 the very man now comin' down the laddher with the lanthem in 
 his hand." 
 
 "Well, old fellow," said the sailor, "what did you hear me 
 saying?" 
 
 ii< 
 
« 
 
 Lear me 
 
 PIRATES AND PILOTS. 
 
 217 
 
 " I heerd ye sayin' that them pilots robs an' murders an' kills 
 people, an' ates 'em into the bargain." 
 
 " No, spoony ! you tacked the eating part of the business to it 
 yourself, by a little flight of imagination ; but are you sure you 
 heard me say that pilots are guilty of those things i '"' 
 
 " Cartainly I did." 
 
 " Well done, land-lubber ! Don't you think it was about ' pirates ' 
 we were talking 1 " 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! " repeated the man. " "Where 's the differ 1 " 
 
 "The differ^" said the sailor, " is here. Thoi pilot comes on board 
 to conduct us safely into the river or harbour to which we are going. 
 Pirates always come to rob people, and frequently murder them too. 
 But have you a twin brother ? " 
 
 "No, indeed, thin, I haven't." 
 
 "What a pity? I'd like to exhibit you both in New York. 
 Now, let me tell you that you will be there before to-morrow 
 night. Good-night to you all. " 
 
 "Good-night, Mr. Sailor," they all shouted. "You're the best 
 newsman we 've heerd or seen for many a day." 
 
 " Glory be to the great God above," some ejaculated. " Amin," 
 others responded, "an' to His blessed Mother, an' all the holy 
 angels an' saints." 
 
 " Shure I knew very well we 'd all cum safe," another added. 
 "Hadn't we more than a dozen scapulars o' the blessed Virgin 
 Mary aboord ? ' Hail Mary, full o' grace j blessed art thou among 
 women.' " 
 
 " Won't I have a jolly fuddle ? " was roared out by a fellow 
 whose idea of happiness was very much regulated by the facility 
 with which whisky could be procured. "I wondher if there's 
 any whisky there? Och, an' sure there must be, seein' 'tis a 
 Christhun country." 
 
 " Plinty o' that same, by all accounts," another man replied from 
 the opposite berth ; " an' chape, too. Foxy Jem Kavanagh towld 
 me that time whin he kem home from 'Meriky to take out his owld 
 father an' mother, that it was only two Inglish shillin's a gallon, 
 that is sixpence a quart, only 't is not so sthrong as our own. But 
 what 's the differ o' that whin a fellow can get ' as drunk as a lord * 
 for threepence^ an* * as drunk as a piper ' for sixpence ? " 
 
 " Chape enough, in all couscience," said the former speaker — 
 an opinion in which the others fully coincided, — adding, " it used 
 always cost me a shillin' to get ''uproarious^ an' eighteenpence 
 before I was ^glorious' 
 
 ) » 
 
 
 
 "I 
 
 i. if' 
 
 .i,i, 
 
 'f 
 
 •f 
 
 1 1 
 
 i; I 
 
 ! 1 
 
 !< 
 
 
 . :! 
 
 1 
 
 
 i.\ri 
 
 
Hi* 
 
 1 I 
 
 "i 
 
 218 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 !' ( 
 
 There was very little sleep obtained on board that night either, 
 the people were so much excited by the idea of being on land once 
 more, that that thought banished almost every other from their 
 minds. 
 
 Some were of opinion that America must be a very large place 
 to hol4 all the people who had gone to it from their part of the 
 country, in addition to its own population, while others, true to 
 their national instincts, began to build castles in the air ; and it 
 was not long before they enlightened each other on their intentions 
 and expectations of fortunes looming in the distance. 
 
 "What do you intind to be whin ye get to Ameriky, Larry 
 Scanlan?" was an inquiry put to a young fellow of the above 
 name, who was known for priding himself on his good looks. 
 " Will ye go to work like a dacent boy an' airne yer livin' honest, 
 or will ye go visitin' among yer friends, livin' * over here or yondher 
 there,* where the tinkers feeds their bosses, as ye wor always ac- 
 customed to do ] " 
 
 "Now, Bill Mehegan, lay* me alone for work," said the 
 person spoken to. " That I mightn't sin if there 's much to be 
 got for work anywhere. I might, to be shure, hire for a few 
 days now an' thin rayther thin starve; but, I declare, I niver 
 see any one who didn't rise out o' work as soon as iver he got 
 the chance, except one we used to call Tom Coffey — he was a 
 stonemason be thrade — but whin an uncle of his died (him that 
 wint for a sojer in the Aisht India Company), an' left him a 
 great forthin', he gev up work for a time, but his health gev way, 
 an' the docthors made him take to it agin for exercise, or they said 
 he 'd be sure to die too. For me own part, I 'd rayther be a judge, 
 or a curnel, or a corporal, or even a major, than to have much to 
 do with work." 
 
 " An' whisper here, avourneen, how do ye expect to get all that 
 good luck in a hurry ? Faiks, maybe ye have Fortunatus's wishin'- 
 cap or purse that our little Nelly used to read about in a book that 
 her Aunt Biddy sent her onst upon a time." 
 
 "Och, agra," the expectant judge answered; "there's as 
 good fish in the say as iver was cotch. There was a chap wint 
 to school wid me be the name o' Thigue Tobin, son of owld 
 Mark at the mills of Aghamilla. Thigue niver done a sthroke 
 o' work in his life, an' whin he grew up he couldn't be got to 
 do anything, bein* ashamed of his owld schoolfellows that was 
 all doctors, an' 'torneys, an' gangers, an' the like. He wint to 
 
 *Let. 
 
 w 
 
 St( 
 
MAJOR TOBIN AND THE " WIDDEE. 
 
 219 
 
 sither, 
 
 I once 
 
 their 
 
 ! place 
 of the 
 rue to 
 and it 
 $ntions 
 
 Larry- 
 above 
 looks. 
 
 honest, 
 
 ondher 
 
 ays ac- 
 
 dd the 
 1 to be 
 
 a few 
 ; niver 
 
 he got 
 
 was a 
 im that 
 
 hiin a 
 iv way, 
 ley said 
 a judge, 
 much to 
 
 all that 
 wishin'- 
 ook that 
 
 ;re 's as 
 ap wint 
 of owld 
 
 sthroke 
 » got to 
 ;hat was 
 
 wint to 
 
 'Meiiky about seven years agone, an' there niver was a word heerd 
 from him for about three years, an' thin he wrote home a long 
 account of himself." 
 
 " An' tell me," the other replied, " what luck did he rise to ? " 
 
 " Plinty o' that same, thin. He was Major Tobin whin he wrote. 
 The way he managed was this : he pelted about the Northern 
 States for about half a year, an' supported himself be card-playin'. 
 Och, they used to say that he could colour the cards in yer hand, an' 
 change 'em to anything he liked. He didn't like the cowld winters 
 in the North, so off South he goes, an' if he did, he wasn't long 
 without gettin' employ mint that shooted him to a * T.' There was 
 a powerful rich widdee that had ever so many naygurs, all slaves." 
 
 " Slaves ! " his wondering auditor asked ; " what 's that at all 1 " 
 
 "Slaves," the narrator continued, "is black people that aint white 
 nor right Christhuns like us. The white people own 'em, an' buy 
 'em, an' sell 'em, just, for all the world, as they do bosses ; and 
 they 're so lazy there must be a man afther 'em wid a whip in his 
 hand all day long, to make 'em work, or they wouldn't do a sthroke 
 from mornin' till night." 
 
 " Small blame to 'em for that same," said Mehegan, " whin they 
 gets no pay for it." 
 
 " Well," Scanlan proceeded, " Thigue hired with the widdee to 
 dhrive her naygurs, an' 'tis himself could take a piece o' the flesh 
 out with every crack o' the thong. She niver had any one could 
 get so much work out of 'em as he could ; an', to make me story 
 short, she married him, an' he 's one o' the richest fellows now in 
 all the counthry. 
 
 " Whin he wrote home, he charged his father to write * Major 
 Thomas Tobin, Esq.,' on the letther. ' Don't for yer life,' says he, 
 'put "Thade" on it, as ye did on several letthersthat kem afther me, 
 which I didn't relase from the post-oflBce. A pretty kittle o' fish it 
 would be,' sez he, 'for Mrs. Tobin to see on a letther " Thigue " or 
 "Thade," instead of "Thomas Tobin, Esq.," or "Major Tobin," as 
 I am usually called here.' " 
 
 " An' do you expect to do as well as the major 1 " said Mehegan. 
 
 " Faix I do, an' betther, for I 'm a far likelier fellow to look at 
 than he is, not bekase I say it meself, but it 's thrue though." 
 
 " An*, whisper agin, do ye think the widdee an' the naygurs is 
 waitin' for ye in the South, all ready to be married or whipt jist 
 whin ye arrive 1 " 
 
 "O thin, if it 's jokin' ye are, ye may joke away, but ye have me 
 story." 
 
 ' .11 
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 I 
 
 t» 
 
 i 
 
 I', I I 
 
 W ': ■ilM 
 
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220 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I . r 
 
 " Thankee for the story," said Mehegan ; " an' as one good turn 
 desarves another, I '11 tell yov. a story if ye '11 listen to it." 
 
 " Wid all my heart, 't will help to pass the night over." 
 
 " Wanst upon a time, thin, there was two boys lyin' downondher 
 a plum-three, an' the plums wor ripe at the same time. They wor 
 both gazin' up at the plums with their mouths open, whin a fine 
 ripe plum fell into the mouth of one of 'em. "Whin he swallyed it 
 he sez to the tother, * What a misforthinit fool you are,' sez he, 
 * that couldn't do the likes o* that.* 
 
 "*0h,' sez the tother, "tis bekase you wor in a lucky place. 
 Let me lie there,* sez he, ' an' I '11 be bound I '11 do the same thing,' 
 sez he. * Very well,* sez the fellow that ketcht the plum, ' come 
 here if ye like.' 
 
 " At that the chap wint there, an' stretched his mouth open, but 
 if he remained there till 'Tib's eve,' that 's nayther afore Christmas 
 nor afther it, sorra a plum would drop into his mouth. Now, if 
 ye '11 be advised be me, don't go from post to pillar waitin' for ' luck ' 
 to give ye a forthin, but take yer coat off an' fall to work like a m^an, 
 an' maybe God would bless your work." 
 
 The advice of Mehegan was very good, but, like a vast deal of 
 the same sort, was unheeded by him to whom it was addressed, who 
 seemed to fancy that because Thigue Tobin, who was not as good- 
 looking in his estimation as himself, fell in for a rich \vidow with two 
 hundred '* naygurs," he must certainly do as well, or even better. 
 
 " What are you goin* to do with yerself an' yer five fatherless 
 childher in 'Meriky ? " said an old woman to a younger one, who 
 had not lain down during the night, but nursed her sleeping 
 baby, and watched the other four by the dim light of the steerage 
 lamp. 
 
 " There 's good times afore us, I hope, an' God's blessin' into the 
 bargain, wid the assistance of Holy Mary," the woman replied, to 
 whom the foregoing words were addressed. '• T.[y childher have a 
 good father, thank God, but he is in 'Meril; y ufore us, an', will be 
 waitin' for us, 1 hope, whin we get to New Yark." 
 
 "Why didn't he come home for ye an' help ye to bring out the 
 family ? " the other asked. 
 
 "Indeed, bekase he couldn't," replied the poor woman. 
 " He left home eighteen months ago, half a year afore little 
 Paddy was born, an' got work out in the west on a railroad 
 that they 're makin' there. He 's had constant imploymint iver 
 since, an' sint me home money ivery month or two, besides savin' 
 to bring us all out to him. I think he 's done very well, 
 
 enough 
 
)d turn 
 
 ondher 
 ley "wor 
 . a fine 
 Jlyed it 
 sez he, 
 
 j^ place. 
 B thing,' 
 I, ' come 
 
 pen, but 
 hristmas 
 Now, if 
 3r ' luck ' 
 :e a man, 
 
 b deal of 
 ssed, who 
 , as good- 
 with two 
 1 better, 
 therless 
 one, who 
 sleeping 
 steerage 
 
 into the 
 eplied, to 
 er have a 
 a', will be 
 
 ig out the 
 
 woman, 
 fore little 
 
 railroad 
 mint iver 
 Ides savin' 
 [very well, 
 
 ta 
 
 LONG-LOOKED FOR COME AT LAST. 
 
 221 
 
 an' it was me advice to him to stay where he was, an' not lose four 
 or five months' work by comin' for us, an' lose his imployraint be- 
 sides. It '11 be enough for him to come to New Yark to meet us, 
 an' thin Paddy '11 see his daddy for the first time. You mill, mo 
 darlint " (addressing the baby), "an' 'tis himself is the good daddy 
 to all of ye." 
 
 The longest night must give place to the light of morning, and so 
 did that weary night — weary to those that watched its lengthened 
 watches, as the bell of the " Jupiter " tolled off each in its turn. 
 
 When the first grey streaks of morning appeared a man rushed 
 down with the news that they were within a few perches of land, 
 and that they could see light in the " windees " of some cottages 
 as the vessel sailed past. 
 
 Toilet duties were somewhat neglected in the eager desire to be- 
 hold once more the sight of land — a sight which numbers feared 
 ever realizing. 
 
 A bright and beautiful day began to d-^wn on them, reveal- 
 ing the trees on Long Island in all the variety of hue which 
 American foliage presents, particularly when summer fades into 
 autumn. 
 
 " What place is that ? " one of the passengers eagerly demanded 
 of a sailor. 
 
 " That is Long Island," the sailor answered. The interrogator 
 rushed impetuously between decks on hearing the answer. 
 
 " What 's amiss now, James ? " said an aged man, seeing dismay 
 pictured on his countenance. 
 
 "We've come wrong altogether," he answered in despairing 
 accents. 
 
 "Wrong?" said the old man. "Don't be the first to bring us 
 bad news, now that our hearts are so light an' happy. Maybe ye 
 made a mistake 1 " 
 
 " No, I didn't," the young man replied. " I wouldn't tell a 
 He about it. I axed one o' the sailors just now what was the 
 name o' the place we were passin', and he said it was ' th«j wrong 
 island.'" 
 
 " Is that so, Tom Donoghue 1 " the old man asked of a young 
 fellow who came down whistling " Tattered Jack Welsh," and 
 stopped at the foot of the ladder to dance to his own music. 
 
 "What? "Tom asked. 
 
 " That we 've come to * the wrong island,' " the old man said, 
 " this boy here sez one of the sailors told him so." (An Irishman 
 is a "boy" at sixty.) 
 
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 222 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 " No," said the young man, " he axed him the name of a place 
 that we passed to the right of us, an' he said it was ' Long Island,' 
 an' that w * "11 be in New Yark very soon now ; that is, if we can 
 get a steamer to tow us up to the city." 
 
 " Thanks be to God above," said the old man. " I declare I was 
 frikened when this boy towlt me we wor wrong. See what it is 
 to take up a wrong manin' out of anything. We ought to wait 
 an' be shure afore we spake. We might do a dale o' harm be 
 risin' a false report. I know," he said, turning to the lad whose 
 innocent mistake had spread considerable dismay in a short time, 
 " I know this lad didn't intind to tell a lie, but it might turn out 
 in some cases to be as bad." 
 
 Very soon a steamer was seen to bear down on them, growing 
 more distinct eveiy moment, until she came within speaking 
 distance. 
 
 The speaking trumpets of the two captainswere soon in requisition, 
 chaffering about the fee for towing the " Jupiter " up to the quay. 
 
 The captain of the sailing vessel lauglied at the sum demanded 
 by the captain of the steamer, offering a sum which the other 
 treated with the most sovereign contempt, swearing most vehem- 
 ently that he never could have commanded a vessel before, or he 
 would not insult him by snch an offer. 
 
 The captain of the " Jupiter " would not parley, though several 
 times requested by the other to make a higher offer. 
 
 The captain of the steamer flew into high dudgeon, affecting to 
 steam away in the contrary direction ; but, finding it impossible 
 to force the " stupid Englishman " to a higher notch, he very good- 
 humouredly turned about, took the ship in tow, and steamed away 
 for the city. 
 
 Joy, to the pitch of intoxication, now reigned throughout the 
 group, as we may appropriately style the steerage passengers of 
 that ship, for they were all as one. 
 
 Women who had scolded each other kissed and "made friends." 
 Men who had fought about trifles shook hands and " made it up," 
 each declaring that himself, and only he, was to blame, and the 
 other as stoutly denying that there was any blame to be attached 
 to any but to himself. 
 
 There was nothing eaten by any of them that morning. Joy 
 had taken away their appetites. 
 
 Children mumbled dry biscuit, or whatever else could be eaten 
 without the trouble of cooking; but there was nothing cooked 
 among them that day. 
 
-^My. yr »l M | g «^ 
 
 , place 
 sland,' 
 we can 
 
 ! I was 
 
 it it is 
 to wait 
 irm be 
 [ whose 
 t time, 
 urn out 
 
 p-owing 
 peaking 
 
 iiisition, 
 e quay, 
 smanded 
 le other 
 ; vehem- 
 :e, or he 
 
 several 
 
 cting to 
 possible 
 
 !ry 
 
 20od- 
 
 ecl away 
 
 lOut the 
 nsjers of 
 
 friends." 
 e it up," 
 and the 
 ittached 
 
 »g- 
 
 Joy 
 
 be eaten 
 cooked 
 
 THE EMIGRANTS PREPARING TO LAND. 
 
 223 
 
 There was a tremendous packing and cording of boxes ; men 
 jumping on the lids in order to make the refractory contents lie 
 close, and to enable the owners to lock them. Then there was 
 such a throwing overboard of things which they expected to be 
 an incumbrance rather than a benefit on land, that the waters, 
 as far behind the vessel as the eye could tra^e, seemed to be strewn 
 with wreck. 
 
 There were empty fiour-barrels and broken band-boxes ; and 
 crushed hats ; and flattened bonnets ; and shirts, minus tails and 
 sleeves ; and pantaloons, minus the legs ; and (Paddy O'Gander's 
 definition of " nothing ") " stockings without legs or feet," 
 remmding the deponent, who chronicles those particulars, of the 
 Greek grammar of one of his quondam school-fellows, which — 
 to use the o^vner's excuse for not being able to conjugate a Greek 
 verb — had " neither cover nor leaves." 
 
 Hours before reaching moorings, many brought their boxes on 
 deck, and stood beside them, dressed in their " best bibs and 
 tuckers," ready to spring on shore at the first intimation of their 
 arrival thereat. 
 
 Luckily for them, the passage had been very healthy, so that 
 they had not to perform quarantine. 
 
 As the weatlier had been clear, and the appearance cf the vessel 
 telegraphed on to New York, great numbers of i)ersons i)ut off" in 
 craft of almost every size and rig, in order to anticipate the vessel's 
 arrival at the quey by meetmg her in the river. 
 
 First came re^ enue officers, whose business was to see the ship's 
 papers, and to possess themselves of every information necessary 
 to convhice thorn that there were no contraband articles on board. 
 
 Having satisfied themselves with respect to the ship, they pro- 
 ceeded to make search among the baggage of the passengers. 
 That of the cabin passengers was ilie first to come under scrutiny. 
 Trunks and packages, chests, pucking-boxes, band-boxes, and boxes 
 of every other species of tlie genus " box" had to be uncor d, 
 unlocked, unstrapped, or otherv ise opened, as the case i.-.i^' *} 
 require ; and many were the articles contained therein on which 
 the owners had to pay duti/. 
 
 Those which did not contain anything thus chargeable were 
 marked on the outside by the inspecting officer with a piece of 
 chalk, and the owner was left at liberty to take them away 
 Avithout paying any duty. Others did not fare so well, and were 
 obliged to go through the routine of obtaining })ossess'oii of their 
 goods by paying the duty charged thereon at the Cu loi ^-houae, 
 
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 I) 
 
224 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 obtaining 
 
 the collector's order before the goods cciild be 
 
 % 
 
 n < 
 
 t 4 
 
 ard 
 removed. 
 
 The cabin passengers, being generally persons of information and 
 intelligence, submitted to the unpleasantness of search without a 
 murmur, and thereby saved themselves and the officers a great 
 deal of annoyance and waste of time. With a gi-eat many it was 
 a mere matter of form, the officers being ready to take the word of 
 the respective parties as to the contents of the various packages. 
 
 The minister's books were all passed /ree, on his simple 
 declaration that he was a minister of the Gospel, and that the 
 books belonged to his library, and were tc be used for his own 
 private f^tudy only. 
 
 It was among the steerage passengers that some rich scenes 
 were enacted in connection with the matter of search. 
 
 Several were very saucy, and declared that if the officei-s wanted 
 to open the parcels or boxes, they might do it themselves. Others 
 appeared exceedingly anxious to have their boxes searched, in 
 order to have the trouble over. 
 
 One fellow vowed that he had left Ireland because he heard that 
 America was a free country, where there were neither " gaugers,* 
 nor sogers, nor peelers,t an' where all men are aikill;" and 
 
 bekase he considhered himself "as good as the best," nobody 
 should sarch Ms luggage. That it was a bad beginnin' for 
 American liberty and indepindence to have the *^ gaugers" 
 knockin' poor people's things about afore they put their feet on 
 the soil ; and that, if further experience of liberty should be like 
 the commencemint, he might as well have staid where he was, in 
 " owld Ireland." 
 
 After them came two or three newspaper reporters, who 
 immediately went to work to ascertain all about the passengers, 
 and their objects in view with regard to their visit to " the land of 
 the brave." The names of all the cabin passengers were taken 
 down, many of whom never read their own names in print until 
 the intelligence of their arrival in New York stared them in the 
 face, as matter of newspaper information that evening, as soon as 
 they had taken up temporary lodgings, and while waiting to par- 
 take of their first refreshments on shore. 
 
 Then came a small steamer, freighted with parties who had 
 run down to the quays on receiving intelligence of the vessel's 
 approach, and were anxious to forestal time by meeting their 
 
 * A term applied to any offioer connected with the revenue of exvloe. 
 t iPolicemen. 
 
>ods ccald be 
 
 formation and 
 rch without a 
 flficers a great 
 b many it was 
 £6 tiie word of 
 IS packages, 
 n his simple 
 and that the 
 i for his own 
 
 le rich scenes 
 
 1. 
 
 )tficei*s wanted 
 
 lelves. Others 
 
 3 searched, in 
 
 ) he heard that 
 tier "gaugers,* 
 
 aikill ; " and 
 best," nobody 
 
 beginnin' for 
 lie '■^gaugers" 
 
 their feet on 
 ?hould be like 
 Bre he was, in 
 
 eporters, who 
 he passengers, 
 o " the land of 
 rs were taken 
 in print until 
 jd them in the 
 ing, as soon as 
 vaiting to par- 
 
 rties who had 
 of the vessel's 
 meeting their 
 
 of exvloe. 
 
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A SENSIBLE AGREEMENT. 
 
 225 
 
 
 v. 
 
 -' 
 
 friends some distance down the river. These last came close along- 
 side and steamed up the river in company with the "Jupiter" 
 for some distance, as the captain would not allow any to come on 
 board except those who recognised their friends, or were recognised 
 by them. 
 
 This was a very wise precaution, in order to prevent over- 
 crowding of the deck. 
 
 As soon as the little steamer was within hailing distance of 
 the ship, a number of those on board of her shouted out at the 
 top of their voices some questions respecting their particular 
 friends. The result of this was, that as many on board shouted 
 back something equally loud and equally unintelligible. 
 
 When those who had the weakest lungs had bawled till they 
 were hoarse without eliciting any information, the din and con- 
 fusion began to subside a little. 
 
 It was then agi'eed by the parties on board the steamer that 
 one of theii' number, who proved himself tha most powerful in 
 the matter of lungs, should be allowed to inquire, first for his own 
 friends, and then to perform the work of " crier " for others not so 
 gifted as himself. 
 
 Mounting on the head of a cask, and placing a hand at each 
 side of his mouth to prevent any of the sound from travelling 
 otherwise than straight forward, he shouted, " Have ye a girl of 
 the name of Kitty Mullowney, wid a red patch on aich side of hei' 
 face, from the parish of Skull, on boord % If ye have, tell her that 
 her brother Darby is here." 
 
 "Kit MuUov/ney from the parish o' Skull," was taken and 
 echoed by a hundred voices, and, " Here I am, who wants me % 
 What are yez all callin' me for?" was roared by Kitty, in answer 
 to the call. 
 
 " There's your brother Darby outside in a steamer lookin' for ye." 
 
 "Show him to me. Where is he? Let me set eyes on him. 
 Holy Mary, take me to him," were some of Kitty's outbursts of 
 aifection at hearing of her " own brother Darby." 
 
 To show him to Kitty was not so easy a matter, in consequence 
 of the tallest and stoutest of the men having taken their positions 
 all along the bulwark of the vessel at the side on which Kitty's 
 "own brother Darby" was exhibiting his symmetry of limb, 
 poised on the head of a cask on board the steamer. 
 
 Kitty, not being a girl of very bulky proportions, was soon set 
 at rest ta to her desire of seeing Darby by a powerful fellow, who, 
 in a fit 01 rough gallantry, seized her in his arms and lifted her 
 
 18 
 
 
 4l 
 
 M ti, 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 ).'• 
 
 M 
 
226 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 i • ! 
 
 ]¥■ 
 
 li 
 
 :lt, , 
 
 11 
 
 like a child sufficiently high to behold the object of her anxious 
 regard. 
 
 As soon as she perceived him, she shouted, " Darby ! Darby! 
 did I think I 'd iver set me two lookin' eyes on ye agin in this 
 world 'i Why don't ye come on boord 1 Did I iver think I 'd 
 have the luck to see ye agin 1 Did I ? Did I ? " 
 
 ** There now," said her gallant, after he had held her aloft for 
 five or ten minutes, " I nursed ye later thin yer mother did any- 
 how." 
 
 After Darby had inquired for some dozen or more, whose friends 
 were expecting their arrival, and who, with himself, were on board 
 the steamer, permission was given them to join their friends on 
 board the "Jupiter." 
 
 Of this they were but a short time in availing themselves. 
 
 Children and fathers, in some instances, now saw each other 
 for the first time. Sister embraced sister, brother shook hands 
 with brother, and friend wHh friend. Nearly all who came on 
 board brought with them laiuoies which they knew would be 
 relished by their friends after a passage by sea, during which 
 poor emigrants taste little else than salted provisions. And 
 many, who had no near relative on board, came with others 
 merely from a longing desire to see some one from the "owld 
 sod," in doing which they sometimes recognise an old friend, 
 and it has happened that old enemies have met and embraced 
 each other, as if they never had a misunderstanding. 
 
 No sooner could a footing be secured on board by these visitors 
 than, in many instances, the first thing produced by them would 
 be a bottle of whisky, wherewith to regale and refresh their 
 newly-found friends. 
 
 "Here now," one would say, "don't be afeerd to take a good 
 long pull at this. 'Tis as wake as wather in a manner. That I 
 mightn't sin, but Father Mat * might take a skinful ov it widout 
 breakin' the pledge." 
 
 The permission given to those who had recognised friends to 
 board the "Jupiter," was taken advantage of by others on the 
 steamer, who had come oft' to the ship for very different purposes. 
 
 Of these, there were some who owned low lodging-houses, to 
 which they used every endeavour to inveigle as many of the 
 emigrants as they could, professing to give board and lodging for 
 merely nominal prices. 
 
 Others, again, made it their business to warn the passengers of 
 
 * Mr. Mathew, the Irish Apostle of Temperance, was then in New York. 
 
LAND SHARKS. 
 
 227 
 
 mxious 
 
 Darby ^. 
 
 in this 
 
 .ink I 'd 
 
 aloft for 
 did any- 
 
 e friends 
 on board 
 fiends on 
 
 (res. 
 
 sLcb other 
 )ok hands 
 , came on 
 would be 
 inor which 
 ons. And 
 ith others 
 the " owld 
 Id friend, 
 embraced 
 
 lese visitors 
 bhem wovild 
 )fresh their 
 
 take a good 
 
 ler. That I 
 
 )v it widout 
 
 Id friends to 
 ]ihers on the 
 it purposes, 
 ig-houses, to 
 lany of the 
 lodging for 
 
 [passengers of 
 New York. 
 
 such traps as those parties laid for them by professedly low 
 prices, stating that they would probably make some ruinous 
 charge for storage of whatever baggage the poor people might 
 have with them, or possibly plunder the contents thereof. 
 
 Not a few were assiduous to sell railroad and steamboat tickets 
 to any place within the Union, and many places without it, at 
 prices a himdred per cent, lower, as they stated, than the parties 
 could obtain them by going to the respective offices and obtaining 
 tickets in the usual way. 
 
 Strange as it may appear to the reader, there are swarms of 
 fellows who live, for a time at least, by victimising emigrants in 
 this way. They rent an office, make it appear as imposing out- 
 wardly as possible. The principals are their own clerks, as a 
 matter of course. 
 
 They send an agent, one of themselves, to watch an emigrant 
 vessel, and board her as far down the river as possible. 
 
 He is duly bedizened with all the indispensables of American 
 finery. His cheeks are as plain and smooth as if a planing- 
 machine had passed over them. He wears a perfect "duck of 
 an imperial" on his nether b'n, or a fierce moustache on the 
 upper ; if, indeed, he is not ornamented with both. He has " any 
 amount " of " Brummagem " jewellery about his precious person. 
 If not gold, they are yellow, and that answers his purpose equally 
 well. He wears a yellow watch, a yellow chain, a yellow pin in 
 his neck-cloth, with a huge piece of coloured glass as big as a 
 marble for its head, yellow shirt-studs, yellow sleeve-buttons, and 
 a yellow guard-chain, wreathed in fantastic style over the front of 
 his vest, so as to look, in his own estimation at least, " fit for 
 Broadway" or, as we would express it, " Broad Street." 
 
 He selects his man out of the crowd of passengers. These 
 fellows are great physiognomists, and most imperturbably cool in 
 doing business. 
 
 Between him and the person of his selection something 
 like the following conversation may be supposed to take 
 place : — 
 
 Swell. — "How are you all on board? Have you had a good 
 passage % " 
 
 Emigrant. — " Wisha, yes, indeed, plase yer Majesty; but I 
 declare we're tired enough of it, so we are." 
 
 Swell. — "Oh, well, it is all over now, I guess. You have 
 come to a fine, free country, where we are all ready to help you. 
 There is no queen here to trample you under her feet — no aris- 
 
 
 •'^^'il 
 
 ill 
 
 I i 
 
 y 
 

 228 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ■i' 
 
 !M 
 
 m 
 
 ii ( 
 
 »^ 
 
 I I 
 
 tocracy to crush your rising hopes, and compel you to work for 
 fourpence a-day. We 're all alike here," holding out his hand for 
 Paddy to shake. 
 
 The swell has been all this time puffing a cigar. He pulls out 
 his case, and says, " Take one." 
 
 "Well, thin, Sir! 'tis meself that don't know how to shmoke 
 thim things, though I sometimes seen young gintlemin shmoke 
 thim at home, conthraiiy to their parents' wishes. If yer honour's 
 riverence had a bit o' baccy, it would be more answerable for a 
 poor man like me." 
 
 Swell. — " I have that too," pulling a piece out of his pocket. 
 
 Pat cuts some to put into his pipe, and the conversation goes 
 on : — 
 
 " Have you been in America before 1 " 
 
 Emigrant. — " No, Sir ; I 'm quite a shtranger here." 
 
 Swell. — " Humph ! I guess you had better look sharp. There 
 are fellows here who would pick your eyes out for money. Where 
 are you going to 1 " 
 
 Emigrant. — " Well, Sir ! meself don't know. Wheriver I can 
 get a good job o' work, I 'd accept of it." 
 
 Swell. — "You have no business hanging about here, spending 
 your means. You ought to go West at once. They will rob you 
 in the lodging-houses, and the fellows at the steamers and railways 
 will rob you right and left. Have you any friends in this 
 country? " 
 
 Emigrant. — "Indeed, thin, not many. There were four boys 
 from our place kem away a month afore we did. If we could find 
 thim out, they might be of some use to us." 
 
 Swell. — " What are their names ? " 
 
 Emigrant. — " One of 'em. Sir, was Bill Sweeny, an' another was 
 Tim Mulligan an' his brother, an* another was Larry Whelan." 
 
 Swell. — " "Vyhat sort of chaps were they 1 " 
 
 The dupe describes them one by one. 
 
 " I know them all. It was I sent them West, to a friend of 
 mine who wants three thousand labourers on a railway. He pays 
 two dollars a-day and lodgings." 
 
 Emigrant. — " How much is that, Sir 1 I declare that 's the 
 queerest money I iver heerd of in all me life." 
 
 Swell. — "Two dollars are about eight shillings of your old- 
 country money. Your friend, poor BUI Sweeny, was so grateful 
 to me, that he sent me a letter last week, thanking me for my 
 kindness \ and the other men all desired him to remember them 
 
mmam 
 
 1 
 
 VICE UNDER THE MASK OF VIRTUE. 
 
 229 
 
 rork for 
 land for 
 
 pulls out 
 
 ) shmoke 
 : shmoke 
 honour's 
 ble for a 
 
 ocket. 
 ation goes 
 
 IP- 
 
 There 
 Where 
 
 river I can 
 
 ng 
 
 , spendi 
 
 ill rob you 
 
 nd railways 
 
 ads in this 
 
 four boys 
 ^e could find 
 
 e 
 
 another was 
 Whelan." 
 
 a friend of 
 . He pays 
 
 :e that's the 
 
 of your ©Id- 
 as so grateful 
 ig me for my 
 member them 
 
 to me. They were a jolly set of fellows. Indeed, I got a passage 
 for each of them out into Illinois, for half-price, by an emigi'ant 
 train. I went with them to the office, and got the manager to 
 reduce the fare for every one of them." 
 
 Emigrant. — " "Well to be shure ! I declare, Sir, it was well for 
 thim to meet with such a friend. I wish I was in such good luck, 
 but — it isn't * afore me,' nor the likes o* me." * 
 
 Swell. — " Well, I '11 tell you what it is. I have nothing to do 
 but to amuse myself, and I may as well be doing some good for my 
 fellow-creatures as idling about." (Then in a half whisper) — " I 
 suppose, of course, you are a Catholic." 
 
 Emigrant. — "With the help o' God an' His Blessed Mother, I 
 am. Sir ; an owworthy mimber o' that Church." 
 
 Swell. — " So I thought. You are all right here. When you get 
 up the river a little farther, two fellows will come on board dressed 
 like priests, and looking so saintly. They will want you to go with 
 them, promising to get you into comfortable quarters, and take 
 care of you. I warn you against them. They are nothing but 
 pickpockets. I had them both imprisoned for twelve months for 
 robbing emigrants. They served their time out, and were dis- 
 charged about a month ago. Stop ! Here are the very fellows 
 just alongside. Don't exchange words with them at all, or they 
 will ruin you." 
 
 Emigrant. — " An' dear me. Sir, is there any honest place at all, 
 where a poor man could get his head in, an' not be robbed 
 intirely 1 " 
 
 Swell. — " Certainly there are, if you knew them. Stay now, I 
 saw one, a very honest fellow and an Irishman too, a few minutes 
 back. See, there he is. Shall I call him? Halloo, Coffey, or 
 whatever your name is. Here is a poor fellow who has a family 
 and requires a cheap, decent place to lodge in, until he can go 
 West. Could you take him in ? " 
 
 Coffey — who intends to do "that same" in a double sense — 
 answers in the affirmative. 
 
 The gentleman, who is in reality one of the proprietors of the 
 lodging-house which Coffey superintends as " active " partner, sees 
 that he has hooked his game ; tells Coffey, " This poor fellow wants 
 to get work out West, and if you bring him down to my boarding- 
 house in the morning, I will go with him and try to get his fare 
 reduced." 
 
 * Meaning, it was not so fated or decreed for me. The low Irish are stem 
 fatalists, as before noticed. 
 
 iMJ, 
 
 > :! 
 
 i I 
 
 .H 
 
 y 
 
'■^1 . 
 
 230 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 " Long may yer honour live," the poor silly emigrant prays, for 
 the scoundrel who is thus prayed for is about to cast him and his 
 family penniless on the world. 
 
 One of the ways in which they manage is the following : — 
 
 Early the next morning the poor fellow was escorted to where 
 his newly-found friend waited for him. 
 
 He was soon conducted to an office where were a number of 
 clerks, professedly; but in reality swindlers; all of them con- 
 federates with the one already mentioned, and who was now his 
 escort. 
 
 This "friend " very feelingly represented his case as one that 
 was deserving a reduction in the fares, and that he would take 
 it as a favour done to himself, if kindness were shown in the 
 matter. 
 
 The head-clerk remonstrated very strongly against it, as they had 
 granted him a similar favour for four or five families only a few 
 weeks before ; but at last reluctantly consented, if his friend would 
 pledge himself never to interfere in the like manner again. 
 
 The requisite number of tickets were then paid for for the emi- 
 grant's family out to Illinois, and a recommendatory letter given 
 to the emigrant, which was to obtain for him immediate work at 
 a scale of remuneration which appeared fabulous to the poor man, 
 and nearly set him beside himself. 
 
 The tickets professed to entitle the holders to a passage to the 
 place of destination, by a variety of modes of conveyance. After 
 riding about two hundred miles on the railway, they were then to 
 embark on board a steamer for two or three hundred miles further, 
 then to take the " Humbug and Swindle Railroad " until they 
 reached the realization of their expectations. Good tickets were 
 procured for them for about two hundred miles to the place at 
 which they were to take another mode of conveyance. They were 
 told that they had nothing to do but go on board the steamer, or 
 the cars, as the case might be, and, when asked to show their tickets, 
 to hand the envelope with its enclosures to the conductor, who would 
 make all right. 
 
 A little while after leaving New York, the conductor went round, 
 demanded the tickets, and had the envelope handed to him, accord- 
 ing to instructions. He selected the tickets entitling the parties to 
 travel a certain distance on that line, and handed the remainder 
 back to the owners. 
 
 This conductor could not, or would not, give them any infor- 
 mation as to how they were to proceed after leaving the train in 
 
THE POOR VICTIMS OF RASCALITY. 
 
 231 
 
 rays 
 
 for 
 
 and his 
 
 to where 
 
 urnber of 
 lem con- 
 now his 
 
 one that 
 oiild take 
 rn in the 
 
 3 they had 
 ,nly a few 
 end would 
 in. 
 
 5r the emi- 
 
 3tter given 
 
 lie work at 
 
 poor man, 
 
 ;sage to the 
 ice. After 
 ere then to 
 es further, 
 until they 
 ickets were 
 the place at 
 They were 
 steamer, or 
 heir tickets, 
 , who would 
 
 went round, 
 him, accord- 
 ,he parties to 
 e remainder 
 
 n any infor- 
 the train in 
 
 which they were then travelling. On arriving at the station to 
 which those tickets freed them, and getting on board the steamer 
 to which they were directed, they found out after they had been a 
 couple of hours sailing, that the tickets which professed to free 
 them for the remainder of the distance were utterly valueless, 
 being merely orders on the steamboat company to pass such and 
 such persons, and charge passage to their obedient servants, 
 " Fleece 'em & Co." The poor dupes of this villainy were told, 
 on presenting those worthless papers, that unless they could pay, 
 they " must go ashore at the first landing-place ; " and, not having 
 sufficient funds remaining, they were compelled to disembark, 
 without a friend to whom they could turn for information as to 
 their course, and destitute of means to support them for a week. 
 
 Nor were they solitary in their misfortune ; they soon found out 
 persons in abundance who had been the victims of similar rascality, 
 and were joined in a day or two by numbers of those who had 
 sailed in the ship with them, and shared the same fate. 
 
 It is fair to remark that those who thus prey on poor, unsus- 
 pecting emigrants, are generally countrymen of those whom they 
 plunder. 
 
 The Irish-Yankee knows the accessible point in his own country- 
 man, the German in his, and so on. 
 
 
 ■lit 
 
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 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 >l 
 
 4- I 
 
 || 
 
 m \ 
 
 SEPARATION — TIMS FIRST EXPERIENCES OF YANKEE MANNERS — A 
 NEW FRIEND — A DOMESTIC STORM, AND IIOW IT WAS CALMED. 
 
 " Farewell, Tim, me dear an' good frind. May the great God 
 above purtect an' bless ye." So prayed Mr. Noonan, as with his 
 light hand he grasped that of his brother in Christ in a last loving 
 squeeze, and with his left raised his hat two or three inches above 
 liis head, elevating his face heavenward as the words escaped his 
 lips, seeming desirous that no part of his breath should waste or 
 form a curve in its ascent, and so be lost. There was sterling 
 sincerity here. " May ye," he continued, " live long an' happy, 
 an' whin ye bind afore the throne o' grace, don't forget a poor owld 
 sinner that'll pray for you ivery day he liv.s, for bein' the manes 
 ondher God av openin' his eyes to know somethin' of the love of 
 our blessed an' holy Sav'our, an' whin ye die, me frind an' brother, 
 may the heavens be yer bed." 
 
 " God was good to us both," said Tim, " in throwin' us together, 
 blessed be his holy name," a tear glistening in his eye, which he 
 dried, in Irish fashion, by rubbing it off with the cuff of his coat. 
 " I haven't the laste taste of a doubt in me mind," he added, " that 
 our meetin' and partin' were ordhered by Him who knows an' rules 
 all things." 
 
 "I met a man in the lodgin'-house last night quite promis- 
 cuous," said Mr. Noonan; "he has been a great thraveller 'all 
 over the Union,' as he called it. He gives me great hopes, from 
 the description I gev him, that he knew me son ; an' if so, his 
 wife and childher are in Pittsburgh, or somewhere near it. 
 Himself worked in one o' the foundries there, an' she kep' a little 
 shop to supply the 'hands,' as they call people here, with gro- 
 ceries, and huxterin', an' little industherin' o' that sort. Now, 
 if she is really me son's wife, or widdy I ought to say, won't it 
 be a pleasant thing to me to find 'em so soon 1 At any rate, he 
 sez, I couldn't do betther thin to go there, for if they aren't the 
 
THE BEST OF FHIENDS MUST PART. 
 
 233 
 
 ?NER9 — A 
 ;ALMED. 
 
 rreat God 
 1 with his 
 ast loving 
 ;hes above 
 scaped bis 
 1 waste or 
 as sterling 
 an' happy, 
 , poor owld 
 the manes 
 ,be love of 
 ,n' brother, 
 
 U together, 
 which he 
 ►f his coat. 
 decl,"that 
 s an' rules 
 
 lite promis- 
 laveller 'all 
 
 ])eople I want, there 's hardly a place in the Union I 'd stan' a 
 betther chance of hearin* somethin' about 'em." 
 
 After charging each other to write, the two men again shook 
 hands ; Tim stepped from the quay into the hold of the vessel, 
 where a few days' work awaited him in unloading boxes, barrels, 
 &c., and Mr. Noonan made the best of his way towards the 
 railroad, which was to be his line of travel for Pittsburgh. 
 
 ■^im found the situation novel to him. Hitherto he had been 
 .,^6 own master in the matter of work. Although he was under a 
 landlord when at home, yet he was uncontrolled in his movements ; 
 and if his rent and taxes were paid, he might go to work early or 
 hite, or occasionally take a holiday, if he felt so inclined, or thought 
 his health required it. Not that he was wont to avail himself of 
 his option in this matter, for, since he had renounced Popeiy and 
 sin, he had felt it a matter of duty to be " diligent in business," 
 and serve God in this diligence. 
 
 " God save ye, boys ! " he said, as he descended into the hold of 
 the ship amongst those whose occupation he was to assume for the 
 first time. 
 
 Many of the men stared at him, and then at each other, until one, 
 
 v'\o had been twenty years in the country, having left home when 
 
 it ten years of age, recognised the form of salutation which the 
 
 nt piety of his native home had transmitted without transmitting 
 
 its spirit. 
 
 It acted like (I am at a loss for a word) — a " spell," " magic," 
 " electricity," " a talisman," are all worn out, so that I must needs 
 have recourse to a pure Anglicism, and say, "it acted on the man's 
 rough nature like ' anythiifig.^ " 
 
 The effect was as if his mother had spoken to him from the ground 
 in which her remains had lain a score of years ; he rushed towards 
 Tim, took him firmly by the hand, and wept. 
 
 Although Irish by birth, race, and sentiment, he was Yankeeized 
 in manners and in speech ; but Tim's salutation called forth 
 unwittingly the national reply, " God save you kindly." 
 
 Then, resuming the nasal twang of his adopted country, he added, 
 j" I 'm glad to see you in this free country. I gass (guess) you *re 
 only just come out from the old country. Wait a minute and the 
 I' Boss ' will be here, and show you what to do." 
 
 " I 'm obleeged to ye intirely," Tim answered; " but I declare the 
 )wld sayin' cotp^" true every day, * The longer we live the more 
 hve '11 larn.' I .:i alive ever since I was born, an' I nivir heerd that 
 i^ord used afor;j as you used it now." 
 
 Ill 
 
 '1 
 
 ir 
 
 'N 
 
 :!l! 
 
 i i 
 
 t 
 
 ^*1 
 
 tm 
 
234 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 Ml! 
 
 ! ^ 
 
 il:f ' ' 
 
 r 
 
 I know an Irishman or an Englishman as soon 
 
 'master' so often. It 
 Won't do for theije digffin's at all. * M asther ! ' pshaw ! 
 
 learn something 
 
 "What word]' his patron inquired. 
 
 " Why, with respects to ye, the word * boss.' I knows what a 
 straw boss is to sit on ; an' I knows what the boss of a hurley is, that 
 we strike the ball wid at home, whin pla,yin' goaly but I nivir afore 
 heerd of a boss that could talk to a man." 
 
 "Well," said the owner, or rather the borrower of the "nasal," 
 in his very best attempt at a diawl ; "I gass yon '11 know it by-and- 
 by. You see, this is a free country ; Jack is as good as his mast»u' 
 here. In fact, we don't like the word ' master ' at all ; we banish 
 it from our American language as belonging to the despotism of 
 Europe, and use 'boss' instead of it.'' 
 
 "An' what sort of a thing is it?" Tim inquired, " for meself don't 
 know from Adam." 
 
 " Why," his friend replied, " it is Dutch for master, but not so 
 offensive to the ear. 
 
 as I hear him talk, by his using the word 
 disgusts me, 
 it smells of the Southern plantation. It does." 
 
 " An' tell me agin, Sir," said Tim, anxious to 
 new, " what does a * boes ' do at all ? " 
 
 " Do? oh ! he employs people, overlooks them at work, pays them 
 and discharges them if they don't suit." 
 
 " I declare," said Tim, "how quare that is. The very thing the 
 masters or stewards do at home, in the owid country, so it is." 
 
 The entrance of tho " boss " put an end to the conversation. He 
 assigned Tim his w^ork, and told his new friend to instruct him a 
 little until he should grow handy. This the man very cheerfully 
 agreed to do ; and Tim, being an apt scholar, readily fell in with all 
 that was required of him. 
 
 He continued at this employment until the vessel was again 
 ready for sea, when the captain had him called, paid his wages, with 
 the handsome present to order of the ov/ner, and charging him to 
 write a letter to his benefactor, gave him a note introducing him 
 to a merchano as " a man of good character, honest, obliging, and 
 capable of doing a good day's woi'k." 
 
 Tim went to his temporary place of abode with a thankful 
 heart, spread his treasure before his wife and children, who 
 united with him in thanking the Lord for His goodness and 
 care. 
 
 His next object was to seek for some meanfi of living, for he 
 was averse to travelling into the agricultural districts to search 
 for employment on a farm, preferring to work about anything, 
 
AMERICAN AND IRISH HABITS CONTRASTED. 
 
 235 
 
 'm 
 
 ws "wiiat a 
 
 rley is, that 
 
 niviv afore 
 
 u 
 
 le "nasal," 
 w it by-and- 
 b his niasttn- 
 ; we uanish 
 lespotism of 
 
 meself don't 
 
 ■, but not so 
 hraan as soon 
 so often. It 
 liei-r pshaw! 
 
 rn something 
 
 rk, pays them 
 
 rery thing the 
 , so it is." 
 ersation. _ He 
 nstruct him a 
 ery cheerfully 
 ■ell in with all 
 
 Isel was again 
 jis wages, with 
 fivging him to 
 broducing him 
 obliging, and 
 
 Ih a thnnkful 
 
 children, who 
 
 goodness and 
 
 living, for he 
 
 [ricts to search 
 
 )0ut anything, 
 
 rather than in that occupation to whicli he had been brought uj), 
 and in which he had always been his own master. 
 
 "Since I am obleeged to work for others," he would say to 
 his wife, " I 'd prefer some occupation that wouldn't be always 
 remindin' me o' the poor owld place at home. I declare now if 1 
 was to go and do a day's ploughin' for another man, an' begin to 
 think o' the owld place that used to know me almost; and thin o' 
 the bosses that used to lick my hands with kindness, and kneel 
 down for the childher to mount on their backs ; an' to miss the 
 company o' my poor dog * Pinchei,' that ran home an' towld ye all 
 of my misforthin '■he day I fell off the tree, an' broke my leg, I 
 don't think I ccula stan' it at all at all." 
 
 "Wisha, indeed, Tim, my poor man," said his wife, "'twould 
 come hard on you, an' jist as hard on me to seo ye have to do it ; 
 but many a higher born father an' mother's son had to do worse 
 than that same, an' glad to get a ' bit an' sup ' to put in their 
 mouths ; so don't let us be too proud, my dear. There 's no use in 
 us stayin' here, in a big city like this ; rints are too high intirely. 
 It would take as much to pay for two or three little rooms as 
 would pay the rint o' several acres o' ground * in the owld country ' 
 (as everybody hero calls ' home ') ; an' thin we 'd have to get some 
 sort o' furniture to pvit in the rooms ; an' everybody here is ob- 
 leeged to have one o' thim cookin'-stoves, that costs seven or eight 
 pounds, for the fire-places here and at home differ very much ; an' 
 therefore, me advice to ye is, not to stop here any longer than ye 
 can help, but let us get somewhere into the counthry. where we can 
 have a house to ourselves, if it is ever so small ; where the poor 
 childher can run out to look at the green fields, widout any one to 
 frown on 'em. Shure they can't put one foot afore the other hero 
 widout bein' ordhered about. They mustn't look at this, an' 
 mustn't touch that, an' mustn't spake above a whishper ; an' it they 
 go out in the sthreet every child they meet shouts afther 'em, 
 ■ Hallo ! Paddy from Cork. How aie the murphys growin' V I'd 
 submit to any onconwanience in the world meself to have me poor 
 lannas where the people wouldn't be tasin' thim." 
 
 "Well said, my brave girl," Tim answered ; " well said. Shuro 
 't is for their sakes we kem here at all ; an' no w, here goes. I pro- 
 mised the capting to write a letther to Mr. Vansittart, for him to 
 take back to his honour to Liverpool. He 's goin' to sail back iu 
 a few days, an' I '11 jist slip another inside of it, for him to sind 
 over to Ireland to me brother Jerry. But I promised the capting 
 one thing, an' that was, that I 'd deliver this letther that he gev mo 
 
 I i 
 
 .1 
 
 Mi 
 
 it: ill 
 
 I': 
 
 1!' 
 
 I 
 
 'M. 
 
 J I 
 
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 M 
 
•mwMVTMKMMmmw; «iii^pKlM|N|jU 
 
 mm 
 
 236 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ilii 
 
 H:K 
 
 li' 
 
 Hi 
 
 to a gintlemin up in the town. I 'U jist go an' tell him that I 
 deliver it in complimint to the capting that was so good to me, but 
 that I 'd rayther go an* get somethin' to do in the counthry, as we 
 aren't 'customed to a smoky place like the city. I won't be long 
 away, an' thin we '11 go to work, both of us, an' you '11 see what a 
 nice letther we '11 manufacture betune us." 
 
 Tim was not a man for making unnecessary delay when he had 
 resolved on anything, so that he was soon at the office of the 
 gentleman to whom Captain Williams had directed him. 
 
 He inquired of one of the clerks " if Mr. Vansproch wp" within," 
 who informed him that he was engaged with a gentleman in his 
 private office, and that, if he wanted particulaiiy to see him, ' " 
 had better call in about half-an-hour. 
 
 "Tell him," said Tim, "that I kem to deliver this letther 
 from Capting Williams, bekase I towid him I would do so ; but 
 I needn't call agin, for I 've made up me mind to go an' look for 
 work in the counthry, an' there 's no use in throublin' his honour 
 about it." 
 
 " About what ? " the gentleman asked, opening the door of his 
 private office, and reaching for the letter, which the clerk handed 
 to him. He had been attracted by the mellowness of Tim's 
 brogue, and being fond of hearing it in its purity, he feared that 
 if Tim should execute his determination of not calling again, he 
 must lose the opportunity of so rich a treat. " Wait a moment or 
 two," he said, most good-humouredly, "until . see if it requires an 
 answer." 
 
 He read the letter, and said, " Very good, indeed. Did I 
 hear you say that you are not going to look for employment 
 here?" 
 
 " Well, yer honour," Tim answered, " me ooman an* meself 
 had some talk about that this mornin', an' we thought it best to 
 push off somewhere into the counthry. We were always used 
 to it, yer honour, an* herself an' the childher would be lost intirely 
 if they hadn't the air o' the green fields, an' the music of the 
 larks an' linnits an' thrushes, as the]^ used to have at home ; an', 
 besides, yer honour, 't is too expinsive to be livin' in a place like 
 this. We wor always 'customed to have our own milk an* 
 butther an' eggs, an' to have a pig or two in the shty. A piece 
 of one of 'em, yer honour, is a fine thing for a poor man to have 
 to put in the pot, to grease the cabbage an* pratees for his 
 dinner." 
 
 The gentleman whom Mr. Vansproch had left in his office 
 
TIM FINDS A NEW FRIEND. 
 
 237 
 
 ■1 
 
 in his office 
 
 came forward, attracted by the novelty of Tim's speech and 
 ideas. 
 
 Mr. Vansproch, perceiving that he looked somewhat amused, 
 was determined to detain Tim for a short time, and added, " Yes, 
 a capital thing is a piece of a pig to grease the cabbage and 
 potatoes. I suppose you cannot get a house large enough in New 
 York to hold yourselves and the pigs 1 " 
 
 Tim saw that this was either meant for an insult, or merely as 
 an idle jest, and as the latter was the more charitable construction, 
 he chose to adopt it. " God help us. Sir ! " he replied, " we are 
 generally a very poor people, an' poverty will make people 
 dirty in spite o' thimselves, 'specially if they have little or no 
 hope of betthering their condition. I niver was used to any 
 grandeur meself ; but still I was brought un a little above what 
 ye seem to think ; an' now, as I have delivered me letther, I wish 
 ye a good mornin', gintlemin," bowing and putting on his hat as 
 he spoke. 
 
 *' Don't be in such a hurry," Mr. Vansproch said, " I want to 
 speak to you a little further." 
 
 " Me time is goin', Sii-," Tim replied, " an' I always makes it a 
 point to be doin' something. I want to lave this gazabo of a place, 
 for it don't shute me idayas, nor my money, at all at all; an' 
 moreover, I promised Capting Williams that I 'd write a letther 
 by him to a gintleman in Liverpool that was very kind to me 
 afore I came away, an' whin that is done, I must see about gettin' 
 away out o' the dust, an' noise, an' uproar o' this place, for indeed 
 there 's many bad sayin's an' doin's in it from mornin' till night, 
 an' from night till mornin' agin, for which rayson I 'd like to have 
 me childher out of it as soon as I caii, for 't is aisy for 'em to larn 
 bad parables, an' mighty hard to forget *em whin they 're larn'd." 
 
 " I suppose," Mr. Vansproch 's friend said, " you are afraid that 
 if they remained here we would make Protestants of them. Come 
 now, I '11 give you a quarter if you show me your rosary. I often 
 read about Papists saying their prayers by the rosary, and I want 
 to see the article pu .e, fresh from * owld Ireland.' Come, produce 
 it, and here is your quarter." 
 
 Tim stood near the door with his hat held towards his head, 
 I'Cudy to depart, but was pained by the latter speech, to which ho 
 answex'ed, — 
 
 " I 'ri but ajwor man, Sir, an* an ignorant man ; but on the day 
 whin I was one an' twinty years owld, me father gev me two words 
 of advice; on^ ua 'em I have always kept up to the present, an* 
 
 if, 
 
 Ml 
 
 fl 
 
 
■MSB 
 
 238 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ,' ^ '! 
 
 MSI 
 
 tj ,' 
 
 ..^' 
 
 hope I always shall ; the other I kept for some years, but thought 
 it best not to folly it out any longer." 
 
 " Come, now," said the merry gentleman, trying to " come the 
 brogue " over Tim, " plaise to be afther tillin' us all about it, an' 
 be the powers, here 's your quarter," smacking the quarter-dollar 
 on the table. 
 
 " The fast was, ' Never take any man's money without fust 
 aimin' it, an' then thankin' him for it ; ' an' the sucond was, ' Niver 
 take an insult from any man without knocking him down, an' thin 
 kickin' him for fallin'.' I have not aimed yer money, Sir, an' I '11 
 not take it." Having said this, Tim again wished tiie gentlemen 
 good morning, put on his hat, and laid hold of the knob of the 
 door-lock to let himself out ; but returned to say, " Gintlemin, 1 'm 
 sorry that I felt my blood a little warm whin I said that last 
 remark. Plaise to excuse me, but I do asshure ye there 's many 
 poor people repeatin' their prayers be the rosary, who are as sincere 
 in their devotions as iver aither of ye felt in yer lives, an' I say 
 that, widout any wish or thought to hurt yer feelin's. As for 
 meself, God has, in His great marcy, showed me * a more excellent 
 way ; ' but if I differ from another, it isn't for any good in me that 
 God made the difference j it is of His grace, not of my merit." 
 
 The gentleman (for every man claims that title in America) 
 stammered an excuse. Mr. Vansproch drew a chair for Tim, and 
 invited him to sit down for a while. 
 
 " I must be goin', Sir," Tim said, " I can do no good here." 
 
 " I differ from you there," said Mr. Vansproch. " Excuse us 
 both, if our pleasantry has been anything ill-timed or unpleasant 
 to you ; but 1 do insist on your sitting down. I will pay your 
 day's wages." 
 
 ** You've heerd me rule, Sir," said Tim, laughing, "an' now, if 
 ye plaise, we '11 part as good frinds as whin we met. I 'd scorn 
 yer paymint widout workin' for it, although I niver worked for 
 any man, only me father an' meself, ontil a few day^i ago that I 
 helped to unload an' reload the * Jupiter ' for his honour Capting 
 Williams." 
 
 " Listen to me now, Tim, for a moment," said Mr. Vansproch 
 soothingly. He M^as a very excellent man, knew the Gospel and 
 loved it, and became particularly anxious to converse more with 
 Tim as soon as he discovered that he felt its power, and was 
 enabled to act on its precepts. 
 
 "If I delay your time," he said, "I have a right to pay 
 you for itj your time is your money. If I choose to binder 
 
TIMS CONVERSATION WITH HIS NEW FRIEND. 
 
 239 
 
 it thouglit 
 
 "come the 
 )Out it, an' 
 arter-doUar 
 
 ithout fust 
 vas, ' Niver 
 jv^n, an' thin 
 Sir, an' I '11 
 e gentlemen 
 inob of the 
 itlemin, I 'm 
 id that last 
 here 's many 
 re as sincere 
 ^es, an' I say 
 ,n's. As for 
 ore excellent 
 )d in me that 
 kr merit." 
 in America) 
 for Tim, and 
 
 id here." 
 "Excuse us 
 )r unpleasant 
 vill pay your 
 
 "an' now, if 
 b. I'd scorn 
 [r worked for 
 7o ago that I 
 fiour Capting 
 
 Ir. Vansproch 
 Jie Gospel and 
 [se more with 
 Iver, and was 
 
 Iright to pay 
 )se to hinder 
 
 you from working, you need have no scruple in taking the pay. 
 Just step inside to my office, and let us hear something of what 
 God has done for you, for I feel that you are a brother." 
 
 " Indeed thin, gintlemin," said Tim, " 't is only a little o' that 
 same I 'm able to tell, for it isn't aisy to find aither the beginnin' 
 or the ind o* the same story ; but howsomever, I have a hope in 
 the Lord Jasus, that I have found marcy through His precious 
 blood, an' that my many, many sins are forgiven for His own 
 name's sake. I niver did or said anything to desarve it, or any 
 part of it, for ' It isn't of him that willeth, or of him that runneth, 
 but of God that showeth marcy.' " 
 
 " Oh, how delightful that truth is ! " said Mr. Vansproch. 
 "Alas! how long I stumbled over, and tried to walk around, 
 that blessed declaration, 'of God that showeth mercy.'" He 
 dwelt on each word with an emphasis which spoke the sentiments of 
 a heart at unison with the precious declaration. " I want to speak 
 a few words to you," he said, " about business, but we will defer 
 them for a few minutes to speak of something more important. 
 Just consider this gentleman and myself as your friends, and tell 
 us how you came to think and speak so differently from many of 
 your countrymen in your class of life." 
 
 " Well thin. Sir, it was all by accident — that is to say, afther 
 a manner o' spakin'." 
 
 " By accident ! " said Mr. Vansproch. " "What do you mean by 
 accident ? " 
 
 " By accident, thin, shure enough," said Tim, repeating the 
 word, " what could be more accidental than for a man to step into 
 yer house, as he passed along, an' a heavy shower o' ruin to come 
 on an* dhrive him for shelter into a poor man's cabin ] ' 
 
 " I don't imagine," said Mr. Vansproch, " that a shower of rain 
 falls by accident. The good Book, from which I trust you have 
 learned to be ' wise unto salvation,' claims for our good and gracious 
 God the prerogative of ' giving the showers in their seasons,' and 
 when a prophet would confront the impotence of idols with the 
 power of the Most High, he says, * Can any of the vanities of the 
 Gentiles cause rain 1 ' " 
 
 " Wisha, thin. Sir, is it idols the prophet spakes of whin he 
 says, * the vanities of the Gintiles ' 1 " Tim asked, his mouth open- 
 ing with astonishment at the idea of gaming the accession of a new 
 truth to his stock. 
 
 " It is, I think, decidedly," said Mr. Vansproch. " But tell us 
 — as I don't want to dispute with you about any trifling difference 
 
 M 
 
 11 
 
 III 
 
 ii 
 
240 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ' ,' I 
 
 i! -ii 
 
 ll! 
 
 i^^ 
 
 
 !'■ 
 
 i 
 
 of opinion upon a word — how the shower of rain effected a change 
 in your mind." 
 
 * Well thin, Sir, to make a long story short, I '11 begin," said 
 Tim, proceeding to detail the circumstances as narrated in the 
 third chapter of this work, Mr. Vansproch and his friend (the 
 latter a good deal sobered in thought) listening with profound 
 attention to the interesting history. 
 
 " There were * showers of blessing * for you in that rain truly," 
 Mr. Yansproch said, *^ showers of blessing. It delights me very 
 much to find that you do not speak disdainfully or reproachfully 
 of your former co-religionists, nor turn their favourite dogmas into 
 ridicule. I 'm truly delighted at that." 
 
 "I've known some people, Sir," said Tim, "professin' to be 
 convarted from Popery, an' all the world wouldn't convince me 
 that they knew much about thrue religion, for they used to spind 
 their time in rediculin* others, always disputin* about docthrines ; 
 an* indeed some of 'em used to abuse the Virgin Mary that they 
 worshipped a little while afore. 
 
 " Now, Sir, I lave it to you, if it is the right way to convart min 
 to the thruth, to abuse and villify her whom God calls ' blessed ' 
 in His Holy Word, an' whom the Redeemer so * highly favoured ' 
 as to choose her to become His mother in our nature. AH Catholics 
 howld Mary in gi'eat vineration, an' so do I, although I don't 
 worship her, or pray to her, as I once did. You know. Sir, that 
 all ye could say for a week would have no good effect on me if ye 
 wor, for instance, to abuse me frind, Capting Williams. Catholics 
 think her their best frind next to the Almighty Himself, an' the 
 man who casts a slight upon her they reckon their inimy." 
 
 " I think you are very right there," said Mr. Yansproch; "she 
 wa^ * highly favoured * indeed, but men are apt to miss the truth 
 in more ways than one. When the Maltese saw the viper attack 
 Paul they thought him a murderer ; when they found the venom 
 of the reptile not to hurt him they called him a god. 
 
 " Now, about business. You say you would not like to remain 
 in the city?" 
 
 " I would not. Sir. It is too expinsive a place for me if nothin' 
 else previnted me from remainin* in it." 
 
 Mr. Yansproch resided about ten miles from the city, adjacent 
 to one of the railroads, and had a farm there in which he took a 
 great deal of enjoyment. There he spent all his evenings after 
 the cares and bustle of the day. In its peaceful seclusion he 
 enjoyed the calm of the holy Sabbath with his wife and family 
 
TIM GETS EMPLOYMENT WHICH SUITS HIM. 
 
 241 
 
 d a change 
 
 )egin, 
 
 said 
 
 ,ted in the 
 [riend (the 
 1 profound 
 
 rain truly," 
 Lts me very 
 jproachfuUy 
 dogmas into 
 
 essin' to be 
 3onvince me 
 jed to spind 
 docthrines ; 
 try that they 
 
 convart min 
 ills ' blessed ' 
 ly favoured' 
 AH Catholics 
 )ugh I don't 
 ow, Sir, that 
 on me if ye 
 Catholics 
 mself, an' the 
 imy." 
 
 proch; "she 
 Lss the truth 
 viper attack 
 d the venom 
 
 ke to remain 
 
 me if nothin' 
 
 ■city, adjacent 
 Teh he took a 
 Ivenings after 
 1 seclusion he 
 and family 
 
 and there he expected, if Providence should not deprive him of it, 
 to end his earthly career. One of the men whom he used to em- 
 ploy on the farm was about to leave him, and he had great difficulty 
 in finding a man of good character for sobriety and honesty to fill 
 the situation. He proposed to Tim to try how he would like it, 
 ofiering him a house and garden, with the privilege of keeping a 
 cow, pigs, and fowls, sufficient for his family's supply, and fifteen 
 dollars a-month wages, so long as he and his employer felt satisfied 
 with each other. 
 
 Tim readily agreed to the proposal. It was decided that he 
 should proceed to the place on the following day, together with his 
 family, and make the best use he could of tJie time, while the man 
 who was about to leave the situation should remain to instiaict him 
 in tlie details. His employer, as he had become in reality, then 
 sufiered him to depart, but not before he pressed into his hand a 
 dollar as wages for that day, making him a present, as he expressed 
 it, of the " balance " of the time. 
 
 "How careful we ought to be in our speech," said Mr. Van- 
 sproch to his friend, " lest we hm-t the feelings of others. That 
 man, beneath his coarse exterior, carries as manly a heart and as 
 true piety in his soul as if his clothing were of the richest fabric, 
 and his education of the very first class. But, why do I talk so 
 foolishly ? Clothing and education could not do for any man what 
 has been done /or him and in him." 
 
 His friend made no reply, and he proceeded — 
 
 " I am sorry that I made any remark calculated to hurt his fine 
 feelings, although it was tluit brought out the excellence of his 
 character. I will endeavour, by all means, to relieve his mind as 
 to either of us intending any afii'ont to him." 
 
 The gentleman to whom this was addressed looked thoughtfully 
 at the ground for several seconds, put on his hat, and, as if lost in 
 reflection, muttered very audibly, " That man, mean though he 
 looks, possesses something which I do not." He said these words 
 as he walked out of the office, pronouncing the last word when 
 almost in the street. 
 
 " There," said Mr. Vansproch, as he saw him pass the window, 
 " I guess you have got the harpoon in you." 
 
 Tim found some difficulty in threading his way back to the 
 boarding-house, and was obliged to stop several times to in- 
 quire. 
 
 Stepping into a shop, or " store," as Americans call it, he asked 
 a very dignified-looking young official, who stood upright against 
 
 16 
 
 J 
 
 • < 
 
 M 
 
 ) i 
 
 'H 
 
 'u- 
 
 
 • M . 
 
 M ] 
 
 V, 
 
'i, -jprr"^ 
 
 242 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 1 I 
 
 l^l H 
 
 fi i*. 
 
 H I 
 
 a stack of shelves, with his hands behind his back, " Can you tell 
 me, little boy, the way to OTlanigan's boordin'-house ? " 
 
 Tim had not yet learned the important lesson that there are no 
 "little boys" under Uncle Sam's dominion, nor "little gii-ls" 
 either. The self-important functionary addressed was nearly, if 
 not quite, thirteen, and looked with the most sovereign indigna- 
 tion and contempt on the vulgarity of the man who could address 
 him as a " little boy," to which query, however, he vouchsafed no 
 answer, but merely turned his head slowly about twenty degrees 
 to the left, then as many degrees in the opposite direction ; and 
 when he had brought the said head to the position in which he 
 held it when first addressed, it ceased all further motion. In plain 
 English, " he shook his head." 
 
 Fancying that he did not make himself understood, or that the 
 young "gent" with the head might be a little deaf, Tim ventured 
 to repeat the question, with no other efiect than merely to elicit a 
 repetition of the aforesaid lateral motion of that very oracular 
 head which had been previously shaken. 
 
 Finding it of no use to ply his inquiries in that quarter, he turned 
 on his heel, muttering as he left the door, " If that aint the quarest 
 thing I iver see in all my born days, to lave a dumb boy to 'tind 
 a shop. Well to be shure ! I wondher what 'ud he do if any 
 customers kem in to buy goods." He tried two or three places, 
 with the same amount of information added to his stock, which 
 raised his astonishment beyond measure, that all che " shop-boys," as 
 they would be termed in his own country, should be deaf and dumb. 
 
 Happening to find a place kept by a countryman of his own, he 
 obtained the requisite information as to bis proper route ; and on 
 inquiry as to the anomaly of the deaf and dumb attendants, 
 received the important piece of information, that, when an American 
 wishes you to understand that he is giving you an affirmative 
 answer, ho nods his cranium ; when he wants to be understood in 
 the negative, he shakes it. 
 
 During Tim's absence, Mrs. Tim and all the young Doolans 
 were in a fever of anxiety about his return. The mother com- 
 municated her anxiety bcth by words and looks to her children, 
 so as to render both herself and them miserable. There was a rod 
 pickling for him. 
 
 " He had nothing in the world wide to do," she said, " only to 
 go a little way to deliver a letther, which he could do in tin 
 minutes, an' now he has been three hours away, doin' nothin', 
 only gapin' about him, an' doesn't care for me an' me poor 
 
n you 
 
 tell 
 
 ere are no 
 itle gii'ls" 
 nearly, if 
 n indigna- 
 ild address 
 chsafed no 
 ity degrees 
 iction; and 
 a which he 
 . In plain 
 
 or that the 
 m ventured 
 y to elicit a 
 jry oracular 
 
 iVj he turned 
 b the quarest 
 boy to 'tind 
 e do if any 
 ;hree places, 
 tock, which 
 liop-boys," as 
 ii and dumb. 
 
 his own, he 
 |ute ; and on 
 
 attendants, 
 
 in American 
 afi&rmative 
 
 iiderstood in 
 
 Ing Doolans 
 lother com- 
 ter children, 
 Ire was a rod 
 
 id, " only to 
 
 Id do in tin 
 
 in* nothin', 
 
 in' me poor 
 
 A DOMESTIC SCENE. 
 
 243 
 
 that 's here solithary an' lonely in ' a 
 
 > » 
 
 strange 
 
 childher, 
 counthry. 
 
 She was one of those women who give way to a constitutional 
 bias, which determines them to be miserable themselves, and to do 
 and say all tliey can to spread misery around them. All things are 
 always working against them, and all persons conspiring (in their 
 estimation) to make them wretched. 
 
 Tim found his wife in tears when he came home, and his children, 
 through sympathy with the mother, in a similar plight. 
 
 " There," she said, when he entered the room, putting her baby 
 on the floor, and pushing it with some bitterness towards him, so 
 as to throw the child over and cause it to scream with affright, 
 " 't is ycytir turn now, Misther Doolan, to nurse yer brat. I had my 
 share of his crossness this mornin' ; have yours now." 
 
 Tim picked up the baby, the other children clung to his knees, 
 so as to cause him to waddle in trying to reach a chair, as if each 
 leg weighed a hundred pounds. 
 
 '* Come away from yer daddy," the mother cried peevishly ; 
 " he 's a bad man, an' doesn't care for you or for me aither." 
 
 " My dad ain't a bad man," said little Cui'ley, looking at his 
 mother with a frown ; " he 's better than mammy." 
 
 " O Curley," said the father, " that 's not the right way to spake 
 to yer mammy, me lannav." 
 
 " I don't care," said Curley, " she said my dad is a bad man, an' 
 you ain't." 
 
 " Well, me darlin'," he said, " yer mammy has ' a poioer '* to 
 throuble her mind, but she loves you all, an' she '11 be in betther 
 timper by and by. Who does iverything for ye only yer mother, 
 me child, an' ye must be fond of her ? " Then, addressing his wife, 
 " 'T is a bad parable intirely to put afore the childher, showin' 'em 
 such timpers. Shure we ought to be taichin' 'em how thankful 
 they ought to feel to the great God for bringin' us safe over the 
 deep say, an' what good is taichin' mere words onless we show good 
 actions 1 " 
 
 " What do you care for my throublesl" retorted bis v.ife, who 
 seemed determined on nursing her misery to keep it warm, as 
 Burns has it, with respect to " wi*ath." " You can go out and 
 amuse yerself for hours together takin' yer enjoymint, an' little ye 
 keer for me whether I live or die." 
 
 " Well, now," says Tim, " it takes two to make a bargain, an' if 
 ye like, I '11 make a bargain wid ye. Go out yerself for the re- 
 
 * A great deal. 
 
 4\ 
 
 m 
 
 • i M, 
 
 1 1 
 r 
 
 1' 
 
 i 
 
 in 
 
 a* 
 
 
 ■ ■ % 
 
•gfmmpmmmmmm 
 
 •: ' 
 
 244 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 r! I'i 
 
 [t K 
 
 m 
 
 
 maindher of the day, an' if ye do as well as I done for the couple 
 of hours that I was out, I promise to give ye a betther welcome 
 whin ye come back thin you gev' me, an' to mind the childher 
 too, without knockin' any of *em about. Isn't that as fair as 
 I can say 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Doolan suddenly caught at Tim's intimation of having 
 done well while out of the house, and immediately became all 
 anxiety to know the extent of his well-doing. Drying up her tears, 
 and instantly forgetting her bad humour, she asked, " Why didn't 
 ye tell me whatever good luck ye met whiii ye firat kem in 1 " 
 
 " Mighty hard that would be for me, thin," her husband replied. 
 " Wasn't it yer first salute whin I enthered the door to fling the 
 child down, an' begin accusin' me with what wasn't tlirue 1 " 
 
 " Good Christhuns ! " she repli.^d, " how me calls me a liar afore 
 me childher ; no wonder they don't respect their mother whin you 
 threat her so badly," and her tears broke out afresh. 
 
 " Well, now," says Tim, " wait aisy a rainnit. How did I call 
 ye a liar 1 " 
 
 " You said I accused ye with what wasn't thnie," she replied, 
 with increased bitterness. 
 
 " Very well," he said, " if that 's calling ye a liar, so be it. Ye 
 charged me with not caring for ye an' the childher. Ye know very 
 well that 's not thrue ; an' ye said as much as that I was out all 
 the mornin' takin' me own pleasure an' idlin' me time, an' that 
 isn't thrue, whether ye know it or not." 
 
 " But I thought ye were," she replied, " an' "^hin ye know it was 
 all the same to me." 
 
 "I don't know that be any manner o' manes," said Tim. 
 " Instead o' bein' wrong on the single ye were wrong on the double. 
 No person has a right to think evil of another widout just cause, 
 for that 's a sin in itself ; and thin whin he acts as if his evil 
 thoughts were thrue, an' threats his fellow-craythurs accordingly, he 
 sins tivice." 
 
 " But ye haven't towld me a word yet about yer good luck," 
 she replied, anxious to change the subject, for what peevish woman 
 ever confessed herself w rong ? 
 
 " That same would be the very first news I 'd tell ye if ye had 
 jusi. let me draw me breath afther I ' darkened the door,' "* he 
 replied. 
 
 " Tell me now, thin," she said, " for 'fraid I 'd faint with 
 cur'osity." 
 
 * Entered the house or room. 
 
AN EASILY EARNED DAY S WAGES. 
 
 r'o 
 
 245 
 
 B couple 
 welcome 
 childher 
 ; fair as 
 
 f Laving 
 icame all 
 her tears, 
 hy didn't 
 in?" 
 d replied, 
 fling the 
 
 liar afore 
 whin you 
 
 did I call 
 
 le replied, 
 
 be it. Ye 
 enow very 
 as out all 
 I, an' that 
 
 " Dear me, what a hurry you 're in," her husband replied. 
 " Can't ye wait till afther dinner ? There 's the suckond bell ; 
 I heerd the fust half an hour ago. 
 
 " Well, thin," he added, " I got a day's wages for sittin' to talk to 
 two gintlemin for about an hour, an' I 'm to go to a good situation 
 a few miles off in the counthry, wid good wages, on a farm, where 
 we '11 have a house an' garden, an' grass for a cow, an' plinty o' 
 land to gi'ow the pratees, away from the shmoke an' noise ; wid a 
 good Christhun man for a masth^^r, an' if any oonian in New 
 York ought to be happy an' thankful, 'tis your ownself." 
 
 The dinner bell again sounded loud and long, giving warning 
 that that was the " last time of asking," so that those who 
 refused to obey the summons should " for ever after hold their 
 peace." 
 
 Eating a good dinner being a matter which requires some 
 attention, we must leave our friends to enjoy that repast, and 
 close the present chapter with the best of wishes for those con- 
 cerned, that they may comfortably satisfy nature's claims and be 
 thankful. 
 
 '^1 
 
 I 
 
 HI I 
 
 ■H 
 
 ii' 
 
 LOW it was 
 
 aid Tim. 
 ihe double. 
 ust cause, 
 if his evil 
 •dingly, he 
 
 )od luck," 
 sh woman 
 
 if ye had 
 )or,'"* he 
 
 iaint with 
 
 f ; 
 
 » I 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I 
 
 il'' 
 
 !.* 
 
 i ]■: 
 
 l^H 
 
 "THE COMPLETE LETTEU-WllITER " — THE DOOLANS ASTONISHED AT 
 
 SOME AMERICAN INVENTIONS. 
 
 Scarcely had the family of the Doolans sat down to partake of 
 dinner, when several who had commenced when thej/ did, started 
 up from the table, lighted thf a pines, and went o& in pursuit of 
 their several avocations. 
 
 Had not Tim and his wife seen that the victuals had actually 
 disappeared, they could not persuade themselves that the parties 
 had eaten anything. 
 
 Before the parents had attended to cut the meat small for one 
 of the children, pour tea into a saucer for another, and give the 
 elder a lecture on " manners " for having seized on a piece of 
 beefsteak without being helped to it, the " helps " were busy 
 rattling the knives and forks in the gi'eatest impatience to 
 clear away the dinner things, and lay the table afresh for 
 supper. 
 
 Despatch was not by any means facilitated by the tenderness 
 of the meat, or the sharpness of the knives ; but as Tim was in 
 a new country, and had an immediate jjrospect of changing his 
 lodgings, he thought it the part of prudence to make as few 
 observations of a hurtful nature as possible. 
 
 " The people here," he observed to his wife in private, " did 
 not send for us ; we kem to thim ; an' if we don 't like the 
 counthry, or the ways o' the people, let us go to some place else ; 
 but, as they think there 's none in the world so good or so wise 
 as thimselves, let them enjoy their opinion and we can howld our 
 own." 
 
 This logic scarcely satisfied Mrs. Doolan, who had thought it 
 a very anfair thing that when she paid for a dinner she " could 
 not obtain time to eat enough of it." Tim, who knew that the 
 only efiectual way to cure his wife of one trouble was by calling 
 her attention to another, reminded her that it was now one 
 
 
PREPARATIONS FOR A GREAT FEAT. 
 
 247 
 
 [SHED AT 
 
 )artake of 
 d, started 
 pursuit of 
 
 I actually 
 lie parties 
 
 II for one 
 I give the 
 I piece of 
 rere busy 
 tience to 
 fresh for 
 
 enderness 
 m was in 
 nging his 
 :e as few 
 
 ate, "did 
 like the 
 
 ace else ; 
 
 ir so wise 
 owld our 
 
 1 ought it 
 
 ie " could 
 
 that the 
 
 jy calling 
 
 mow one 
 
 o'clock in the day, and that the formidable task of writing two 
 letters during that afternoon lay before them. Letter writing 
 may be, and is to some, a very easy task, and a delightful 
 recreation, but a very weighty affair to those whose employment 
 seldom leads them to communicate their thoughts in that way. 
 
 Tim projjoscd that, as his wife was the *' oest scholar," and the 
 best judge of writing materials, and as she was, moreover, a little 
 jealous of his having had a walk before dinner — she should proceed 
 to the nearest place where pens, ink, and paper were kept for sale, 
 and bring them with all due speed, so that they might immediately 
 set about their correspondence. 
 
 She soon found a " store " where such things were vended, and 
 having been provided with two slicPts of paper, a small bottle of 
 ink, a steel pen with holder, and " two little yollow bags " (as she 
 styled the envelopes), to place the letters in when written, she 
 returned, not a little proud that she was going to send her 
 " letthers in bags, just like the quality at home." One circum- 
 stance greatly distressed her, for she was a thoroughly honest 
 woman. 
 
 The person who sold her the writing materials would persist 
 in calling her English sixpence "a shilling," and giving Iier change 
 accordingly ; and, as she disdained taking advantage of \A° ignor- 
 ance, she felt as if he had cheated himself. It was in vain to tell 
 her that an English shilling was worth two American shillings. 
 
 "My gracious!" she would say, "what can you make of a 
 shillin' only a shillin' all the world over." Tim tried to persuade 
 her that it made no difference what people called the piece of 
 silver ; it was worth its weight and no more ; but she remained 
 unconvinced ; and her husband felt unable to explain the rationale 
 of the matter. 
 
 After considerable debating between Tim and his wife as to 
 which of them should undertake the writing, he finally agreed to 
 do it himself, relying on the promise of the wife that she would 
 hel]> him to spell all the hard words, and try to keep "the 
 cliil from jowltin' " his elbow, or " shaking the table while 
 
 he was writin'." 
 
 "N( "/'said Tim, as he sat down, and spread his arms all 
 
 over tiic table, cutting several flourishes in the air with his pen, 
 
 s a preparative for commencing his epistle, "What am I to say, 
 
 an' how' how am I to begin?" 
 
 lere wo "the rub." Both agreed that 
 
 1 
 
 Ay, 
 
 % 
 
 ,11' i 
 
 ii 
 ill 
 
 ^ 
 
 l|i, 
 
 ill J 
 
 was 
 
 easy 
 
 enough to proceed when once upon the road, but how to get 
 
« H 
 
 Hf! 
 
 t.: 
 
 !»' 
 
 : 
 
 I ' 
 
 i 
 
 w 
 
 '■ '« ^, 
 
 iii 
 
 n ' It 
 
 
 (• ;• 
 
 248 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 upon a road so seldon travelled by either of themselves was now 
 a matter of serious difficulty. A somewhat lengthy debate ensued 
 as to whether the letter to J erry or that to Mr. Vansittart should 
 be first written. 
 
 Aftor much deliberation and discussion on this knotty poiat, 
 Tim (who argued thi't courtesy required him to behave with 
 gratitude and propriety to the "gintleman" who was so kind to 
 him when nearly t, total stranger) was nearly carrying his point, 
 but his "better half" completely •* straightened him out" (as the 
 ivmericaiis say) by the observatioD, "I tell ye what it is, Tim 
 Doolan, p'liteness is very good in its own place, but — p'liteness or 
 no }>'liteness — T?.athure is nathure all tiie world over, an' blood is 
 thicLer tliiu water." 
 
 "Now ja said it, me colleen," replied Tim; "nathure is 
 natiiure, shure enough." 
 
 It was decided by the above appeal to natural feeling that our 
 brother Jerry was entitled to the precedence, and the first lottcr 
 was accordingly commenced with the usual formality of " My 
 dear Brother." 
 
 "Tell him," said his wife, "to remimber mo to Kitty Flaherty, 
 an' her sisther Judy, an' all inquirin' frinds, an' how we got 
 along afther we left Liverpool, an' how I thought ye wor left 
 behind : an' tell him to tell big Joan Foley to tell her uncle, whin 
 she meets him at the fair o' Baliyshanlon, to be shure an' tell my 
 gossip, Nell Hayes, thai: we got over the say widout any loss o' 
 life or limb ; an' that you got work afore ye put ycr foot out o' the 
 ship ; an' that me an' the childher is all well (thanks be to God for 
 that san)e) ; an' that we had a good passage out ; an' that " 
 
 "How yer tongue goes like the clapper of a mill," said Tim. 
 " I defy anybody in the three kingdoms to keep up wid ye ; meself 
 don't know from Adam a word you 've been sayin'. I declare 
 you 'd puzzle a counsellor, so ye would. Here, take the pin an' 
 paper, an' write it yerself." 
 
 The above offer was refused by Mrs. Doolan, who promised to 
 interlei-e no further until he should have " put down " the vai'ious 
 items to which she had called his attention. The supper-bell rang 
 just as Tim had managed to fill the sheet intended for Jerry, and 
 then he had not said half what he wanted or intended to say. 
 
 At supper was witnessed the same scramble for victuals, the 
 same cry of " Pass the bread," " Pass the butter," " Pass the 
 molasses ; " the same starting up in about three or four minutes, 
 and ofl' again to work or pleasure. 
 
<( 
 
 was now 
 te ensued 
 rt should 
 
 ty poi.it, 
 ave with 
 ) kind to 
 his point, 
 : " (as the 
 it is, Tim 
 iteness or 
 l' blood is 
 
 lathure is 
 
 y that our 
 Urst letter 
 r of " My 
 
 ' Flaherty, 
 jW wo got 
 wor left 
 ncle, w^hin 
 n' tell my 
 my loss o' 
 out o' the 
 to God for 
 
 it 
 
 said Tim. 
 
 ,'e ; meself 
 
 I declare 
 
 "lie pin an* 
 
 loinised to 
 lie various 
 -bell rang 
 Ferry, and 
 say. 
 
 [ituals, the 
 
 Pass the 
 
 minutes, 
 
 WE MUST DO IN HOME AS ROME DOES. 
 
 249 
 
 Tim, feeling rather anxious to perform his second feat at letter 
 writing, a feat never before attempted by him in one day, with- 
 drew to the sitting-room. 
 
 The letter to Mr. Vansittart j)roved to be a more formidable 
 undertaking for Tim than that to his brother Jerry, in consequence 
 of his non-familiarity with what he called " high-flown language," 
 suitable to be used in addressing one of the " quality." In 
 due course of time this difficulty was also mastered, and the letters, 
 enclosed in the little "yollow bags" before alluded to, directed 
 separately, and taken off to the ship, where Tim renewed his 
 acquaintance with the kind Captain Williams, and his equally kind 
 crew, who were to sail the next morning on their return trip to 
 Liverpool. 
 
 The captain was pleased to hear that his introduction of Tim to 
 Mr. Yansproch had resulted in the latter finding what j)i^omised 
 to be a permanent employment, which fact Tim had duly and 
 thankfully acknowledged in his letter to IVlr. Vansittart. 
 
 Seeing the captain and all on board busily engaged preparing 
 for their departure, Tim bade them good-bye, and returned 
 ashore. 
 
 The moi-ning had scarcely dawned on New York, when Tim 
 and his wife and children were up, busily preparing for the short 
 railway trip which was to take them to their new destination. 
 
 Tim's employer received him kindly, telling him not to be dis- 
 couraged because of finding many things different from what he 
 had been accustomed to. 
 
 It was very hard to pei'suade Tim that the broad shallow-bladed 
 American spade was anytJiing equal to the Irish ; or that their 
 harness, with so many "crinkum crankums an' crucifixes," could 
 be •' mentioned on the same day " with those of dear old Erin. 
 But of all "the outlandish things on airth, that beat j'ography, 
 an' matthewmattocks, an' cockfightin' to smithereens," was the 
 fashion of driving at the right-hand side of the road instead of the 
 left ; still, he was j)hilosopher enough to know that, as it was not 
 likely he could bend all America to his notions, it would be his 
 business to bend himself to theirs in matters of that nature. 
 
 " They didn't send for us," ho would frequently repeat to his 
 wife ; " an' it is easier for us to give way than for the whole 
 counthry to change their ways for oui-s." 
 
 One prejudice of his countrymen still stuck to Tim, and that 
 was his abhorrence of machinery, on the ground of its supei-seding 
 the labour of the working man, and thereby depriving liiiu of the 
 
 ! ' U 
 
 m 
 
 }'■ li 
 
 ■H 
 
 l'\ 
 
 t ■ I 
 
 
 
1 1 1 
 
 1 
 
 '•' 
 
 'i 
 
 ■ 
 
 Ik'!; 
 
 ' 
 
 ■' ii 
 
 250 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 means of livelihood. " Machines ! machines ! " he would say, 
 '* sorra a bit o' luck any counthry iver had that thrusted too much 
 to machines, and deprived the labourer of his wages. Here they 
 have machine;* for so win' the grain, an' machines for reapin' it, an' 
 machines for threshin' it ; machines for mo win' the hay an' makin' 
 it, an' they bundle it up dry the very day it is cut, an' take it 
 home to the barn." But his astonishment was raised to the 
 highest pitch when told by the man, to whose situation he had 
 succeeded, that he would show him on the morrow how to set the 
 horses sawing firewood for the ensuing year. 
 
 His astonishment at this was scarcely equal to that of bis wife, 
 occasioned by another discovery. 
 
 One morning she went to the house of her husband's employer 
 to obtain something for one of the children who was complaining. 
 
 The servant-girl was a countrywoman of her own, who had 
 become sufficiently Americanized to cease wondering at the sub- 
 stitution of machinery for human labour. She gave Mrs. Doglan 
 a peep at the sewing-machine, by which the dressmaking and 
 tailoring of the family were done in an incredibly short time. 
 Then came the washing-machine, next the wringing-machine, after 
 that the apple-paring machine, and finished up the list with the 
 churning-machine, which was worked by a Newfoundland dog. 
 
 Mrs. Doolan was incredulous as to a dog being able to make 
 " good, clean, wholesome butter," but on tasting the butter, and 
 taking a somewhat cautious sip of the buttermilk, she declared 
 them nearly as good as if made by " Christhuns." 
 
 After Tim had been a month or'^six weeks in his new situation, 
 his " master " (as he would j)ersist in calling him) walked out one 
 morning to a place, where he was engaged at work, trimming a 
 garden walk, and there we shall leave them for the present, and 
 report the substance of their long interview elsewhere. 
 
 <( 
 
 J % 
 
 I 
 
>uld say, 
 Loo much 
 lere they 
 .in' it, an' 
 n' makin' 
 a' take it 
 ;d to the 
 ,n he had 
 to set the 
 
 [ bis wife, 
 
 3 employer 
 aplaining. 
 , who had 
 ^t the sub- 
 [rs. Doglo-n 
 laking and 
 short time, 
 .chine, after 
 3t with the 
 md dog. 
 ,le to make 
 bntter, and 
 he declared 
 
 w situation, 
 ked out one 
 trimmiug a 
 present, and 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MR. AND MRS. VANSITTART APPEAR IN A DIFFKllENT LIGHT —TIM*S 
 LETTERS ARE SAFELY DELIVERED — A PROJECTED VISIT TO THE 
 EMERALD ISLE. 
 
 "Mrs. Vaxsittart! children! all of you run this way," said the 
 head of the house, one evening, on his return from his office 
 at Liverpool to his now truly happy home; "I roeoived such 
 a delightful letter to-day that I thought the hours dreadfully 
 tedious till I could return and read it for you. Guess from 
 whom ? " 
 
 "Is it from any one whom I know?" Mrs. Vansittart in- 
 quired. 
 
 " You have never seen, although you have often heard of the 
 person." / 
 
 " Well, indeed, you give me a nice little job. I have heard of 
 many hundreds of persons whom I have never seen, the Great 
 Mogul, for instance; but give me the letter," and she tried to catch 
 it out of his hand, which she was unable to do because of his being 
 so tall, and holding it high above her reach. 
 
 " O Ma ! I '11 tell you,' said the eldest boy, clai)ping his hands. 
 " I know from whom Pa was longing to hear. I saw on the news- 
 paper, since I came from school, that the * Jupiter' has returned. 
 I '11 engage Captain Williams brought a letter from that funny 
 Irishman, Tim something." 
 
 *'0h, if it is from him, do show it to me like a dear, good husband. 
 I feel so thankful ; it was such a mercy to us both that Gud brought 
 that man into your path." 
 
 " A mercy indeed," Mr. Vansittart repeated. " Tt overwhelms 
 me with astonishment when 1 think of it, ' How unsearchable 
 are HIS judgments, and His ways past finding out ! ' " While 
 he was indulging in a train of grateful reflection on this subject, 
 the hand which held the letter gradually lowered, till Mrs. Van- 
 sittart was able to seize the coveted treasure, which she quickly 
 
 H' 
 
 I i 
 
 m 
 
 Mr I 
 
 1 ' 
 
^ 
 
 mm 
 
 ■T'wy^w 
 
 * H 
 
 |:|r 
 
 % 
 
 IV 
 
 ir 
 
 1 1' 
 
 
 if! 
 
 252 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 opened and endeavoured to read to her expectant children. 
 Though anxious to ascertain its contents, she was sadly puzzled 
 to find them out, the chirography and orthography being both so 
 very different from anything she had been in the habit of deci- 
 phering. 
 
 " I am afraid," she said, " that you must assist me to make it 
 out." 
 
 " I was as mucli at a loss as you are," said Mr. Vansittart awak- 
 ing from his reverie, " until I gave it into the hand of one of the 
 clerks, Avho appears very learned in that kind of correspondence, 
 and as he i*ead it in all its raciness and pathos, I dare say I can 
 give you an inkling of the contents, xi letter to Jerry, Tim's brother, 
 being enclosed in mine, I will read it first." 
 
 " Nu Yarck, Ma foretinth, 185 — Mi deer brother jerry, this is 
 to let yu no that i hope ureself an' mi Father an Mother are in 
 good helth, as this laves me at present, thanks an' praise be 2 the 
 Olniiglity God for the saim, an' fur oil his gudniss. deer brother, 
 i hope an' thrust u will take keer o' ureself, an' keep from the 
 thing u no. doan't considher me ure inemy whin i advise u for 
 ure good, take good keer o' me poor owld Father an' Mother, an' 
 tell 'era to keep up their sperrits, It isn't by dhrinkin' sperrits i 
 mano, only by prayin' to the grate God, an' he '11 not lave 'em nor 
 forsake 'em in their trouble, nor in their ov M age. i suppose u 
 doan't rcmimber where we parted, nor how, nor whin, how cud ye 1 
 me poor soft slob, i wish i had ye neer me, but little sed is soonest 
 mindid. Well, 2 make a long story short, whin u wor tuck up 
 afore the mogistys, i found a frind in one of 'em, God bless misther 
 Vansiddliers magisty ivery day he sees a pavin'-stone, 't was he did 
 the ginerous thing for meself, which inables me now to sind inclosed 
 tin doUards 2 me j)oor father an' mother, an' ime goin' to a nice 
 sicliuashin to-morrow that the capting o' the ship got for me, an' 
 this is a fine sittoe, as big as Corck all amost, an' peeple in it from 
 awl parts o' the world, as the owld sayin' is, an' i niver thought i 'd 
 see so manny black people as i see heer, but the peeple o' the place 
 think no more of 'em than durt, tliey v/on't let 'em ride in the same 
 coch, or cart, or wheelbarro, nor wuship the grate God in the same 
 house wid 'emselves. still i niver heerd as nuich as u li from wan 
 av 'em, i doan't no why the j)oor craythurs are thrated so bad, onless 
 p'raps the may be conshiddered the childher ov Cain that kilt his 
 brother, it puzels me to think ov it, i heerd it many a time, an' it 
 puzels me more to think all the blacks were not drownded in noa's 
 fludd. 
 
TIM S FIRST LETTER FROM AMERICA. 
 
 253 
 
 children. 
 [y puzzled 
 ig both so 
 ,it of deci- 
 
 make it 
 
 tart awak- 
 ane of the 
 spondence, 
 say I can 
 a's brother, 
 
 srry, this is 
 ther are in 
 ise be 2 the 
 ;er brother, 
 p from the 
 advise u for 
 Mother, an| 
 in' sperrits i 
 ave 'em nor 
 i suppose VI 
 low cud ye 1 
 ;d is soonest 
 ,vor tuck up 
 (less niisther 
 t was he did 
 iind inclosed 
 ' to a nice 
 for me, an' 
 [e in it from 
 thought i'd 
 o' the place 
 in the same 
 in the same 
 li from wan 
 |o bad, onless 
 that kilt his 
 time, an' it 
 ided in noa's 
 
 " Tel me father an' mother i '11 sind thim more money soon, tin 
 dollards is as good as 2 pound the say." 
 
 Here Mr. Vansittart paused to remark on the consequences of 
 ignorance in money transactions, and the inconvenience and loss 
 arising from not knowing how to send money from one country to 
 another. In this case poor Tim, with the best intentions, enclosed 
 a ten-dollar American note, never considering (because not knowing) 
 that it would not pass as money in Ireland, unless in some seaport 
 town, and then it must go to an exchange oflSce, and a considerable 
 premium be paid for the trouble and difference of currency. To 
 remedy this (so that the poor people should not suffer by Tim's 
 oversight), Mr. Vansittart had caused one of his clerks to obtain a 
 post-office order made payable at a town near where the Doolans 
 li-ved, by which arrangement the money was made secure to them. 
 Th3 ten-dollar bill was as good as any other money to the captain 
 when he returned to New York. We now return to the letter 
 from where Mr. Vansittart left off. 
 
 "If the grate God, glory be to his blessid naim, if he prospirs 
 me, i '11 have yiz all out heer afore long, chat is, if u wish t' cum ; 
 but ure not like manny poor craythurs that 's obleegcd to cum bi 
 want, mi wife and childher are all wel, an' hopes u ar the saim, i 
 hav no other particlar nuse at preasunt, we didn't go far to luck 
 for work, the capting gev me a fu dais employmint at unloadin' 
 the ship, an' thin he gev me a letthur to a fine good-hearted gintle- 
 man that keeps an offiss in nu yarck, an' he has a fine place a fu 
 miles out o' the sittee, i am to keep the place in ordher as well as 
 i can, so no more at present from yer lovin' bruther till death 
 timothy doolan, an' tell all inquirin' f rinds that we are well, an' 
 give me love to me father an' mother, an' keep clear o' the 
 * thing ye no,' an' don't be goin' about to fairs an' pathrons, an' 
 walks, an' jig-houses, idlin' ure time, an' spindin' ure money, an' 
 timptin' the divle, so no more now, an' as I rote me naim afore i 
 needn't write it agin, so good bi wanst more from ure lovin' 
 bruther, an' mind to pray to God to keep u from the wan thing, i 
 mane the whishkey." 
 
 " What a kind, affectionate letter," Mrs. Vansittart remarked, 
 " I am glad to have heard it. It gives one an insight into the 
 inner life of those poor people, respecting whom we often form such 
 erroneous conclusions ; but did it not strike you as strange that 
 he does not appear to manifest more solicitude for the conversion 
 of his family ? He has been made such a blessing to yoii and me, 
 that I was led to look on him in the light of an apostle almost, who 
 
 r Mi 
 
 i 
 
 w \ 
 
 w 
 
 i '• 
 
i»l 
 
 254 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ,.*^ 
 
 fir. i 
 
 ;♦< 
 
 could not let an opportunity slip without speaking or writing of 
 the Lord and His righteousness. Oh ! I cannot write a note to 
 any of my friends on the most commonplace subject, without 
 referring them to the love of Him * who died for our sins, and rose 
 again for our justification.' Don't you think his letter is a failure 
 in that particular 1 " 
 
 " No, my love, I do not. Tim must understand his own people 
 better than we do. 
 
 " My impression is, that if he strove to put the Gospel before 
 them directly, as he has probably done hundreds of times before, 
 they would burn his letters. Their antipathies against the Gospel 
 are not merely sucli as you and I possessed by nature, their natural 
 enmity to it is the same as ours ; but they have, superadded to this, 
 a degree of acquired caution, which leads them to watch any 
 attempt to disturb — what they call — their faith. 
 
 " Now, there is manifestly the strongest proof that the writer 
 of this letter loves those to whom he writes. What so natural, 
 then, as to suppose that the many proofs of love contained 
 therein would evidence, to the receivers of it, that the writer 
 sought their truest and best interests ? They know his history ; 
 they know how strong the links which bound him to their 
 ancient superstition ; they know that he has renounced that 
 superstition ; and they know also that his renunciation of it has 
 been fraught with inconveniences to himself and family amounting 
 to persecution ; they know likewise that that renunciation has 
 been attended by an altered life and conduct — a life and conduct 
 becoming the Gospel. Will not all this have weighed with them 1 
 I think it will." 
 
 Mr. Vansittart paused for a reply, and his wife answered — 
 
 " That is all quite right, love ; and I begin to see the truth of 
 what you say. 
 
 " The love which fulfils the law may lead them to contrast Tim's 
 conduct with that of others, and trace it to its true source — a better 
 state of so\il, a truer faith than theirs, the faith of the Gospel. 
 But I am anxious to hear his letter to yourself. I thought you 
 would have read that first." 
 
 " That, too, is characteristic of the man," said Mr. Vansittart, 
 taking the let&r out of his pocket. " Let us hear what he says. 
 1 would not like my boys to copy the spelling or the writing, but 
 I earnestly desii'c that they may copy after the spirit of it." 
 
 He then read as follows : — 
 
 " Nu Yarck, May foretinth, 185 — dear sur i am so obligated 
 
writing of 
 a note to 
 ,, without 
 3, and rose 
 s a failure 
 
 (wn people 
 
 ipel before 
 les before, 
 the Gospel 
 eir natural 
 led to this, 
 watch any 
 
 the writer 
 so natural, 
 s contained 
 the writer 
 tiis history; 
 im to their 
 lunced that 
 in of it has 
 amounting 
 ciation has 
 ind conduct 
 with them 1 
 
 ered — 
 Ithe truth of 
 
 itrast Tim's 
 Ice — a better 
 
 the Gospel, 
 [.bought you 
 
 Vansittart, 
 Ihat he says. 
 Iwriting, but 
 )fit." 
 
 Iso obligated 
 
 TIM S LETTER TO MR. VANSITTART. 
 
 255 
 
 to ye that i doant know where to begin m-i letthcr, capting willums 
 is a fine man intirely, so he is ; an' he gev me the tin pound ure 
 honour's majesty towld him to giv' me, an' he got me a good 
 sichuashon wid a jontleman a fu miles out o' the sittec, an' i hope 
 ure honour won't be hard on poor misforthinnet jerry, he 's as good 
 a son an' brother as ivcr walked Ireland's groimd, an' if it wasn't 
 for company keepin' an' whiskey, i 'd hav' sum hopes ov him, but 
 the grate God can do what he plaises for him ; it was a sore day 
 for me whin i left liverpule an' he so foolish, but i no yer honour 
 wouldn't let the peelers * hurt him, an' we had a very good woyage 
 to nu yorck, an' not much stormy wether, an' the capting can tell 
 yer majesty that saim, an* ile niver be able to repay awl ure honour's 
 goodness, but the good God can do what he plaises, an' I liope he'll 
 give u ivery blessin' for this world an' the world to cum, sliure 
 there 's nothin' so delightful as to tawk of his goodness an' marcy 
 to poor sinners, u know all about it in ingland, but, as for us 
 poor craythui's, the priests don't like us to read the blessed scrip- 
 thurs at all at all, an' how can we know any thing about thrue 
 religion widout noin' what the blessed lord sez in tlie good book, 
 i'm shure 'tis jist for all the world like as if ure majesty was 
 walkin' a daingurous road of a dark nite, an' awl at wanst a person 
 comes an' howlds a lanthern be4 ure feet to show u wliaic to pick 
 ure steps as nate an' as dacent as u plaise, an' if it wuldn't be 2 much 
 throuble to ure honour to rite to poor Jerry, an' tell kim to keep 
 from the dhrink, an' threten hiin hard, it ma' do him a power o' 
 good intirely, but i havn't much hopes av him till the grate God 
 abuv makes him feel what a sinner he is, nor for the poor owld 
 people, God be good to 'em an' save 'em an' sliurc tlic 're honist 
 dewout people as far as the know, but what can poor peo[)le do whin 
 the preests won't let 'em keep a bible, an' won't cxplane it to 'em, 
 an' i 'm sorry for thrubblin' ure honour's majesty, an' if ivcr i hav' 
 it in mi power to sho' ure honour how graitful i feel for ure good- 
 ness, so no more at preasunt from ure sarvunt sur, an' as in dutec 
 bownd wil pray for long life, an' helth, an' happiness to u an' ures. 
 
 Tim Doolan, an' the 
 capting's honner nose where to fined me, shure 'tis himself is the 
 good man to the poor emigrant, may long life an' liuppiuess be his 
 porshin, heer an' hereafther, amin." 
 
 " What a refreshment it is to one's soul," said Mrs. Vansittart, 
 *' to read such a letter as that. It makes one feel that there is 
 some true godliness in the world after all. 
 
 * Police. 
 
 l! : 1 
 
 I! 
 
 I'f 
 
 
 I mean religion with- 
 
Ill 
 
 
 ! : 
 
 ! ! 
 
 ; I 
 
 
 h i; 
 
 256 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 li I 
 
 out tlie mask of hypocrisy, on the one hand, and without the sorry 
 attempts made by so.r'o to strip it of that which constitutes, to my 
 present view, its true excellence, namely, that which rendera it 
 distasteful to the carnal mind ; but — I was forgetting myself — 
 what heart was ever so insensible as mine to spiritual things till 
 God made a difference ! I often fear," she added, weeping, " that 
 God will charge your former scepticism to my account." 
 
 " How can you blame yourself for that, my dear 1 " Mr, Van- 
 siitart inquired. " On the contrary, I fear it must be the very 
 reverse of what you say. It was my stubborn wickedness that 
 hindered both you and the children from realising the importance 
 of spiritual things. I say ' stubborn wickedness,' for I never did 
 believe that the Scriptures were not true, though I often wished 
 they were not. The cause is very easily seen." 
 
 " I never had any doubts," his wife replied, " that religion was 
 a very excellent thing ; but then I was a mere formalist. I went 
 to church, and said prayers, and gave alms, because I thought that if 
 I did not, I could not get to heaven ; but I never did any one act 
 from love to God ; whatever appeared good in my conduct was the 
 result of mere selfishness," and she wept tears of unfeigned sorrow 
 and self-loathing. After a long silence on both sides she added, 
 *' Some people, vast numbers, indeed, would laugh at poor Doolan's 
 letter as that of an ignoramus, and yet how sound he is in that 
 which constitutes true knowledge. I feel myself a perfect idiot 
 compared to such persons." 
 
 " How must we feel," her husband remarked, " in the pre- 
 sence and all-searching sight of the great Jehovah ! What 
 a world of meaning there api)ears in that saying of Job, ' I 
 have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine 
 eye seeth thee, wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and 
 ashes.' " 
 
 " I '11 tell you one thing," Mrs. Vansittart remarked, " which 
 appears very curious to me. Formerly I understood, or thought 
 I understood, all the Scriptures perfectly, but now it appears to 
 me that I know nothing about them, and am growing more 
 ignorant every day. Did such an idea ever strike your mind, 
 love?" 
 
 " Frequently, but then I find that we must learn to judge of 
 those matters from some other standard than our feelings. Our 
 feelings are good, if properly used, and so is reason — a glorious 
 gift when kept in its own sphere, but when exalted above God 
 and His Word, men turn it to a curse. You know a great deal 
 
A PROJECTED VISIT TO THE " EMERALD ISLE. 
 
 257 
 
 more of God's "Word now tl an ever you did before, but it is the 
 contrast betwen the little that you do understand, and the vast 
 amount that you have yet to learn, which amazes you and makes 
 you imagine that you are receding, when you are in reality going 
 forward. 
 
 " Well, dear, what are you thinking of, for I see you have some- 
 thing in your mind 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! never mind for awhile ; I have a scheme in my head." 
 
 " I dare answer for that ; you are very seldom without a scheme 
 in your head about something. What are you scheming about 
 now, darling 1 Converting the Pope ? Eh 1 " 
 
 '* You may jest as much as you please, but I 'm in downright 
 earnest. I intend going to Ireland this summei*." 
 
 " To Ireland ! for what ?— Snipe-shooting ? " 
 
 " I did not think that summer was the snipe-shooting season." 
 
 " Hight enough, my dear. Well, then, perhaps it is on a fishing 
 excursion 1 " 
 
 " Well, perhaps so ; the apostles went on fishing excursions in 
 more senses than one." 
 
 " Right again. Well, I ought to bo satisfied. I have one 
 comfort at any rate, that it will not cost so much." 
 
 " You need not comfort yourself with any such reflection, my 
 dear husband, for I am determined that it shall cost you as much, 
 every penny, as if I went whither I first intended." 
 
 " What a determined woman onr mamma is," Mr. Vansittart 
 observed to tl»e children. " Can any of you enlighten me on the 
 subject of this great scheme of hers ? " 
 
 " Well, then," she added, " if thei/ cannot, / can. I intend 
 saving all I can, for the purpose of applying it in a way more 
 consistent with our duties as redeemed souls. We owe ourselves 
 and all we have to the Lord, who gave Hinisolf for us ; and not 
 merely so, but gives Himself to us in His Holy Word and ordi- 
 nances." 
 
 " Very right. My precious wife, thank God for having some- 
 thing to give, and also for the disposition to use it for Him to 
 whom it belongs. How very much good may be done with vast 
 sums of money that are' squandered on sinful pleasures and mere 
 selfish vanities ! and what a mercy it is to have had our eyes 
 opened to see the danger of living in such courses." 
 
 "I fear," replied Mrs. Vansittart, "that I have no right ap- 
 prehension of such mercy ; and it sometimes appears to me that I 
 am more inclined to thank myself for exemption from sins of a 
 
 17 
 
 Hi 
 
 trip 
 
 V 
 
 .:4 
 
 ; t 
 
 i\ 
 
258 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 i ' . I 
 
 ! I 
 
 !; h 
 
 1,1 i 
 
 h 
 
 y 
 
 
 ! 
 
 h' ! 
 
 gross and public character, than to thank God for having sur- 
 rounded me from inmncy with blessings and safeguards, whereby 
 I was prevented from falling into snares which become ruinous to 
 thousands of souls." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," he replied, " we have a natural tendency to 
 pride, which inclines us to boast of virtues which we never pos- 
 sessed, or, if possessed by us, arc God's gifts alone, ar.d therefore 
 should be subjects for continued thanksgiving, and incentives 
 to humility. But when do you think of going on your Iiish 
 pilgrimage 1 " 
 
 " As soon as T see that everything is ready. I intend taking 
 all the children to some quiet, seaside place, of which I understand 
 there are plenty ; and then when you come over, we may leave the 
 younger children for a few days under the care of the servants, 
 while the rest of us go to see the curiosities, such as the Giant's 
 Causeway, Killarney, Wicklow scenery, &c., &c." 
 
 " But who told you that I intend going again to that outlandish 
 country'?" asked Mr. Vansittart. 
 
 " Oh ! never mind who told me. We '11 make papa come for 
 us; won't we?" Mrs. Vansittart asked of little Susan, a little 
 maiden about four years old, who drank in with great satisfaction 
 that part of the conversation which related to their visit to the 
 seaside. 
 
 *' Oh ! " said Susie, clapping her fat hands, " we '11 make him 
 come ; I know how." 
 
 " How, then, little one 1 " he asked. 
 
 " Oh ! cos we '11 bring baby with us, and then you must come." 
 
 " Must I, though ? You '11 see if I do." 
 
 Suffice it to say, that instead of going on the Continent, and 
 leaving her husband and children to get on as they could, under 
 the care of a governess and servants, Mrs. Vansittart took her 
 children and governess, with a couple of confidential servants, to 
 a quiet watering-place in the south-west of Ireland, where they 
 spent several weeks pleasantly and profitably, receiving the 
 benefits of sea air, conversing with the peasantry, and learning 
 more of their ideas and habits in a week than they could in a 
 year's reading ; talking to them of the love of Christ, and reading 
 for them the precious story of His sacrificial life and death, relieving 
 their wants, and inciting them to habits of industry and thrift. 
 
 When Mr. Vansittart joined his family, after a few weeks, 
 they visited together all the sights, from the barren rocks of 
 Skellig (on which bachelors and spinsters who have passed that 
 
WHAT MAKES THE CONTRAST 1 
 
 259 
 
 avmg suf- 
 ■i, whereby 
 ruinous to 
 
 indency to 
 never pos- 
 l therefore 
 incentives 
 your Iiish 
 
 md taking 
 understand 
 y leave the 
 e servants, 
 )he Giant's 
 
 outlandish 
 
 % come for 
 m, a little 
 satisfaction 
 isit to the 
 
 make him 
 
 
 "certain age" that is so very uncertain, do annual penance for 
 their sins) to the " Giant's Causeway." They contrasted the 
 squalid hovels of some i)art8 of the Popisli South and West with 
 the neatly-thatched, whitewashed, and rose-covered cottages of the 
 North. They contrasted the lazy, begging, cowering, fawning, 
 sycophant of the one locality with the sturdy, independent, horny- 
 handed, strong-headed Ulsterman, and came to the conclusion 
 following : — 
 
 South — Popery, poverty, filth, laziness, ignorance. 
 
 North — The Bible, prosperity, thrift, industry, intelligence. 
 
 
 ( 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 , 1 
 
 ' 1 
 
 II 
 
 %st come." 
 
 tinent, and 
 mid, under 
 
 took her 
 ervants, to 
 vhere they 
 eiving the 
 d learning 
 could in a 
 nd reading 
 1, relieving 
 
 thrift, 
 'ew weeks, 
 L rocks of 
 hassed that 
 
I <i 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 TRAVELS IN SEARCH OF A DAUOIITER-IN-LAW — FATHER M'SLAUGHTER's 
 OPINION OF DENNV NOONAN AND THE NEW LIGHTS — " HOME, 
 SWEET HOME." 
 
 f ,«' 
 
 I 'j 
 
 A FEW days after our frioncl Noonan had taken his leave of Tim, 
 lie found himself set down from the railway train in the city of 
 Pittsburgh. It was very early in the morning when the train 
 arrived, and as there were no houses open but those in which the 
 chief emj^loyment appeared to be whisky-drinking, he preferred 
 walking about for a wliile to taking up his quarters in company 
 that he felt to be uncongenial. After some time people began to 
 move about in different directions. 
 
 Labourers and arti/.ans passed to their various places of employ- 
 ment, and all the city seemed instinct with life. He paused on a 
 bridge to look up and down the river, and was astonished at 
 beholding the immense rafts of timber floating down, with houses 
 erected on them, and numbers of people in them engaged in various 
 ways, such as washing, cooking, fishing, &c., as busily as those on 
 land. 
 
 " Well, why ! to be shure an' to be sartin," said he to a man 
 who stopped, apparently to gaze at the raft, but in reality to make 
 out who and what the stranger was, " I 'm alive iver since I was 
 born, an' I 've seen boats an' ships galore ; an' more than that, I 've 
 seen the bog ov Allen in my native counthry, movin' away over 
 the fields, crossin' hedges an' ditches,* but I declare I niver, till 
 this instant minit, seen a village floatin' down a sthi'ame with their 
 little houses so cosy an' snug, an' their fires in 'em. Did ye ever 
 see the bog of Allen, Sir, with respects to ye 1 " addressing the 
 stranger whom he saw surveying him. 
 
 " The bog of Allen," the man repeated ; " no, but I have read 
 of it. It is somewhere in Ireland, I believe. Are you an Irish- 
 man ? " 
 
 * A singular phenomenon which occurred several years ago. 
 
!' 
 
 TRAVELS IN SEARCH OF A DAUGIITER-IN-LAW. 
 
 2G1 
 
 stranger 
 
 " "Wisha, thin, ye may say I am, ivery inch o' me ; an' ye 
 might sing it too if ye had a chune for it," IMr. Noonan replied ; 
 " an' sliure enough it was thought a great thing to travel as far 
 as the bog of Allen in my counthry, but I declare this 'Meriky 
 bates all I ever seen intirely fo)* travelling ; why, they talk of a 
 thousand miles hero just as we would about forty or fifty at 
 home." 
 
 "How long have you been in Pittsburgh?" the 
 inquired. 
 
 "Not long, thin," he answered; "I jist arrived from New Yarck 
 about an hour agone, an' 't is the thing that brought me to Pitts- 
 burgh, to find out about a boy o' the name o' Noonan, that keni 
 liero from Now Yarck a few years back, an' worked somewhere 
 about Pittsburgh for a time an' died. Did ye iver know a boy o' 
 that name hereabouts 1 " 
 
 " Where are you stopping ? " the man inquired, " I am going in 
 the direction of Birmingham, and must proceed to my work." 
 
 "All pints o' the compass are aicpiil to uio," Mr. Noonan rejoined; 
 " I may as Avell go there as anywhere else. This little bag in me 
 hand is all I have to carry, an' it's light." 
 
 " Noonan, Noonan," the man repeated rapidly, " I don't 
 remember a boy of that name. Was he an Irish boy 1 How old 
 was he ] " 
 
 " He was, thin, an Irish boy, a son o' me own," Mr. Noonan 
 answered ; " he 'd be about thirty years owld whin he died." 
 
 " A — boy — thirty — years — old 1 " the man said, emphasizing 
 every syllable — " a boy thirty years old ! Why we consider our- 
 selves men at thirteen, and old men at thirty, ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, 
 that is a new idea to me. However, if you know what he worked 
 at, you may find some one who could give you information about 
 him by inquiring at any place where similar work is carried on." 
 
 " I ondherstand," the old man replied, "that he worked at an 
 iron foundhry somewhere in or about Pittsburgh." 
 
 " Then we are in the very diggins where you are likely to hear 
 of him. You will be wanting some breakfast, of course ; go into 
 any public-house or boarding-house where Irishmen are in the 
 habit of frequenting, and, ' ten to one,' but you will soon hear of 
 him. There is a boarding-house," pointing to a house, over the 
 door of which was nailed a piece of board with the following 
 intelligence chalked thereon, " Boord an' lodgin' by Miles 
 M'Swiggan. N.B. — Males at all hours." 
 
 Mr. Noonan wished his informant a "good morning," and 
 
 ' ♦ 
 
 
 .1 
 
 •til 
 
 III! 
 
 II' 
 
 .11^ 
 
 ii 
 
;i' . t' 
 
 f 
 
 |.r| • 
 
 1 l;r 'I 
 
 I''* ( 
 
 262 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 stepped across the street to test the quality of the viands in Miles 
 M'Swiggan s refectory. 
 
 Miles was one of those who, acting on the maxim tliat " the early 
 bird catches the worm," was on the look-out for customers as soon 
 as it was clear daylight. He was an Irishman of the Americanized 
 stamp, who had " l(!arned " to speak througli his nose, shaved his 
 whiskers off, and wore a tuft on liis chin ; had his natural hatred 
 of England and the English intensified by a dozen years' residence 
 in "the land of the slave and the fice," and precluded every oracular 
 deliverance of his very sage and oracular mouthpiece, with the 
 oracular expression "I gass." 
 
 " Morning, stranger," he observed to Mr. Noonan. " Tr; '.veiling, 
 I gass r' 
 
 "Good mornin' kindly, and many of 'cm," the other replied. 
 " I jist came off the railway from new Yarck," 
 
 " Wantin' breakfast, T gass 1 " 
 
 "A small thrifle o' that same wouldn't be amiss in a man's way, 
 afthcr thravellin* all niglit. Whinivcir it 's ready for me I 'm ready 
 for it, with a heart an' a ?!.'i!f, ye may depind," said the " stranger." 
 
 " Stej) in and sit down," the landlord replied " I gass it will 
 be ready in half-an-hour or less." 
 
 Mr. Noonan stepped into the room used as a breakfast-room, and 
 sat down to a table, already laid out with cujjs and saucers, knives, 
 forks, plates, and cruet-stands, not one article of which l)ore the 
 appearance of being any cleaner than it ought to be. Here he 
 waited patiently until the " boorders " began to make their 
 appearance. 
 
 As they came down, one l)y one, from their dormitories, they 
 observed the stranger, and were not backward in endeavouring 
 to ascertain his object in -sisiting America. On this point he gave 
 them leave to be as inquisitive as they pleased, judging that, by 
 indulging this spirit to some extent, he was furthering the end for 
 which he had come to the country. 
 
 Failing to learn anytliing of his daughter-in-law or her 
 children from any of tlie poo])le whom he met at the boarding- 
 house, the thought struck him that, by incpiiring for th'^ 
 residence of one of the ])ricsts, ho might be likely to find the 
 objects of his search. He was not long in finding one who put 
 him on the right track in a very short time. The old man pre- 
 sented himself at the residence of the Rev. Sylvester M'Slaughter, 
 to who?n he briefly told his errand, and bogged his " riverence " 
 to inform him if he knew anything of a " boy o' the name o' 
 
 'ii I 
 
lids in Miles 
 
 it "the early 
 •mers as soon 
 Americanized 
 B, shaved his 
 itnral hatred 
 irs' residence 
 very oracular 
 ce, with the 
 
 " Trowelling, 
 
 ther replied. 
 
 a man s way, 
 
 le I 'm ready 
 
 ; "stranger." 
 
 gass it will 
 
 ist-room, and 
 
 icers, knives, 
 
 Lch l)oro the 
 
 Here he 
 
 make their 
 
 «. 
 
 itories, they 
 iideavouring 
 oint he gave 
 ing that, by 
 ; the end for 
 
 iiw or her 
 10 boarding- 
 ig for th^ 
 to find the 
 10 who put 
 Id man pre- 
 [ 'Slaughter, 
 ' riverence " 
 le name o' 
 
 FATHER M'SLAUGIITEU'S OPINION OF DENNY NOONAN. 2G3 
 
 Noonan, who died an left a dissolute widdec, and two or three 
 slips o' childher." 
 
 " What do you want with them 1 " his " reverence " asked very 
 curtly, regarding his petitioner at the same time with a searching 
 look, which said, as plainly as looks could say, "No penny, no 
 ])aternoster." 
 
 " Wisha, Sir," he meekly answered, " I want to find out whether 
 slie '^) the widdee of a son o' mine that died some time ago. I 'm 
 only a week or so from the owld counthry, and " 
 
 "And you have come to 'hunt for a needle in a bundle of hay,'" 
 his reverence re})lied, interruj)ting him. " Well, 7. did know a 
 wretch of that name, but I hope he was no son of \ ours, for you 
 appear to l)e a decent man, and not likely to sell your soid to the 
 Protestants for lilthy lucre. Tlie man I refer to was named Denis ; 
 he was slightly pockmarked, had sandy hair, and a slight cut over 
 one eye." 
 
 " The same marks an' tokens o' me i)Oor l)oy, shure enough," 
 said Mr. Noonan. " But tell me. Sir, what did me poor gossoon 
 do that was bad ? " 
 
 " 13ad ! " exclaimed his reverence ; " what could he do that was 
 worse, I'd like to know ] He got in with some of the sects of 
 locusts that swarm in this country, an^l ai)ostatized from his 
 religion. His wife soon followed his example. If you don't take 
 good care, old man, the devil will get you in his fangs too ; but I 
 think you have better sense. Pei'haps you may be sent here to 
 briiifj his wife and children back to the fold attain. You will find 
 tliem Here " (he shouted, throwing up tlu; window, and beckon- 
 ing to a man who was passing^, " 'o". know the Widow Noonan 1 
 Herself and her husband made a h. ly show of themselves by join- 
 ing some of the * New Liglits.' '' 
 
 " I do. Sir, well," said tli * nan. 
 
 " This decent man is the fatlior of that i)oor wretch. He wants 
 to find them out." 
 
 " I am just goin' past the place. Sir." 
 
 " Well, then, show him the load." 
 
 Perhaps we may pardon the old man for a little bit of waggery 
 on the occasion. He had l>een schooled in Popery, and knew the 
 "ins" and "outs "of it. During his interview with the priest 
 he kept his face as straight as possible, so that the divine was 
 unable to read therein the smile which would fain force itself 
 up from the depth of his soul. When he reached the door ho 
 turned round, hat in hand, and asked, with appareiit inno- 
 
 « ( I 
 
i'jj i 
 
 264 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 iH, 
 
 'i 
 
 cence, " An* can nothin' be done for the poor gossoon now, your 
 riverence ] " 
 
 " That," said the priest, after several seconds spent in delibex'a- 
 tion, during which he fumbled in his pocket, an rattled some coins 
 therein, " that — depends — depends — depends entirely on " 
 
 Here the old man came to his relief in the time of perplexity — 
 "I suppose, yer riverence," he slyly snnl, "it depinds intirely on 
 the depth of me pocket an' the stuff that lines it." 
 
 " O you wretch ! Do I hear my ears ? Where is my cane ? 
 Leave my house." 
 
 Before he uttered the last sentence, the old man had taken his 
 departiu'e, .and was soon on the track of his guide, who, being in 
 haste to his employment, did not remain to hear the latter 
 colloquy. 
 
 A sliort walk brought them to the house of his daughtor-in-law. 
 She earned a scanty living by keeping a small shop, and taking in 
 washing, and other little jobs, such as her strength and the care of 
 her young children permitted her to attend to. 
 
 " God save all here," said the old man, as he entered the 
 house. 
 
 " God save ye kindly," was retorted by a woman, who was busy 
 giving her children their bi-eakfast. " 'T is seldom I hears that 
 salute in this countbry, an' indeed 'tis music to me ears, so it is, 
 God be blessed an' praised ; if it was His holy will I 'd like to bo 
 where I first heerd it ; but, Ocli hone ! Och hone ! there would 
 be no welcome for mc there now, as matthers are. Arc ye 
 hungry, Sir 1 Ye look tired, as if ye had been thravellin' a long- 
 way." 
 
 " I am tired, then, shure enough," the old man replied, " but 
 not hungry, for I ate a good hearty breakfast a short time ago." 
 The children had been attracted by the blandnesa of the old man's 
 voice, and left the table one by one to gaze at the stranger. Little 
 Judith, the youngest, had sidled up to him, and placed a hand in 
 one of his. 
 
 " Oh, fie ! fie ! childher," said the mother, " ye were often 
 towld not to throuble sthrangers, an' not to stare at 'em. Excuse 
 them. Sir," she said to the old man, "they don't mane any 
 harm." 
 
 He had by this time lifted Judy on his knee, and imprinted a 
 loving kiss on her cherry cheek. " But," the mother continued, 
 " I can see that ye are fond o* childher. Ye have a family of yer 
 own, of coorse, Sir 1 " 
 
 :i!i ! 
 
MR. NOONAN SHOWS HIMSELF FOND OF CHILDREN. 
 
 265 
 
 •;! ;-i 
 
 now, your 
 
 delibera- 
 
 ome coins 
 » 
 
 •plexity — 
 ntirely on 
 
 my cane? 
 
 taken his 
 , ])C'ing in 
 ilio latter 
 
 ;er-in-law. 
 taking in 
 be care of 
 
 tered the 
 
 was busy 
 ears that 
 , so it is, 
 like to bo 
 ire would 
 Are ye 
 in' a lonu' 
 
 ied, " but 
 inie ago." 
 old man's 
 Little 
 1 hand in 
 
 pre often 
 Excuse 
 lanc any 
 
 n-inted a 
 ontinued, 
 ly of yer 
 
 "I have, thin," he answered, with a sigh, "an' this little colleen 
 is the very picther of an owld ooman that I left at the fireside at 
 home, that is, whin she was young ; an' that little boy is very like 
 a son o' mine that 's dead and gone to heaven, I hope. What 's 
 yer name, my little man 1 " addressing the boy. 
 
 " Dinny Noonan," the little fellow replied, with a self-confident, 
 care-for-nothing air. " What 's yours 1 " 
 
 "Oh, Dinny! Dinny!" said his mother, "is that the way yer 
 poor father, who is dead an' gone, used to teach ye to speak to yer 
 elders 1 I hope. Sir," addressing the old man, " ye '11 not think 
 hard of the boy or of his rearin' ; but 't is onpossiblo to bring 
 childher up here as they do in the owld counthry. There's no 
 respect for owld age hero, nor indeed for anybody that hasn't 
 money, whether young or owld. I don't know what the childher 
 are comin' to. They make game of me ])oor slobs, whin they 
 hear 'em say * Sir,' or ' Ma'am,' to anybody." 
 
 " Bad enough," he answered, " bad enough. Tell mo now," he 
 added, "bein', as i/ou appear to be, a lone ooman, wouldn't it be 
 bettiier ^ i- ve to take yer childher back to where ye kem from?" 
 
 "Imh>d,' I often think o' that," she replied, "O Judy, don't 
 choke the old gintleman. She's very throublcsomc to ye. Sir, so 
 she is." 
 
 Judy had by this time got both her little arms ai'ound his neck, 
 and was gaziiig most intently into his eyes. 
 
 "I often think o' that same, for I like the owld ways bettlicr 
 than the ways o' this counthry. The peoi)le here are very kind 
 an' good, especially to strugglin' people' an' to widdecs like mo, 
 that strives to industher ; but still I 'd like to see the face ov a 
 rale owld counthry lady or gintleman, if it wor only Manst a year. 
 Dear me, wouldn't it comfort me just to hear the voice of one of 
 'em, they spakos so purty? but the oidy name they have for 
 them here is ' 'ristocrats,' whatever that manes. Shure they won't 
 b'leeve me whin I tell 'em that the 'ristocrats don't kick the i)eeplo 
 about homo, just as they do to the })oor naygurs in tlie South. 
 Howsomevor, labour is betther paid for here than it is at home, 
 an' people begin to airn money vtay soon, so I suppose my doom 
 is to st<(i/ hero, now that I «7n here." 
 
 "You don't know what may happen," the old man replied. 
 " Ye know the owld proverb, ' Far-ofi' God sinds.' How are yer 
 people off, or yer husband's peei)le]" 
 
 "Me own people," she replied, "are very poor in ginival ; 
 they 've no land. Me husband's father is comfortable enough, an' 
 
 m 
 
 Mil' 
 
 k 
 

 :l I 
 
 lii \ 
 
 hi 
 
 if 
 
 if 
 
 I 
 
 fill' 
 
 266 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 indeed he 's a very kind, good, quiet man, but the owld ooman 
 wasn't plaised wid the match he made, bekase I had no money. 
 He could have got good matches ; girls with land an' stock plinty, 
 but they worn't his ch'ice. Now he 's dead, an' I can safely say, 
 that he niver, in all our suffeiin's, upbraided me, or cast up to me 
 that he could be botther off. He knew that it grieved me, for he 
 often suffered on my account an' the childher's ; but he often said, 
 'Kathleen, I thanked God for ye ivery day since I got ye, an' 
 I'll thank Him with me dyin' breath.' 
 
 " Whin I axed him if he had any charge to give me about the 
 childher, he said, ' No, pou have been good an' faithful to me, an' 
 you '11 be so to thim. If iver ye write to me father an' mother,' 
 sez he, ' write about their poor sowls, an' tell 'em to look to the 
 Lord Jasus for marcy, an' to Him alone.' " 
 
 " I declare," said the old man, " this little ooman in me arras 
 is so taken wid me that I 
 
 have a mind to take her along wid 
 
 me. 
 
 " Oh, Sir, she 's very throublesomc intirely," said the mother; 
 " put her down an' rest yerself j take otF yer muffler an' yer great- 
 coat, an' warm yerself be the stove. Here, sit up nearer to it." 
 The old man stood up to divest himself of his muffler and over- 
 coat ; his daughter-in-law a})proached liim to take them from his 
 hands, when, suddenly recognising him, she gave a scream, and 
 fell unconscious into an arm-chair that stood beside her. In a 
 cry few seconds slie recovered herself, and darted, like a mad 
 thing, from her own house into that of a neighbour with the news 
 of her father-in-law's arrival. 
 
 The children were nearly as overjoyed as was their mother, who 
 declared that, " Let pco})le say what they would, ' blood is thicker 
 than wather,' or else little Judy would never have * cottoned ' to 
 her ' granddaddy ' as she had done." 
 
 When the curiosity of the friends had subsided, which was not 
 for a couple of days, IMr, Noonan took his daughter-in-law aside 
 to converse about her future prospects. 
 
 "Tell me now," hj biiid, "what you intind doin' with yerself 
 and the childher 1 Wouldu't it be betther for ye all to come 
 along home wid me ? I have the owld place still, an' plinty to 
 eat an' drink, an' a good landlord. The owld ooman is feeble 
 now, and yon could assist her in milkin' cows an' makin' butther. 
 Our own little girl hasn't much sinse yit, an' by the time that 
 I get too owld to manage the farm, Dinny may be grown up an' 
 sthrong enough to take it off me hands. At any rate you an' 
 
A GENEKOUS OFFER REFUSED. 
 
 267 
 
 fk\ ooman 
 10 money. 
 )ck plinty, 
 safely say, 
 ; up to me 
 ne, for he 
 often said, 
 ot ye, an' 
 
 about the 
 to me, an' 
 i' mother,' 
 ok to the 
 
 L me arras 
 along wid 
 
 ) mother; 
 yer great- 
 er to it." 
 and over- 
 
 fi'om his 
 ream, and 
 ler. In a 
 le a mad 
 
 the news 
 
 ther, who 
 is thicker 
 toned ' to 
 
 I was not 
 ■law aside 
 
 h yerself 
 
 to come 
 
 plinty to 
 
 is feeble 
 
 ' butther. 
 
 ;ime that 
 
 vn up an' 
 
 you an' 
 
 yours shall never want as long as we have a stone o' the pratees 
 to share wid ye, an' Dinny must have the land afther me. What 
 do ye say ? " 
 
 " Oh, indeed, what can I s?.y only that I 'm thankful to ye? I 
 know the offer comes from yer heart, an' altho' the feelin's of a 
 mother tell me ' it is best for yer family,' still I can't do it. God 
 will bless 'em an' purvide for 'em." 
 
 "Why can't ye do itl" he asked. "Don't ye think I'm 
 serious after comin' over the salt say to find ye out 1 " 
 
 " I do," she said, with tears, " an' I '11 taich me chiklher to love 
 ye for it, till I can taich thim no more ; but ye don't know all 
 that I know, or perhaps you 'd be angry wid me, an' wid him that 's 
 happy now with the Saviour." 
 
 The old man knew what was coming, and appreciated his 
 daughter-in-law's difficulty in introducing the subject. " Oh, well," 
 he answered, " as the owld sayin' goes, * Every one knows his own 
 know.' I hope nayther yoit nor he iver robbed or murdhcred any- 
 body ; an' as for him that '« gone, won't the priest give him all the 
 help he can whin we pay him well for it 1 " 
 
 The game was now feirly sprung. " As to that," she said, " I 'm 
 sorry to me very heart's core to offind you " (here she melted into 
 tears), " but the thruth is best. I don't believe in that way of 
 obtaining salvation now, an' me poor man disowned it too, and 
 larned to look to Christ alone for marcy." 
 
 " Whillalew ! " the old man shouted, ii\ a mock rage. " Do I 
 hear wud me cars at all at all 1 Where "s me owld liat an' wig 
 till I throw them into the fire? Share I might have known tl>^re 
 was sum change in yo, whin I couldn't find a Litany of the Yurgin 
 in the house, nor a drop o' holy wather in the bed-room, nor a 
 rosary, nor a crucifix, nor a bit of a blessed candle, nor a scapular, 
 nor a hap'orth. Nothin' but Bibles an' Tistamints. Well, why, 
 to be shure ! an' to be sartin ! An' tell me," he added, " did ye 
 let the poor fellow die widout the rites o' the Church — confession 
 and unction 1 " 
 
 " No, indeed," she replied. " He confessed and had a))solution, 
 and the anointin' of the Holy One. He confessed and forsook his 
 sins. God absolved him and anointed him with the oil of gladnt^-s. 
 I know how kind it is of ye to make the otier ye do, but it wouldn't 
 do to have a disunited house if we had thousands o' })ounds. I '11 
 do the best I can for thim while I liave health," Hen* she pressed 
 two of them to her heart, Judy still gazing at her grandfather, and 
 clinging to him. 
 
 h 
 
 
268 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ii'l 
 
 u 
 
 If. 1 1 
 
 II' 
 
 ) 
 
 ,i ^ 
 
 !* 
 
 ■ ! 
 
 " Maybe," the old man said drily, " maybe ye have plinty o' 
 money. They sjiy that those who turn from the Church always 
 gets plinty av it." 
 
 " I have nothin'," she replied, *' but what I earn. Good 
 Christian people indeed do assist me greatly in sinding me work, 
 but I work for all that goes into those childhren's mouths an' on 
 their backs. The 'Mericans are very, veri/ kind in helpin' strangers. 
 If I wor enable to work I know there 's do.iens who 'd help me in 
 various ways." 
 
 " An' do ye mane to tell me," he said, with some sternness of 
 manncu-, " that ye can refuse a i)lintiful home for yerself and 
 child lior, rayther thin turn away from yer new-fangled religion?" 
 
 " I can" she added. " Nothin' grieved the Either o' those 
 babes so much as the grief he knew you 'd feel whin you 'd find 
 out the change that tuck place in him ; but his words wor, ' Duty 
 to God first, parents aftherwards."* 
 
 The old man could bear up no more. He dropped reverently on 
 his knees, and thanked the Father of mercies for having brought 
 his son to a knowl'dge of the Gospel ere He removed him from 
 earth. 
 
 When both parties had sufficiently recovered their composure he 
 related to his daughter-in-law the circumstances attending his own 
 conversion to God, so that they unitedly " magnified the Lord and 
 exalted His name together." 
 
 ■' .^ow, fatlier," she said, " I can go wid ye to the world's ind. 
 There was nothing but the one thing that purvinted me sendin' one 
 or two of the childher to ye afore, for I knew ye had a ginerous 
 heart ; but as tliat one obstacle is removed, I '11 go wid ye, an' 
 work me fingers to the bone, if required." 
 
 " Mavoiirneen, ye needn't do that," he replied, in his quiet, easy 
 way. " We're workin' people, an' always used to work, but we 
 need niver put our hands to it so as to hurt ourselves. If there is 
 anything too hard for yerself an' the colleen at home, I '11 be bound 
 we 're able to pay for gettin' it done ; an' if I wasn't, I have a good 
 landlord, who niver would let me want for a pound, or for a 
 hundred of 'em. Shurc, didn't he sing out aftlier me the day I 
 towld him I was cumin' to look after ye, ' Cum back here,' sez he. 
 * Oh, I 'm in a terrible hurry, Sir,' sez I. ' Do you want any 
 money 1 ' sez he. ' Thanks to yer honour,' sez I, ' I niver wanted 
 money these twenty years.' ' Thank yer own honesty for that,' 
 sez he. * I thank the great God for it,' sez I. God be good to 
 him. I wish he knew the Saviour." 
 
 n 
 
plinty o' 
 1 always 
 
 L. Good 
 lie work, 
 s an' on 
 tirangers. 
 [) me in 
 
 nness of 
 self and 
 igion 1 " 
 o' those 
 u'd find 
 •, ' Duty 
 
 ently on 
 brought 
 im from 
 
 osure he 
 his own 
 iOrd and 
 
 Id's ind. 
 
 idin' one 
 
 ^inerous 
 
 ye, an' 
 
 iet, easy 
 but we 
 there is 
 e bound 
 e a good 
 )r for a 
 e day I 
 ' sez he. 
 int any 
 wanted 
 that,' 
 
 )r 
 
 good to 
 
 
 PREPARING TO RETURN HOME. 
 
 269 
 
 " Blessin' an' praise be to His great name," his daughter 
 added. " How much people lose who don't know His holy Gosj)el ! 
 How ignoi'ant I was of all its holy taichin's till I cum here ! One 
 thing puzzles me the more I think av it. What is to become of 
 all our poor frinds who nivir heerd the "Word o' God 1 An' what 
 will the great God do wid the multitudes who dies widout hearin' 
 itr' 
 
 " Well, why," said the old man, " tliat same throubled meself 
 greatly, ontil I spoke to me frind Tim about it, an' he said, 
 ' That 's no business o' yours or mine,' soz he. ' We have read an' 
 heerd His word, an' knows God's will, an' are accountable for what 
 we knows. God will not ])owld anybody accountable for not 
 knowin' that whicli ho had no oi^portunity of knowin',' sez he ; an' 
 he used to reed the twelfth chapter of Luko, 17th an' 48th verses, 
 where it sez, * He who knows his master's will, an' docs not do 
 it, shall be beaten wid many stripes.'" 
 
 " One little thing more," she said, " throubles me, an' that is, 
 about mother. She may not like me ; an' if she did, she knows 
 nothin' of what has taken place in the way of religion. I wouldn't 
 like to cause any throul^lo to you or her on my account, an' we 
 don't know how slio may take tiioso matters to heart," 
 
 "Thruo enough, ma colleen," he answered; "but our diity is 
 plain enough. 8he is not a hard ooman to g(»t along wid at all. 
 She wouldn't hurt or harm anybody ; an' as to her poor sowl, is 
 not the same good God able to enlighten Iio' mind that enlightened 
 ours? Let us both do our duty towards her in every way, an' 
 pray to the Almighty for His light to rest on her heart. He can 
 do anything He plais(>s." 
 
 " That is the best we can do," she replied. " He who enlightened 
 my dark soul can create light where He plaises." 
 
 A few days enabled Mr. Noonan so to arrange matters as to 
 have all things in i-eadiness for his departure with his daughtei--in 
 law and her young family for New York, whence they were to 
 take ship, and sail in a very short time for '' home and friends 
 once more." 
 
 The last day in Pittsburgh was spent in visiting those kind 
 friends, who had so nobly assisted her during her husband's illness 
 and at the time of his death, and had interested themselves in 
 obtaining employment for her, in order to enable her to suj)port 
 her family. 
 
 " There is only one thing throublin' me now," she said to her 
 father-in-law, as they stopped at a railway depot on their journey 
 
 iM 
 
 li 
 
 'm 
 
 k 
 
i 
 
 1 
 
 : ■'[ 
 
 ' 1 !' 
 
 270 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ! ^, , 
 
 to take refreshments ; " I dlireail the passage over the wather, not 
 for the danger o' the say, but bekase of the horrid convei-sation, 
 the cnrsin', and swearin.', an' foul language they will hear in the 
 steerage o' the ship. It makes me thrimble whin I thinks of the 
 language an' conduct to which they will be exposed." 
 
 " Indeed," said the old man, " that was well thought of, an' I 'II 
 not, for the lucre of a few dirty little pounds, have you an' the 
 childher annoyed by any such thing. I '11 take a nice place for 
 the whole of us in the second cabin, where you an' they can have 
 a snug little room to yerselves." 
 
 Arrived in New York, they soon found a vessel bound for 
 Liverpool, ready to sail within forty-eight hours. 
 
 The first day in New York was spent in securing their passage 
 and " perwisions," as the good old man called them ; and the 
 second in writing and directing a letter to his friend Tim, whose 
 address ]ie succeeded in finding. 
 
 Farewell, old patriarch ! May favouring breezes waft you back to 
 your old domain. 
 
 Farewell once more, until we find you, in a subsequent page of 
 our history, seizing tlie horny hand of your friend Tim in another 
 part of this continent. 
 
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 passage 
 and the 
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 I back to 
 
 page of 
 another 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TIM's loyalty assailed — HE NAILS IlIS COLOURS TO THE MAST, AND 
 
 RETIRES TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 Tim was now some time one of Mr. Vansproch's household, and 
 both were becoming intimate with each other. Our hero was one 
 of those men who, in the absence of mental trail' ing, thought much, 
 was careful in avoiding inconsiderate conclusions, was one of the 
 few who looked closely into things, but kept his thoughts to him- 
 self until asked for ; and w:\en questioned, gave his answers 
 respectfully, honestly, and ir his unadulterated native dialect. 
 Tim was a genius, and there .re many such in Ireland, some of 
 whom do not know a letter, and yet seem to those who do business 
 with them much in advance of themselves. Tim had the advan- 
 tage of " a little learning," that " dangerous thing," very general 
 now in his country ; but to this, in his case, there was superadded 
 a knowledge of the Bible, of his fellow-men, some acquaintance 
 with his own heart, and deep piety. 
 
 We have already seen that Mr. Vansproch was a good man, 
 and a lover of good men. Like most Americans who have not 
 travelled, he was not only proud of his coimtry, even to boasting, 
 but strenuous in his assertions and belief that no other in the 
 world possessed such advantages, such institutions, such sacred 
 rights and liberties, and which were so all well defined and under- 
 stood, as the Americans. In these views he was by no means 
 singular. 
 
 The specimen of Irishmen with whom he was occasionally in the 
 habit of conversing had led him to something like the belief that 
 Ireland was the great slave-pen of England, and that those emi- 
 grants, daily arriving in America therefrom, were like the fugitive 
 slaves from the Southern States of his own country. 
 
 *' Well, Tim," he very kindly inquired one day, " how are you 
 this morning ! " 
 
 " As sound as a trout, yer honour," Tim replied, catching a lock 
 
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 070 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 of hair over his forehead, and giving the head a pull forwards, as 
 if it were reluctant to make the bow with which he was anxious 
 to salute his employer ; for he was working without his hat on, in 
 order to keep his head cool. The scene altogether appeared to Mr. 
 Vansproch so ludicrous that he could not suppress a laugh. He 
 traced, in his own mind, Tim's honest, but awkward salute, to the 
 supposed fact that he had been reared in a state of slavery, although 
 called by another name ; for however respectful men of position 
 and education in America may bo to each other, such is the spirit 
 of insubordination among the working classes, that they expect 
 nothing of the sort from them. Indeed, emigrants seemed to be 
 seized with that spirit as with a disease, immediately on their 
 landing ; and it is very observable that they manifest that feeling 
 in inverse ratio to their cringing obsequiousness at home. 
 
 The man who would (in Ireland) out-blarney all others in 
 fawning and cringing, would be the very first to tell the man who 
 had employed him for years, or whose charity had relieved him 
 scores of times, " I 'm as good a fellow as you, an' don't care a 
 blackberry about you." 
 
 " Well, Tim," said his employer, " you have been some thi'ee or 
 four months among us now, and have seen a good deal of differ- 
 ence, I apprehend, between our country and its institutions and 
 your own. I suppose you have thought seriously of declaring 
 your intentions of becoming a citizen of the United States, the 
 greatest earthly honour that could be conferred on any man." 
 
 Tim paused a little, studying how to shape his answer so as not 
 to wound the prejudices of one whom he respected as a superior, 
 and loved as a Christian. He then replied, " Wheriver a man 
 travels, yer honour, he '11 see differences betune * the people, an' 
 their ways, an' their doin's. There 's no mistake but this is a 
 good counthry for the poor workin' man, an' there 's a power o' 
 kind, good peeple intirely in the same counthry. May God bless 
 'em. I met a power o' kindness from ' gintle an' simple ' since I 
 kem to it." 
 
 "I have heard lately," said Mr. Vansproch, "that you had 
 declared your intentions in the usual way. Is that true ? If so, 
 I am really glad of it, because it elevates the man who does it and 
 makes him feel he is a man. It is not like Ireland in that respect 
 or any part of Britain." 
 
 Tim looked searchingly at his master, as if to say, " Either you 
 or meself must be dhreamin.'" Having assured himself that lie 
 
 * Between. 
 
 I 1 
 
forwards, as 
 was anxious 
 is hat on, in 
 lared to Mr. 
 laugh. He 
 ilute, to the 
 ry, although 
 of position 
 is the spirit 
 they expect 
 cemed to be 
 sly on their 
 that feeling 
 ne. 
 
 1 others in 
 le man who 
 elieved him 
 don't care a 
 
 me three or 
 !al of differ- 
 tutions and 
 f declaring 
 
 States, the 
 man." 
 cr so as not 
 
 a superior, 
 iver a man 
 
 people, an' 
 t this is a 
 
 a power o' 
 J God bless 
 pie ' since I 
 
 you had 
 ue ? If so, 
 does it and 
 ihat respect 
 
 Either you 
 ielf that lie 
 
 A DISCUSSION ox SOME BRITISH IXSTITL'TIONS. 
 
 273 
 
 5 
 
 was awake he replied, "I sartinly wint to the i)lacc whore I saw 
 iiiin goin' uforo the majesty, to soc if I could oiidlicr.staud the bis- 
 ncss ; but havin' hoord the oath rcpatod to the miu who tuck it, I 
 said to mosolf, ' I '11 wait awhile.' I hope yer honour won't bo 
 offinded wid me for gainsayin' what you've heerd about the rich 
 noekin' the poor about. You've been misinformed, for there's no 
 nock in' about o' the sort to the poor })Coplo. I nivor seen or met 
 any abuse in the owld counthry from the rich, but I 've met kind- 
 ness, goodness, ;ia' purtcction. I 've met a deal of abuse and par- 
 socution, but it has always been from my own ai({uils, an' not 
 from the rich ; an' it's a great shame to belie the owld counthry, 
 so it is. It is thrue there 's many l)ad things, and abuse is one of 
 'cm, but they generally cum from the priests. As for the Queen, 
 may God bless her, an' thim that 's oudher her, if it wasn't for 
 her an' thim, there would be no livin' in the counthry at all at all." 
 
 " But look at the immense income she gets for doing nothing, 
 and the fearful amount of money it takes to support such a stand- 
 ing army. Our President gets only about sijo Uiousand sterllmj 
 a-year, for ruling this great countr}^, and the re^Kjrt is that the 
 Queen has nearly a million." 
 
 " Much good may it do her honour," said Tim ; " ineself niver 
 begrudged it to her, nor wouldn't if it wor tin times as much. 
 Shure, whin her own people pays it to her, an' bears all the other 
 expinses, those who have none av it to pay needn't grumble. 
 An' isn't it all spint in the counthry, an' goes back to the counthry 
 agin? An', Sir, why shouldn't the Queen av England have an 
 army 1 an' sailors ? an' constables ? an' peelers too 1 An' shure it 
 was well for the world that she had 'em in * Boney's ' * time. If 
 anything should happen that this counti*y required an army, where 
 would it come from % " 
 
 " Come from % " his master retorted, with a look of kind compas- 
 sion. " Every man and boy in the country, from extreme north 
 to extreme south, would vie with one another in trying to be first 
 to repel the invader. O yes, Europe fears our rising power. If 
 we could whack England before we were a nation, and in a few 
 years after we became such, rej)eat the dose, we can do it again. 
 But she is wiser than to try it." 
 
 " Well, indeed. Sir," Tim replied, " I may be mistaken ; but I 
 can tell ye one thing, Sir — it may be, in my opinion, much cheaper 
 to heep a staudin' army, an' to pay an' clothe 'em well, thin to have 
 to make an army all at wanst. Dear me, what signifies it how 
 
 * Buonaparte. 
 
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 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 brave men are, if they don't know how to use their stringth to 
 the best advantage ? I heerd many owld people talkin' about the 
 year o' * 'Ninety-eight,'* an' I had many a talk meself wid owld pin- 
 sioners, that fought all through thim throubles, an' they towld me 
 many times that the * croppies,' as the rebels were called, wor as 
 brave an* as hardy as any min that ever fought. But where was 
 the use o* that? they had no knowledge of their stringth, nor how 
 to use it, nor how to obey the word o' command. Whin their 
 officers would tell 'em to go one way, some of 'em would prefer go- 
 in' some other way ; an' all the world knows they made a bad job 
 for thimselves an' for all who wor fools enough to jine along wid 
 'em." 
 
 " But why did you not declare your intentions 1 " his master 
 asked, willing to drop an upleasant subject, on which he found Tim 
 " pretty well posted up," as he expressed it to his wife, when he 
 went in to breakfast. 
 
 " Well, Sir, I '11 tell ye the thruth," was Tim's very deliberate 
 answer. '* There was one thinij in that oath of altisrince that I 
 didn't like ; an' ye know yerself, Sir, that an oath is the most 
 awful thing in the world. Whin it came to that part, that I was 
 required to swear aginst all other powers, and esjiecially the Queen 
 of England, I didn't see what spite anybody should have aginst the 
 Queen, for all the world knows there isn't the likes of her ondher 
 the canopy o' heaven ; an' so I towld 'em to swear somebody else, 
 an' to wait there till I kem back agin." 
 
 *' I had no idea you were such a dreadful royalist," his master 
 added, with evident disappointment. " I thought all Irishmen were 
 only too glad to become American citizens when they came to this 
 country." 
 
 " I am very sorry, Sir," said Tim, "if I have said any thin' dis- 
 respectful to ye, or hurtful to yer feelin's, but every one nathur- 
 ally thinks his own counthry the best." 
 
 After this conversation a couple of years glided smoothly away, 
 during which Tim was diligent in his work, and while his employer 
 was liberal and punctual in paying, he became reserved and dis- 
 tant. 
 
 Mrs. Doolan kept on the "even tenor of her way," discharging 
 with assiduity the claims of domestic life, and, if possible, loved 
 her husband better after his firm resolve to hold his allegiance to 
 his rightful sovereign, Victoria. 
 
 * The rebellion in that year in Ireland. 
 
IV stringth to 
 an' about the 
 wid owld pin- 
 hey towld me 
 called, wor as 
 ut where was 
 igth, nor how 
 Whin their 
 uld prefer go- 
 ide a bad job 
 ine along wid 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 TIM's new home — HOW TO OPEN A BANK — " ALL OFFICERS AND NO 
 SOLDIERS " WHAT WAS SHOT BY THE OLD GUN. 
 
 r 
 
 " his master 
 he found Tim 
 ivife, when he 
 
 ny deliberate 
 ugince that I 
 I is the most 
 b, that I was 
 lly the Queen 
 ,ve aginst the 
 f her ondher 
 mebodj else, 
 
 ," his master 
 ishmen were 
 came to this 
 
 anythin' dis- 
 one nathur- 
 
 oothly away, 
 liis employer 
 ved and dis- 
 
 discharging 
 ssible, loved 
 illegiance to 
 
 The reader will remember that towards the close of the previous 
 chapter we noticed a change had taken place in Mr. Vansproch's 
 manner towards his overseer and gardejier, occasioned, no doubt, 
 by the refusal to comply with the custom of " declaring inten- 
 tions," in order to constitute American " citizenship," to have done 
 which required a compromise of Tim's legitimate sovereign, the 
 illustrious " Queen of Great Britain and Ireland," to whom he 
 believed he owed allegiance, and to her only, and which he was 
 too honest and loyal to forego. He soon found that this refusal 
 not only altered matters in the household, but had extended itself 
 among his neighbours, by whom he was regarded as a foe and not 
 a friend. Without going into details of views and counter- 
 views, suffice it to say, that a professing Christian master dis- 
 charged a faithful Christian servant because diilering in politics, 
 and the change led our hero to remove to a remote town in 
 Western Pennsylvania. 
 
 Being unable, for some time, to obtain any suitable employ- 
 ment, he consented, reluctantly, to work in a distillery, kept by a 
 German, who had settled in that neighbourhood many years 
 previously. 
 
 While in this neighbourhood he availed himself of the very 
 excellent common school system of the country, to obtain a good 
 plain English education for his children. Such of them as were 
 old enough were accordingly sent to school. They had not been 
 very long in attendance before he found that they were making 
 considerable imjn-ovement in learning, and acquiring, at the 
 same time, a most inveterate hatred against Britain and every- 
 thing British. 
 
 While sitting with his familv one evening, after 
 
 the labours of the day, he was surprised by his eldest boy accost- 
 ing him familiarly with the term " Dad ! " Tim and his wife, 
 
i i , 'v 
 
 I 
 
 276 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ! ir 
 
 I ■ ! 
 
 
 I- 
 
 ; ' h \ 
 
 both, thought the word " Pa," universally used in the States to 
 designate the father of the family, too much like aping the manners 
 of his "betters," so tliey encouraged their children to adhere to 
 the usage of their own class, in their own country, in this respect, 
 and therefore did not discourage this form of address. 
 
 " Dad," said the boy. 
 
 "What is it, ma bouchal ?" his father responded. 
 
 " I hope the Rooshians will lick England." 
 
 " O fie ! fie ! my son," said Tim. *' What makes you wish that 1 
 England niver done us any harm, but good, an' all the English 
 people that I came across gev me the best o' thraitment. Why do 
 ye wish harm to England 1 " 
 
 " Because they are all wicked," the boy answered, stamping with 
 his right foot, as though he thought himself capable of annihilating 
 the whole British Empire ; " but," he added, " one American can 
 lick six of them. My reading book tells how the Americans always 
 licked them in the revolution, though there were twenty English 
 soldiers to one American." 
 
 "Indeed, thin, me boy, if that's thrue," said Tim, "they must 
 be very diiferent lookin' officers an' sogers from what we have 
 hereabouts or anywhere else that I have had an opportunity o' seein* 
 'em since I kem to the counthry." 
 
 When his wife had put the children to bed, he took the oppor- 
 tunity of looking into their reading books, and found it just as his 
 son had said. 
 
 The British were represented as overwhelming in numbers in 
 nearly every battle, always defeated by forces inferior in numbers, 
 oppressive and cruel, as well as vindictive, whenever the fortunes 
 of war afforded them an oj^portunity. 
 
 " Didn't ye often hear," he inquired of his wife, " that what 's 
 bred in the bone is hard to be got out o' the flesh 1 " 
 
 " Of 'n an' of 'n I hoerd that same," his wife replied. " Shure 
 't is no wondher the min an' womin should be so bitther whin it is 
 'distilled' into 'em from the time they're as tall as a 'bee's knee.* 
 I don't wondher at Catholics at home bein' bitther on account o' 
 their religion, bekase an Englishman * and a Protestant are words 
 of only one manin' to thim, but whin I hear Protestants, as most 
 of the people here are, talkin' so hard about Protestants, I don't 
 know what to make av it. It appeers as if there wasn't much 
 differ atween 'em." 
 
 * The Irish language has no name for "Protestant" but "Sassenagh," 
 which signifies Saxon. 
 
MERITS AND DEMERITS OF AMERICAN CHARACTER. 
 
 27^ 
 
 ;he States to 
 
 : the manners 
 
 to adhere to 
 
 this respect, 
 
 )u wish that 1 
 
 the English 
 
 it. Why do 
 
 ;amping with 
 annihilating 
 Lmerican can 
 [•icans always 
 enty English 
 
 "they must 
 lat we have 
 inity o' seein* 
 
 the oppor- 
 Lt just as his 
 
 numbers in 
 in numbers, 
 the fortunes 
 
 that what's 
 
 ;d. " Shure 
 Br whin it is 
 bee's knee.* 
 n account o' 
 'it are words 
 nts, as most 
 ints, I don't 
 rasn't much 
 
 "Sassenagh," 
 
 i 
 
 This had often been a stumbling-block to Tim himself. Fre- 
 quently he pondered it over and over, unable to arrive at the 
 probable solution of the enigma, and ending with the sage re- 
 flection, often expressed by both Protestants and Komanists in his 
 own country when in perplexity, " "Well ! the great God above "11 
 clear up all mystheries in His own good time. T suppose, av coorse, 
 there wor a great many bad things said an' done on both sides in 
 those wars, an' if aich side would tell all the bad done by thim- 
 selves as faithfully as they tell about the bad done by their inimies, 
 we might be able to come nearer to the thruth." 
 
 There was at that time residing iii the town in which Tim and 
 his family lived a minister, who had recently emigrated from 
 England. This minister, while he fully appreciated all the 
 excellencies which he found in his American friends, and felt 
 satisfied that America was a fine country for men with small or no 
 fortunes and large families, while he admired their thrift, theii* 
 business tact, their liberality in contributing according to, and 
 sometimes above, their means, to the furtherance of objects of 
 Christian benevolence, as well as their general hospitality and 
 readiness to help the poor, the sick, and the victims of accident 
 and bereavement, never could be got to confess that they were the 
 best, the bravest, the most learned, nor that he thought them able 
 to whack all creation, with England thrown into the scale as of no 
 more consideration than the small dust of the balance. 
 
 He never could be brought to confess that America had twice 
 "whacked" England, nor to accede to the perpetually repeated 
 bonst of their being able to do it again. 
 
 He made no concealment of his opinion that before twenty 
 years should have elapsed, the perfect unity of feeling, North and 
 South, of which they felt so morally certain, would be put to a 
 severe test, and got laughed at for his pains. He thought he saw 
 something unworthy a great nation, in the threats put forth, with- 
 out any attempt at concealment, of seizing the opportunity, when 
 llussia should have humbled Great Britain, to avenge wrongs 
 alleged to have been committed by the latter, both before and after 
 the revolution. 
 
 He freely stated, when asked, his reasons for preferring a 
 monarchical to a republican form of government, other things 
 being equal, and as freely stated things of which he disapproved 
 in the administration of the government of his own country as in 
 that of the land of his adoption. He saw most palpably that 
 public men, from the highest in the State down to the village post- 
 
 'HH^ 
 
fw" 
 
 278 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ! 1 
 
 m 
 
 
 I'* 
 
 master, whose tenure of office lasted for only four years, and who 
 had to pack up and be gone at the next presidential change, were 
 much more likely to yield to the temptation to peculate while 
 their short opportunity lasted ; in other words, to " make hay 
 while the sun shone," than the same class of men would be who 
 held office during good behaviour. 
 
 One day, on his way to the post-office, he ordered at a grocer's 
 shop some small articles, for which he said he would call on his way 
 back. 
 
 In less than an hour he called again, and was surprised to find 
 one of the junior partners — the one from whom he had ordered 
 the parcel — in a tremendous huriy, employed, like the elephant, in 
 " l)acking his trunk " for a journey. 
 
 " Any thing sudden or disastrous ? " he inquired. 
 
 "Yes, Sh'," was the rejoinder, with a peculiar burr on the "r" 
 in Sir, such as an Englisliman strives in vain to imitate, " sudden 
 and disastrous, both of the^n. The legislature threw out our bill 
 last night, and I am going off to Harrisburgh in half-an-hour. I 
 am waiting only for the money to be off." 
 
 " The money ! " his friend ejaculated, astonished that a member 
 of a firm taking in two or thi^ee hundred dollars per day sliould 
 be " waiting " for the paltry sum of twenty or thirty dollars. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the merchant, "you don't comprehend my meaning, 
 I reckon. Our bill for a charter to open a bank in this town was 
 thrown out in ' The House ' by fourteen votes, and I am going 
 down to get them to reconsider it on Monday night." This was 
 said on Saturday at noon. 
 
 " But where is the use of reconsidering," the minister asked, 
 " when you have so many votes against you? If there were only 
 three or four there might be some reason to expect that a recon- 
 sideration would turn out in your favour." 
 
 " Well, Sir," was the reply, " the thing must be ' did ' somehow, 
 and if money makes the mare to go, I*ll make her go. Now, do 
 you understand 1 " 
 
 " How much will it cost ? " said his astonished auditor, at length 
 comprehending his meaning. 
 
 "Cost? Why, there will be fourteen times five and twenty 
 dollars. Three-hundred-and-fifty dollars. Sir, every red cent ofiV^ 
 
 "And do you mean to tell me, ifter all your boasts of the super- 
 lative excellency of your government, that you can bribe fourteen 
 sworn legislators to violate their solemn oaths for a paltry five 
 pounds sterling a-piece ? " 
 
AMERICAN " ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 279 
 
 TS, and who 
 ihange, were 
 nilate while 
 "make hay 
 »ukl be who 
 
 it a grocer's 
 11 on his way 
 
 inFod to find 
 lad ordered 
 elephant, in 
 
 on the « r " 
 te, "sudden 
 out our bill 
 an-hour. I 
 
 i a member 
 \ day should 
 lollars. 
 my meaning, 
 is town was 
 I am going 
 This was 
 
 lister asked, 
 •e were only 
 hat a recon- 
 
 l ' somehow, 
 >. Now, do 
 
 ir, at length 
 
 and twenty 
 ce7it of it." 
 •f the super- 
 be fourteen 
 paltry five 
 
 "Why?" he asked, with a look compounded of amazement 
 and incredulity, "wouldn't they do it for that much in Eng- 
 land?" 
 
 " No, thank God," was the reply, and his auditor walked out. 
 
 The meiohant took his projected journey, the bill was recon- 
 sidered, and the bank was duly opened for business in the course 
 of a few weeks. 
 
 Nothing in his adopted country amazed our hero, Tim, more 
 than the aiistocratic sounds which continually assailed his ears ; 
 and the more so, because of the perpetual outcry against aristoc- 
 racy. His amazement was still more increased by the, to him, 
 grotesqueness of the associa,tions with which those highly-sounding 
 titles were comljined. 
 
 He had always associated the titles of "Colonel," "Major," 
 " Captain," and even " Ensign," with rank, and most commonly 
 with wealtli ; ]>ut he opened his eyes wide, and his mouth too, 
 when he heard his fellow-workmen talking of being served with 
 whisky, at the bar of a public-house, by Colonel Bulrothery, buy- 
 ing a red herring of Major M'Swiggan, a pound of soap from Dr. 
 Von Wiesen, or a paper of pins from Counsellor Sweeny. 
 
 One of Tim's fellow-labourers, who shovelled the malt and 
 shouldered the bags in the distillery, was no less a personage than 
 "Capting" O'Eyan, whose first Lieutenant was a journeyman 
 tailor in the village. 
 
 During tlie progress of the war of the Allies with Russia, the 
 " whacking " of England was the most prominent topic of conversa- 
 tion in the towns and villages, and even in country gatherings. 
 The spirit of military ardour at once took possession of the people. 
 Every little village had its company of volunt-^ers, who drilled 
 with the greatest enthusiasm, in the hope of having a kick at 
 Britain, when Kassia should have humbled her to the dust. 
 Wagers, at the most fearful odds — fifty, a hundred, to one — were 
 ofiered, that " perfidious Britain " must now lick the dust, but the 
 writer never heard of one of those bets having been take.: up. 
 Whatever an Englishman's opinion may have been, he did not 
 think it good policy, for various reasons, to seem to oppose the 
 popular mania of the hour. 
 
 One class of immigrants from Great Britain and Ireland our hero 
 found to be particularly successful in America. He found them 
 very frequently taking the lead in law, divinity, physic, and in the 
 editorial chair, namely, those who were most vindictive and violent 
 in their hatred of England, her institutions, crown, and government. 
 
 :r ! 
 
 ■•I' 
 
280 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 1 ■ -i , 
 
 I 
 
 i n 
 
 h 
 
 To such parties, tlioiif,di blatant as asses, the road to fame, and 
 perhaps fortune, lay open, their beguiled and beguiled admirers 
 seldom seeming to suspect that the traitor to his own country and 
 government can scarcely be true to those of his adoption. 
 
 Tim had frequently heard his fellow-workmen boast of the 
 people's love of law and order, ard their voluntary subordination 
 to the ruling powers, a curious illusti-ation of which he had an 
 opportunity of witnessing. 
 
 " Oapting " O'Ryan had ordered his company out for drill and 
 parade. Their usual place for these exercises was in front of the 
 liouse of the minister above referred to ; as he thought, because of 
 his not being able to join in the unqualified detestation of Britain 
 which public opinion seemed to require of him, and the same 
 umpialified adulation of everything American. 
 
 The military company aforesaid were very particular to make 
 him understand that their object, in selecting that particular spot, 
 was to show him what a mere mouthful he would be, were he to 
 dare to breathe in^ their hearing any sentiment of loyalty towards 
 his native land or sovereign. 
 
 "Silence! talkin' in the ranks there," roared the ferocious 
 " Capting," who, with his " soord "* drawn, strutted up and down 
 before his men. 
 
 " Lieutenant ! " shouted one of the " law-abiding " to that officer, 
 "ffive us a chaw." 
 
 The lieutenant obediently drew his plug of tobacco from his 
 pocket, bit off a piece, and handed it to the soldier. 
 
 " Bill, pass the plug along this way," was suggested, and the 
 *' sovereign " soldier handed it, in obedience to the mandate of his 
 fellow-sovereign. 
 
 This caused a clamour in the ranks, each of the sovereigns call- 
 ing for a bite of the lieutenant's plug, until the " bowld capting " 
 had to interfere in order to quell the disturbance. 
 
 "Private O'Mulligan, what are you talking for in the ranks'?" 
 the captain inquired. 
 
 " "What the is that to you 1 " shouted the equally irate 
 
 sovereign private. 
 
 " I '11 let ye know what it is to me. Arrest that man," he said 
 to one of his company. 
 
 * There is a " soord " in the Tower of London, taken, or rather found, in the 
 cabbage garden of Smith O'Brien notoriety. It is made of a piece of rusty 
 iron hoop, and the hilt-guard of a piece of old leather harness. It is unique in 
 its way, thoroughly Irish. 
 
 I' 
 
• i\ 
 
 THE SOCIETY OF " KNOWNOTHINGS." 
 
 281 
 
 to fame, and 
 
 iled admirers 
 
 1 country and 
 
 tion. 
 
 boast of the 
 
 subordination 
 
 ^li he liad an 
 
 for drill and 
 1 front of the 
 tht, because of 
 ^on of Britain 
 md tlie same 
 
 ular to make 
 articular spot, 
 e, were he to 
 yalty towards 
 
 the ferocious 
 up and down 
 
 to that officer, 
 
 icco from his 
 
 sted, and the 
 andate of his 
 
 )vereigns call- 
 wld capting " 
 
 the ranks 1 " 
 
 equally irate 
 
 man," he said 
 
 er found, in the 
 
 , piece of rusty 
 
 It is unique in 
 
 "Arrest him yerself if ye want to," said the individual ad- 
 dressed, biting a piece off the remnant of the lieutenant's plug, 
 and handing tlic remainder to the sovereign nearest to him. 
 
 "Then I will," said the captain, attempting to seize O'MulligJin, 
 who immediately handing his musket or rifle, whichever it was, to 
 his nearest neighbour, and, hitting the captain between the eyes a 
 blow that brought him to the dust, said, " take that, an' say I gov' 
 it to ye. If yoic 're a ' capting,' I have as big an ' O ' to my name 
 as you have to yours, an' as good a right to wear it." 
 
 " Well done, O'Mulligan ! i)itch into him, me boy." 
 
 "No, don't sthrike him while he's down," from some other 
 banterer. The result was, that the gallant captain unbuckled his 
 sword-belt, took off his sash, and " pitched into " O'Mulligan in 
 his turn. 
 
 After fifteen or twenty rounds, during which the company 
 stood by, each betting on his favourite pugilist, O'jNIulligan 
 craved quarter, acknowledged himself beaten, and the majority of 
 them adjourned to the distillery, where a couple of gallons of 
 whisky settled the dispute, and the combatants shook hands, 
 promising not to imbrue their hands in each other's blood again 
 until after the humiliation of Great Britain. 
 
 About the period to which we refer, an organisation of a 
 secret nature, whose ramifications had been extending them- 
 selves all through the country, north, south, east, and west, sjorung 
 almost suddenly into notice. Before the public in general was 
 aware of its existence, it had sunk its foundations deeply and 
 firmly all over the Union. It was known as the society of 
 " Knownothings." 
 
 When its existence became known to the world, its professed 
 object was the prevention of the further spread of Popery ; but, 
 in reality, its prime and governing object was to hinder every 
 man, not of American birth, from obtaining any situation of any 
 kind, however well qualified he might have been to j)erform its 
 duties, and from holding any situation, no matter how long or 
 faithfully he might have discharged the duties thereof, when a 
 native-born American could be found to supply his place. It 
 applied its sweeping principles equally to the day-labourer, and 
 to the man of professional education and standing. It arrayed 
 the American-born son against his foreign-born father. It dis- 
 lodged clerks from their offices, physicians from their practice, 
 lawyers from theirs, and clergymen of all persuasions from theii* 
 pulpits. 
 
 il(j 
 
 » , 
 
 
). <^ 
 
 282 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 r 
 
 I l;|i v 
 
 \ 'tlill ! Uf! 
 
 I II 
 
 •■i 
 
 No immigrant of any rank coming into the country could trust 
 with safety any man born in it, because lie might be, at the same 
 time, disclosing important secrets to a man swom to be his enemy, 
 simply and solely because he was born on foreign soil. The man 
 who communed with him at the Lord's table, who took him by the 
 luintl and called him " brother," might be, and in many cases was^ 
 seeking to supj)lant him, and doing so too successfully. 
 
 Our friend Tim met with other annoyances. His wages, ac- 
 cording to stipulation, were a dollar a-day; but when pay-day 
 came, he was surprised to find that the almost universal custom of 
 the country was to pay as little as possible in money, and to put 
 off every demand, as far as practicable, with " an order on a store." 
 The labourer's wages, the doctor's fees, the clergyman's salary, were 
 all paid in the same way, and that frequently by capitalists, making 
 ten or twelve per cent, on the loan of money at short dates. Men 
 were thus compelled either to take whatever was given them, or to 
 go, in many instances, without things positively needed. Then 
 there was very seldom a choice of articles. The man " making the 
 turn," as it was called, for the employer of labour, frequently 
 charged ten, or even twenty per cent., more for goods than they 
 could be obtained for cash, and divided this extra profit with the 
 unfortunate man's employer. 
 
 Another piece of sharp practice he was destined to become 
 acquainted with in the following way. In some districts it is very 
 hard to obtain labourers during the summer and harvest. The 
 winter is so long that for several months (from four to five ac- 
 cording to climate) there is nothing done in the fields. When the 
 summer sets in labour is, consequently, much in demand ; and in 
 harvest, during some seasons, even artizans, clerks, and others are 
 induced, by the ofier of high wages, to work in the various depart- 
 ments of housing the crops. Very young boys are taken from 
 school for this purpose, and in many instances earn sufficient to 
 assist materially in purchasing their own clothing. 
 
 Tim's eldest boy, now verging on ten years, was asked by a 
 neighbouring farmer if he would like to work, and earn some 
 money. The man promised him " a quarter " per day ; the fourth 
 of a dollar, together with his board, and employment for three 
 months. On inquiring of his father and mother whether he might 
 accept the ofier, they were delighted at the idea, and he was speedily 
 prepared for entering on his new sphere. 
 
 During her son's absence from home, the first time in his life, 
 Mrs. Doolan was very busy calculating over and over again his 
 
m 
 
 THE MAJOR S SHARP PRAC TICE. 
 
 283 
 
 could trust 
 at the same 
 Q his enemy, 
 . The man 
 : him by the 
 .y cases was, 
 
 3 wages, ac- 
 hen pay-day 
 ill custom of 
 , and to put 
 • on a store." 
 J salary, were 
 lists, making 
 dates. Men 
 a them, or to 
 jcded. Then 
 " making the 
 r, frequently 
 Is than they 
 ■ofit with the 
 
 d to become 
 lets it is very 
 arvest. The 
 ir to five ac- 
 . When the 
 land ; and in 
 id others are 
 irious depart- 
 } taken from 
 sufiicient to 
 
 5 asked by a 
 id earn some 
 t; the fourth 
 ent for three 
 ,her he might 
 was speedily 
 
 le in his life, 
 ver again his 
 
 \ 
 
 wages ; and making up, in her own mind, how many yards of 
 one material and another he would require to make him look the 
 finest boy to be seen at church on Sundays. He always came 
 home from work late on Saturday nights, and left before day on 
 Monday mornings, so that she had no o])portunity of learning 
 much as to his employments, and Tim did not allow indiscriminate 
 conversation aljout secular and worldly matters in his family on 
 the Lord's-day. She saw that he was Avell fed, concluded from his 
 extreme sleepiness that he was ])retty heavily worked ; l)ut while 
 his appetite was good, and his disposition cheerful, she entertained 
 no fears respecting him. 
 
 We must now follow our young hero, tln-eo or four miles from 
 his father's residence, to the farm-house of Major Oldmeyer, for he, 
 too, bore a military title. The busy season has just closed, and 
 the Major wants to dispose of all supernumoraiy hiljour as speedily 
 as possible. The Major is a phrenologist in his May, and has been 
 stealthily scanning — during supper time — Avitli his quiet, grey, 
 Teutonic eye, the crania of his various " helps " in order to ascer- 
 tain which of them could be most easily gotten rid of with the least 
 expenditure of money. 
 
 His work being nearly all done, and settlement to be made, he 
 thought he could now effect something in the way of saving by 
 finding fault with the amount done by each, and the manner of 
 
 doing it, 
 "Veil 
 
 Bub " (the latter term is usually addressed to a boy, 
 whose name you do not know or care about knowing), "Veil, Bub, 
 you have been at work for me zurteen veeks, and 'pon mine vorde 
 I did zink you vos moosli better boy as you be." 
 
 The poor lad, who had never worked before, and had now 
 laboured beneath an almost torrid sun for three months, with the 
 mercury often at nearly a hundred in the shade, and that from day- 
 light till after dark, excepting an hour daily for dinner, was not 
 prepared for such an appreciation of his labours, and after gazing 
 at the stolid-looking figure who addressed him, burst into tears. 
 When he could command words he said, " My daddy an' mammy 
 always towld me to be a good boy, an' do my work well, an' you 've 
 niver towld me I was doin' it Avrong till now." 
 
 "Oh," said the immovable lump of fat known as Major Old- 
 meyer, and who could not pick up his cane if it fell on the ground, 
 " I did not say as you vas ver' bad boy, only you did ver' much 
 lettle vorke." 
 
 " Veil den," said the lad through his tears, who by the way was 
 
 ;»lf;i 
 
 Ml 
 
 I'l 
 
 it! 
 
 hu 
 
 : I 
 
I h . 
 
 M I 
 
 I i 1; 
 
 
 284 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 an adniiraLlc mimic, " you did bromise mo ver' much Icttlo mouoys, 
 so givo it to mo, nuicli or little, and never ask mo to vork for you 
 
 again. 
 
 " Ton mine vordo," said the Major, " I am ver' zorry, but I 
 vant moneys vor' bad, mooslit pay six lioondi'P'! lollar nex' veelc, 
 and have not tlie fii-st red cent. You vill zoon bo fine young man, 
 — vould you like von good rifle for zlioot dcers, and bears, an' 
 squirrels 1 T have ver' fine rifle, small pore, above stairs. Hans " 
 (to his son), "vetcli down dat rifle, 'tis vorth vorty or vifty tollar; 
 I will let you have it vor twenty. Your vages vill be nineteen 
 tollar twenty-five cent. You vill owe me seventy-five cent. Veil, 
 I vill trade even, take it vor the nineteen tollar twenty- five. 
 
 The rifle was produced. The Major and his son, Hans, both 
 descanted eloqr.ontly on its merits. The boy was easily i)ersuaded. 
 They told liim that a certain man in the village had offered forty 
 dollars in casJi, for it, repeatedly, and that all he had to do was to 
 go to Mm and get tlie money. 
 
 The lad dc})arted, proud of his bargain, and loitered a good 
 while on the road, cocking and snapping his rifle, and indulging 
 
 in brisrht visions of tlie 
 
 game 
 
 which was to smoke on his father's 
 
 table, slain by the said unerring tube ; but his " trading " was not 
 yet ended. After his departure from the gallant Major's, Hans 
 thought he had as good a right to do a bit of independent trading 
 on his own account as had his venerable Pa. Accordingly he 
 armed himself with another old gun, and an article known as a 
 "Liverpool watch," made expressly for the American trade. Thus 
 accoutred, he made his way across their own and a neighbouring 
 farm to a point on the road at which he knew he would anticipate 
 the arrival of young Doolan, where he seated himself on the stump 
 of a tree and awaited his approach. 
 
 " I say, young fellow," accosting voung Doolan, " glad I met you. 
 How do you like your bargain ? " 
 
 "Very well," said the innocent dupe of his and his father's 
 artifice, 
 
 "It is not a very bad rifle at all," said Hans, "only that it is 
 a little too heavy for you." Here he took it from^the boy and 
 shouldered it. " My eye ! " he exclaimed, " but it is heavy, 
 Now^, here is a lighter one ^ that I am just taking into town to 
 get a gunmaker to clean, O see ! it wants only the hammer and 
 nipple, which can be put on, Mr. Gunmaker says, for three shil- 
 lings. I '11 engage to bring down a buck at 500 yards with that, 
 and no mistake. It is light, too, to carry. Why, this would kill 
 
AS THE OLD COCK CROWS THE YOLXCi ONE LEARNS. 
 
 2S5 
 
 cttlo moneys, 
 voi-k for you 
 
 zorry, but I 
 ir nex' veek, 
 ? young man, 
 id bears, an' 
 lirs. Hans " 
 L' vifty tollar ; 
 [ be nineteen 
 3 cent. Veil, 
 :y-fivc. 
 
 , Hans, both 
 ly persuaded, 
 ofiered forty 
 to do was to 
 
 tcred a good 
 
 .nd indulging 
 
 n his father's 
 
 iing " was not 
 
 ^lajor's, Hans 
 
 Lident trading 
 
 ccordingly he 
 
 known as a 
 
 trade. Thus 
 
 neighbouring 
 
 lid anticipate 
 
 on the stump 
 
 ad I met you. 
 
 I his father's 
 
 ily that it is 
 the boy and 
 it is heavy. 
 into town to 
 hammer and 
 ar three shil- 
 ds with that, 
 lis would kill 
 
 a young fellow like you in lialf a day's walking. Now you want 
 a watch also. See ! if you '11 pron\iso never to let my Pa know 
 about it I '11 give you this splendid watch," oi)euing it and letting 
 him see tlie works in the bright light of the moon. " Ain't tliat 
 spicy 1 "Why," throwing the chain round the lad's neck, " your 
 mother won't know you with this on." He saw that the poor lad's 
 vanity was touched, and i)rocccded, " Now, as I liavc a particular 
 desire to serve you, I '11 give you tliis watcli, tliat keeps time like the 
 sun, for tlie rille, and you shall have my gun into the bargain." 
 
 The poor child was easily wheedled, and took the bait. The 
 rifle was of some use, but the watch and old musket were worth- 
 less. 
 
 Thinking how deliglitcd his mother would bo at his owning a 
 watch and a gun, he hastened home and q^v'^kly deposited on the 
 kitchen table before her the price of his laboi . She would rather 
 have had the money, but still thought the articles value for the 
 amount, if they knew how to turn them I to cjif-h. 
 
 Very soon the father appe.i/ed. He, ouo, had be i disappointed. 
 Ther'> v, :g no money, but, as usual, he could hir o an " order on the 
 store. " 
 
 " Well, me son," he said, as ho entered, " I 'm afeerd we '11 have 
 to draw on your purse to-night, for 'tis the owld story at the 
 'stillery, ' No money ! ' Dear me ! I wondher they 're not asuiiued 
 to purtind to so much grandheur, ridin' out in their fine carriage 
 ivery day, an' goin' to ivery fine place in the counthry, an' no 
 money to pay poor workin' men for their labour." Here his eye, 
 for the first time, caught sight of the watch and musket lying on 
 the table. " Hallo ! " he said, " what have we here ? " 
 
 " There 's what our poor child has brought for his three months' 
 hard work, but maybe we can get more for 'em than the money 
 earned." 
 
 Tim was no judge of a watch, but he knew something of a gun, 
 and taking up that article he soon pronounced it " not worth 
 sixpence." 
 
 Thinking that probably the watch might be of some use, he took 
 it to a watchmaker in the town to ascertain its value. 
 
 The watchmaker barely looked at it, and said, " My good man, 
 have nothing to do with it." 
 
 " Why 1 " said Tim. " I 'm sure the silver must be worth a couple 
 of dollars at least." 
 
 " Silver ! " the good man ejaculated. " There 's no silver in it 
 or about it. I tell you a thousand of them would be worth no more 
 
 
 1 
 
 ■1 
 
 ii 
 
286 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 !■' i, 
 
 i;- 
 
 than their value as old brass and pewter. They are bought in 
 Liverpool for about a pound per gross, just for the pedlars of this 
 country to deceive the people. They are of no use. They cannot 
 be made to go, and never were designed to go, that is more." 
 
 Tim explained to the watchmaker hew he had become possessed 
 of it, and wished to know if some of the " majesties " in town, as 
 he would persist in calling magistrates, would not take up his cause, 
 and see a poor man " rightified." 
 
 " Magistrate, indeed ! " ejaculated the watchmaker. " I tell you 
 they 're all ' tarred with the same stick,' every one of them." 
 
 " Surely," said Tim, " they can't all be so bad as to desave the 
 poor, an' rob 'em that way ? " 
 
 *' Oh," said the watchmaker, " they don't look on that as 
 robbery. That 's ' smartness.' Perhaps, if you were in distress, 
 and told your tale to that man, he would give you five or ten 
 dollars as soon as look at you. But take my advice, if you oppose 
 the usages of this country, by word or deed, you become a marked 
 man, and you cannot live in it. If you had friends here, who 
 had property and influence, you might possibly succeed in 
 gaining your case, because then you might op[)ose dollar to 
 dollar, and trick to trick, but you cannot afford that. A magis- 
 trate will be afraid to take up your case, because, if he were to 
 offend uhat man, he might have a bigger fire some night than 
 he could well manage, or his cattle and liorses miglit suffer 
 in their health, or a thousand things. But I '11 tell you what 
 I'll do for you. I owe the Major twenty dollars. Leave the 
 watch and old musket with me, and I '11 try to get your boy's 
 money." 
 
 " Thank 'ee. Sir, with all the veins o' my heart," said Tim. 
 " How do you think you can do it ? " 
 
 *' Never mind that, if you get yom' money," said the watch- 
 maker. " Your boy is under age, therefore the money is yours. 
 Now just draw an order in my favour for the amount." 
 
 " Well, indeed, Sir," said Tim, " that same bates my Latin 
 altogether, so it does." 
 
 " Well, here," said the watchmaker, " you can write your name. 
 I '11 draw it out, and you '11 sign it." 
 
 The order was duly drawn and signed. Tim went home to his 
 family, and awaited the issue. 
 
 In the course of a few days the watchmaker saw the Major 
 walking jmst his window, and called him in. 
 
 They chatted agreeably for some minutes, when the watch- 
 
I^il 
 
 THE BITER BIT. 
 
 287 
 
 re bought in 
 edlars of this 
 
 They cannot 
 s more." 
 ame possessed 
 
 " in town, as 
 e up his cause, 
 
 " I tell you 
 f them." 
 to desave the 
 
 k on that as 
 re in distress, 
 3u five or ten 
 if you oppose 
 ;ome a marked 
 nds here, who 
 ly succeed in 
 )Ose dollar to 
 lat. A magis- 
 if he were to 
 ne night than 
 might suffer 
 :ell you what 
 s. Leave the 
 ^•et your boy's 
 
 rt," said Tim. 
 
 lid the watch- 
 
 loney is yours. 
 
 lit." 
 
 ites my Latin 
 
 ite your name. 
 
 Ht home to his 
 
 aw the Major 
 
 Bn the watch- 
 
 
 maker, as if suddenly struck by a bright thought, exclaimed, 
 " Major ! " 
 
 " Well," answered that gallant functionary. 
 
 " There was something I wanted to speak to you about. — What 
 was it ? — Let me see. — Oh, I have it. Don't I owe you twenty 
 dollars and seventy-five cents ? " 
 
 " O, dat for neeks," said the Major; " 'tis no matter to-day." 
 
 " Well," said the watchmaker, " * short reckonings make long 
 friendships.' Here is your bill, — potatoes, turnips, hay, &c., — all 
 
 right." 
 
 The Major's leaden-coloured eyes did really make an effort to 
 look bright, as the watchmaker opened his drawer and presented 
 the account for his receipt and autograph. 
 
 The bill was quickly receipted, and handed back to the watch- 
 maker, who duly reckoned out seventy-five cents, and handing 
 Tim's order to the Major, said — 
 
 " Major, here is Tim Doolan's order for ninteen dollars and a 
 quarter; here is the balance, seventy-five cents." 
 
 " Mine cracious coodness," the Major roared, '* ish the man 
 grazy] Yot Tim Doolan? I do not know any man of such 
 name." 
 
 " Yes," coolly answered the watchmaker, " his little boy worked 
 for you for three months, at a quarter-dollar a day." 
 
 " Oh, veil I owes him neeks. Mine cracious coodness ! I did 
 seddle wid him immediately, I did." 
 
 " Major," said the watchmaker, " don't let that dirty little trick 
 go any farther. The man left this old musket and watch hero ; he 
 says they belong to you. He talked of going to a magistrate, and 
 you know, if such a thing got into the papers, it might load to bad 
 consequences. Why, it may be even thrown up to a man's children 
 after his death." 
 
 "Who cares?" roared the Major. "I tell you it vos a fair 
 trade. Dat fellow, Doolan, must be a Chew, to take me in like 
 dat." 
 
 "I scarcely think he is a Jew, Major," replied his tormentor; 
 " but I have been told that my grandfather was one, and I am 
 half inclined to believe it, when I look at my nose in the glass." 
 
 " Ah ! dat accoimts for it," said the Major. " I knew I vos 
 Chewed somehow. Ver' well," and the Major walked off. 
 
 During the next day Tim passed by the watchmaker's shop. 
 The latter tapped at the window, and called him in. "I have 
 some money for you," he said, laughing. 
 
 11 - 
 
 ill 
 
 ' I 
 
 1' 
 i I 
 
288 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I 1 
 
 " Wisba, thin, Sir, have ye 1 " said Tim. " How much did ye 
 get, Sir?" 
 
 " The whole of it." 
 
 The watchmaker related the affair to Tim, giving himself all 
 credit for his own 'cuteness. "Now," he said, "that is better than 
 going to law. Here is yom' money, my man." 
 
 "How much do I owe ye for yer throuble. Sir?" said Tim. 
 " Dear me, aren't those Yankees terrible rogues 1 " 
 
 " You owe me nothing. But not a word against the Yankees, 
 my friend ; I 'm one myself." So ended the colloquy. 
 
 r It 
 
 •I I ' ; 
 
 (J r 
 
ing himself all 
 
 fl; 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A LETTER FROM " OWLD ERIN " — MR. AND MRS. VANSITTxVRT AMONG 
 THE NATIVES — JERRY RECEIVES A NEW IDEA. 
 
 Much lias been said and written on woman's temper. Certain it 
 is that, if angels were sought for out of heaven, fewer would be 
 found among the male than among tlie other sex. If women are 
 here and there syrens, they accuse the men with making them so, by 
 binding heavy burdens upon them grievous to be borne, without 
 sharing the weight as they ought, in consideration of many infir- 
 mities. The occasional outbreaks of temper often arise from 
 fancied or real provocation, and may be regarded as a kind of 
 boiling over, or a noisy escape of steam from the valve when no 
 longer needed ; or again, the eruptions of a volcano. The steam 
 might be dangerous if not let off, and so might the lava ; and pent- 
 up passion might be dangerous too, and the sooner it mingles with 
 the air the better. In allusion to woman's patience under trials, 
 the greatest of dramatic poets writes : — 
 
 " Patience unmov'd, — no marvel tlio' she pause, 
 They can be meek, iihat have no other cause. 
 A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, 
 We bid be ciuiet, when we hear it cry ; 
 But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, 
 As much or more — we should ourselves complain." 
 
 We now introduce Mrs. Doolan as the subject of no little excite- 
 ment and disturbance on the return of her lord from his day's 
 labour. We cannot compliment her with being favoured by 
 nature with as much self-control as fell to the lo^ of other ladies, 
 and this, with other deficiencies, necessarily made her an object 
 of more pity than blame. She had many trials. She was mud 
 alone among strange people, her husband being obliged to be from 
 home at work. Tim had to exercise all his tact to keep his wife 
 from " boiling over." She was much annoyed at tlie habits of her 
 neighbours, they were so unlike her own, and most of all with 
 
 19 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 f r 
 
 nt 
 
 JL 
 
290 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 1 H' ' 
 
 i*}! t 
 
 ^h if 
 
 'K' 
 
 II > 
 
 their inquisitiveness into her affairs. The evening alluded to he 
 found her on his return sobbing as if her heart would break. 
 
 " What 's wrong wud ye, Misthress Doolan, to-night 1 " he 
 inquired in a bantering tone. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, what 's wrong 1 ye may well ax. Ye knows no- 
 thin' about it, an' cares but as little. Ye goes out to yer work 
 an' cums back agin, an' has iv'rything nate an' snug for ye whin 
 ye cums home. So ye don't know what I have to bear." 
 
 " Nate an' snug, thin, me colleen, I have iv'rything whin I cums 
 home. Thanks an' praises to the good God, an' to a good wife 
 into the bargin. But give us the supper betune us an' the grief, 
 an' thin ye can tell me all yer throubles afther we say our prayers, 
 an' the childher are put to bed." 
 
 Mrs, Doolan accordingly dried her tears in a corner of her 
 apron, and proceeded to hxy the supper. She had improved greatly 
 in culinary matters of late, and could manage the cooking stove to 
 perfection. She could now cook the " yollow meal " * in six or 
 eight different ways ; make buckwheat cakes, although insisting 
 they were not proper food for " Christians," and perform a variety 
 of other things too numerous to mention, incidental to their resid- 
 ence in a foreign coimtiy. 
 
 Supper over, and tlie family commended to God in devout 
 prayer — "Now," said Tim, "let me hear the cause of grief." 
 
 " Oh, Tim, dear," said his wife, " I declare it isn't worth min- 
 shinin'. I was in a bad humour at any rate." 
 
 " Well, good or bad, it must be worth minshinin', if it was 
 worth crvins; about." 
 
 " Well, why, it isn't one thing alone that bothers me, only lots 
 o' little things." 
 
 " Big or little, few or many," said Tim, " I must have 'em 
 all." 
 
 " Thin if ye must," she said, " I '11 begin at the beg'nin'.t It 
 wor this way. After dinner to-day, a dacent ooman walks in 
 an' sits herself down, an' sez she, 'I'm the lady that does the 
 washin' for the college above, an' I kem to see if ye could help 
 me for a day or two.' * Indeed, Misthress,' sez meself, * I don't pur- 
 tind to be a lady an' niver did, but I niver done a day's washin' 
 in me life, only for me own family, for I always find plinty to do 
 at home. If I could help ye I would with pleasure, but ye see 
 
 * The American flower is yellow compared with English. Paddy adopts the 
 •o for c here. 
 
 t A mode of pronunciation in the south of Ireland. 
 
MRS. DOOLAN KEEPS HER TEMPER UNDER A SEVERE TRIAL. 291 
 
 ff alluded to he 
 lid break, 
 to-night r' he 
 
 Ye knows no- 
 >ut to yer work 
 tiug for ye whin 
 bear." 
 
 ng whin I cums 
 
 to a good wife 
 
 us an' the grief, 
 
 say our prayers, 
 
 a, corner of her 
 mproved greatly 
 cooking stove to 
 eal"* in six or 
 though insisting 
 3rforni a variety 
 1 to their resid- 
 
 Grod in devout 
 of grief." 
 sn't worth min- 
 
 nin', if it was 
 
 rs me, only lots 
 
 must have 'em 
 
 3 beg'nin'.t It 
 Oman walks in 
 that does the 
 ye could help 
 If, * I don't pur- 
 a day's washin' 
 id plinty to do 
 lire, but ye see 
 
 Faddy adopts the 
 
 how many small childher I liave, an' couldn't go out, or lave, or 
 neglect 'em. So ye '11 excuse me if ye plaise.' Then, sez she, 
 * I 'd like ye to put me in the way o' makin' my face as purty as 
 the faces of yerself an' childher.' Now, Tim, I wish ye wouldn't 
 laugh, for at sayin' this I made her an answer which she con- 
 thradicted, and called me a Hard.* It was to be called this made 
 me cry." 
 
 "An' she called ye Hard, did she?" 
 
 " She did, indeed, and no less, if ye plaise. ' I don't ondher- 
 stand what ye mane,' sez I. 'Oh, indeed,' sez she, *yc're not as 
 innocent as ye purtind,' looking quite archly at me ; ' what I 
 mano,' sez she, ' is to ax ye what colourin' it is ye puts on yer 
 face, and the faces o' yer childher, that makes ye all look so i-osy V 
 ' Colourin',' sez I agin ; ' the colourin' o' nature, that the ^ood 
 God gives us wid health an' food iv'ry day we rises, glory be to 
 His holy name,' sez I; 'what other colourin' could it be?' 'Why, 
 the colourin' they sell in the store,' sez she. ' The longer we 
 live the more we'll lam,' sez mcself; 'it's the first time I iver 
 heerd o' the like but wanst afore, an' that was from a parson who 
 had been in Lunnun, an' was tellin' how sartin' bad characthers 
 painted their faces to 'tract attention in the sthreets as they walked 
 at night.' " 
 
 "An' did she lave off thin?" asked Tim. 
 
 " No, indeed, Tim, asthore," said his wife. 
 
 "I wish she had," responded Tim. 
 
 " I 've more to tell," said his better half. 
 
 "Let us heer it all, me darling," "^aid the Imsband, and Mrs. 
 Doolan proceeded : — 
 
 " Sho called one o' the childher to her who had just kem in 
 from play, an' whin the child kem to her, she took her handker- 
 cher afore me two lookin' eyes, wet it wid her mouth, an' rubbed 
 it purty hard on the child's face, an' thin looked at the handker- 
 chcr to see if any of the colour kem off." 
 
 "An' ye kep yer timper all this time?" Tim said inquiringly. 
 
 " I did, thin," his wife answered, " but it was all I could do." 
 
 " Ye wor a wise ooman for that same," he added. 
 
 " Now, Tim, listen," said his wife, " I 've nothing aginst this 
 counthry, but I have aginst things in it. The people are kind 
 an' good to sthrangers ; we are to thim, an' they are so to uz, but 
 their ways I don't like. They don't taich their childher to respect 
 their elders or their parents. They never make a bow to shu- 
 
 * Another mode of pronunciation in the south. 
 
 
 k 
 
 
 n. 
 
■!' ii 
 
 } ^ 
 
 ■it ' 
 
 292 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 parlors, an' the boys, when they cum from school, tell what other 
 boys say about obeyin' father an' mother, an' if father chastized 
 them, what they wucl do. I wish ye wor somewhere else out o' 
 this." 
 
 "Wherever we go, me colleen," her husband answered, "we 
 may expect somethin' not to our likin' an of a natur to thry our 
 patience. If wo have comforts, we are sliure to meet with dis- 
 comforts too, nor shall we escape thim while we live in this 
 changin' world. The good God will lead an' direct us if we trust 
 Him and ask Him. What wud ye think of bein' a farmer's wife 
 wanst more, Mrs. Doolan % " 
 
 " Who knows 1 " she retorted banteringly. " Maybe yer goin' 
 to die, an' gev' me another chance." 
 
 " O yes, indeed ! bekays that ooman flatthered ye about yer 
 purty rosy cheeks, ye think if I wor to die ye 'd get a rich hus- 
 band, but r 11 stick to ye as long as the Lord plaises." 
 
 " Thin I 'd advise ye to dhrop yer nonsense, Tim, about farmin', 
 as no thin' of the kind seems in yer way." 
 
 " Ah, ye don't know all I see. Now, could 3^ou guess in three 
 guesses who I had a Ictther from to-day 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Doolan was taken by surprise. " A letther ! " She put on 
 her most coaxing air. 
 
 " Now Tim, do tell me, and don't taze me, nor keep me waitin' ; 
 was it from the owld counthry ? yer father an' mother, or Jerry, or 
 Mr. Noonan ? " 
 
 "You hit it to a T, me colleen bawn," and he drew it from his 
 pocket. 
 
 " Childher," vociferated !Mrs. Doolan, " all o' yez get up an' 
 heer a letther from Mr. Noonan," and in a short time the squad 
 were in their night-clothes about the kitchen stove. "Now, 
 Tim," said his wife, " make haste and read it ; but no, you can't 
 read it, give it to me.'^ 
 
 " With all me heart, me darlint, an' slmrc I always give ye the 
 palm for scholarship. But be keerful now an' read it right." 
 
 "No feer o' that, Tim, but I declare mo hart is batin' so fa^^t 
 agin me sides afore I begin, that the breath see7ns lavin' me." 
 
 "I'm glad," said Tim, "that Mr. Noonan ain't a younger man, 
 nor han'somer thin meself, bekase if that wor so, I might be 
 jealous, and tell him about it in me next letther to him." 
 
 " Now, lave off yer fun, Tim," responded his wife, " for I often 
 said if Mr. Noonan was a young ooman, an' not an owld man, I'd 
 be jealous, for he an' yerself Avor always together out an' in." 
 
ell what other 
 xtlier chastized 
 ere else out o' 
 
 Linswered, "we 
 bur to thry our 
 meet with dis- 
 7G live in this 
 b us if w^e trust 
 a fanner's wife 
 
 layhe yer goin' 
 
 [ ye about yer 
 ffet a rich hus- 
 
 -„ " 
 3S. 
 
 I, about farmin', 
 
 u guess in three 
 
 • ! " She put on 
 
 :eep me waitin' ; 
 :hcr, or Jerry, or 
 
 drew it from his 
 
 yez get up an' 
 time the squad 
 stove. " Now, 
 
 lut no, yoic can't 
 
 A'ays give ye the 
 d it right." 
 
 is batin' so faF't 
 
 lavin' me." 
 
 a younger man, 
 
 so, I might be 
 3 him." 
 
 ife, " for I often 
 ,n owld man, I'd 
 3ut an' in." 
 
 A LETTER FROM " OWLD ERIN." 
 
 293 
 
 "Indeed, I plade guilty to the charge; but now, me fine 
 readher, I hope yer hart has gain'd the day, and there's nothin' 
 betune us an' the contints of the paper in yer hand, which I *m 
 longin' to hear. Silence, childher, be quiet, all o' yez." 
 
 They were quiet, for they were as eager to hear about their 
 friend, Mr. Noonan, as either of their parents, for the}' loved him 
 most ardently for his attractive and playful ways, which won their 
 young and docile hearts, as well as his e:chaustless fund of inter- 
 esting and instructive anecdotes, told in such a way as to leave 
 beliind them lasting impressions. He always aimed to fix lessons 
 of sound morality and truth in the young, elastic mind, and all 
 this was so wisely and judiciously done, that his homilies were 
 seldom forgotten. 
 
 The letter ran as follows ; — 
 
 " My dear Tim, an' Misthress Doolan, an' the childher, all o' 
 yez, — i hope theeze few lines 'ill find ye all in good health, as 
 they laves me an' mine at presant, thanks an' praises to the grate 
 an' Almighty God above, for all his marcys to such sinful cray- 
 thurs as we are. We had a very fine passage over the says afther 
 we left New Yark, an' non' of uz wov very sick, only for a few 
 days. It worn't quite five weeks from the day I last shook ban's 
 wid ye — O Tim, me boy, I remimber yer manly fisht — it worn't 
 quite five weeks from that day ontil we wor all sittin' down in the 
 owld chimly corner fornenst the owld ooman, an' she lafiin', an' 
 cry in', an' liuggin' the grawls), wan be wan. Me dear life, she 
 couldn't tell whither she was stannin' on her head or her heels for 
 joy, an' every now an' thin when she'd think o' the poor gossoon, 
 an' his bones turnin' to dust in ameriky, far away from his kith 
 an' kin, she 'd bust out cryin', that you 'd think her hart wou'd 
 break, and thin she'd rock an ullagone, an' bring tears and sorrow 
 to ivery ie an' hart. Long ago I found it out that intherfarin* 
 wid greef is only like thryin' to stop a flood. Whin ye build 
 against it in one place, it runs out at another, an' so i let the poor 
 craythur take her own way. She took to the daughter-in-law at 
 wanst, just as if she wor her own. The evenin' we got home we 
 wor all tired enuff, an' whin we had a bit o' supper we wor glad to 
 stretch our bones. The next mornin' afther brakefast, Katlileen, 
 the daughter-in-law, sez to me, sez she, * Father, wouldn't it best to 
 reed a few verses in the blessed Book,' sez she, * an' have a han'ful 
 o' prayers, afore we do any work, an' thank the grate an' good God 
 for bringin' us all home safe an' sound.' * Indeed an' it would be 
 
 w 
 
 «1f 
 
 1l 
 
■"»""W 
 
 ■BSW" 
 
 294 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 i^ i; 
 
 U I 
 
 l\ ■'. 
 
 :»' 
 
 h'r'i 
 
 best, me colleen,' sez i, * an' sure he won't disdain us poor craythurs 
 bekase we 're ignorant.' So i took me little tistemint out o' me 
 pocket an' read the aiglith chapter o' John's gospil, an' oh ! if ye 
 only seen how the tears run down the owld ooman's eyes like rain. 
 
 " Whin i had dun she sez to me, sez she, * Where in the world 
 did ye git that blesssed an' holy book,' sez she, * with sich blessed 
 an' holy words in it ? i declare it bates the lives o' the saints over 
 an' over agin intirely,' sez she. 'i got it,' siz i, 'in 'Meriky.' 
 'How much did ye give for it?' sez she. 'Well,' sez I, 'about 
 twopence hapenny.' On hearin' which she crossed herself in tlie 
 usual way wid surprize, sayin', * Oh dear ! i 'm shure an* sartin' 
 it 's richly worth a sbillin', an' why didn't ye buy a hundred of 
 'era to sell agin?' So wo all nelt down an' gev thanks to our 
 marciful Presarver in such words as He inspired us wid, an' 
 begged His forgiveness for our many sins, an' His blessin' on our 
 industhry through the merits of the blessed Jasus. 
 
 " Whin we got up from our nees, she sez to me, * Them is the 
 curousest prayers i iver heerd in me life.' ' What is there bad in 
 prayin' to God?' sez i. 'i didn't say there was,' sez she; 'but 
 where is the litany o' the blessed vargin,' sez she, ' an' why didn't 
 ye repato the " Hail Mary," an' " Holy Mary, mother o' God " ? ' 
 sez she. 'The grate God,' sez i, 'is higher an' betther thin 
 Mary, or Joseph, or all the saints an' angels put together, an' 
 more powerful in heaven,' sez i. 'They wor good people,' sez 
 she. ' They wor,' sez i, ' the best o' good people, but who made 
 'em good ? ' sez I. ' Were they not as bad as any of us wanst 1 ' 
 ' Who made 'em good,' sez she — repatin' the words i sed, addin' 
 — * The gi-ate God made 'em good, glory be to His holy name ! ' 
 ' Amin,^ sez meself, quite loud ; * now you 've said the gooldin 
 thruth, me ooman, an' glory agin to His holy name, an' tell me, 
 can't He who made t/uDi good, make you an' i good, an' save us 
 too from our sins, and make us meet for heaven?' 'An' thrue 
 for ye,' sez she, ' but still the saints must be a great help.' 
 Well, me dears, i didn't like to go farther this time, so i let 
 things be, it bein' the first attimpt to let the light of gospil 
 thruth into her mind, an' glad am i to inform ye, that tho she 
 goes to mass ivery Sunday mornin' still, she delights in the con- 
 tents of the ' sweet hook,^ as she calls it, an' often axes me or her 
 grandson to read it for her, an' she ondherstans a great dale av it. 
 An' now, to make a long story short, you wor the best friend i 
 iver met, in bein' the manes of bringin' me acquainted wid the 
 thruth as it is in Jasus. I 'm too owld now to think o' settlin' in 
 
MORE LETTERS FROM HOME. 
 
 295 
 
 poor craythurs 
 kint out o' me 
 an' oh ! if ye 
 eyes like rain. 
 9 in the world 
 th sich blessed 
 the saints over 
 'in 'Meriky.' 
 ' sez I, 'about 
 herself in the 
 Lure an' sartin' 
 r a hundred of 
 thanks to our 
 d us wid, an' 
 blessin' on our 
 
 , 'Them is the 
 is there bad in 
 ' sez she ; * but 
 • an' why didn't 
 ther o'God"]' 
 i' betther thin 
 it together, an' 
 »od people,' sez 
 but who made 
 r of US wanst ] ' 
 [Is i sed, addin' 
 is holy name ! ' 
 lid the gooldin 
 me, an' tell me, 
 ood, an' save us 
 V '■ An' thrue 
 a great help.' 
 time, so i let 
 light of gospil 
 ^e, that tho she 
 Thts in the con- 
 axes me or her 
 great dale av it. 
 le best friend i 
 minted wid the 
 ink o' settlin' in 
 
 forrin parts, an' if i can stay heer an' worship God unmilisted, 
 i '11 do so, av coorse ; i don't expect escape altogether ; but i '11 stan' 
 me ground as long as i can, if needs must i '11 follee yer fortunes 
 for the sake av those younger thin meself; but there's no open 
 violence shun to me, nor any attinipt to injure me only as far as 
 talk goes ; this part o' the counthry is quiet, an' there aint no 
 whiteboys nor ribbonmin around, so that there 's little danger, if 
 ye can see any place that ye would like to buy an' call it yer own, 
 let me no, an' as far as a hundhred pouud, or even two will go, let me 
 no, an' ye shall have it. Ye may pay it off as ye can manage it 
 widout hurtin' yerself, for i considher me money an' me childher's 
 money as safe wid you, as if it wor in the bank o' Ireland or 
 England. At any rate if they wor to burn the owld cabin over 
 our heads here, you would have soraothin' for us to begin again at 
 your side o' the world, i sind this by a naybur who is goin' to 
 New Yark, so that if ye have left yer first place, he can find out 
 where ye are, an' sind it aftlier ye by post. 
 
 " Write soon, an' no more at present from yer owld frind, 
 
 " William Noonan." 
 
 " The poor dear owld man," said Mrs. Doolan when she had 
 finished, with no little emotion, " I think I see him now rubbin' his 
 poor toe on boord the ship the night they cramped him. Do ye 
 think we '11 iver see him agin 1 " the good woman inquired. 
 
 "'Tis onpossible to say," replied her husband; "the ways of 
 the Lord is beyant our comprehinsion. There 's no man I 'd rayther 
 see, barrin' me father, or me poor misforthinate brother Jerry, that 
 I love in me very heart, God bless him an' mark him to grace, an' 
 I haven't given him up yit, for I think me poor prayers will some 
 day be hard for him ; but except him an' me father, there 's not 
 another man on the face o' the airth I 'd rayther see than Mr. 
 Noonan." 
 
 The conversation about the letter and the writer brought on a 
 late hour, and induced a tendency to that state of feeling when a 
 vote for retirement would meet with no opposition, and in 
 accordance therewith, all were in a short time reposing in the 
 embraces of Morpheus, and doubtless dreaming of Mr. Noonan and 
 his lengthened epistle. 
 
 About the time the letter aforesaid arrived, several others were 
 received from home, giving an account more or less favourable 
 as to how matters went on between Jerry and the " owld peeple." 
 One part of the intelligence was so far encouraging, viz., that Jerry 
 
 I 
 
 Ik 
 
296 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 i . I 
 
 I I 
 
 1 T ! 
 
 was active, attentive, and laLorious at his work, so long as he kept 
 out of the way of whisky, but whenever he found himself within 
 its magic circle, he became its victim. Whisky was Jerry's 
 tripping stone. A rcuhe — a wedding — a christening — a neigh- 
 bouring market — a,/(tir — or i{. 'pattern * — the meshes of any of these 
 were sure to entangle him, and as sure as Jerry got drunk, so sure 
 was there to be a fight, and that business once commenced there 
 was usually some difficulty to terminate it amicably. 
 
 And here I propose enlightening such of my readers as may not 
 be already initiated in the secret of settling an Irish row. It is 
 done, then, in one of two ways, i\iQ first being an appeal to the law, 
 in which case it generally hnppcns there are cross indictments, — in 
 other words, each party indicting the other, and in each case the 
 necessary amount of swearing and cross-swearing, everything sworn 
 to on one side being as persistently sworn against on the other. 
 Such a mode is not only yv.yj expensive on Ijotli sides, but the 
 most surprising part is to see the obstinacy of both parties, and 
 how the savings of years will be lavished to gratify the most vin- 
 dictive feelings between actual next-door neighbours, and not 
 unfrequently very near relatives, all of whom, in most instances, 
 "good Catholics !" — never absent fjom confession, and scrupulous 
 attendants at the nearest " station." If spending onej)ound should 
 lead the oj)position to sjxnid three, the party losing the one triumphs 
 in the loss of three to the other ; and so matters go on from weeks 
 to months, all parties indulging the bitterest heart-burnings, and 
 "nursing their wrath to keep it warm" for the next outbreak. 
 The writer well remembers a row between two men, who were 
 contractors for the repair of roads which intersected each other 
 nearly at right angles. Each held that the other was bound to do 
 the whole of the repairs at the point of intersection, and both had 
 recourse to legal counsel. Five shillings a-year would jirobably 
 cover the required outlay for labour, but, as neither would yield, 
 the road inspector visited, and reported the place a '^Qiuisance." 
 Law followed, and it cost each of the hGlligereiits fi/ty 2^ounds before 
 the affair was settled. 
 
 But there is another mode of adjusting disputes among the 
 peasantry in Ireland, which applied nearly alike to fighting as to 
 wordy quarrels. Probably after some four or five pounds had 
 been expended, a sage adviser steps in as a peacemaker, taking 
 
 * An assembly gathered to invoke a patron saint, the word "pattern " being 
 a Gorruption of the word patron. It is always attended by the drunken, and 
 lewdness and all manner of vice is the order of the day. 
 
'1 
 
 TWO MODES OF SETTLING A DISPUTE. 
 
 297 
 
 ng as he kept 
 imself within 
 ' was Jerry's 
 inrj — a neigh- 
 )f any of these 
 ilrunk, so sure 
 nncnced there 
 
 evs as may not 
 sh row. It is 
 »eal to the law, 
 idictme^its, — in 
 1 each case the 
 ery thing sworn 
 : on the other. 
 L sides, but the 
 )th parties, and 
 ■y the most vin- 
 bours, and not 
 most instances, 
 and scrupulous 
 nejiound should 
 he one triumphs 
 ) on from weeks 
 L>t-burnings, and 
 next outbreak, 
 men, who were 
 cted each other 
 .vas bound to do 
 n, and both had 
 would probably 
 ler would yield, 
 e a ^'■nuisancey 
 ^ty pounds hQ^oxe 
 
 iites among the 
 to fighting as to 
 ive pounds had 
 cemaker, taking 
 
 )rcl "|3a«ern" being 
 y the drunken, and 
 
 with him a friend or two, well skilled in counselling in such busi- 
 ness, and who could quote tlieir own experience as suflercrs in 
 rushing too hastily upon the horns of the law, and being mulct in 
 heavy costs. They call upon one of the parties, plaintiff or defend- 
 ant, and represent to him, in the most impartial and friendly terms 
 they are capable of employing, " how foolish it is for neer naybours 
 to be goin' to law about so triflin' an aliare as a broken bed, or a 
 black eye ; and rain, too, av the same creed." The introduction, 
 or preface, is scarcely got over, when it is found to be agidnst all 
 rule to negotiate any *' service," whether " civil" or "social," with- 
 out whisky^ and to adjust this point, the quantity has to be fixed, 
 from a quart to two, taking the number and ca[)acity of throats 
 into account that have officially to swallow the libation. These 
 preliminaries being arranged, all repair to the ^^ Fox and Geese^^ 
 where, at the outset, everybody is cool and distant with everybody ; 
 but, as each is coaxed to taste the eau de vie, and as glasses arc^ filled 
 and emptied, and hearts begin to warm, and the toast, " Here 's 
 yer health," goes round, and hands are shaken, and, in less time 
 than it takes to pen these lines, the men who were at the bitterest 
 variance are now embracing and kissing. Singular as it may seem, 
 it has occurred that, after this kissing and embracing, with all the 
 indications of neighbourly friendship, if not of love, before separat- 
 ing, challenges to fight are interchanged, and blows are often 
 struck, all of which it takes to make a genuine Irishman. The 
 reader is at liberty to choose between these two modes of righting 
 a wrong. 
 
 We now return to Jeny, who had a fair share of business in the 
 fighting line, either as a witness, principal, or peacemaker, each 
 of which began and ended with Jerry's deadly foe — ivhisky. His 
 father and mother were becoming feebler, as age advanced, and 
 Jeny was becoming less capable of supporting old age, owing to 
 his love of drink and company. He was not wanting in afiection, 
 but he was in resisting power. He loved his brother Tim as few 
 brothers love each other, and he now made up his mind to go to 
 him next year, if he lived, and wrote a letter to that effect. Tim 
 was overjoyed at the determination, trusting that, if brought under 
 his counsel, and drawn from old companionships, his soul might 
 be reached. He accordingly wrote in answer to his parents, 
 advising them to sell their tenant-right in their holding to the 
 best advantage, and be ready to come over to America next 
 spring, where Jerry would be out of the reach of moral enemies, 
 to all of which advice they cheerfully receded. This puri)ose of 
 
 
 M.> 
 
^^ft 1 ' 
 
 fn 
 
 ^ 
 
 Hj '^ 
 
 ''• ' M 
 
 t« 
 
 
 1 
 
 , '1 
 
 H 
 
 f 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 ■^'i ' ' 
 
 1 
 
 ill 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 S ij 
 
 H J: 
 
 li 
 
 I 'Hlf 
 
 'I I 
 
 liy 
 
 at.. 
 
 1^^^ 
 
 298 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 Jerry and that of his parents will be further developed as we go 
 on. 
 
 For some time Mr. and Mrs. Vansittart have disappeared from 
 the scene, but we are about to introduce them under new and 
 interesting circumstances. 
 
 That excellent gentleman had business transactions with a person 
 in Canada, who had failed to a large amount, and who, in winding 
 up his affairs, had made over to his creditors a very large tract of 
 land in a favourable locality in Western Canada, a quantity of 
 which had fallen to the share of Mr. Vansittart, who, owing to 
 misrepresentations through his Canadian agent, despaired for a 
 time of ever realizing anything from it. 
 
 After the lapse of a few years, ho heard an account of the country 
 somewhat more favourable, and then again news less encouraging, 
 and so on, and these succeeding each otlici*, left a fear that the 
 estate was almost valueless. About the period to which our narra- 
 tive has reached, Mrs. Vansittart visited Ireland, with her family, 
 and, ere they returned, he joined them for a week or two for recrea- 
 tion, and with both, one great point of attraction was the neigh- 
 bourhood in which Tim Doolan's family lived, — a place he visited 
 years before as a sportsman on more than one occasion. Feeling 
 a deep interest in Tim's welfare, and also that of his fomily, he paid 
 them a visit, in company with his wife, who shared his feelings 
 and interests, but her leaning was strongly in favour of our hero, 
 Tim, Avhom she had never seen, but respected, though unseen. 
 
 " I could not feel satisfied to leave your neighbourhood," said 
 Mrs. Vansittart to the old couple, " without bringing my husband 
 to see you ; and I know you will be pleased to see him, because 
 he is much attached to your son Tim." 
 
 " I 'm shure we 're obligated to yer ladyship intirely, an' to the 
 gintleman, yer husband, for yer goodness to Tim whin he was 
 goin' away from us ; an' yer goodness, too, to that poor gomal of 
 a brother of his, that made such a fool av himself in Liverpool," 
 said Mrs. Doolan. 
 
 " Indeed, an' a fool ye may well say," chimed Mr. Doolan. 
 " I 'm shure I'm ashamed to OAvn him as a son o' mine, for he 
 made a holy show av himself an' his brother, an* av all his kith 
 an' kin ; an' if it wasn't for yer honour's goodness I don't know 
 what 'ud become av him." 
 
 " How does he behave himself now ? " Mrs. Vansittart inquired, 
 
 " Very bad intirely," his mother replied, in a somewhat louder 
 voice than ordinary, winking significantly at the same time at 
 
loped as we go 
 
 appeared from 
 mder new and 
 
 s with a person 
 dio, in winding 
 f large tract of 
 a quantity of 
 who, owing to 
 lespaired for a 
 
 b of the country 
 ,ss encouraging, 
 X fear that the 
 diich our narra- 
 v^ith her family, 
 L" two for recrea- 
 was the neigh- 
 place he visited 
 asion. Feeling 
 fjimily, he paid 
 ■ed his feelings 
 )ur of our hero, 
 gh unseen, 
 jourhood," said 
 ng my husband 
 e him, because 
 
 rely, an* to the 
 whin he was 
 poor gomal of 
 in Liverpool," 
 
 1 Mr. Doolan. 
 ' mine, for he 
 av all his kith 
 I don't know 
 
 ittart inquired, 
 [uewhat louder 
 same time at 
 
 MR. AND MRS. VANSITTART's VISIT TO TlIK DOOLANS. 
 
 299 
 
 Mrs. Vansittart, and pointing upwards towards tlui ceiling with 
 the middle finger of her right hand, her thumb and its neighbour 
 being occupied embracing a i)inch of snuff", which she disposed of 
 in the usual way, repeating the words, "Very bad iutirely," in the 
 same tone. 
 
 She had scarcely uttered these words when she upjirouched the 
 hidy, saying, in a suppressed voice, " There ain't a butther boy in 
 all Ireland, undher ground or over ground, but it isn't good, ye see, 
 to let 'em know it for feer o' makin' 'em proud." Tlien resuming 
 the louder tone again, she added, " I 'm much afeerd the same 
 Jerry '11 nivir have much luck wid his idleness an' his diiukin'." 
 
 Then again droi)ping her voice, and shrewdly winking as before, 
 but now to Mr. Vansittart, she said, *' He 's a good sun, yer lionnor, 
 an' works like a boss, an' hasn't tasted a drop o' lickci' these six 
 months." 
 
 This \'?t was a gi-oss untruth, but in the walk of life to which 
 JeiTy's iuother belonged, and the religious teaching she had im- 
 bibed, whicli places lying among venial sins, or sins of small account, 
 and endeavouring to play a part on the present occasion m her own 
 way, being assured that all her slips would be cancelled at the con- 
 fessional. 
 
 Jerry, who had been made aware of the intended visit of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Vansittart, and having unpleasant recollections c " the 
 Liverpool escapade, set a watch on their approach, and retreated, 
 by meims of a ladder, to a loft over the room of the cabin in which 
 "the genteels," as he called them, were sitting. Stretched on his 
 face at full length, he beheld through the chinks between the 
 boards his mother's pantomime, and overheard all that passed 
 between her and her visitors. 
 
 " He 's afeerd o' the masther, me lady," Mrs, Doolan whispered 
 again, " an' he run up on the loft whin he saw ye wor comin', an' 
 all in regard o' the bit o' throuble he gev his honnor in Ingland, 
 whin he wint to see Tim off." 
 
 "Come down lieer, ye idle blagard, an' beg the gintlemon's 
 pardon," said the old lady, addressing her son in a tone of 
 unmistakable command, to which there was no response. 
 
 " Come down lieer, I tell ye," she repeated, " or I '11 go up afther 
 ye with the sthick. Shure it isn't asleep ye are at this time o' day. 
 Come down agin ; there 's a good sowl ; his honnor '11 forgive ye, I 
 know he will ; he has a forgivin' face." 
 
 "Yes, Jerry," said Mr. Vansittart, "come down, I want to talk 
 with you, to do which I have travelled a long way. I am glad of 
 
 ^A 
 
 ' 
 
 , \ 
 
 k 
 
''^rr'i' 
 
 
 '' ! , 
 
 .... 1 
 
 ft. 
 
 ' J 
 
 lit I: ^ 
 
 I 1 
 
 n* 
 
 1 ;.i< 
 
 ,!* 
 
 300 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 the good account your mother gives of you, and I hope our visit to 
 you will be worth remembering by us all." 
 
 Finding further concealment useless, Jerry dropped down from 
 the loft without using the ladder, and stood with a bashful and 
 sheepish air before his visitors, hardly knowing how to comport 
 himself. 
 
 There was a few moments of silence, which Mr. Yansittart broke 
 by addressing Jerry. " Did you not like to see me ? " he asked. 
 " I was very anxious to see you, and to converse with you, and 
 with your father and mother." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir, I was longin' to see yer honnor," Jerry responded, 
 "but I didn't want you to see me, for the plane thruth is the best, 
 yer honnor. I felt ashamed o' meself, so I did, an' so I ought." 
 
 " We should 1)0 always ashamed of our sins, Jerry," said the 
 gentleman, "and I trust that that is what drove you to your 
 hiding-place. Sin, Jerry, is very shameful as well as very wicked, 
 and is soul-ruining. Sin caused our first ])arents to do exactly 
 what you did, with this diiference, you tried to hide from man, 
 they from God, but men vainly hope to hide their sins from God 
 as well as from man, in some instances, forgetting that He searcheth 
 the heart, and knows all things," 
 
 Now, Jerry was a bit of a polemic in his way, and prided him- 
 self in his skill tlicrein. He knew it was a disgraceful thing to 
 be a drunlcard, l)ut as to merely taking " a drop too much " at a 
 fair, a wake, or a vredding, on a saint's day, or any other holi- 
 day, or more particularly when about to ^;ar^ with a dear friend, 
 meeting an old friend, or making up a quarrel with an enemy — 
 all these he viewed as simply light, allowable, small offences, 
 which, although the Ciiukcii set them down as sins, still in her 
 category they were venial — small, for which prayers were pre- 
 scribed by numher and measure — and these sins and their remedies 
 formed part of her stock-in-trade, and her remedies when 
 repeated as stipulated, like homoeopathic or other medicines, they 
 either did the patient no harm or no good. Jerry argued, that 
 when he went to " his duty," and paid the stipulated price laid 
 by the Church for absolution, she had no further claim on him. 
 The priesc and he were quits. He felt he was an honest man 
 between the Church and himself, in the full commercial sense of 
 the terras, and having regularly discharged his conscience after 
 each faux ^)as, he considered his case as free from all further 
 demand as any honest tenant, with his receipt in his pocket for 
 his last quarter's rent. Jerry, like many of his creed and country. 
 
'0 
 
 THE ROMISH METHOD OF TAKING AWAY SIN. 
 
 301 
 
 pe our visit to 
 
 led down from 
 a bashful and 
 )w to comport 
 
 ansittart broke 
 
 le 1 " he asked. 
 
 Avith you, and 
 
 erry responded, 
 ■nth is tlie best, 
 so I ought." 
 erry," said the 
 e you to your 
 as very wicked, 
 s to do exactly 
 bide from man, 
 ' sins from God 
 lat He searcheth 
 
 md prided him- 
 •aceful thing to 
 too much "at a 
 any other holi- 
 a dear friend, 
 itli an enemy — 
 small ofiences, 
 ins, still in her 
 lyers were pre- 
 d their remedies 
 ■emedies when 
 medicines, they 
 ry argued, that 
 lated price laid 
 r claim on him. 
 an honest man 
 mercial sense of 
 conscience after 
 rom all further 
 L his pocket for 
 led and country, 
 
 make the most of theii* wit, and too frequently emploj H to rail 
 against truth, but he is now overmatched. It will imprtc^ the 
 reader that Jerry, with all his failings, was a good average Catholic. 
 He sinned, confessed, got absolution, did penance, and having paid 
 the priest, commenced a new score the next opportunity. But now 
 for Jerry's answer to Mr. Vansittart. 
 
 " Well now, indeed, yer banner," said he, " as yer banner axed 
 the question about me bein' affeerd av yer banner, I confess I 
 was affeerd o' yer banner. An* as to me bein' affeerd o' God, 
 glory be to His holy name, He is good and marciful, an' won't be 
 too hard on a poor, ignorant craythur like me, for takin' a dhrap 
 o' drink betune me an' the grief, more especially when partin' 
 wid me only brother. He is a good brother, yer banner, God 
 bless him, an' from the day he was born there nivir was anything 
 onpleasant betune us — ex — cept — * hem ; ' " — something came into 
 Jeriy's throat here, and what could not escape through the oral 
 organ, rushed to the eyes, all of which, including the " exception," 
 Mr. Vansittart fully understood, and replied — 
 
 " And Jerry, my dear fellow, why should you be afraid pr ashamed 
 to see me, your friend," said the good gentleman; "what we should 
 all fear most is sin, for we have (dl sinned, and that grievously. 
 We all come under its condemnation, — tell mc, Jerry, how you 
 expect to get clear of this ? " 
 
 " Well," he replied, somewhat puzzled, " it stands to raison, Sir, 
 that we must tiny and do bettlier for the futlmr, an' punish our- 
 selves in this life to shorten our punishment in the next." 
 
 " It would be wise of us to try and improve upon each passing 
 day," said his kind friend, " and our best doings will come short of 
 that perfect obedienco which God's holy law requires. He demands 
 that we love Him with all ihe mind, soul, and strength, and the 
 Being so loved would be obeyed, and our Icvo failing in this, our 
 obedience fails also. Do you not think wo are bound by this law? " 
 
 " Indeed, yer banner," said Jci-ry, " an' tliat 's a sluu-e thing. 
 My gracious ! isn't it He — glory be to His holy name — that gives 
 uz ivery thing, an' does uz good all our lives long? " 
 
 "Precisely so, Jerry," said Mr. Vansittart. '* Now tell me — 
 have you served Him thus perfectly, all your life, every moment, 
 in return for all the good He has done to you 1 " 
 
 " Well, Sir, he 'd be a bad man intirely that 'ud say sich a thing 
 for 't would be a lie for the best o' min, barrin' for a .saint, an' it 
 appears there wor saints in owld anchent times, who punished thira- 
 selves so much for their sins, that they had 7iio)'e merit thin was 
 
 I 
 
 3 
 
 !■ 
 
302 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 It 
 
 -r 'i 
 
 ■' li 
 
 ii^^ 
 
 required for savin' their own sowls ; an' I hope that God will 'tri- 
 bute some of this extra merit to me, an' poor craythurs like me, 
 rayther thin lave me to suffer for iver an' a day." 
 
 " But Jerry, there is some mistake here. If the holy law of God 
 required the7n to serve Him to the utmost all their lives (and let us 
 allow for argument's sake that they did so), they could not, on such 
 conditions, do more than was needful for themselves. If so, how 
 could they have merit to spare 1 Here, you and I are sinners before 
 God ; you confess that. But you say, * I will atone for so77ie of my 
 sins myself, by punishing my body, and saying prayers, both pre- 
 scribed by men, and not by God, and having done that, I will 
 further appeal to some Jiohj i^ople or j^^rsons, who lived ages ago, 
 for a share in the excess of their merits.' And with all tliese it 
 seems you will have to go to Purgatory, and there, by punishment, 
 make a further atonement for sins not cancelled by penance, or 
 saintly merits. Now is not this unsatisfactory ? First, there is 
 penance, or self-inflicted punishment in submission to the will of 
 another; second, the supposed extra merit of some one more right- 
 eous than yourself; and tldrd. Purgatory ! Will all, or any of 
 tliese settle the long score of sins against G od ? " 
 
 " No ! " said Jerry, with animation, and an air of triumph, add- 
 ing — " an' sliu'"e there 's the merit o' the Lord Jasus," — devoutly 
 lifting his — we were going to write — ^' hat" (but that would be a 
 misnomer)— at the name, and bowing his head, a reverence not only 
 honourable but becoming, and nowhere more rigidly observed than 
 among the Irish peasantry, generally accompanying it with, as in . 
 this case, the sign of the cross. 
 
 Mr. Vansittart, who was not above accepting a lesson, no matter 
 by whom imparted, even by an ignorant Romanist, was struck with 
 Jerry's devout reverence and becoming gesture, and instinctively 
 bowed too. 
 
 A sudden thought seemed to strike him. " Jerry," he said, " I 
 am delighted to see that you reverence the name of our dear Lord 
 and Saviour. Can you believe that I heard a man in Liverpool, a 
 few weeks ago, say that in his opinion there was no more merit in 
 Jesus than in a dog, and that His blood was valueless? " 
 
 " Lor(^ save us an' keep us from all harm," said the old man who 
 was a listener, at the same time looking upwards and clasping both 
 hands. 
 
 " Jasus, Mary, an' Joseph, hav' marcy on us," chimed the old 
 lady, who was a listener too. 
 
 " May the good an' marciful God forgive him his sins," said 
 
I 
 
 JERRY RECEIVES A NEW IDEA. 
 
 303 
 
 b God will 'tri- 
 ^thuvs like me, 
 
 loly law of God 
 ives (and let us 
 Id not, on svich 
 es. If so, how 
 e sinners before 
 ; for some of my 
 lyers, both pre- 
 ne that, I will 
 
 lived ages ago, 
 with all tliese it 
 by punishment, 
 
 by penance, or 
 
 First, there is 
 3n to the will of 
 
 one more right- 
 1 all, or any of 
 
 ■)f triumph, add- 
 isus,"— devoutly 
 that would be a 
 verenee not only 
 ly observed than 
 «• it with, as in . 
 
 osson, no matter 
 
 was struck with 
 
 ind instinctively 
 
 y," he said, " I 
 
 f our dear Lord 
 
 1 in Liverpool, a 
 
 10 more merit in 
 
 less?" 
 
 the old man who 
 
 ,nd clasping both 
 
 chimed the old 
 
 a his sins," said 
 
 Jerry, " an' that 's the worst thing I wish him. My gi-acious ! an' 
 shure, Sir, didn't He die to save uz poor sinners, praises be to Him, 
 an' isn't His precious blood enough to save, not wan, but a thousand 
 worlds ! " 
 
 " It is, indeed, Jerry," said Mrs. Vansittart, " and what a 
 delightful text of Scripture that is in the 1st Epistle of John, 1st 
 chapter and 7th verse. Here it is in the Douay, or rather in the 
 Rhemish Testament — ' The blood of Jesus Christ . . . cleanseth us 
 from all sin.' The words are exactly the same in the Protestant 
 version as in this, and is it not very gratifying to have in our own 
 language words like these, and rendered so from tlie dead 
 languages by men differing very widely on otlicr, and even 
 fundamental points 1 Mark the words, ' The blood of Jesus 
 Christ cleanseth from all sin.' Do yovi believe that, J crry ? " 
 asked the good lady. 
 
 " Ah, thin, indeed I do, ma'am," said Jerry. "An' shure, ma'am, 
 if I didn't I must be a haithin intirely, or what 's worse, maybe 
 an onbeliever like him the Masther there spoke av." 
 
 " Jerry," said Mr. Yansittart, " if you fully believed that, do 
 you think you could believ^e at the same time something the very 
 opposite ] " 
 
 "'Tis as plane as prent, yer banner," said Jerry, "to do so 
 would be onpossible. That 'ud be aiquil to b'leevin' a thing an' not 
 b'leevin' it at the same time." 
 
 " You have put it very well, Jerry," said the gentleman ; " but 
 if the blood of Christ, as stated, cleanses from all sin, how can 
 penance cleanse from some of it, purgatory from another 2wr ft on, and 
 the merits of supposed saints, and the interposition of masses 
 from the resichie ? " Mr. Yansittart put this question with great 
 force and solemnity, with his head inclined downwards, and on 
 looking up he caught Jerry staring at him with evident amaze- 
 ment. He was sitting silent, and now leaned forward, crossed 
 his arms, and rested his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor 
 intently for several minutes. Mr. Yansittart, too, was silent. 
 The scene was like a citadel taken by assault, its towers dis- 
 mantled, all its guns silenced, and its defenders prisoners. Mrs. 
 Yansittart caught her husband's eye, and nodded to Jerry as a 
 fit subject for a painter's study. He was now sitting upright in 
 his chair — his left hand resting against his hip, and his right 
 grasped the hair on his poll, as if he wanted to pull off the 
 scalp, so as to let something out that was imprisoned in his 
 skull. His eyes were closed and his brows gathered, as though he 
 
304 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 f 
 
 jii; 
 
 '■» :v. 
 
 !< 'tl 
 
 mm 
 
 ^ In rit 
 
 ,1 
 
 IHii 
 
 
 } 
 
 H 
 
 Igi- 
 
 L 
 
 was studying the p07is asinorum ; while he muttered slowly, " That 
 same is a quare thing. Niver heerd the likes av it. How curis 
 I niver thought of that afore, tho' I heerd Tim talk av it. Ha ! 
 Well, I'm blessed if it don't bate Euclid hollow, so it does." 
 This reverie lasted some time, all looking on silently. 
 
 This arrow had reached its mark, and Divine light shone into 
 Jerry's dark mind. God said, " Let there be light, and there 
 was light," and another of Rome's faithful children was emanci- 
 pated. 
 
 But Satan can never give up an inch of his usurped empire 
 without a struggle, as we shall see. The priests know that the 
 Protestants would much rather Romanists would read the Douay 
 Scriptures than read none at all, and accordingly, they persuade, 
 that is, the priests persuade their dupes that the " heretics " print 
 false editions in oixler to lead the '^faithful " astray. Now, there 
 are many wealthy Protestants in Ireland who have r^ered 
 repeatedly to contribute towards providing a cheap edition of 
 these Scriptures, in order to their dissemination, but the Romish 
 authorities in every case refused, unless such editions were 
 printed with very objectionable notes. In the year 1812, a 
 society was formed for circulating the Bhemish Testament in Ire- 
 land without the notes, and the hierarchy consented. What was 
 the surprise of the contributors to this noble enterprise when they 
 discovered the 7iotes compiled in a little ti-act, 2^rivately printed by 
 a well-known Dublin bookseller in the Romish interest, and given 
 gratis, especially to those who accepted the Testament minus the 
 notes. 
 
 Jerry, on recovering from his reverie, turned round to Mr. Van- 
 sittart, as if a new idea had arisen in his mind, and said rather 
 apologetically, " Why, thin. Sir, is that really the Catholic Tistamint? 
 I ax the question. Sir, not doutin' yer banner in the laste I 'd be." 
 " I assure you, Jerry, it is," said the gentleman ; " and in it you 
 may see the recommendation of Dr. Denvir, one of the Ulster 
 bishops, to stamp its genuineness." 
 
 " Not an inch beyant yer banner's own word I '11 go," said Jerry. 
 " Why sliould I ? No, no, banner briglit." 
 
 Mr. Vansittart left the book with Jerry, having first read a 
 chapter in his impressive style, commenting as he proceeded. 
 Having finished, he commended the old couple and their son in 
 solemn prayer to the direction and protection of the Great 
 Teacher and Ruler of earth's domain, tho only wise God. He 
 charged Jerry to call and sec him at the residence of a gentleman 
 
 ':,* 
 
(( 
 
 THY WORD WILL NOT RETURN TO THEE VOID. 
 
 305 
 
 slowly, "That 
 :. How curis 
 ^ av it. Ha ! 
 , so it does." 
 
 ;lit siione into 
 rht, and tliere 
 11 was emanci- 
 
 isurped empire 
 know that the 
 ■cad the Douay 
 they persuade, 
 • heretics " print 
 y. Now, there 
 o have r^Tered 
 aeap edition of 
 Jilt the Romish 
 editions were 
 e year 1812, a 
 estament in Ire- 
 ;ed. What was 
 •prise when they 
 ateli/ printed by 
 berest, and given 
 ment minus the 
 
 und to :Mr. Van- 
 and said rather 
 tholic Tistamint? 
 hclastei'dbe." 
 " and in it you 
 
 10 of the Ulster 
 
 11 o-o," said Jerry. 
 
 ving first read a 
 \s he proceeded. 
 
 and their son in 
 
 n of the Great 
 
 wise God. He 
 
 e of a gentleman 
 
 with whom he was staying a few days, and having done so, he and 
 his lady took their departure from the lowly Irish cottage. 
 
 " Why is it," said Mrs. Vansittart, as she took her husband's 
 arm, " why is it that those people are so much more engaging 
 than persons of a higher class, and in other respects superior] 
 I have known many in whom I have felt the deepest interest, 
 more especially so when brought under religious concern, yet it 
 was very difficult to understand their state of mind ; but as respects 
 these people, there seems to be nothing short of positive fascination. 
 Why, your words, my love, found their way to Jerry's heart, poor 
 dear fellow, in a way most perceptible ; and i 'm sure neither of 
 us can ever forget the effect they had upon him." 
 
 " The words of the Lord, my dearest, not my words," said Mr. 
 Vansittart; " they will always find their way, and it was His 
 words that found their way to Jerry's heart, and will always 
 prosper in the thing whereto He sends them. The reason of the 
 difference to which you refer, my love, is, perhaps, because these 
 people are so natural and so little sophisticated. We are schooled 
 into a repression of almost all the natural emotions, and are 
 taught to disguise them. If I am not mistaken, it was Talleyrand 
 who gave utterance to that extraordinary speech which so sternly 
 rebukes reserve and untruthfulness, sometimes noticed in moral- 
 ists, senators, and even in religious teachers. ' Language,' said the 
 greatest of financiers, * is a combination of articulate sounds, used 
 by general consent as the medium of concealing our ideas.' These 
 naturally genuine and impulsive people, not only speak generally 
 as they think, but their very thoughts find r, natural expression, 
 as you, darling, will see in infants before they are taught to practise 
 deceit. I do so wish that, while it is fresh in your memory, dear, 
 you would employ your jjencil, and make a drawing of Jerry and 
 the remainder of the group, just at the moment when you drew 
 my attention to him." 
 
 Mrs. Vansittart appeared complimented by this allusion to her 
 skill in the sketching art, and as it was her loving husband's wish, 
 she promised to do her best in that particular. The rest of the 
 journey to their friend's house was pursued in a silent, meditative 
 mood, doubtless retrospecting the episodes of the afternoon, and 
 while they are enjoying the society of their friends, very different 
 proceedings go on at the cottage, some of which we propose to 
 reveal in the next chapter. 
 
 20 
 
 
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 I^ 
 
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 T ff-!» 1 
 
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 >\ l 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 WHAT OLD MR. DOOLAN CONSIDERS UNFAIR CONDUCT AT A FAIR — 
 ANOTHER WAVE OF THE EMIGRATION TIDE CARRIES HIM TO 
 A3IERICA — GRATITUDE BEARS RICH FRUIT. 
 
 When Mr. and Mrs. Vansittart left and had disappeared down 
 the lane, Jeriy broke the silence, and audibly remarked — " Well, 
 the grace o' God is about thim people wheriver they go. Oh, I 
 wish I was like 'em." 
 
 " There 's no harm in the world about 'em," said the old matron 
 deliberately. 
 
 " They 're very good in their own way," responded her 
 husband, "but," he added, "gi' me the owld religion afthei- 
 all." 
 
 *' An' me, too," said Jerry, " for may be we all want it." 
 
 " What 's that silly fellow sayin' at all at all ? " asked the old 
 man, turning to his wife. 
 
 " He said a very good thing," she replied. " You said, ' Gi' me 
 the owld religion afther all,' an' he said the very same thing, an' 
 now what do ye want to make av it 1 " 
 
 " I want to make this av it," the old man said, putting on a 
 ruffled temper, and speaking with an air of parental authority, as 
 if he was resolved to nip heresy in the bud, " I make this av it, 
 if any more o' my family goes afther the English religion, I '11 
 wash me hands clear an' clean av 'em, an' that 's the thruth, an' 
 nothin' but the thruth." 
 
 At hearing this, and observing his father's quicksilver rise, 
 Jerry thought his most prudent course would be to reth'e, and 
 attend to something outside about the farm which needed over- 
 sight, and found employment for a couple of hours. After the 
 expiration of this time supper-time came on, and his mother 
 called him in, and while all were partaking of this meal his 
 father preserved a sullen silence and demeanour, but towards its 
 close his countenance underwent a favourable change, and, the 
 
JERRY S VISIT TO THE FAIR. 
 
 307 
 
 r AT A FAIR — 
 .RRIES HIM TO 
 
 appeared down 
 arked— "Well, 
 bey go. Oh, I 
 
 the old matron 
 
 responded her 
 religion afther 
 
 vant it." 
 
 ' asked the old 
 
 owsaid, 'Gl'me 
 same thing, an' 
 
 id, putting on a 
 tal authority, as 
 make this av it, 
 sh religion, I'll 
 the thruth, an' 
 
 quicksilver rise, 
 e to retire, and 
 ich needed over- 
 )urs. After the 
 and his mother 
 this meal his 
 but towards its 
 ihange, and, the 
 
 repast finished, the old man said, in a suppressed but soothing 
 tone, " Jerry, mabouchal ! " 
 
 " Sir," answered Jerry, in the usual deferential way in which 
 the lowest Irish, even beggars, reply to, or address their parents 
 or superiors. 
 
 " To-morrow," continued the old man, " will be the fair-day of 
 Castlemacscalligan. Take that couple o' two-year old heifers, an' 
 that litther o' honnows* wid their mother, an' sell 'em, if the prices 
 are good. If not, don't be in a hurry, but drive 'em back agin." 
 
 Such were Jerry's orders, expressed more kindly than the clouds 
 l)ortended an hour before. 
 
 By six o'clock the following morning Jerry had breakfasted, 
 and was on the road with his drove before him, and was accosted 
 by many an old acquaintance, to all of whom he was civil, but 
 warded off conversation with any. 
 
 He sold his cows and pigs early, got his money, and was pro- 
 ceeding on his way to the stable in which he left his nag, ana in 
 doing so fell in with an old acquaintance, one of the drinking and 
 fighting fraternity. He was drunk when he saw Jerry, and he 
 staggered up to him, and with boisterous familiarity, similar to 
 that recorded of the man in Donnybrook fair, who 
 
 " Meeting his friend, for love knocks him down," 
 
 struck Jerry a pretty sharp blow with his blackthorn across the 
 shoulders. Jerry winced on receiving the salute, and turned 
 round to see whether it was from a friend or an enemy, when he 
 beheld the brawny fist of a distant relative, named Rory O'Hare, 
 stretched out for a hearty shake. 
 
 " Jerry, me bright son of Erin, how are ye ?" roared Rory, with the 
 glistening eye of one who had evidence upon him of deep acquaint- 
 ance with the inebriating cup. "I'm afeerd I sthruck ye too 
 liard, mabouchal, but let me see the Nowlan that '11 say ' boo ' to 
 yer gallop, an' I'll knock his" ... do wonders of course. "Jerry, 
 me boy, I 'm not dhronk, I *m able to signify for meself, so I am. 
 Come in here to Bill Branlin's tint, an' we '11 have a jig or a reel 
 wid the girls, an' a dhrop o' dhrink to wet our whistles." 
 
 " I 'm much obleeged to ye, Rory," said Jerry, " but I 'd rayther 
 not so airly, an' besides I see ye have been takin' a dhrop already, 
 an' I 'm wanted at home. The owld people expects me as soon 
 after my bisness is done as possible, an' perhaps at another time I 
 may obleege you." 
 
 * Little sucking pigs. 
 
 ■ ■ % 
 
 m. 
 
 % 
 
308 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I'i 
 
 n 
 
 F< 
 
 m 
 
 n^i 
 
 ! , i 
 
 J. * I 
 
 Ifl 
 
 .51! 
 
 ,:«•■ 
 
 11; 
 
 " I jist liad a little dhrop," said Rory, " with a ' gossij) ' o' mine 
 that stood godfather for my little Dan — God rest his poor little 
 sowl — jist enough to wet wan eye, an' now you must help me to 
 wet the tother. Comf ^ ing ; hiirrah for the Doolans ! " 
 
 " Kory, ye must excube me, indeed, this time," said Jerry. " I 
 cannot drink wid any one to-day. Indeed, I can't." 
 
 "By the big frost," roared Rory, "any man that refuses mo 
 threat must fight me, for that is an insult that none o' the O'Hares 
 iver endured, and niver will. Didn't you threat me at the last 
 fair-day in this place ? You did, an' I '11 not be in any man's debt 
 for a dhrink o' whisky while I have plinty o' yollow boys (sove- 
 reigns) in me pocket. Do ye think I haven't i)linty o' money ? " 
 drawing his hand out of the said pocket, showing a number of 
 gold coins received for a pair of young horses he had just sold. 
 
 This man would have fought with Jerry in his drunken mad- 
 ness, had not an incident occurred which put a summary end to 
 the colloquy. 
 
 A man whom Rory had ofiended when drinking with his 
 " gossip " a little earlier in the day, and who was now as furiously 
 drunk as Rory himself, rushed up to him, flourishing an oaken 
 sapling, and vociferating, *' Show me one of the bloody O'Hares," 
 and observing the man he was most desirous of meeting exhibit- 
 ing his sovereigns to Jerry, he struck him a smart tap on the 
 elbow, and though the hand was closed on the gold, the fingers 
 flew open with the blow, away went the " yollow boys " spinning 
 in the air, and falling amongst the crowd. A general melee 
 followed, in which Jerry got hustled out, much to his own satis- 
 faction, although the very contrary of his former practice, which 
 was to do, as he used to call it, " a man's share " of whatever 
 work was going forward. During the remainder of the day the 
 police, and the doctors, and after them the attorneys, and then 
 the magistrates, had full occupation for theii* time. O'Hare and 
 several others awoke to sensibility in prison, and discovered them- 
 selves in conditions that few would envy — sick, sore, and sorry, 
 cursing whisky loud and deepj and, reader, would you believe 
 it 1 — all good Catholics. 
 
 " Holy Saint Bridget, an' all the saints an' angels in heaven 
 purtect us, an' save us, an' keep us ! " shouted Jerry's mother, as 
 she saw him ride round the horheen (a curved lane) towards the 
 house, about four o'clock in the afternoon of the fair day. 
 Heretofore he used never to return before twelve o'clock at 
 night, and sometimes not at all, because locked up, and brought 
 
 ;;.i 
 
jssij) ' o' mine 
 lis poor little 
 st help me to 
 
 LSl" 
 
 d Jerry. "I 
 
 at refuses me 
 o' the O'Hares 
 ae at the last 
 iiy man's debt 
 »w boys (sove- 
 ty o' money 1 " 
 ; a number of 
 L just sold, 
 drunken mad- 
 mniary end to 
 
 king with his 
 )w as furiously 
 hing an oaken 
 oody O'Hares," 
 leeting exhibit- 
 art tap on the 
 )ld, the fingers 
 boys " spinning 
 general 7uelee 
 his own satis- 
 practice, which 
 " of whatever 
 of the day the 
 neys, and then 
 O'Hare and 
 iscovered them- 
 ;;ore, and sorry, 
 lid you believe 
 
 Hgels in heaven 
 •ry's mother, as 
 le) towards the 
 the fair day. 
 elve o'clock at 
 ip, and brought 
 
 A VERY UNUSUAL OCCURRENCE WITH JERRY. 
 
 309 
 
 before the magistrates, and punished. He seldom spent less than 
 a pound at such times, and frequently more. 
 
 " What ails ye, — what ails ye ? " asked the old man, starting to 
 his feet, on hearing his Wii.d appeal to the saints. 
 
 " Why, here's Jerry home a' ready," she gasped. " Somethin' is 
 wrong wid him, or he wouldn't be home at this hour. Here he 
 comes canterin' up." 
 
 The father rushed to the door, and followed him into the stable, 
 assured in his own mind he must be sick, or something unusual 
 had taken place. He watched Jerry's movements closely, while 
 unsaddling the horse, to see if he was excited or elevated by liquor, 
 in which case it was deemed most prudent to allow him to sober 
 before saying anything calculated to irritate, otherwise he was 
 almost sure to be violent. Perceiving that he looked as sober as 
 when leaving home in the morning, the old man walked back to 
 the house. 
 
 " What ails him ? " the mother asked. " I know by my 
 dhrames last night that there 's somethin' goin' to happen." 
 
 " Well," said the old man dryly, " yer dhrame is out ; somethin* 
 has happened." 
 
 " What has happened 1 " she asked, as if her breath was on the 
 eve of leaving her. 
 
 " A very onusual thing," said her spouse. " If ye could write 
 ye might chalk it on the back o' the bellows, as one o' the wonders 
 o' the world. Yer son Jerry, God bless him, an' spare him to us, 
 has cum home from the fair by daylight, an' sober ! " 
 
 " My goodness gracious ! An' is he bate, or kilt, or what 's the 
 matter wid him ? " his mother further inquired. 
 
 " He 's naythur bate nor kilt, an' nothin' has happened to him, 
 thanks be to God, an' His Blessed Mother." 
 
 " Somethin' must be the matter wid him, poor craythur," said 
 liis mother, starting up, and making for the stable, "or he niver 
 would be home so airly. But yoit don't care; ye hadn't the 
 throuble o' rarin' him as I had." 
 
 The foregoing was delivered partly in the house, and the re- 
 mainder on the way to the stable, her voice graduating to a 
 major key, for Mr. Doolan, senior's, benefit, and the stable reached, 
 she, descending to a coaxing tone, addressed Jerry in the words, — 
 " Now, asthore machree, do tell yer poor owld mother what ails 
 ye. Do, alanav. Maybe I was too hard wid ye last night afore 
 the qualitee " (genteel people). 
 
 " Indeed, ye gef me a nice k'racther intirely," Jerry replied, 
 
310 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 ' 11 ii 
 
 K ' 
 
 1 n 
 
 !!::;M 
 
 ])laying a small game upon her feelings which he noticed were 
 inclined to the melting mood ; and laying his hand on her shoulder, 
 he added, most roguishly, " Come along, owld lady, an' let ' Billy ' 
 eat his oats, an' let me have some dinner, for I 'm hungry." 
 
 " Dinner ! " she exclaimed ; " yer supper ye mane. Shure it 's 
 nearly supper-time now. Why, me poor child, ye '11 be starved 
 alive." 
 
 They proceeded from the stable to the house, and having entered, 
 she turned to his father, and said, " Just think o' me poor slob not 
 tastin' a bit o' food all the live-long day. I have a nice bit o' cowld 
 pig's head, an' I '11 warm up some cabbage, an' pratees along wid 
 it, an' a good hot tumbler o* punch afther will warm his poor heart." 
 
 " Indeed, mother, I '11 be glad o' the pratees an' cabbage an' 
 pig's head, but niver heed the punch ; it 's too much o' that same 
 I 've been in the habit av takin', an' I don't intind takin' any to- 
 night." 
 
 "But I'd niver grudge ye enough av it Jerry," his mother 
 replied ; " 't is whin people takes too much av it that they makes 
 bastes o' thimselves." 
 
 "Thrue for ye, mother," said Jerry; "but, as I don't know 
 where enough inds an' too much biggins,* I 'm detarmined to let it 
 alone altogether." 
 
 At the finish of the last sentence Jerry drew from his pocket a 
 small calico bag, and, with a good-tempered smile, looked at it, and 
 chucked it on the table, at which his father was sitting, attentively 
 listening to the foregoing dialogue. 
 
 Eyeing the bag in a half careless way, the old man inquired, 
 " What sort o' prices wor goin' on at the fair ? " at the same time 
 looking from the bag up the chimney, which is easy done in an 
 Irish farmer's kitchen. 
 
 "Very good, father," Jeny replied; an answer diverse from 
 his practice heretofore, it being in his estimation good policy to 
 keep his father in ignorance, by representing low prices, to cover 
 deficiencies occasioned by whisky drinking. *'I got six pound 
 a-piece for the heifers, twelve pound for the two, an' three pound 
 for the owld sow, is fifteen pound, an' five shillin's a-piece for tin 
 bonnows, is two pound tin more, an', altogether, seventeen 2yound 
 tin shillings" and, with another smile, he pushed the bag closer to 
 his father. 
 
 He took it up, looked at it, untied the string, emptied it, and 
 counted it carefully. " Seventeen sovereigns an' a half," he 
 
 * The word " beffin " is so pronounced in the South. 
 
noticed were 
 
 her shoulder, 
 
 ,n' let * Billy ' 
 
 ngry." 
 
 !. Shure it's 
 
 11 be starved 
 
 iving entered, 
 poor slob not 
 30 bit o' cowld 
 ees along wid 
 is poor heart." 
 ' cabbage an' 
 li o' that same 
 takin' any to- 
 
 ," his mother 
 at they makes 
 
 I don't know 
 mined to let it 
 
 ii 
 
 L 
 
 his pocket a 
 oked at it, and 
 ng, attentively 
 
 man inquired, 
 
 the same time 
 
 sy done in an 
 
 diverse from 
 good policy to 
 )rices, to cover 
 got six pound 
 .n' three pound 
 
 a-piece for tin 
 eventeen j)Ound 
 e bag closer to 
 
 emptied it, and 
 a half," he 
 
 uth. 
 
 1' 
 
 JERRY tS POUND TO BE WHISKY-PROOF. 
 
 311 
 
 soliloquised, in a half whisper ; and, as if his senses were at fault, 
 he counted the money a second and a third time, repeating his 
 soliloquy each time. 
 
 " Well, Sir," said Jeny, " is it right 1 " 
 
 " I *m shure an' sartin," his father replied (evidently surprised, 
 and somewhat disappointed), " all the money ye mintioned is 
 here." 
 
 " Well, father, an' isn't that enough to be there ? " Jerry asked. 
 
 " Shure an' ye know very well," replied the old man tartly, 
 ' I 'm no miser, nor iver begrudged ye tin shillin's or a pound on 
 a fair day, to show that ye wor as good as another man. Fie, fie 
 on ye, Jerry. I declare I 'm ashamed av ye, for I niver yet heerd 
 of a Doolan comin' home from a fair widout any one bein' the 
 betther av his money; an' whiniver I quarrelled wid you, 'twas 
 for drinkin* too much, an' not for the lucre of a few shillin's. Here, 
 take this half sovereign, an' go back, an' let 'em know that ye can 
 spind money, an' behave like a man ; only keep sober." 
 
 " That same thing," Jerry replied, " is what I wish to do, father, 
 an' for that very raison I '11 not go in the way o' timptation. It 
 may be too strong for me, an' I won't try it." 
 
 " Still, for all that," rejoined his father, " I don't like to have it 
 said that a Doolan went to a fair, an' resaved goolden money, an' 
 kem home widout anybody bein' a bit the betther av his goin' 
 there. Howsomiver, ye may be right afbher all, an' I may be 
 wrong." 
 
 During this discussion, Jerry's mother was preparing the pig's 
 head, et cetera, and, instead of the *' punch," a " cap o' toy," 
 which, she agreed, "was betther than nothin'." Jerry sat down 
 to +h5 edibles, and his mother whispered — " Let me put the laste 
 taste in life o' whisky in yer cup o' tay ; rot it for tay, 't is poor 
 stuflf for a workin' gowsoon." But Jerry was " proof," if the 
 whisky was not ; he would not yield, and both father and mother 
 ceased to urge him. 
 
 After his repast, Jerry retired, and father and mother sat for a 
 while silent. At last the old lady said, " Well, he has taken some 
 turn or another ; I hope he '11 stick to it." 
 
 " So do I," said her spouse ; " but, thin, there *s raison, they say, 
 in roastin' eggs. Why can't a man take two or three glasses, or 
 half-a-dozen av 'em, and cum home sober? / was never drunk 
 in my life, an' I always took me skinful av it whin I wint 
 about it." 
 
 " If ye wom't," said his wife, " it wasn't yer own goodness kep' 
 
1'f ' 
 
 312 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I i 
 
 m h 
 
 
 ye. Ye could dhrink 'em all down dead oiidher the table. Many 
 a man kilt himself at it, that didn't dhrink half as much as yei'self. 
 An', besides, I think many people would say ye wor dhrunk, tho' 
 ye could talk, whin ye had the skinful ye spake of, for ye didn't 
 always talk sinsibly." 
 
 Jerry re-entered just at the concluding sentence of this quiet 
 innuendo of his mother's, and thereby put an end to a dialogue 
 which would have extended some length but for the interruption. 
 
 Being tired and sleepy, he went to rest at an early hour, an 
 example which was followed by the old people. 
 
 Early the following morning he set out to fulfil his promise of 
 calling on Mr. and Mrs. Vansittart, who were soon to take their 
 departure homewards. 
 
 Mr. Vansittart was somewhat agreeably surprised to find Jeny 
 more grave and thoughtful than he expected, or had observed him 
 to be at their last interview. 
 
 " I thought I would like to see you again, Jerry," said the 
 good gentleman, " before we go home. I was pleased to learn 
 from your mother that you are kind and afiectionate at home. 
 My object in wishing to see you was to get your brother Tim's 
 address, and to give you some little books, which my wife wishes 
 you to read." 
 
 " I don't exactly know where Tim is now, Sir," said Jerry ; 
 " but there 's places in New Yark at which you can find the address 
 of almost anybody who has been there. At laste, so I 'm towld ; 
 but it won't be long afore I see him, with the help o' God." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said his friend. " When did you arrive at that 
 determination, Jerry? How are you going to dispose of your 
 father and mother, may I ask 1 " 
 
 "I'll take 'em along wid me. Sir," he answered. "I'm goin' 
 to thry, wid the blessin' o' God, an' His blessed Son " (bowing 
 and crossing Himself), " J 'm goin' to thry to keep clear o' the 
 licker an' company the r'^st o' me days; an' there's no use in 
 thry in' to do it while 1 ,n so neer the owld cronees, yer banner. 
 They 'd be always watchin' me, an layin' thraps for me, to make 
 me dhrink wid 'em, an' I 'm mighty wake in meself. Sir, so I am, 
 an' me best way is to give 'em the slip." 
 
 " I am very glad, Jerry," said Mr. Vansittart, " to hear you 
 confess your weakness, and, indeed, to hear you talk so reasonably. 
 But, Jerry, the God of Israel will be your help, and in Him you 
 may have strength, for He is strength and power to His believing 
 children." 
 
 ' . ( 
 
 I 
 
JERRY INTENDS TO FOLLOW TIM's EXAMPLE. 
 
 313 
 
 \\\ 
 
 table. Many 
 lucli as yei'self. 
 L- (Ihrunk, tho' 
 f, for ye didn't 
 
 I of this quiet 
 . to a dialogue 
 ! interruption, 
 early hour, an 
 
 his promise of 
 n to take their 
 
 d to find JeiTy 
 I observed him 
 
 jrry," said the 
 [eased to learn 
 )nate at home, 
 brother Tim's 
 my wife wishes 
 
 said Jerry ; 
 
 ind the address 
 
 so I 'm towld ; 
 
 W God." 
 
 arrive at that 
 
 ispose of your 
 
 " I 'm goin' 
 Son " (bowing 
 ep clear o' the 
 re's no use in 
 Bs, yer hanner. 
 r me, to make 
 f , Sir, so I am, 
 
 " to hear you 
 
 so reasonably. 
 
 ad in Him you 
 
 3 His believing 
 
 "Yes, Sir, that is all very thrue," Jerry resi)ectfully replied; 
 " but, yer hanner, I 'd rayther get out o' the way o' tim[)tation, 
 an', if I was among sthrangers, they couldn't dhraw me into dhrink. 
 An', yer hanner, I don't care a pin for the taste av it, but it 's 
 the company ; an' I may tell yer hanner, maybe I 've another 
 raison." 
 
 " And may 1 ask if it would be lawful to tell it to a friend 1 " 
 Mr. Vansittart inquired, rather drily. 
 
 " Wisha, yer hanner, it 's nayther here nor there what passes in 
 the mind av a man o' my sort ; but I 've been thinkin'," continued 
 Jerry, " a wandherful deal, indeed I have, yer hanner, about them 
 last words ye said to me the other night. An' now, Sir, if I was 
 suspected av goin' the way me brother wint, an' anything was to 
 happen to me, me poor father an' mother (God bless 'em !) would 
 be thrown on the world in their owld age. They 've been good 
 parents to us, yer hanner, an' badly I 've requited thim, an' badly 
 I 've threated the god God that gev' them to me," and here the 
 strong man, that could figlit his way through a whole faction, fear- 
 less of consequences, broke down, and could not subdue the natural 
 impulses struggling within him. He wept bitterly, and his friend 
 felt tliat Jerry's malady was contagious. 
 
 Mr. Vansittart withdrew for some time, leaving Jerry in the 
 hands of his wife, who sagaciously administered wise and 
 seasonable counsel, which Jerry gratefully and thankfully 
 acknowledged. 
 
 On his return, Mr. Vansittart asked him how soon he thought 
 of going. 
 
 " As soon as I can, Sir," he answered. " I haven't mintioned 
 it yit to me father an* mother, but I know a man who wants to 
 buy our intherest in the little farm. He '11 give a good price for 
 it, an' me parents are so anxious to see Tim, that they '11 throw 
 no obstacle in the way ; an' I 'm anxious meself, yer banner, to 
 see me brother, for he's a good brother to me, an' a good 
 Christian brother into the bargain, an' he can taich a deal I don't 
 know." 
 
 "I hope you will be wisely guided, Jerry," said his friend; 
 "and here is a letter for your brother. "When you are ready to 
 go, come first to Liverpool, and you know where to find me. Do 
 nothing about your passage, nor that of your parents, until you 
 see me, and, with these instructions, I must say, Farewell. We 
 leave in the morning." 
 
 No time was lost in arranging the necessary preliminaries. 
 
314 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 !l, 
 
 I' ! 
 
 ' s. 
 
 Mil 'i 
 
 V* M 
 
 hi 
 
 Tbe farm was sold, and the old couple and Tony took ship for 
 Liverpool, in accordance with Mr. Vansittart's suggestion, who, 
 with his excellent lady, provided every comfort for the voyage, 
 securing a good ship, and paying all expenses. They are at sea ; 
 let us follow them in imagination. The parents are crossing the 
 broad Atlantic to a beloved son, and a son is hoping to embrace a 
 " bom brother " beloved. They were never on an " ocean wave " 
 before, but there would be nothing new in describing the sickness 
 peculiar to crossing the surface of the mighty deep, its gales, 
 tossings, storms — imaginary and real — and the many and great 
 perplexities voyagers are heirs to, not the least of which were 
 longings to see the end. It came at last, and all are safely landed 
 on the " New World." But where 's Tim ? That 's the question. 
 Jerry finds him, and the manner of introducing himself we hasten 
 to describe. 
 
 One night, not many weeks after the agreeable arrival of Mr. 
 Noonan's letter (givcxi in extenso in the last chapter), and ap- 
 proaching supper-time, a sudden, loud, and unexpected noise at the 
 door disturbed Tim and his wife. A heavy blow of a stick on 
 the outside, near the window at which she was sitting, nearly drove 
 Mrs. Doolan into hysterics. The noise of the blow was all the 
 louder, because the house was altogether constructed of boards ; 
 nearly nine-tenths of the habitations in America being the same. 
 
 A repetition of the blow, accompanied by a shout and a 
 " hoorah ! " — " Who dares to say a word agiust a Doolan — 
 Ehl" — Hearing these words caused Tim to spring to his feet, 
 exclaiming, " That 's the voice av my misf'^rthinit brother, as 
 shure as I 'm alive ; " and on opening the door, the same misfor- 
 thinit Jerry tumbled in, roaring out another "hoorah." The 
 whole family were frightened while he flourished his "black- 
 thorn," vociferating — " Who dares to say anything agin a Doolan % 
 If me brother Tim was here, he'd lick a dozen av yez, so he 
 would." 
 
 After a pause, in a kind of sing-song drone, he extemporised as 
 follows : — 
 
 ' * The Do jlana are the boys for fun, 
 At market, or at fair, Sir ; 
 'T is them can make the Sweenys run, 
 Ab swift as any hare, Sir. 
 
 An' whin they 've thra^h'd 'em upside down, 
 
 Ontil they 're black an' blue, Sir, 
 They '11 spind on thim their last half-crown, 
 
 The frindship to renew, Sir. 
 
took ship for 
 ggestion, who, 
 31- the voyage, 
 ey are at sea ; 
 re crossing the 
 g to embrace a 
 "ocean wave" 
 ig the sickness 
 leep, its gales, 
 lany and great 
 of which were 
 •e safely landed 
 s the question, 
 nself we hasten 
 
 arrival of Mr. 
 ipter), and ap- 
 ted noise at the 
 V of a stick on 
 ng, nearly drove 
 ow was all the 
 cted of boards j 
 ling the same. 
 I shout and a 
 st a Doolan — 
 ing to his feet, 
 init brother, as 
 he same misfor- 
 
 hoorah." The 
 ed his "black- 
 r agin a Doolan 1 
 av yez, so he 
 
 extemporised as 
 
 vn, 
 n, 
 
 AN " IRISH " MEETING. 315 
 
 Thin whisky is the stuff for me, 
 
 It breaks one's head an' minds it, 
 An' whin one goes upon the spree, 
 
 Biggins the fight an' inds it." 
 
 " Whew ! — hip — hip — hoorah ! Do let me take a sleep," and 
 down he laid himself upon the floo^. 
 
 Neither Tim nor his wife knew what to make of it j she wrung 
 her hands, and Tim paced the floor, while the children -^.tood as if 
 spell-bound. He yr&s utterly unexpected, because he had not written 
 to apprise them of his leaving Ireland, excepting only the letter 
 stating his resolve. But there he was, and now came the question 
 what is to be done with him. Tim was never so puzzled before, 
 and in his pacings muttered to himself — " My poor misforthinit 
 Jen J, may the great God above have marcy on ye, Jerry, amin." 
 " Arrah, thin, childher, will one o' yez run an' bring a couple o' 
 pillows to put ondher the poor craythur's head, for feered he'd 
 smother." To his wife he said, "Ah, ma colleen ! ain't they well 
 kept that the great God above keeps ? Oh, Jerry, wirra, wirra ! " 
 
 " Well, now, Tim," said Mrs. Doolan^ " niver tell me agjin that 
 there 's nothin' in dhrames, for I had a quare dhrame last night ; 
 an' all this liv'-long day, me right hand itched so, that I could tare 
 the skin off. Now that 's a sure sign of shakin' hands wid som' 
 owld acquaintance." 
 
 " I v/ish," said Tim. " you 'd lave off that foolishness. T only wish 
 me misforthinit brother had sinse to lave off that cursed dhrink; 
 it '11 be the ruination av him, body an' sowl, I 'm afeerd, Wirra, 
 wirra i it is too bad." 
 
 " Well," said Jerry, springing to his feet as lithely as a supple- 
 jack, " well, it is too bad, upon me banner, it is three bad," and he 
 caught Mrs. Doolan round the neck, and kissed her, and turning to 
 Tim, who stared at him with both eyes, he said — " Heigh, Tim, 
 me darlint, give us th'^ lisht ; I thought I 'd take a start out o' ye." 
 
 " Well, Je'Ty," said xMrs. Doolan, "if yer not t-^ shamminist, 
 desavinist, an' quarest fellov/ I iver laid .ne two \ .'cin' eyes on. 
 An' how are ye 1 afther all said an' dun, an" how 's futhci" an' mother, 
 an' all the nayburs 1 " 
 
 " Me father an' mother are as well as owld age will let 'em be. 
 an' the nayburs, as far as I know, are well, but many av 'em are 
 scattered in Ingland an' Ameriky, an' sum av 'em in Bottomy Bay 
 sint there aginst their will. Sum o' the boys are sogers, now fightin' 
 the Rooshians, an' the survivors of 'em got grs.it ])raise. Sliure ye 
 remimber Bill Gorman ? " turning to Tim, 
 
 •!■ 
 
II : * 
 
 316 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ;.<; 
 
 m 
 
 
 i' I 
 
 "Yes," said he, "'Dandy Bill,' they called him." 
 
 " The very same," said erry, " well, Dandy Bill, yon 'd say if 
 ye saw him whin he kem home on a 'furlo,' whativer sort of a 
 baste it is. I didn't see it meself, but they say it come from furrin 
 parts, an' whin he kem to Dublin he couldn't get a stable big 
 enough to put it in. My dear life, he was a full sargent, with three 
 gooldin sthripes above his elbow on his arms, an' a fine soord be 
 his side, an' hoo but Dandy Bill now in airnest. 'T is he was proud 
 an' stately, but he only looked so, sogers walk so upright. He 
 wasn't proud at all at all, he used to cum an* sit wid uz an' tell us 
 lots o' news av the wars, an' it would make yer blood bile to heer 
 him tell about the Rooshians murdherin the wounded, an I wish'd 
 often, whin T heerd him tell av it, that I was wid him an' the rest 
 av our boys — wouldn't I thrash 'em ? " 
 
 " Maybe ye wor safer an' betther off where you wor," said Tim . 
 "often I heerd that an Irishman is niver at pace only whin le's 
 fightin', an* so it would seem is the case wid a frind o' mine. 
 What harm did them Rooshians iver do you, Jerry 1 " 
 
 "Harm, is it?" said Jerry; "well, no harm, jist bekase they 
 didn't ketch me, an' if they did I wouldn't be heer, an' if yoio heerd 
 all I heerd, you 'd help to thrash 'em. They butchered our min 
 most shameful." 
 
 " Which do you call our min? " said Tim. 
 
 " Otir min? Why, the Irish, an' the Inglish, an' the Scotch, av 
 course," responded Jerry. " What min do ye think I 'd claim as 
 our min 1 " 
 
 " How should I know 1 " said Tim. " You used not show much 
 love to the Inglish or Scotch, nor to the Irish ayther, onless they 
 happened to agree wid ye in sum things." 
 
 " Now, cum," said Jerry, " don't be meevin* (reproaching) the 
 likes o' that now. Maybe ye 've not always dun the best ye ought 
 yerself." 
 
 " Ye 're right, Jerry," said Mrs. Doolan. " Now, as ye 're both 
 talkin' o' * doin',' let me see ye do yer very best at this," drawing 
 a chair for him to the table, on which she had spread a comfortable 
 supper, cooked while the brothers were conversing. " It '11 be aisier 
 for ye to conker sum o' that thin to fight the Rooshians, " 
 
 "Oh, thin, it 's raeself that '11 be glad to do as ye say, for I 
 haven't aten any hot vittals these forty-aight hours, not since 
 I left New Yark. Nothin', only bread an' cowld mate, that 
 me mother put up for me in a basket whin I was lavin* that 
 place." 
 
 ! it:i 
 
UNEXPECTED NEWS FOR TIJI. 
 
 317 
 
 V* 
 
 ill, yoii 'd say if 
 tiver sort of a 
 )me from furrin 
 et a stable big 
 »ent, with three 
 a fine soord be 
 is he was proud 
 ) upright. He 
 id uz an' tell us 
 ood bile to heer 
 led, an I wish'd 
 liim an' the rest 
 
 wor," said Tim. 
 only whin \e 's 
 frind o' mmc. 
 .?'' 
 
 ist bekase they 
 an' if yoit^ heerd 
 shered our min 
 
 .' the Scotch, av 
 nk I 'd claim as 
 
 not show much 
 her, onless they 
 
 ■eproaching) the 
 16 best ye ought 
 
 V, as ye 're both 
 t this," drawing 
 id a comfortable 
 " It '11 be aisier 
 liansc" 
 
 3 ye say, for T 
 [Ours, not since 
 vld mate, that 
 was lavin' that 
 
 (( 
 
 Yer 
 
 " Yer mother ! did ye say 1 " asked Tim amazed, 
 mother. 
 
 "Yes, me mother," shouted Jerry. 
 
 The astonishment of Tim and his wife knew no bounds. 
 
 " Me mother in New Yark i " Tim exclaimed, rising to his feet. 
 
 " Yes," said Jerry, "an' yei' father too ! but I can tell ye this 
 beef is not as tindher as the ov/ld brown cow which we bi'ought to 
 say, and what I had in the basket." 
 
 " Why didn't ye tell me afore they wor in New Yark 1 " Tim 
 said, rather pettishly. 
 
 " All in good time, Tim ; ye can't have iverything in a minit. 
 Saints an' anpels presarve us, a n»an 'ud want a Rooshian baynit 
 to pick his teeth wid, afther atin' sich tuff mate as ye have heer. 
 I 'm thankful for a good set o' grindhers." 
 
 "Take me advice, Jerry," said Tim, " now that we're in this 
 counthry, an' let me tell ye it 's a good counthry, an' it has good 
 people in it, but some av 'em are very ignorant intirely. They 
 think there 's nothin' in the world so good as what is produced in 
 this counthry, an' if ye find fault wid anything heer they will not 
 be pleased wid ye. Wheriver ye can't praise, the wisest way is to 
 keep silent. The beef an' mutton in this counthry isn't to be com- 
 pared to ours ; but thin, such as they are, the workin' man gets 
 his share o' thim. I want to know why ye didn't tell me afore me 
 father an' mother had cum wid ye 1 " 
 
 " Well, why I towld ye ivery thing ye axed me," said Jerry, 
 " an' if ye only axed about yer father an' mother sooner I 'd 
 hav< towld ye sooner. Shure something must be left for 
 la^t." 
 
 '*Thrue for ye," Tim rejoined ; "ye 're the same playboy ye wor 
 aUvaT-t." 
 
 '' T'l ere 's a pair av uz, I 'm thinkin'," said Jerry. 
 
 " N' v/, Jerry, it 's time ye had some sleep," said Tim, whicli 
 .V[rs. Doolan seconded and supported in a neat speech j and after 
 some further conversation, the hour being very late, or rather 
 early, all retired, and were soon sound asleep. 
 
 In the morning, before Jerry arose, Tim and his wife bad a long 
 talh about Jerry's pretending to be drunk, and about his coming 
 to America so suddenly, and to them without intimation, and 
 leaving his father and mother in New Y rk ; and Tim's suspicions 
 V t L- brother still loved drink, to all of which Mrs. Doolan 
 lepli-id with gi'eat sagacity. 
 
 Tim's employment was in the distillery, and this conversation 
 
 ill 
 
 
 r I 
 
 If 
 
 jliiMi 
 
318 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 l^i' 
 
 'K x^ 
 
 I !i.: 
 
 I 
 
 with his wife led to a determination of leaving the same. He 
 said — "I *11 not go to that 'stillery any more at all. I '11 give it up, 
 an' thrust in God for somethin' betther. Jerry 'ud be for folleein' 
 me there, an' mebe get work there, an' thin good-bye to Jerry for 
 iver, if he got work so neer the whisky," 
 
 '* I 'm shure an' sartin ye 're right," said Mrs. Doolan. " Keep 
 him by all manner o' manes out o' the way o' timptation. But 
 thin, Tim, agra, what about yer work 1 " 
 
 " The good Lord that gives me hea,lth '11 purvide me work, 
 blessed be His holy name for iver. The harvest is jist now 
 bigg'nin', and there '11 be plinty av work an' good wages — a dollar 
 or two dollars i-day. I 've no fear, me colleen." 
 
 Jerry rose . > • "kfast, and after heartily enjoying that meal, 
 Tim and he saili it to view the country, and in their rambles 
 various topics und^ vent discussion, but chiefly what was to be 
 done with father and mother, without any definite settlement of 
 that question. Tim's next inquiry was about Mr. Vansittarfc and 
 family, and in discoursing about them Jerry produced that gentle- 
 man's letter. 
 
 An observation may be necessary before further reference to 
 that document, and that is, Tim was much struck with his brother's 
 changed manner in conversation, and especially his frequent allusion 
 to Scripture passages, and a total absence of those phrases peculiar 
 to Romanists — habitual, it may be said — in his walk of life. He 
 found also, to his great joy, that Jerry had imbibed as gi'eat a 
 hatred to drink, as in past days he had for love of it, and he spoke 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Vansittart as his best friends for body and soul. 
 This was highly gratifying to Tim. 
 
 But can anything be said in extenuation of Jerry's dramatic 
 display of affected drunkenness? Perhaps there can. He was 
 an uneducated man, except only that he could read and write. 
 His associations from childhood were persons of no more light, 
 morally or religiously, than himself, and all who know what 
 Bomanism is, can estimate the difference between that and Pro- 
 testantism. Jerry, when he acted that part, was still in a state 
 of mental transition. There is a certain wild fowl, of the duck 
 species, whose haunts are on the margin of the sea, where it 
 builds and hatches in marshes, and difficult places of human 
 access. In the cold, frosty and sleety winds of March, the young 
 ones may be seen running fiercely with bits of white shell on their 
 heads. Jerry was only just hatched, and the shell had not got 
 clearly off". It is highly probable he was sorry enough next day 
 
 'II r ! 
 
MR. VANSITTART S LETTER TO TIM. 
 
 319 
 
 '\ \ 
 
 he same. He 
 
 I '11 give it up, 
 be for foUeein' 
 ye to Jerry for 
 
 jolan. " Keep 
 aptation. But 
 
 dde me work, 
 st is jist now 
 vages — a dollar 
 
 i^ing that meal, 
 11 their rambles 
 »^hat was to be 
 3 settlement of 
 Vansittart and 
 ced that gentle- 
 
 er reference to 
 th his brother's 
 •equont allusion 
 )hrases peculiar 
 k of life. He 
 bed as great a 
 t, and he spoke 
 body and soul. 
 
 erry's dramatic 
 can. He was 
 ead and write, 
 no more light, 
 10 know what 
 that and Pro- 
 still in a state 
 1^1, of the duck 
 sea, where it 
 ices of human 
 rch, the young 
 te shell on their 
 
 II had not got 
 ough next day 
 
 for playing such a game, and it is equally probable he would not 
 repeat it. 
 
 And now about Mr. Vansittart's letter. "We cannot promise 
 the reader the whole contents of that interesting epistle, but he 
 shall have the most prominent features, such as are of intere&t to 
 the parties concerned. It is as follows / — 
 
 " Liverpool, 
 
 18- 
 
 (( 
 
 My Dear Friend, — It gives me gi'eat pleasure to correspond 
 with you, because I consider myself under everlasting obligations 
 to you and our good and gracious Father, who by His wise provi- 
 dence overruled events so as to bring u":; acquainted with each 
 other. Your brother, who is proceeding with your parents to the 
 New World, will be able to inform you of the pleasant visit which 
 Mrs. Vansittart, myself, and family enjoyed in the neighbourhood 
 in which I first saw you, then a little boy, and to the cottage of 
 your father and mother. 
 
 " I think we have had evidence which can scarcely be doubted, 
 'hat the same gracious God who has done so much for you and me, 
 has also begun the good work in the heart of your brother. Oh, 
 see, my dear friend, that you lose no opportunity of setting the 
 truth before him, both by word and deed. 
 
 ** One very excellent feature in his case is, that he is utterly 
 distrustful of self, and consequently determines to withdraw himself 
 at once from the scenes and companionships of former acquaint- 
 ances and foolish courses. 
 
 " And now a few words on worldly matters. 
 
 " I happen to have an interest in certain lands in Canada "West, 
 which I have never seen, and which have been of little, if any, 
 benefit to me. If you are not doing anything better where you 
 are, and should you think it worth your while to try the country you 
 may take the enclosed letter to my agent there, who will point out 
 to you the lands in question, and assign to you as many hundred 
 acres as you think you will be able between yourself and your 
 brother profitably to manage. 
 
 " After the lapse of a few years, if you are prosperous in the 
 cultivation of your land, you may make arrangements for paying 
 whatever you conscientiously thing it worth, but the subject of 
 payment must be deferred until such time as you feel yourself in 
 a position to treat of the matter without any inconvenience to 
 yourself ; and should that time never come, I need not say that I 
 owe you more as the means of so much happiness to myself than 
 
 
! 1 
 
 ! ( 
 
 .!:. 
 
 'i ' 
 
 »*■ 
 
 ) ^.:? 
 
 i I 
 
 M>' I 
 
 320 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 I ever can repay ; money, land, nor anything earthly can ever 
 
 discharge it," 
 
 When Tim had read the second paragi'aph in the letter referring 
 to the change which had taken place in his brother, and the motives 
 that led to taking such a step as emigrating, in order to escape the 
 temptations which had formerly ensnared and overcome him, his 
 eyes filled with tears, he seized Jerry by the hand, and motioned a 
 return to the house, to which both silently repaired. As soon as 
 the emotion subsided, Tim proceeded to read the letter in his wife's 
 hearing, and the feelings and thoughts of all can more easily be 
 imagined than described. 
 
 The day over, night came on, and questions relating to the future 
 were considered and determined. One of these was, that on the 
 following day Tim would leave home for New York, and Jerry must 
 remain as family protector in his absence. Accordingly he set out 
 as purposed, but before retiring to rest the Divine Word was read, 
 and the n !;.(Tec*"'d utterances of simple, devout prayer offered. 
 Tim had establisLed an altar for God in his house, before which he 
 bowed evening and morning ; and before he journeyed he com- 
 mended himself, wife, children, and brother to the care and protec- 
 tion of Him whose he was, and whom he served. He was some 
 eight days away, and returned with the old couple to a rejoicing 
 household. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Doolan, senior, were at first a little taciturn on 
 the subject of religion, and on that only ; but finding that their 
 sayings and doings were not under priestly surveillance, as in the 
 mother country, they saw there was no danger to incur by giving 
 attention to such spiritual matters as came nearest their persons, 
 reserve was soon thrown off, and they made themselves at home 
 with tlieir beloved children. " The boys" as they still called Tim 
 and Jerry, determined not to force them into religious controversy, 
 wisely deeming that a holy, self-denying life, and a becoming con- 
 versation, and a uniformity of action; and, superadded, an unfailing 
 attention to devout reading of the Word, family worship, and a 
 strict observance of the Lord's-day — these, in Tim's opinion, would 
 do more than argument, however good, to impress aged, uneducated 
 people. 
 
 Both of the old people lived to find out that it is not by " works 
 of righteousness " performed by men, and supposed to possess 
 merit, that salvation comes to sinners, but that, according to His 
 merits, who gave Himself for us, " He saves us by the washing 
 
bhly 
 
 can ever 
 
 3tter referring 
 id the motives 
 ■ to escape the 
 come him, his 
 id motioned a 
 As soon as 
 Br in his wife's 
 iiore easily be 
 
 ; to the future 
 i, that on the 
 nd Jerry must 
 igly he set out 
 lord was read, 
 )rayer offered. 
 Bfore which he 
 leyed he com- 
 ire and protec- 
 He was some 
 to a rejoicing 
 
 le taciturn on 
 ing that their 
 nee, as in the 
 icur by giving 
 
 their persons, 
 elves at home 
 
 ill called Tim 
 IS controversy, 
 looming con- 
 d, an unfailing 
 i^orship, and a 
 opinion, would 
 Bd, uneducated 
 
 lot by " works 
 ed to possess 
 ording to His 
 )y the washing 
 
 A VISIT TO THE FALLS OF NIAGAEA. 
 
 321 
 
 of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost." They were 
 both in due time enabled to trust Jesus, and believe in Him to 
 the saving of their souls. May the author and his reader rest on 
 Christ, and on Him alone, for peace here and glory hereafter. 
 
 The two brothers (brothers now in a twofold sense) worked hard 
 during the summer and autumn at the usual field occupations of 
 the country. The father had realized a nice little sum by the sale 
 of his farm and stock which he sold to good advantage. Tim and 
 Jerry were industrious and careful, so that when the " fall of the 
 leaf" came on, they were both ready for their excursion into 
 Canada, which required due and proj^er consideration. Expenses 
 were to be calculated, and suitable arrangements entered into for 
 those left behind, as well as for those who had to travel. 
 
 In undertaking this journey Tim especially sought Divine direc- 
 tion, and his whole soul was lifted to heaven in prayer, that the 
 God who had hitherto wonderfully directed his steps, and who had 
 been the guide of his pilgi'image from his native land, would still 
 vouchsafe His presence and blessing. Nor did he cease to pray 
 that the reunion of parents and brother might be for the present 
 and everlasting goo^'' of them all, and i^ow far these prayers were 
 answered will be seen as the reader proceeds. 
 
 Bidding a temporary farewell to father, mother, wife, and child- 
 ren, they took steamer for Pittsburgh, from which place a railroad 
 ride of about twenty -four hours brought them to the world-renowned 
 Falls of Niagara. 
 
 " An' is this the place they calls one o' the seven wandhers o' 
 the world ? " said Jerry, as Tim and himself stood below, within a 
 few feet of where that vast body of waters is received, after a fall 
 of about 250 or 260 feet, into the River Ontario. 
 
 "That's the very place," said Tim, "and a great wandher it is, 
 no doubt." 
 
 But it is not the writer's intention to follow in the track of the 
 countless hosts of writers and scribblers, poets and poetasters, who 
 have attempted to describe that sight, and who have all failed in 
 their attempts. 
 
 The terrific plunge of those seething waters, the majestic fweep 
 of their arch in its descent, the deafening roar of their fall into the 
 abyss beneath, the snowy wreaths of foam, rolling, and plunging, 
 and bubbling after their fall ; the blinding, saturating spray, dashed 
 ofi" by their collision, the dense cloud of vapour that overhangs the 
 course of the river for some distance, the wild scream of the birds 
 as they soar, now aloft, and anon dash beneath the wave ; the 
 
 SI 
 
 i.i^ 
 
T,?r 
 
 rnmjr, 
 
 322 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 :lil! :i 
 
 I If 
 
 I II' 
 
 pigmy forms of human and other creatures, as they stand or move 
 on the overhanging cliffs at either side ; all must be seen, heard, 
 felt, and all three senses must combine, in giving an idea of this 
 wonderful work of God. 
 
 Taking the first train from the Falls to Suspension Bridge, after 
 having sated their curiosity with the "great, big, mill sthrame," 
 as Jeriy called it, our travellers passed on foot, over that stupend- 
 ous work of art ; stopping about the centre thereof, to take another 
 look, to the left, up that mighty stream, in order to get therefrom 
 a distant view of the Falls. Viewed from this point it pi'esents, 
 to some minds, greater attractions than when viewed from a point 
 immediately above, or yet below. This may be accounted for on 
 the principle tliat the sight is less terrific, enough, however, to 
 excite wonder without awakening so much awe, and the stunning 
 sound becomes toned down so as to be less displeasing to the ear. 
 
 Most people are aware of the unpleasantness of the sound of 
 thunder when very near, whereas, when distant, it is rather pleas- 
 ing than otherwise. 
 
 Arrived at the Canada side, Tim, not being quite sure of his 
 geogi'aphical position, and seeing a man in a scarlet coat, the 
 uniform once familiar enough to his eyes, he stepped up to him, 
 Recognising the " three Vs " on his arm as the badge worn by 
 sergeants, he addressed him according to his rank, " Sergeant, I 'd 
 be obleeged to ye to tell me whose land this is." 
 
 " You are in the Queen's dominions now," said the sergeant. 
 *' Look at her flag flying there, over the custom-house." 
 
 " Glory be to God," he ejaculated, " I was nivir in me life afore 
 proud to see it, but I 'm proud of it now. God bless her honour, 
 an' may she live long an' nappy," at the same time taking ofi* his 
 hat, and pulling the lock of hair on his forehead, so as to bend his 
 head forward to an inclination of forty-five degrees, by way of 
 salute to the " buntingj" as if it had been her most gracious Majesty 
 in person. "I declare," he added, "it makes me feel at home, in 
 a manner, just to get a sight of it." 
 
 "Where are you from, my fine fellow?" said the sergeant, in a 
 tone half commanding, half encouraging. "'Tis a pity," he 
 added, scanning him] from head to foot. "I'm afraid you're a 
 wee bit too old — just a year or two — but I dare say that could be 
 managed. Your brother will be just the thing, I dare say." 
 
 The sergeant thought that Tim wanted to enlist, and that his 
 ebullition of loyalty was a little bit of " blarney," assumed for 
 the occasion. 
 
 mn 
 
TIM GIVES EXPRESSION TO IIIS LOYALTY. 
 
 323 
 
 stand or move 
 be seen, heard, 
 an idea of this 
 
 m Bridge, after 
 mill sthrame," 
 r that stupend- 
 to take another 
 get therefrom 
 int it presents, 
 ed from a point 
 ccounted for on 
 h, however, to 
 id the stunning 
 ing to the ear. 
 )f the sovmd of 
 , is rather pleas- 
 
 Liite sure of his 
 
 carlet coat, the 
 
 ped up to him, 
 
 badge worn by 
 
 " Sergeant, I 'd 
 
 id the sergeant, 
 use." 
 
 in me life afore 
 )less her honour, 
 le taking off his 
 30 as to bend his 
 rees, by way of 
 gracious Majesty 
 
 feel at home, in 
 
 le sergeant, in a 
 is a pity," he 
 afraid you're a 
 ay that could be 
 dare say." 
 ist, and that his 
 y," assumed for 
 
 *' It isn't in regard to that at all. Sir," said Tim ; " but me 
 brother Jerry an' meself thought we'd just run over here, as we 
 had a little idle time, just to see the counthry." 
 
 " Oh, I thought you wanted to serve her Majesty," said the 
 sergeant. " Never mind, I 'm glad to find you 're a friend. Will 
 you take a glass of ale to drink her Majesty's health." 
 
 " I have not taken a dhrop, Sir, for many a day," Tim replied ; 
 " but I wish the Queen well for all that. Now tell me, if it isn't 
 makin' too free, is this a very cowld counthry 1 " 
 
 "It is something colder than my country or yours, and the 
 winters a month or six weeks longer," the sergeant replied. 
 
 But is it very much cowlder than the States, Sir 1 " he asked 
 
 (( 
 
 again. 
 
 " It is colder than some of them very probably, but there cannot 
 be very much difference between the spot you stand on, and that 
 on the other side of the bridge, which you have just crossed. Do 
 you feel frozen already 1 " 
 
 " Not a bit of differ do I find wan way or the other," Tim replied ; 
 " I suppose a man that would work for his livin' an' thank the 
 Almighty for health an' stringth to do it, might be able to live." 
 
 " Just look at the colour of the people," the sergeant answered, 
 *' the fresh home-looking colour. Men, women, and children have 
 it as pure and as bright as in ' Scotia dear,' or your own old 
 Ireland. I can pick out the people of this country from those of 
 the States, in a crowd, just by their colour. The build of them 
 differs too. That you can see for yourself." 
 
 "I can, indeed," Tim replie^l, "an' it bates me to find out the 
 raison. Shure they all came from the same stock, an' that not 
 so very long ago. But I declare now, I '11 always ' praise the 
 bridge that carries me over safe.' I met a power of nice, good 
 people, an' always willin' to help a poor man, an' to give him h 
 start to enable him to get along in the world. But then there 
 are many of them again (they call themselves 'know-nothings'), 
 an' they are for drivin' every man out o' the counthry that was 
 not born in it, an' for puttin' him out of his situation, if he has 
 one j an' then, I don't know why they should all wish the down- 
 fall of England, or Britain as they call it. Dear me ! if the good 
 God gives me plinty for meself an' me family, why should I envy 
 you if he gave yoit a thousand times as much 1 " 
 
 " Surely not," said the sergeant. 
 
 "An' thin. Sir," Tim continued, "they used to be talkin' 
 about Canada where I worked; an' the whole talk used to be, 
 
 |i 
 
Mi! 
 
 ;•< 
 
 
 324 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 that no people lived here, only naygurs that ran away from their 
 masters. They used to say, too, that nobody else could li -e here, 
 it was so cowld ; an' that all the people here wor anxious to have 
 Canada 'nexed to the States, an' the first thing that Ingland 
 would do to vex the President, he 'd sind an army over here, an' 
 take Canada away from the Queen, an' set up Amerikin laws 
 here." 
 
 " I hope it will be in my time," said the sergeant ; " our fellows 
 are just spoiling for want of a fight. But if you never have a 
 toothache till that annexation takes place, you '11 be free from it 
 all your life. They told you, of course, that the negroes are all 
 petitioning their masters to take them back again." 
 
 " Indeed they told me that same thing often and often," Tim 
 answered. 
 
 " Well," the sergeant continued, " you '11 be likely to see one 
 occasionally as you travel, just ask them when you meet them, 
 what their desires are on that subject. They are the most likely 
 to know their own minds. See, there are three or four of them 
 now. Probably they are expecting some of their friends by the 
 next train, who were so happy in slavery that they had to run 
 away from it. I must wish you ' good day.' " 
 
 " Good day kindly^ Sir ! " said Tim, •' I 'm much obleeged for 
 yer information." 
 
 The two brothers were anxious to ascertain the great 
 
 regret 
 
 felt by those sable brethren, who were represented as so sorry for 
 having achieved their freedom, that they panted with intense 
 earnestness to get back into bondage again. They spoke to the 
 negroes and found them civil, intelligent people. They were 
 waiting for a group of theii' friends and relatives, some of whom 
 had effected their escape, others had obtained their freedom by 
 purchase. 
 
 ; I 
 
 M 'i 
 
Y froai tlieir 
 Id li-e here, 
 cioua to have 
 that Inglancl 
 )ver here, an' 
 merikin laws 
 
 " our fellows 
 never have a 
 j free from it 
 legroes are all 
 
 d often," Tim 
 
 ily to see one 
 u meet them, 
 le most likely 
 four of them 
 triends by the 
 jy had to run 
 
 L 
 
 obleeged for 
 
 great regret 
 as so sorry for 
 I with intense 
 Y spoke to the 
 3. They were 
 some of whom 
 ir freedom by 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY, IN WHICH MORE THAN IS SOUGHT FOR 
 
 IS FOUND. 
 
 A VERY short conversation convinced Tim and Jerry that death 
 would be preferred by the late slaves to a return to bondage, and 
 they separated from them, rejoicing with them in their freedom. 
 
 A few minutes after Tim and Jerry had parted from their sable 
 acquaintances, they found that there was a train about to start 
 for Toronto, and made arrangements, so that they were soon on 
 the cars, and " shortenin' " the road, as they expressed it, to that 
 fine city. 
 
 In almost every part of the world to which travellers direct 
 their course, there is a class of individuals who are most eager 
 " to take the stranger in," and to " do for him ; " but it is like- 
 wise a matter of notoriety that their eagerness thus to accommo- 
 date is in the exact ratio of what they believe to be tlie weight of 
 a man's purse, and therefore peculiarly selfish. Nor should we 
 be wrong if we said, there is not in the world, for the size of it, 
 a city in which this kind of benevolence is so officiously thrust 
 upon a stranger, or in which so large an amount of it is mani- 
 fested, as in the city just mentioned. The writer can plead his 
 qualification as a pretty competent judge in these matters, having 
 had his full measure, both of praise and of abuse, from hack-drivers, 
 cab-drivers, 'bus-drivers, and hotel " barkers," from Toronto to Rio 
 Janeiro, from Newcastle-on-Tyne to Land's Er.i, and from the 
 Giant's Causeway to Cape Clear. 
 
 As they were about to emerge from the railway station, Jerry, 
 seeing how the passengers were beset by hosts of those function- 
 aries, who, like greedy cormorants, pounced, three or four at a 
 time, on each passenger, said to his brother, "Well, well, these 
 fellows are ready to pull us in pieces ; lave 'em to me, an' I '11 
 manage 'em." 
 
 "A fine fellow you are to manage 'em," said Tim. "I thought 
 
326 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 II 
 
 V ; 
 
 i 
 
 V t 
 
 i I 
 
 ye had loft yor figlitin' gloves behind ye wliore ye left the dhrink. 
 Take my advice now, an' be keerful wliat ye 're about, for yo 
 haven't yer ' faction ' here to take up the cudgels for ye if ye got 
 into a shindy with these fellows. Maybe you '11 find 'em too many 
 for ye." 
 
 " Who said anything about fightin' ? " Jerry asked. " I '11 
 ingage I'll not lift fisht or sthick to one of 'em, '^^'^ say a pro- 
 vokin' word." 
 
 " Why, thin, boys," he added, as he stepped out among them, 
 "do ye know any one that 'ud help two poor fellows to the price 
 of a night's lodgin' and a bit o' supper that haven't the manes o' 
 payin' for it ? " 
 
 "Sorraabit o' me knows," said one. "Nor me," "nor me," 
 said a second and a third, and the crowd drew off to fasten on 
 some others who had the means of paying for both, letting our 
 two heroes pass quietly on. 
 
 "I'm ashamed o' my life o' ye," said Tim, when they had 
 gained the street. " I wish ye left the lies where ye left the 
 dhrink and the fightin' ; an' if ye weren't me born brother, I feel 
 
 provoked enough to . Well, why, to be sure ! an' to beg into 
 
 the bargain, wid plenty o' money in yer pocket. ^ 'lat will me 
 father an' mother think ov ye whin I tell 'em av i You 're the 
 first Doolan I ever heerd ov that begged." 
 
 "You'd betther take keer how ye charge me wid lyin' an' 
 beggin'," said Jerry, laughing. " I think I 've lost as much blood 
 for the honour o' the Doolans as you have." 
 
 " Didn't I hear ye wid my two ears ax for mone} to pay for yer 
 supper an' bed *? " said Tim, in high dudgeon. 
 
 " Nothin' like that same," said Jerry, " although ye 're a betther 
 schollard than me. All I axed was, * Do yo know any one that 
 'ud help two poor fellows that have no money 1 ' an' I defy any 
 collaygian to make beggin' out o' that." 
 
 Tim knew that, though literally true, it was mentally false for 
 his brother to have spoken in that way, and although he could not 
 fully explain the matter as he wished, his conscience did not 
 relish the morality of it. 
 
 They soon found a place for refreshment and repose, and had not 
 much difficulty on the following morning in finding the gentleman 
 to whom Mr. Vansittart's letter was directed as agent for the sale 
 of his lands. 
 
 That gentleman, having a large professional business of anothe- 
 kind, had paid little or no attention to Mr. Vansittart's business. 
 
TIIK TWO BROTIIEUS SET OUT ON THEIR JOURNEY 
 
 32: 
 
 ft the dhrink. 
 ibout, for y(! 
 ■ ye if ye got 
 'em too many 
 
 sked. "I'll 
 '^»' say a pro- 
 am ong them, 
 s to the price 
 , the manes o' 
 
 5," "nor me," 
 
 to fasten on 
 
 bh, letting our 
 
 lien they had 
 re ye left the 
 brother, I feel 
 an' to beg into 
 ' 'lat will me 
 You 're the 
 
 wid lyin' an' 
 as much blood 
 
 to pay for yer 
 
 re 're a betther 
 
 any one that 
 
 an' I defy any 
 
 itally false for 
 h he could not 
 sience did not 
 
 je, and had not 
 the gentleman 
 nt for the sale 
 
 less of anothe • 
 tart's business. 
 
 On reading the letter he seemed not to know mucli, if anything, of 
 the property to which it referred, but hanilud it over to a clerk, 
 who, after a great deal of hunting in pigeon-holes and old desks 
 and tin cases, and untying and then tying again vast numbers of 
 papers bound together by red tape, and finally, taking a very long 
 lesson in geography, by the study of sundry maps, general and par 
 ticular, found out where the said lands were, in lawyer's phrase, 
 " situate, lying, and being." Finding that Tim was simply an ex- 
 plorer, and that he had not come to settle positively and definitely 
 about the lands just then, he gave him the general directions as to 
 the county, township, concessions,* numbers of the lots, &c., and 
 dismissed him to find his way thither as he best might. 
 
 Tiie man with whom th ,j had lodged on the previous night had 
 considerable knowledge of the country, and of the various modes of 
 travelling practised therein. 
 
 As the place to which Tim and his brother were going was in a 
 part of the country newly opened np to settlers, and public means 
 of travelling were few and uncertain, where the population was not 
 sufficiently great to insure profitable returns to those running 
 public conveyances, their landlord advised them to buy a horse and 
 waggon, which they could use while on their tour, and probably be 
 able to sell at a profit after returning to " the other side," as the 
 people on each side the American and Canadian lines say, when 
 speaking of the different countries. 
 
 " Otherwise," said their host, " it may take you a long time, and 
 cost you much more money." 
 
 The advice proved to be good, and was followed by the brothers. 
 They found a horse and waggon just suitable for their purpose, which 
 the owner was glad to sell at a low price, having no further use for 
 them, and being very desirous of obtaining payment in ready money. 
 
 After having spent about three days in the city, they set out on 
 their journey. The weather was fine, and had commenced to be 
 frosty at nights; the roads were in tolerably good order; their horse 
 was young and strong, and the men themselves in good health and 
 spirits. During the first day of their journey, the towns and villages 
 lay pretty near each other, the lands appeared well cultivated and 
 highly improved, the farm buildings and dwelling-houses of a sort 
 much superior to those of the generality of agriculturists in their 
 own country. As they went farther back from the city, the scene 
 changed as a matter of course. Sometimes they drove several 
 
 *■ A " concession " is a road made or allowed for by government, where the 
 land is quite new. 
 
■: f 
 
 1 J I 
 
 I ! 
 
 
 , I 
 t 
 
 fh^ 
 
 i.[ 
 
 ti 
 
 M I 
 
 i! 
 
 328 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 miles, in winch the lands had been cleared and dwellings built at 
 each side of the road, but behind them stretched away the appar- 
 ently interminable forest. Then the road itself lay through the 
 thick forest, in which was to be found, here and there, " a clear- 
 ing," a place on which somo solitary settler had built his log-hut, 
 cut down the trees, burned chem to get rid of them, fenced a few 
 helds, and wrung with his own hands, aided by his boys, if he had 
 them, jirobably by his wife, and, in some cases, by Iiis daughters, a 
 subsistence from the earth. Here and there would appear a more 
 pretentious - looking structure, a house built of planed boards, 
 painted and shingled, with a garden in front, and a few flowers, to 
 shov/ that the occupants had gotten over their first difficulties, and 
 were able to pay a little attention to matters of taste. The scarcity 
 I )f places of accommodation of a public kind was more than com- 
 l)ensated by the hospitable Canadian welcome extended to them 
 wherever they called. 
 
 The rashers and eggs, the milk, the home-made bread, the buck- 
 wheat cakes, the maple sugar of home manufacture, tlie fruit-pies 
 made with elder berries, wild raspberries, wild strawberries, cran- 
 berries, whctleberries, &c., &c., were ever ready to regale them. 
 Hay and oats for the horse, and everything needful on their 
 journey, were supplied with a liberality and a welcome that 
 showed the parting questions, *• When shall we see you again? — 
 will you be sure to call on your return ? " to be no French compli- 
 ments. Nor were our travellers utter strangers in tliis land, so 
 far distant from their native soil. They found two or three 
 families from their own neighbourhood, from whom they learned a 
 good deal about the country, its productions, capabilities, the 
 necessary modes of proced-.n-e on taking up their residence in a 
 new co\intry, and many other particulars indispensable for novices 
 to learu, of which those preceding them had to acquire a knowledge 
 by hnrd-earned experience, and frequently by bitter disappoint- 
 ments. 
 
 On the fourth day their travelling was very slow, ov/ing to 
 the badness of the roads, incidental to all new countries. To- 
 wards the evening of that day they arrived at a village which 
 was within four or five miles of the place of which they were in 
 <juest. Having taken a night's repose and a breakfast, they 
 started for their destination. When they arrived there they 
 found, much to their surprise, that all the best lots, marked by 
 tlie agent as unoccupied, had been taken up by " squatters," 
 who settled down, without any authority, on the lands, made 
 
jllings built at 
 vay the appar- 
 \,y through the 
 ere, "a clear- 
 ilt his log-hut, 
 ), fenced a few 
 boys, if he had 
 is daughters, a 
 appear a more 
 )laned boards, 
 few flowers, to 
 iifficulties, and 
 The scarcity 
 nore than com- 
 snded to them 
 
 read, the back- 
 ?, t}ie fruit-pies 
 iwberries, cran- 
 o regale them, 
 adful on their 
 welcome that 
 e you again 1 — 
 French compli- 
 n tliis land, so 
 two or three 
 they learned a 
 apabilities, the 
 residence in a 
 ible for novices 
 re a knowledge 
 ter disappoint- 
 
 5I0W, ov/ing to 
 countries. To- 
 village which 
 h they were in 
 )reakfast, they 
 ^ed there they 
 )ts, marked by 
 Y " squatters," 
 e lands, made 
 
 TIM DISCOVERS A " LOT TO HIS MIND. 
 
 329 
 
 small clearings, sufficient to raise a few potatoes and other 
 necessaries, in the hope that they would be able, by length of 
 residence, to establish their claims to the ownership of the land 
 by law, or in case of being obliged to surrender, that they might, 
 by some means, extort from the real owner as much as they pos- 
 sibly could, on the plea of "improvements." 
 
 Tim's authority from the owner gave him'the option of settling 
 on any part of the land that suited him, the occupiers being, in the 
 eye of the law, trespassers ; bub he knew that many of them had 
 bestowed considerable toil on the lands occupied by them, and that 
 the portion cleared was so much work done in favour of the settler. 
 
 He found an excellent lot of two hundred acres, which had 
 been taken up by a squatter, who expended three or four years' 
 labour upon it, and had applied himself very industriously to its 
 imj^rovement. On examining his work minutely, Tim found 
 that he had indeed improved it. The work done had been 
 well done, the fences well made, and everything betokening the 
 care of one who understood his business. About forty acres had 
 been cleared, the greater part of which had been put into culti- 
 vation. The poor man, however, had worked beyond his 
 strength. He had died just a week before, leaving his widow 
 with four children, the eldest, a boy, who had just begun to be of 
 use to his father. 
 
 After looking over the lot, the brothers wended their way to the 
 cabin. It was tight and comfortable, built of squared logs, and 
 well plastered. 
 
 " God save all here," said Tim, on entering. He never omitted 
 the ancient Christian salutation, still iii common use in his 
 country, altliough the true knowledge of the way of that salvation 
 has been obscured from them for ages. 
 
 " God save you kindly," said the poor widow in return, wiping 
 her eyes, for she had been weeping. " Jemmy and Paddy, have 
 some manners in you. Stand up, and let the men sit down." 
 
 The children stood up immediately, and pushed the ciiairs, on 
 which they had been sitting, towards the men. 
 
 " You 're in throuble this mornhi'," said Tim. " Glory be to 
 God." 
 
 *' Praises be to Him," she responded, " 't is meself that is in 
 sore throuble. The light o' me eyes an' the sunshine o' me heart 
 is gone from me, an' lies cowld in the gi'ave, an' only for those he 
 left wid me, I 'd wish to be alongside of him." 
 
 " May the great Saviour o' sinners look on you an' thini" he 
 
ggi 
 
 TIM DOOIAN. 
 
 answered. " It is a sad case ; but it is nothin', only what God 
 can relieve at any time He plaises, and give ye grace an stringth 
 to bear it ontil He takes it away agin." 
 
 " Ah," said the poor woman, " you 're fine hearty young min, 
 both of ye. Ye don't know, an', what 's more, ye canH know, my 
 throuble." 
 
 " That 's thrue for ye," Tim replied ; " very thrue. But isn't it 
 a comfort to know that the blessed Jasus knows it all, an' feels for 
 you an' yer little ones 1 " 
 
 "My prayer is to His blessed Mother,' the poor woman added, 
 be day an' be night, to command her adorable P to be good to 
 me an' me childher, an' niver to take us from thii. .vorld till we 'ro 
 fit for a betther." 
 
 " Let me ax ye a plain question," said Tim. 
 
 " Be all manes. Sir, in civility," * the woman replied. 
 
 " If a rich man wor to sind ye a letther, an' a messenger to 
 explain it, tellin' ye to come to him, and git i very thing ye wanted ; 
 — supposiu' he scowlded ye for not comin' to him, and towld ye 
 that, if ye refused to come, ye must starve, — would he be plased 
 wid ye if ye wor to go to his mother, an' beg her to command her 
 son to relieve ye, jist as if he wor unwillin' to give ye what he 
 has promised over an' over agin ? " 
 
 " I suppose he wovild not be well plased," she replied. 
 
 " Would ye wish any one to treat yer own promise in that 
 way 1 " Tim asked. 
 
 " Indeed, Sir, thruth is the best. I 'd think it as bad as if any 
 one called me a liar." ■• 
 
 " Well, an' isn't that same the way you 're thraitin' the adorable 
 Saviour?" he asked. "Now, isn't it? I'll lave it to yer own 
 decision." 
 
 " But I 'm so wicked," she replied, " I 'm not fit to go to Him 
 be meself." 
 
 " Tell me," he said, taking the baby on his knee, and kissing it, 
 which act nearly threw the poor woman into hysterics, by recalling 
 her husband's affection for his children, " doesn't the Lord Jasas 
 know iverythingl — all our wickedness, all our thoughts, all our 
 faults?" 
 
 "Nothing can be consailed from Him" she replied. 
 
 " Thin, He knew how wicked we all wor afore iver He invited us 
 to come to Him. What need is there of any one to command Him, 
 
 This, in their provincial phraseology, embodisB the idea of delicacy in all 
 its forms. The opposite would be thought insolence. 
 
WORDS OF COMFORT TO THE BEREAVED. 
 
 331 
 
 nly what God 
 ce an stringth 
 
 :y young min, 
 oanH know, my 
 
 ). But isn't it 
 ill, an' feels for 
 
 woman added, 
 
 to be good to 
 
 vorld till we 'lo 
 
 )lied. 
 
 a messenger to 
 ling ye wanted ; 
 1, and towld ye 
 Id he be plased 
 ;o command her 
 ave ye what he 
 
 lied, 
 promise in that 
 
 as bad as if any 
 
 tin' the adorable 
 e it to yer own 
 
 t to go to Him 
 
 B, and kissing it, 
 
 rics, by recalling 
 
 the Lord Jasas 
 
 houghts, all our 
 
 -ied. 
 vex He invited us 
 o command lliJu, 
 ea of delicacy in all 
 
 when He commands us to come unto Him. * Come, all ye that 
 are weary and lieavy laden, and I will give you rest.' " 
 
 " Here," he continued, ** are His own blessed words," drawing 
 his Testament from his pocket, and reading for her the eleventh 
 chapter of Matthew's Gospel, and after that the eleventh of John, 
 so consoling to all who can bring their bereaved liearts to the 
 mercy-seat. 
 
 " How do ye like that 1 " Tim asked, as he shut up the book and 
 restored it to his pocket. 
 
 " They tell me to beware o' Protestant books," she replied ; 
 " but, glory be to God, that 's a comfortin' book whatever people 
 may call it." 
 
 "But what do ye say about comin* to Him that calls ye to His 
 own loving heart now, to hale yer sorrows an' give yer sowl rest 1 " 
 he asked. 
 
 " I don't know how to come to Him, nor where to find Him," 
 she replied. 
 
 " You can find Him here, and this is the way to come to Him," 
 he replied. " Kneel down wid us." 
 
 She knelt, Jerry knelt, the children, as if by sympathy, or by 
 imitation, all knelt, and Tim prayed that the widow's heart might 
 be made to sing for joy, and taught to come to HIM, who is the 
 Way, the Ti*uth, and the Life, for every blessing that she needed. 
 
 "Indeed, thin," said the poor woman, when they had arisen 
 from their knees, " let people say what they plase, there 's gi-eat 
 comfort in comin' to one with our son'ows that we are shure can 
 hear us an' relave us. They tell me that ours is the owldest 
 religion, an' that all the others are new-fangled notions, but I 'm 
 only an ignorant craythar, God help me an' forgive me my sins. 
 I suppose, afther all said, that the religion that brings us nearest 
 to God must be best." 
 
 " I niver heerd a truer word than that," said Tim. 
 
 " Nor meself," said Jerry, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his 
 great-coat, a pocket handkerchief being a description of luxury to 
 which he had never aspired at other times than on Sundays when 
 going to Mass, on which occasions he always took pains to let a 
 corner of it hang out of his pocket — a couple of inches or so — to 
 show that he was supplied with that article. " God help me," he 
 added, " I have been far from Him all me life." 
 
 "God help us all," said the widow, "an' forgive us our sins. 
 But," recollecting herself, and drying her eyes, " 't is a selfish 
 world, an' I 'm worse than any one in it, feedin' my own greef 
 
 i 
 
i! 
 
 1: 'i 
 
 !•, A' 
 
 'I 
 
 H' 
 
 332 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 instead of feedin' two bless'^d men that the Lord sint into me house 
 this mornin'. I niver axed ye if ye had mouths on ye afther yer 
 long journey. Mary, mind the child till I get some dinner ready." 
 
 " Don't throuble yerself about us," said Tim. " You 've throuble 
 enougli of yer own widout our adding anything to it." 
 
 " Don't be afeerd," she answered. " The poor man that God 
 took to Himself, left * full an' plinty ' in the house. He was a 
 good purvider for me an' the childher ; God be good to him an' 
 shorten his time in purgathory, I pray. I didn't fear anything 
 while he lived, but now there 's sorra' in me heart an' sorra' on me 
 road afore me." 
 
 "What makes ye think thaf?" he asked, as she busied herself 
 in cutting rashers and peeling potatoes. " None of us can tell 
 what joy or what sorra' is laid up in store for us. The worst we 
 can suffer is nothin' compared wid what we desarve. God can 
 provide." 
 
 ** He c«?i," she said despondingly ; " but every one will be 
 thryin' to take advantage of the poor, helpless widdee, an* I don't 
 know how to dale wid 'em. You see," she added, " we kem here 
 an' squatted on this place, thinkin' it was government land, an' 
 that when we got along in a few years we might be able to pay the 
 government price for it, but whin me husband wint to the office to 
 larn about it, he found it had been sowld to somebody ; an' if the 
 owner comes along he may turn us all out on the road, an' not 
 allow me anything for all me poor man's labour." 
 
 "That would be hard-hearted, indeed," Tim replied 
 " Wouldn't it be best for ye to thry an' get rid of the place 1 
 Yer eldest boy will be unfit to take charge of it for several years 
 at laste." 
 
 "I couldn't afford to pay a man to work it for me," said the 
 poor woman ; " an' if I knew anybody that could do it, an' could 
 afford to pay him, I couldn't have a man about the place widout 
 .scandal, for the world is very wicked, God help us, a^ they make 
 harm whin no harm is intinded." 
 
 "Do ye know the right owner?" asked Tim. 
 
 " I do not, thin," she answered. " Some say he lives in 
 Quebec, and some in Montreal, an' I don't think anybody 
 knows." 
 
 "Well," said Tim, "the lawful owner lis^es in England, an' 
 his agent in Toronto has been payin' the taxes, reg'lar, to the 
 gover'mint. He towld me the other day that the land was quite 
 wild, that there was nobody on it, an' I have tlie owner's 
 
A FAIR OFFER. 
 
 333 
 
 t into me house 
 n ye afther yer 
 s dinner ready." 
 ''oil 've throuble 
 t.» 
 
 man that God 
 se. He was a 
 ood to him an' 
 \ fear anything 
 an' sorra' on me 
 
 e busied herself 
 
 s of us can tell 
 
 The worst we 
 
 larve. God can 
 
 ;ry one will be 
 ddee, an' I don't 
 1, "we kem here 
 cnment land, an' 
 .e able to pay the 
 it to the office to 
 sbody ; an' if the 
 he road, an' not 
 
 ' Tim replied 
 
 I'id of the place % 
 
 for several years 
 
 •or me," said the 
 
 d do it, an' could 
 
 the place widout 
 
 LIS, a' they make 
 
 say he lives in 
 think anybody 
 
 in England, an' 
 »s, reg'lar, to the 
 he land was quite 
 lave the owner's 
 
 authority in me pocket to settle on any part of his land that I 
 plase." 
 
 "If that is the case," said the widow, "we're at yer marcy 
 complaitly." 
 
 " Don't be afeerd o' Tim," said Jerry, " he wouldn't hurt a fly, 
 let alone a widdee." 
 
 " You don't know what I 'd do," said Tim, " nor meself, if there 
 was too strong a timptation afore me. Many a man thinks himself 
 very good till the opportunity comes, an' thin, God help us, if he 
 doesn't get stringtli from above, he 's a poor craythur. Do ye know," 
 he said, addressing himself to the widow, " three or four sinsible, 
 honest, knowledgable men anywhere round in these parts 1 " 
 
 "I dare say I do," she replied; "but what good is their sinse 
 or their knowledge to me? No one keers to take any throuble 
 about the poor an' the desolate. I don't know what harm I ivei- 
 done that the Lord should take away the father o' me childher. 
 He laves 'em to worse than me." 
 
 "Have patience now," said Tim, "an* maybe the Lord will 
 taich ye an' guide ye, an' make ye see that the things ye think the 
 very worst, wor the best that ever happened ye." 
 
 "There's a place, about three miles off," said the woman, 
 " where a very dacent man lives of the name of Twomey. Bill 
 Twomey they calls him. I ondherstand that two or three respect- 
 able families settled down near him last fall. I like the looks o' some 
 o' thim that I see dhrivin' past, though I niver spoke to thim." 
 
 "We'll dhrive over to Twomey's place," said Tim, "whin 
 we get the bit o' dinner you 're so kind as to offer to us. 'T is 
 likely we'll stay there to-night. If ye want to carry on the 
 place, do so, as far as I am consarned, an' may God bless you 
 an' yours. If ye do not, I '11 give ye full valley for ivery thing 
 done in the way of improo'ment, an' I'll take yer horses an' 
 cattle at a fiiir vallyation, an' ivery thing else that will be needed 
 in me work." 
 
 " You couldn't say fairer thin that," said the widow, " but it 
 will break me heart to lave the place where me poor man worked 
 his life out to purvide for me an' me childher." 
 
 "Trust all to the good God," he replied, "an' ye needn't fear 
 anything." 
 
 Having disposed of a substantial dinner of rashers of bacon and 
 fried eggs, with potatoes that had " split their sides laughing," 
 being as " mealy as flour, in a manner," according to Jerry, who 
 was no contemptible judge of that esculent, Tim slipped half-a-dollar 
 
 j! 
 
 ui 
 
334 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ')■ . 
 
 i 1.:^ i i 
 
 if 'U^: 1 
 
 '\ 
 
 into the baby's hand, and the brothers departed, not before tlie 
 poor widow had remonstrated loudly against it, as being offered 
 in payment for a bit of a snack. " I 'm alive iver since I was 
 born," she protested, "an' nobody ever evened* the likes o' that 
 to me afore." 
 
 The road to Bill Twomey's clearing was bad — that is to say, it 
 was not properly a road — the trees had been cut down so as to 
 leave a space barely sufficient for two-wheeled vehicles to pass, by 
 very good management on the part of the diivers ; but the stumps 
 of the trees had -not been removed, and no care had ever been 
 taken to fill up the ruts, or even to remove huge stones, which 
 obstructed the way in many places. 
 
 " Hallo ! " Jerry roared, as they soused into a rut nearly three 
 feet deep, which was full of soft mud, so adhesive that their horse 
 was unable to draw their vehicle through it. " Success to the 
 road-maker," he said ; " meself never seen the likes o' this, barrin' 
 it was a road through a turf-bog. What a beautiful race-coorse 
 it would make ! The Curragh o' Kildare is but a pratee-garden 
 to it." 
 
 " There 's a grate many things ye niver larned," said Tim. 
 " Shure Rome wasn't built in a day. Jist take your carcass out 
 o' this, an' let me do the same." 
 
 'How are we to get out o' this?" Jerry asked impatiently. 
 *' Meself never see such roads, nor such thravellin'." 
 
 This was Jerry's first experience of such roads, or rather of 
 driving a conveyance where there was literally no road. His 
 brother had had some experience of the kind during the time he 
 had resided in the " States," and was not in any respect put out of 
 temper by it. 
 
 "I'll run on," said Jerry "to the clearin', as they calls it, 
 and see if I can get half-a-dozen o' the boys to give us some 
 help." 
 
 " Aisy now," said Tim, "what 'ud we want takin' people from 
 their homes an' their work to do a thing we may do oui'selves. 
 Jist look about there, an' if ye can get a stout pole seven or eight 
 feet long ; there 's plinty of 'em lyin' about under the threes. Look 
 where people have been choppin', and ye can't fail to find plinty 
 of 'em. At the same time bring me a stout piece from three to 
 four feet long." 
 
 Jerry was not many minutes in finding the necessary imple- 
 
 * To "even" a thing is to make a comparison, or institute an equality — 
 implying, in this case, that they looked on her as the keeper of a public inn. 
 
Lot before the 
 
 being offered 
 
 V since I was 
 
 e likes o' that 
 
 at is to say, it 
 down so as to 
 lies to pass, by 
 )ut the stumps 
 had ever been 
 stones, which 
 
 .t nearly three 
 lat their horse 
 success to the 
 o' this, barrin' 
 ful race-coorse 
 , pratee-garden 
 
 d," said Tim. 
 ur carcass out 
 
 d impatiently. 
 
 or rather of 
 LO road. His 
 iig the time he 
 5ect put out of 
 
 they calls it, 
 give us some 
 
 n' people from 
 r do ourselves, 
 seven or eight 
 threes. Look 
 to find plinty 
 I from three to 
 
 icessary imple- 
 
 te an equality — 
 ' a public inn. 
 
 TIM AND JERRY S HEARTS ARE STIRRED WITHIN THEM. 
 
 335 
 
 ments, so that, with the short piece for a fulcrum, and the long one 
 for a lever, one end of which Tim placed under the hinder axle of 
 the waggon, and with the weight of both the men thrown on the 
 other end, the vehicle gradually rose out of the mud, and the horse, 
 which had had more experience of that sort than either of the men, 
 seizing the favourable moment, made a strong effort, and got him- 
 self and waggon on firm footing once more. 
 
 "I 'm blessed," said Jerry, "but that bates the art o' man itself; 
 as soon as iver he saw the cart clear o' the mud, he pulled widout a 
 word from either of uz." 
 
 Just as they had gotten out of their difficulty they heard a voice 
 singing in clear and lusty tones, and soon saw a man approaching 
 them with an axe on his shoulder ; his path was at a right angle 
 with theirs, and they waited for him to come near them. The 
 strains which he sung were familiar to them both. They belonged 
 to a ballad which was very popular in their neighbourhood when 
 they were children. The shady quiet of the woods, the fading light 
 of the departing day, the loneliness of the situation, their own 
 distance from the land they loved so well, and might never see again, 
 aided by the recollections associated with the strains of the rustic 
 performer, all combined to produce an overwhelmingly subduing 
 effect upon the strong men. " They lifted up their voices and wept, 
 both of them." The singer was unaware of their proximity, and 
 sang as follows : — 
 
 " There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, 
 The dew on his damp brow was heavy and chill. 
 For his country he sighed, while at twilight repairing, 
 To wandher alone by the windbeaten hill ; 
 But the day-star atthiacted his eyes' sad devotion, 
 As it rose o'er liis own native isle of the ocean, 
 Where wanst in the flow of his youthful emotion 
 He sung the bowld anthem of ' Erin-go-Bragh.' 
 
 O Erin, me counthry, tho' sad an' forsaken, 
 
 In dhrames I revisit thy sea-girdled shore ; 
 
 But alas ! in a far, foreign land I awaken, 
 
 To sigh for the friends who can meet me no more. 
 
 Where is my cabin door close by the wild wood ? 
 
 Sisters and sire have wept for its fall ; 
 
 Where is the mother who watched o'er my childhood ? 
 
 But where " 
 
 " God save you both, thravellers," he said, stopping short in his 
 strain on seeing the men. 
 
 " You 've come a bad road, haven't ye 1 " 
 
33G 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 V 
 
 I ! 
 
 V M 
 
 t^ 
 
 The effect produced on their feelings could not be immediately 
 overcome, so that neither of them answered him for some time. 
 
 Jerry first broke the silence by saying, " God save ye kindly, 
 good man, an' bless yer work, whatsomiver you 've been at." 
 
 *' Why, you 've been near havin' a smash," the man said, "by the 
 appearance of yer horse and waggon 1 Is anything broken, or are 
 ye hurt yerselves? I ought to ax that question first." 
 
 " Not a bit hurt," said Tim, "thanks be to the good God above." 
 
 " Amin," said the stranger ; " an' 't is Himself desarves the 
 thanks and not we. How far are ye goin' 1 — but that 's no busi- 
 ness o' mine. At any rate, it is not airly now, an' if ye pass this 
 clearin' above, ye may get into throuble where there would be 
 nobody near to help ye, an' the night will be dark, so that, if ye can 
 put 2ip with a 'shakedown in the corner,' ye 're welcome to stay all 
 night, an' I 'm sure yer baste will make no objections whativer you 
 may do." 
 
 " That same is a kind offer on your part," said Tim, " but we 're 
 lookin' for a man by the name o' Bill Twomey ; maybe ye know 
 somethin' of him ? " 
 
 " Very little that 's good I knows o' the same fellow," said the 
 stranger ; " an', although I say it meself, you '11 not be a bit better 
 off wid him than you 'd be at me poor place." 
 
 " How far is it from this 1 " Tim asked. 
 
 " Not far, then, only fifteen or twenty perches from this ; 't is the 
 first house we come to. I'll go wid ye as it lies in me road." 
 
 A few minutes brought them to the house, when the stranger 
 volunteered to enter with them and introduce them. 
 
 " Is Mr. Twomey within ] " he asked as he entered the house. 
 A fine, healtliy-looking woman, about thirty-five years of age, 
 looked up from the cooking stove where she had been preparing 
 supper, and said, with a laugh, " If he is not within now, he '11 not 
 
 be here to-night." 
 
 
 " Here 's two decent men looking for him," he said ; " they 're 
 thravellers, an' I thought I might as well show them the house, as 
 it is not far out o' me way." 
 
 " I niver see ye otherwise," she said, " always playing off yer 
 thricks upon people. The men are welcome. Why don't ye stir 
 yerself an' put the horse up for the dacent min ? I '11 have the 
 supper ready be the time ye give the baste some hay. Bill has 
 no badness in him," she said, adressing the brothers, " but nothin' 
 in the world will cure him of his funny humours." 
 
 "I often heerd," said Jerry, "''tis as good to be merry as 
 
''. 
 
 (( 
 
 GIVEN TO HOSPITALITY. 
 
 337 
 
 e immediately 
 some time, 
 ive ye kindly, 
 jeen at." 
 nsaid, "by the 
 broken, or are 
 t." 
 
 )d God above." 
 If desarves the 
 that 's no busi- 
 if ye pass this 
 here would be 
 I that, if ye can 
 3ome to stay all 
 IS whativer you 
 
 im, " but we 're 
 laybe ye know 
 
 ;llow," said the 
 i be a bit better 
 
 n this ; 't is the 
 
 . me road." 
 
 len the stranger 
 
 I. 
 
 ared the house. 
 
 years of age, 
 
 been preparing 
 
 1 now, he '11 not 
 
 said; "they're 
 m the house, as 
 
 playing off yer 
 ly don't ye stir 
 I'll have the 
 hay. Bill has 
 rs, " but nothin' 
 
 to be merry as 
 
 sad.' I 'm shure it was very kind of him to inwite us to his house 
 an' he knowin' nothin' about us, only that we were thravellers an' 
 wanted a night's lodgin'." 
 
 " That ought to be quite enough for anybody to know," Mrs. 
 Twomey answered, for it is to that lady that we have just introduced 
 our readers. " There was a nice man," she added, " stopped with 
 us a month ago on his journey somewhere, an' he read for us several 
 nice stories out of a book he had with him. One of thim was 
 about a man who lived a long time ago, an' two men kem to him 
 one evenin' for lodgin', an' he set the best he had afore 'em, an' who 
 should they be, only two bright angels." 
 
 " God bless the man, whomsoever he was," said Tim, 
 
 " Amin, thin," said the hostess ; " an' afore goin' to bed at night, 
 
 an' agin in the mornin', he made such beautiful prayers as I niver 
 
 heerd in me life afore. An' whin he was goin' away he kissed all 
 
 the childher, an' prayed that God might bless 'em an' mark 'em to 
 
 grace. 
 
 " I '11 be bound," Bill said, bustling in from the stable, after 
 giving hay to the horse, " that's the way to get round ye an' all 
 the rest o' the women, by praising up the brats. Come here, 
 Johanna, ye little vdtch, where 's me kiss ? Owen, ye young 
 Sassenagh ! come here on my knee. Have they been good to-day, 
 mammy ? " he asked of their mother. 
 
 " They have," she replied ; " very good, by good care an' watchin', 
 like Mr. Twomey himself." 
 
 " Isn't it well for us to have ye to look afther us ? " he replied. 
 
 " Come now," she said, " sit up to yer suppers, an' the more ye 
 all eat the betther I '11 be plaised." 
 
 " Then," said Tim, " I 'm shure to plaise y(?, for ridin' through 
 the woods is hungry work. Still, we had a good dinner, thank 
 God, an' not very far off either only the road was so bad." 
 
 " You must excuse the tay," said Mrs. Twomey ; " we live so 
 far from town, I niver go in there, an' Bill goes so seldom, that the 
 grain o' tay is all gone afore he goes agin j but as far as the mate, 
 an' pratees, an' bread, an' milk go, ye are as welcome as the flowers 
 o' May." 
 
 They all drew to the table, and there was a solemn pause. 
 Something was to be said or done before commencing to eat. 
 The children, instead of shouting, " Give me some meat," •' I want 
 a piece of bread," composed themselves quietly, placed their hands 
 together, and waited for something. 
 
 The father devoutly asked the Divine blessing, giving thanks 
 
 22 
 
338 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 * f 
 
 i :] 
 
 fii' ill 
 
 ill <j''< \ 
 
 ii' 
 
 for the food set before them, praying that it might be blessed to its 
 intended use, for the Lord Jesus* sake. 
 
 " Don't ye bless yerself* at all when ye say prayers ? " Tim asked 
 of his host, who was busy in helping his guests. 
 
 " Now, Misther Tim Doolan," said the person addressed, " you 
 can't play off any more o' yer scharain' thricks on me. I 'd know 
 ye if ye wor boil'd to babby-rags, so I would. An' if I 'm not 
 greatly mishtaken, that 's Jerry sittin' beside ye ; at any rate, I 'ni 
 shure o' you.'" 
 
 Tim stared incredulously, like a man suddenly brought to 
 remember an unpleasant subject. 
 
 Mrs. Twonxey screamed, " Is it me own two first-cousins? — me 
 Aunt Nora's two sons 1 an' I not suspectin' it in the laste. O Bill 
 Twoir.ey ! why didn't ye tell me afore ? " and she rushed on Tim 
 and then on Jerry, as if she would devour them, asking a dozen 
 questions about her aunt and uncle ; not one of which she allowed 
 time sufficient to answer. 
 
 Seeing that Tim's surprise and incredulity were not overcome, 
 for he had not recognised the old companion of his youth. Bill said 
 to him, " If ye don't believe me, maybe you '11 believe me shin that 
 ye broke with yer hurley at the big hurling-match on Devlin's 
 Green, long and merry ago,'' in proof of which he turned down his 
 stocking to give ocular demonstration that it was the very same 
 shin and no other, 
 
 " Well," says Tim, " that same bangs Banagher an' Ballinasloe, 
 as the owld say in' 's. I knowed that ye wint to America along 
 wid some other boys about fifteen years agon', an' in about three 
 years afther wards some of 'em wrote home that ye wint away to a 
 place they called * The Isthmus ' to make a railroad, an' that ye died 
 soon afther goin' there." 
 
 " Shure enough," said Bill, " I wint to the same onlucky Isthmus, 
 an' was near enough to dyin', but the Lord s[)ared me life, glory be 
 to His holy name. Many a fine fellow sleeps there, enough to 
 make sleepers for ivery rail of the same road if they wor stretched 
 along it." 
 
 Thus they had found a friend when they least expected it ; 
 one who knew them instantl}'^, thought he was known by them in 
 return, and resolved to carry on the joke which, he fancied, they 
 were playing off on him. 
 
 After supper they talked of the way in which God, by His provi- 
 
 * Blessing one's-self, according to their phraseology, consists in making what 
 they call the sign of the cross on their faces or breasts when praying. 
 
 ill i ' r 
 
e blessed to its 
 
 s?" Tim asked 
 
 [dressed, " you 
 
 le. I 'd know 
 
 m' if I 'm not 
 
 any rate, I 'ni 
 
 ly 
 
 brought to 
 
 -cousins ? — me 
 laste. O Bill 
 •uslied on Tim 
 sking a dozen 
 ell she allowed 
 
 not overcome, 
 outh, Bill said 
 ^e me shin that 
 h on Devlin's 
 irned down his 
 the very same 
 
 in' Ballinasloe, 
 America along 
 n about three 
 vint away to a 
 ,n' that ye died 
 
 iucky Isthmus, 
 le life, glory be 
 3re, enough to 
 ■ wor stretched 
 
 b expected it ; 
 wn by them in 
 e fancied, they 
 
 , by His provi- 
 
 8 in making what 
 )raying. 
 
 AN OLD FRIEND FOUND. 
 
 339 
 
 dence and His grace, had led them since they had parted from each 
 other in the days of their youth. Twomey had left Ireland a 
 bigoted Ptoraanist, emigrated to America very soon after his 
 marriage, threw off the shackles of Romanism, not to embrace a 
 purer faith, but to wallow, unrestrained, in sin, wandered through 
 various parts of the States, went to the Isthmus as before stated, 
 where the Lord laid His hand upon him. He escaped with life ; 
 but, in shattered health, reformed externally, sought relief no more 
 in the muddy streams of Popery, although he did not outwardly 
 embrace a mort, excellent way, but prided himself greatly on his 
 reformation, trusting " to himself that he was righteous, and despis- 
 ing others." 
 
 " Tell me, Bill," said his friend Tim to him, as they conversed on 
 this subject, " is there not a power o' people that gives up the priest 
 altogether whin they get away from Ireland 1 " 
 
 " There is," said Bill, " a power o' people who do so, but great 
 numbers of 'em do worse. If they attmd to their religion, bad as 
 it is, they kape widin some bounds, but if they don't reform, they 
 don't care for priests or minister, for God or devil. Thousands of 
 'em would stick ye as soon as they would stick a pig." 
 
 There was but little sleep taken in Twomey's house that night, 
 beyond what was taken by children, Mrs. Twomey exhausted her 
 own patience, and nearly that of her guests, in asking questions 
 about her old friends and playmates. She asked the same questions 
 over and over, forgetting, in her joy, that they had been answered 
 before. Her cousins explained the errand on which they had come, 
 stating where they had come from when he met with them. He 
 immediately suggested the subject of buying the widow's interest 
 in the place, which her husband had done so much to improve, 
 adding, that it would be a mutual benefit to both parties, saving 
 the brothers an immense amount of labour and time, which must 
 be expended on a place totally new, and giving the poor woman 
 and children full value for what her husband had done. As it 
 drew towards morning, Tim commended them all in prayer to 
 God, and they sought a few hours' repose previous to setting out 
 with their friend and relative, to get one or two others to help 
 them to fix on a fair proposal to make to the widow, so as to fully 
 remunerate her. 
 
 Leaving them to their slumbers, we must reserve further dis- 
 closures for the succeeding chapter. 
 
 II 
 
 li 
 
iii 
 
 1-1 1 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 TIM AND HIS FAMILY FIND THEMSELVES ON QUEEN's SOIL ONCE MORE, 
 WHERE THEY DECIDE ON AN ESTATE, AND BUILD A CASTLE, NOT 
 IN THE AIR. 
 
 f'f I'r 
 
 '»! 
 
 m 
 
 A FTER a few hours' rest, the whole of the Twomey establishment 
 Mas like a hive of bees. Tim was out with his kinsman inspect- 
 ing his domain, looking at his horses and cattle, getting informa- 
 tion about the building of a loghouse, taking a lesson in the art of 
 felling trees, and how to let them fall in the proper direction, so as 
 to be the more easily drawn off the ground, or chopped into the 
 necessary lengths for fuel, or to be easily sj)lit up into rails for 
 fencing his fields, &c. &c. 
 
 Jerry busied himself in the house with his jack-knife and a lot 
 of elder rods, initiating Twomey's eldest boy in the mystery of 
 constructing a " crib," in which to catch birds during the time of 
 snow, to which employment he added that of enlightening Mrs. 
 Twomey on the subject of all the deaths, marriages, emigrations, and 
 sundry and several other occurrences on which she was inquisitive 
 and his memory stored for the length of time since she had left the 
 " poor owld sod," as she called the place of her nativity. She also 
 instructed him lo be very speedy in getting her uncle and aunt, 
 with the children, away from them "outlandish Yankees," and 
 appeared nearly like a demented person at the idea of having her 
 own •'* kith and kin " for next-door neighbours. Sho upset the salt, 
 poured boiling water on the butter, spent sev ai i tes looking 
 for a knife with which to peel potatopf^ ^' she held it, at the 
 same time, firmly in her hand, and >. herself ' » her right 
 
 state of mind by sitting down and cry tor joy. 
 
 When she had composed herself suui ientls to finish the pre- 
 parations for breakfast, her husband and 1 im were called in. 
 They despatched their meal with good appetites. Twomey hr 
 nessed a pair of his own horses and drove his friends two or 
 three miles to the residence of a neighbour, to inquire if he would 
 
UPRIGHT DEALINGS. 
 
 341 
 
 IL ONCE MORE, 
 A CASTLE, NOT 
 
 establishment 
 israan inspect- 
 ttiiig informa- 
 n in the art of 
 iirection, so as 
 opped into the 
 into rails for 
 
 mife and a lot 
 he mystery of 
 ng the time of 
 ^htening INIrs. 
 ligrations, and 
 '^as inquisitive 
 le had left the 
 ity. She also 
 ncle and aunt, 
 Yankees," and 
 of having her 
 upset the salt, 
 J I ites looking 
 beld it, at the 
 ' her right 
 
 inish the pre- 
 ere called in. 
 Twomey hv 
 'lends two or 
 :e if he would 
 
 negotiate with them on the part of the widow, in case of her ap- 
 proving of his interference, so as to decide what would be fair 
 remuneration for her improvements on the land. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is, Bill," he said to Twomey as they rode 
 along ; " all good, lonest min are alike to me in a matther of this 
 kind ; but this poor ooman is a Roman, an', for her sake, I 'd 
 rayther have one or two good, honest, fair min o' that persuasion. 
 We don't know what may be put into the poor woman's head by 
 wicked people afther the bargain is all settled." 
 
 "Thrue for ye," said his friend. "The man to whom we're 
 goin' is one of that very sort. He is very sthrict to his religion, 
 an' he 's aS honest as the sun. He 'd rayther pay a dollar over th(5 
 right than a cent under it, an' I 'd thrust his word for as much as 
 I am worth." 
 
 " Then," said Tim, " he 's a good man as far as he knows, an' the 
 good Lord will taicli him more than he knows at i)resent, I hope." 
 
 "Here we are," said Twomey, "jist at his place. Howld the 
 reins till I let down the bars." 
 
 Tim did as required ; the bars were slipped out of mortises in the 
 posts erected at the entrance to Sheehy's ground, the waggon 
 passed through, the bars were ro^.tored to their places again, and 
 in two or three minutes Twomey was instructing his friend Sheehy 
 on the purport of their visit. 
 
 Sheehy agreed at once to proceed to the widow's with Twomey 
 and the two Doolans. 
 
 " Who knows," he said, " but the great God above has a hand 
 in sending you this way. The poor ooman could do notliin' wid 
 the place widout help, an' she couldn't afford to hire a man, even 
 if an honest, industhrious man could be found to work the place. 
 The only thing she could do would be to let it ' on shares,' an' that 
 is seldom satisfacthory to both parties." 
 
 " I don't want to take any advantage of her poverty," said Tim. 
 " I '11 give her the highest pinny that you both and she herself will 
 agree on. Can I say fairer than that 1 " 
 
 " That same is as fair as twelve pence for a shillin'," said Sheehy. 
 " It will go hard wid the poor ooman to lave the place ; but, God 
 help us, there 's always somethin' or another to punish us, poor 
 sinners ; some of us have our sufferin's in this world, an' some in 
 the next, but there 's one comfort for poor craythurs, the more we 
 suffer here the less hereafter." 
 
 " So I used to think," Tim replied, " until it plaised the good 
 God above to open me eyes an' make me see different from that." 
 
>42 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 • I 
 
 ^ *i 
 
 -) \i 
 
 t 1 
 
 i » 
 
 " What makes ye say that ] " Sheehy replied, turning round and 
 looking at Tim, as if he thouglit him an infidel. " Are ye an on- 
 believer intirely 1 Shure every one of us commits sin ; even the 
 very clargy thimselves are obliged to confess. An' what need 
 would there be fo:.' confession, if we wei'en't sinners 1 an' it is only 
 just that we should suffer, to atone for our sins." 
 
 "There's a power o' thruth in that same," Tim answered. 
 " But if we wanst larn what a dreadful thing sin is in the sight o' 
 the graat God, an' how full o' sin we all are, we would see that no 
 human suffeviii' could atone to God for the laste sin we iver com ■ 
 mitted. The blood o' Jasus Christ cleanses from all sin. Whin 
 v/e feel sin a little, we try to atone for it a little ; but whin we feel 
 that we are lost sinners, completely ruined, we cast ourselves on 
 God's marcy." 
 
 " Indeed, thin," said Sheehy, " you talk like a knowledgable 
 man. You remind me of a young priest that we had in the owld 
 counthry, in me early days, who used to tell us the very same 
 thing from the althar. Och, wasn't he the nice man." 
 
 " What became of him 1 " Jerry asked. 
 
 " I don't know, thin," Sheehy replied. " There was a power o* 
 talk about the same priest. Some said one thing, an' some said 
 another. He disappeared from among us, an' nobody seemed to 
 kni>w the raison. One Sunday mornin' we found a strange priest 
 sayin' mass instead of him, sint by the bishop ; an' no one knew 
 where the other wint, or what bekem of him. People thought 
 that the bishop didn't like his praichin' so plain to the people. He 
 disappeared at any rate." 
 
 Thus they passed the time on the way to the widow's house. 
 She saw them approaching, and stood at the door to receive 
 them. 
 
 " Good momin', Mr. Sheehy," she said. " How is the ooman 
 that owns ye, an' how is the family ? An' yow, too, Mr. Twomey. 
 How 's all at home 1 " 
 
 "Wisha, indeed, Misthess Dooly, they would be very well, 
 only they've got the consumption among 'om. They're all 
 throubled wid it, an' indeed I suspect I'm touched wid it 
 meself." 
 
 " You ! in a consumption ] " the widow said. " Yo never 
 looked betther in health since I saw ye first, an' that 's some time 
 since." 
 
 " I dJan't say anything about health," Twomey replied. " We 
 are all pretty well in health, although I !ra thinkin' the con- 
 
 4 
 
ing round and 
 Are ye an on- 
 sin ; even the 
 n* what need 
 I an' it is only 
 
 'im answered, 
 in the sight o' 
 lid see that no 
 L we iver coni- 
 11 sin. Whin 
 it whin we feel 
 ; ourselves on 
 
 knowledgable 
 ,d in the owld 
 he very same 
 
 vas a power o* 
 an' some said 
 dy seemed to 
 strange priest 
 no one knew 
 eople thought 
 e people. He 
 
 idow's house, 
 or to receive 
 
 is the ooman 
 Mr. Twomey. 
 
 )e very well, 
 They 're all 
 iched wid it 
 
 " Yo never 
 : 's some time 
 
 splied. " We 
 kin' the con- 
 
 WHAT A DOOLAN WOULDN T DO. 
 
 343 
 
 sumption will be worse afore it 's betther. We consumed two fat 
 pigs an' a side o' beef since winter set in, besides all the bread an' 
 wegetables." 
 
 "If that's all," replied she, "more o' that sort o' consumption 
 to you an' thim." 
 
 *' I 've come to warn you," L** said, " about this v'dlyan of a man 
 here, Mr. Doolan, that ye sint to me place last night." 
 
 " What harm have ye to say of the dacent man, Mr. Twomey % " 
 the widow asked. 
 
 " What good do I know of him 1 " he replied. " I '11 lave it to 
 yerself whether I do or not. Didn't he break me leg one time, an' 
 cut me head open another time, an' thin, be way of minding them 
 both perhaps, he kissed me wife and childher last night afore me 
 two lookin' eyes." 
 
 " Now, Bill," said Tim, " drop yer kimmeens,* an' let us talk 
 about bisness." 
 
 "Maybe," said the widow, "you're no strangers to aich 
 other?" 
 
 " Indeed, we 're not," said Twomey, " but owld playfellows ; 
 an', more than that, his mother is a sister to my wife's mother. 
 But, howsomiver, that isn't what we ought to be talkin' about 
 now. Do you intend to carry on here, or do you want to sell, for 
 me cousin has come lookin' for land ] " 
 
 " I can't cany on," she said, bursting into tears, " an' he has his 
 authority in his pocket to put me out on the road, an' me poor 
 childher along wid me." 
 
 "Is it a Doolan to put a widow an' childher on the road?" 
 said Bill, " Faiks, afore he does that, he '11 have to break me 
 head over agin, an' both me legs into the bargain." 
 
 " I told her yesterday," said Tim, " that, if she thinks of keeping 
 the place, I '11 go somewhere else, an' not throuble her."' 
 
 " I 'm at your marcy, at any rate," she said. 
 
 "We're all at the Lord's marcy," he replied. 
 
 " Well," she said, " what is to be must be. Walk round the place, 
 all o' ye. Me poor man spint his toil on it, an his precious life. 
 God rest his sowl this mornin', an' shorten his stay in purgathory. 
 You said you 'd giv' me what 's fair, an' that 's all I could expect. 
 More than many others would say." 
 
 The men put on their hats, and walked about the land for an 
 hour or more, making their calculations as they went along. 
 
 * Tricks. 
 
344 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 
 m 
 
 They soon agreed on the value of the improvements, and returned 
 to the house. 
 
 Sheehy was their spokesman. 
 
 "We have agreed," said he, "that your improvements are 
 worth five hundred dollars. Mr. Doolan has agreed to give you 
 that sum. You can have it in cash, or let it lie an' bear intherest 
 in his hands for a couple o' years. He '11 give ye security for the 
 l^aymint. He also offers to take yer horses, an' whativer else ye 
 have, either alive or dead, at the fair market value." 
 
 " Glory be to God," said the poor woman, " I 'm betther off than 
 I expected to be, Mr. Doolan. I 'm obligated to ye intirely, for 
 ye could disthress me very much if ye liked/* 
 
 " That would be poor imployraint for a Christhun," said Tim. 
 -' ;My gracious, .hure if we can't do one another good, we needn't 
 do any harm." 
 
 "How soon must I lave the house 1" she inquired, sorrowfully 
 casting her eyes about, as if to take her last farewell of it. 
 
 Tim was silent for a moment or two. A tear dimmed his eye 
 when he cast his thoughts back on the sorrowful morning when 
 he and his family took their last look at their own cabin, as 
 described in an opening chapter. Restraining his emotion, he 
 replied, " If I had a place to bring me father an' mother, an' 
 wife an' childher, I 'd let ye remain in the house as long as ye 
 live. I '11 also give ye the use of an acre of ground for a garden, 
 grass for a cow, an', as yer eldest boy seems good an' handy, 
 I '11 employ him at any light work lie can do, an' pay him as 
 good wages as he can get anywhere in the neighbourhood. Me 
 wife and mother would like to have ye for a neighbour, I know. 
 Yer experience o' life in a new counthry would save 'em a 
 great nuiny mishtakes, an' a good deal of unnecessary labour, 
 an' " 
 
 " Me own heart is very bad an' wicked intirely," said the widow, 
 " or I wouldn't be afther accusin' the good God o' forr.akin' me, as 
 I have been all last night an' this mornin'. Shure He' s blessin' 
 me ivery day o' me life, more an' more, an' I don't feel as thankful 
 as I ought, but I hope I '11 be able to desarve His goodness afore I 
 die." 
 
 " Ah ! there it is again," said Tim. " Our hearts are wickeder 
 thin we know anything about, or we would give up all hope of 
 desarvm^ His goodness. We must lam to receive His blessin'ft, 
 an' be thankful for 'em, through the desarvin' of our blessed 
 Saviour." 
 
 M^l^ ? 
 
MANY HANDS MAKE LIGHT WORK.' 
 
 345 
 
 md returned 
 
 srements are 
 to give you 
 ear intherest 
 uiity for the 
 itiver else ye 
 
 ther off than 
 intirely, for 
 
 1," said Tim. 
 1, we needn't 
 
 , sorrowfully 
 jf it. 
 
 nned his eye 
 lorning when 
 .vn cabin, as 
 
 emotion, he 
 
 mother, an' 
 s long as ye 
 for a garden, 
 I an' handy, 
 
 pay him as 
 hood. Me 
 our, I know. 
 
 save 'em a 
 isary labour, 
 
 11 
 
 1 the widow, 
 .akin' me, as 
 le' s blessin' 
 as thankful 
 Iness afore I 
 
 ire wickeder 
 all hope of 
 
 lis blessin'B, 
 our blessed 
 
 " Mr. Doolan," said Sheehy, starting up, and reaching his hand 
 to Tim, " the blessin' o' Heaven is in yer road, wheriver ye go, 
 for bein' good to the widdee an' orphan. You shall have a log 
 house as good or betther thin this, in less than a month, widout 
 any cost to yerself, except for the doors and windees, an' any 
 plasterin' or fixin' inside that ye want to get done to it. As it is 
 best to begin in time, we '11 call round be the schoolmasther's as we 
 go back, an' get him to cum over here to-morrow evenin' to draw 
 up the bargin atune you an' this dacent ooman ; an', as ' the tail 
 ought to go wid the hide,' accordin' to the owld say in', we '11 spind 
 the rest o' the day (afther we get a bite o' pork an' cabbage an' 
 pratees at my shanty) warnin' the neighbours all round to sind 
 their min an' ' boys ' here this day week, to help us to cut down 
 the threes, an' square the logs. Twenty or thirty of us will make 
 a hole in the work in a very short time, I assliure ye ; an' Bill 
 Twomey an' meself will drive over to the town any di\y, an' get 
 the doors and windees ready made at some o' the stores; an', 
 believe me, yer house will spnng up just like a * misharoon,'* Ye 
 may set ofl' for the owld people, an' the young ones too, as fast as 
 ye plase, an' if we don't have a snug cabin for ye afore ye come 
 back, that will keep the cowld and the hate outside the doors, niver 
 take me word agin for anything." 
 
 " But why should anybody take all that throuble about me," said 
 Tim, "widout bein' paid for it] I don't know the people, that 
 they should cum from far an' near to build a house for me." 
 
 " Then," said Twomey, " the sooner ye do know 'em the betther. 
 That 's the way we always help a settler, whin he cums among us. 
 * Many hands make light work,' accordin' to the owld sayin' ; 
 an' I give ye me word for it, the man that refuses to help a new- 
 comer settlin' in the woods in this counthry, is likely to find 
 himself backward for want o' help whin he needs it. The poor 
 fellow who lived here always shouldered his axe, and gave a day 
 orj two, gettin' up shelter for every new settler within three or 
 four miles of where he lived ; an' you'll have to pay us by helpin' 
 the next that curas. God is good to us all, an' let us be good to 
 one another." 
 
 " He is good," said Tim ; " glory an' praise be to His holy name 
 for iver an' iver, amin." 
 
 The men were soon in the waggon again, and on their way to the 
 schoolmaster's. They arrived at the scene of his government and 
 made an appointment with him to meet at the widow's house on 
 
 * Muahroom. 
 
l-k- 
 
 346 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 |i i iP 
 
 I!? 
 
 the following evening, with pen, ink, and paper, to draw up the 
 agreement between the parties interested. Their next visit was 
 to Sheehy's, where they dined, with such an appetite, that Twomey 
 declared the "consumption" to be nearly as firmly rooted in that 
 house as in his own. 
 
 When dinner had been disposed of, Sheehy harnessed his horses, 
 taking Jerry along with him, Twomey and his gossip, Tim, riding 
 in the other vehicle. They took different directions, in order to 
 expedite the business, agreeing to meet at Twomey 's house at 
 supper ; in the meantime, making a circuit, and giving notice to 
 every one they met, and at every house within reach, that on that 
 day week there would be a " bee " on the farm occupied by the 
 widow, to cut timber for logs, and to make a " raising " of a house 
 for a new settler. The news was received by all parties as if they 
 had received intelligence of an unexpected fortune. "We'll be 
 there, an' bring all 'the boys' along wid us," was the invariable reply. 
 
 Twomey and Tim were the first to arrive at his house. His 
 wife saw them coming, and being eager to learn the news, walked 
 out some hundred yards to meet them. 
 
 " There she is now," said Twomey. " Didn't I know how 
 impatient she 'd be to learn the news. Jist see what a start I '11 
 take out of her." 
 
 "Well, lads," she saiu, "what news have ye for mel" as her 
 husband stopped the waggon to let her get in. 
 
 " Oh, indeed, me good girl, it will be some time, I 'm afeerd, 
 afore ye see yev aunt." He said this with a face indicative of deep 
 disappointment. His wife felt as if the news had crushed her 
 newly-excited hopes, until she looked at Tim, and saw him smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "There now," she said, "you're niver happy only whin you're 
 tantalizin' an' tossicatin' me." 
 
 " Niver mind Bill," said Tim ; " he 's only carryin' on his 
 schamin' thricks. The whole raft of *em will be here in a few 
 weeks, plase God." 
 
 " It was jist like his lies," she said. 
 
 " Whose lies ] " Bill asked. " What I said I'll stick to. ' It '11 
 be some time.* Shure a fortnight is some time — ain't if?" 
 
 " A fortnight ! " she exclaimed, as she jumped from the waggon ; 
 " a fortnight *11 be no time at all, only I '11 think ivery day of it 
 seven years until I see 'em, that 's all." 
 
 Sheehy soon drove up with Jerry, and gave a good account of 
 the encouragement received everywhere they had gone. Supper 
 
draw up the 
 jxt visit was 
 ;hat Twomey 
 ooted in that 
 
 ?d his horses, 
 , Tim, riding 
 i, in order to 
 y's house at 
 ing notice to 
 
 tliat on that 
 upied by the 
 » " Df a house 
 ies as if they 
 "We'll be 
 ariabie reply. 
 
 house. His 
 news, walked 
 
 [ know how 
 :; a start I'll 
 
 me]" as her 
 
 , I'm afeerd, 
 
 ;ative of deep 
 
 crushed her 
 
 aw him srail- 
 
 whin you're 
 
 lyin' on his 
 ere in a few 
 
 ± to. ' It 'U 
 titr' 
 
 the waggon ; 
 'ery day of it 
 
 )d account of 
 one. Supper 
 
 MRS. TWOMEY S BELIEF IN "SIGNS CONFIRMED 
 
 347 
 
 was speedily discussed, after which the neighbour proceeded to his 
 own home, and left the relatives to renew their conference about 
 times departed. 
 
 " It was foreshown to me ivery day for the last fortnight," 
 said Mrs. Twomey, " that I 'd hear some strange news soon, for 
 my left ear was itchin' like mad, an' all the owld expayrienced 
 peeple at home used to say that that's a sure sign o' news." 
 
 " Arrah, now, don't be botherin' us wid yer pishogues," * said 
 Bill. " That I may niver sin but you Ve a pishogue for i very- 
 thing that happens. We want to talk about bisness now, owld 
 ooman." 
 
 " Whether ye do or not," said his wife, "you '11 niver conwince 
 me to the conthrairy o' that sign." 
 
 " I '11 engage I '11 not thry," said Bill. " Much good may yer 
 signs an' tokens do ye ; but, for my part, I 'd jist as soon believe 
 a fortune-teller as believe in any o' thim pishogues." 
 
 Mrs. Twomey was not well pleased with her husband's opinion 
 about "s/^ws," in which she believed as fully as ever she had 
 done in the Mass-book. Accordingly she preserved during the 
 rest of the evening a dignified silence, which had one good effect, 
 that of enabling the men to carry on their conference without 
 interruption. They sat up till a late hour talking about various 
 crops, different modes of husbandry, and a variety of matters, 
 interesting to persons about to commence agriculture in a new 
 country, in which many things have to be done in ways totally 
 different from anything they have known previously, and num- 
 bers of events have to be provided against which they have not 
 anticipated. 
 
 It was at length determined that Tim should return to Penn- 
 sylvania for his family, leaving Jerry behind him to assist in the 
 work of felling the timber and building the house, or rather, to 
 learn from others how to do so, by seeing the performances of 
 pereons longer in the country. 
 
 The writings were executed according to arrangement, and Tim 
 proceeded on his journey as proposed. 
 
 When the men assembled to fell and prepare timber to build the 
 house, Jerry was advised to look on the first day and be a mere 
 observer ; but no — he had always, he said, " taken a man's share 
 of all that was goin* on, whether work, or play, or fun, or frolic, 
 or fightin' " — and while he had learned to eschew the latter, he still 
 prided himself in the fact, that he had not yet met a man on whom 
 
 * Superstition. 
 
348 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 li' -h 
 
 li 
 
 he would turn his back in regard to the things mentioned, a day's 
 work, or a bit of sjjort. 
 
 Seeing his determination, Twomey gave him an axe, an instru- 
 ment which he had never yet used, and cautioned him to cut so 
 that his trees would fall in the same direction (if possible) as those 
 felled by the others ; also to be sure and get out of the way of the 
 falling timber, because accidents sometimes occur, both to life and 
 limb, even amongst those who are experienced in such matters. 
 
 Jerry, like too many of his countrymen, was not at all pleased 
 at the idea of being instructed in those mysteries, "just," to use 
 his own words, "like a schoolmasther taichin' a gossoon his 
 A, B, c." 
 
 Still less was he pleased at the burst of derisive laughter, 
 accompanied by witticisms on the part of some young men (any of 
 whom he declared he was able to put in his pocket), when they 
 saw his awkward attempts at wielding the axe. 
 
 Some of the older men, seeing that this was likely to lead to 
 unpleasant consequences, checked the matter in its commencement, 
 and all went on merrily for a couple of hours. The woods 
 resounded to the lusty strokes, the laugh and jest went round, 
 every now and then a tremendous crash shook the earth on which 
 they stood, as some tall giant of the forest fell to his mother earth, 
 and brought with him, in his fall, great branches from other trees 
 against which he had struck in his descent. 
 
 Jerry had withdrawn himself a little distance from the others, 
 somewhat in dudgeon, but determined to get his " hand in," so 
 that he should be no longer a laughing-stock for the "spalpeens." 
 Twomey had kept his eye on him, however, and seeing him succeed 
 in nearly bringing down a large tree, which, in its fall, must strike 
 against a largOj decayed branch of another under which he had 
 taken shelter, shouted to him to get out of the way. Pride, or 
 ignorance, or both, caused him to disregard the warning, the tree 
 fell, striking in its descent the decayed branch alluded to, which 
 was very large and weighty, the branch broke and fell, and Jerry 
 disappeared from view. 
 
 " Dead as a door-nail," Twomey shouted, rushing to the spot, 
 followed by the whole posse of choppers. 
 
 " Are ye dead 1 " they all inquired. 
 
 " Not that same, thanks be to God/' he answered, " but I 'm 
 fast here in a crib, an' there 's a gowlogue * howldin' me left arm 
 down to the ground, an' another acrass the small o' me back." 
 
 * A forked stick. 
 
CASTLE DOOLAN. 
 
 349 
 
 ned, a day's 
 
 !, an instru- 
 tn to cut so 
 :\e) as those 
 ! way of the 
 I to life and 
 matters. 
 : all pleased 
 just," to use 
 gossoon his 
 
 re laughter, 
 men (any of 
 , when they 
 
 r to lead to 
 imencement, 
 The woods 
 went round, 
 •th on which 
 lother earth, 
 1 other trees 
 
 the others, 
 land in," so 
 ' spalpeens." 
 him succeed 
 
 must strike 
 [ich he had 
 Pride, or 
 ing, the tree 
 }d to, which 
 1, and Jerry 
 
 to the spot, 
 
 I, " but I 'm 
 ne left arm 
 I back." 
 
 "Now," said Twomey, "if we take ye out o' this will ye be 
 advised by me, an' sit down quietly lookin' on at us for the rest 
 of this day?" 
 
 " I '11 engage I will," said Jerry, " an' to-morrow into the bargain, 
 for nie arm is broken." 
 
 True enough. He escaped with a broken arm — a circumstance 
 which they all declared called loudly for thankfulness that he 
 escaped so well. 
 
 Finding that his arm was really broken, one of the youths who 
 made himself and others so merry over Jerry's awkwardness as 
 a chopper volunteered to drive him to the nearest doctor, who lived 
 seven miles off; but Jerry was obstinate. "I promised," he said, 
 " to sit here and look at yer choppin', an* it 's enough for me to 
 brake me arm widout brakin' me word." 
 
 " Success to the Doolans," said Twomey. " I knew many of 
 'em at home who could brake a fellow's skull, but I never knew 
 one to brake his word." 
 
 The men worked with a hearty goodwill. As soon as they 
 had a sufficient number of trees felled, some chopped off the 
 limbs, others had come provided with large saws, each of which 
 required two men to work it. With these they cut the trunks 
 into logs of the necessary length ; othei-s split blocks of pine wood 
 into shingles for the roof ; boards for flooring were brought from 
 a saw-mill a couple of miles distant ; and doors, window-sashes, 
 locks, nails, &c., were easily obtained in a state of readiness for 
 immediate use at different establishments in a town eight or ten 
 miles distant. 
 
 Although all the men were not able to attend more than the 
 first day, a sufficient number was found who had their own 
 business so arranged as to have some unemployed time in the 
 winter. These attended every day, until in little more than a 
 week, " Castle Doolan" as Twomey called it, was " complate to 
 the kay of the hall-door." 
 
 The said establishment was composed of square logs, plastered. 
 It contained two bed-rooms, eating-roora, and kitchen. 
 
 Jerry took care to have it furnished with a cooking-stove and 
 other necessary furniture before the return of his brother and 
 family, and Mrs. Twomey took care to furnish the future bed-room 
 of her uncle and aunt with a cai'pet — an article which she manu- 
 factured herself from rags torn into strips and woven in a loom, 
 she being a good weaver. " 'T is time for the owld peeple now," 
 she said, " to take some comfort and aise to thimselves, an' as the 
 
350 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ' 'ii 
 
 , f' 
 
 '\-i 
 
 fHii!.! 
 
 ■ ) 
 
 ^11 
 
 winthers are cowld in this counthry we must only thry and keep 
 the cowld outside the house." 
 
 Everything was now in readiness at Castle Doolan for the recep- 
 tion of the family, and Jerry was only awaiting a letter from Tim 
 to inform him when he should proceed to Toronto with sleigh and 
 horses, to meet and convey to their Canadian home, his parents, 
 brother, and familv. 
 
 Our friend, Tim, lost no time in his journey back to his family. 
 
 Wife, children, father, mother, all, either wept or danced for 
 joy at his return. 
 
 They were struck with horror, however, when informed that 
 he had made up his mind to settle in Canada, and when they 
 found that he had concluded a bargain about a place in which to 
 settle, their horror was increased to its utmost pitch. 
 
 The children had informed their schoolfellows that dad and 
 uncle Jerry had gone to that country to see about land. The 
 schoolfellows spread the news among their parents, and Mrs. 
 Doolan and the old couple were inundated with callers, who 
 came to condole with them on the subject of what they viewed as 
 a calamity. 
 
 Some averred that Tim must be mad. Others told them that 
 it was inhabited by none but negroes who had run away from 
 slavery at the South and who all petitioned their former masters 
 for leave to return again to the blessings of *' cliattelage." 
 
 Others, still, averred that Canada was so cold, that white peop" 
 died in it like rotten sheep ; and many were of the opinion that 
 there was no such thing known there as freedom, for that the 
 Queen and her government ti'ampled on all the people's rights and 
 kept them in a condition as bad as, if not inferior to, that of 
 slavery. Of course, every one was not quite so ignorant on all 
 these matters, but very many were, and produced the most un- 
 favourable impressions of the country, climate, and government 
 on the minds of those unsophisticated people. 
 
 Old Mrs. Doolan's tune was soon changed for a merrier one 
 when informed that she was about to become neighbour to her 
 niece, whose husband was a prosperous farmer in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of where they were going to settle. Her daughter- 
 in-law, too, became reconciled to the movement when assured 
 that there was no danger of hurt from the Queen or her 
 government, but on the contrary, all the protection for life, 
 property, and character which she enjoyed in her native land, 
 with the additional blessing of being owners of the soil on which 
 
TIM S FAMILY TAKE THEIR LEAVE OF THE " STATES 
 
 351 
 
 they were about to live, and which produced as good wheat, and 
 other necessaries and comforts of life, as any land on whicli the 
 sun shone. 
 
 A week or ten days after Tim's arrival among his family 
 enabled him to dispose of whatever was too cumbersome to trans- 
 l)ort to the land of his adoption. 
 
 They had found some kind, warm-hearted friends in Pennsylvania, 
 from whom they found it difficult to part ; and America can fur- 
 nish as large a proportion of such as any other country. 
 
 The family had made some choice religious acquaintances during 
 their residence there, and from these it was scarcely possible to 
 part without spending a day, first with one, then with another. 
 
 The time of snow had arrived before they were able to take 
 their final leave. 
 
 A day and a night's travelling brought them to " Suspension 
 Bridge," which spans the Niagara river about a mile below the 
 Falls of that name. 
 
 When ai'rived at that place, the name of the station was duly 
 called out in each car by the official whose duty it was to attend to 
 that business. 
 
 " All who have taken tickets for the Canadian side will keep 
 their seats," he shouted. 
 
 Tim had taken that precaution, so that he and his family had 
 not the trouble of conveying themselves and their baggage across. 
 
 " Now," said Tim to his wife and children, " look up the river 
 while we 're ^^going over the bridge, an' you '11 see the Falls o' 
 Niagara." 
 
 " Is it the ' catrach ' that I used to read about in me readin' 
 book at school?" said his wife. "An' shure 'tis wan o' the 
 seven wandhers o' the world." 
 
 " The very same, thin," said her husband, " an' it is a very good 
 name for it. Many 's the ' cat ' was * wracked ' over the same 
 })lace, I daresay, an' dog, too, as well as many a Christhun. May- 
 be, as you 're so good at the pin, you '11 be afther writin' an account 
 of it yerself some o' these days." 
 
 "Now, boys," he added, "come out on the platform, an' whin 
 we get half-way across take off yer hats and give three hearty 
 cheers for the Queen, God bless her. See ! there 's her flag flyin' 
 yandher there, over the custom-house." 
 
 Tim was alarmed by a shout from his wife, who clutched him 
 round the waist, and shrieked, " Hould me fast." She had opened 
 a window to get a sight of the Falls, and taking her eye off them 
 
352 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ^h; 
 
 i( ' 
 
 iiik' 
 
 for a moment, looked down into the surging flood beneath, boiling 
 like Phlegethon. 
 
 Dazzled by the fearful height from the foaming, whii'ling gnlf 
 below, and seeing nothing to support the bridge, she fancied that 
 all was at an end with her for this world. Nor had she quite re- 
 covered from the shock when informed that she might now step 
 out on the Queen's dominions. 
 
 The young fellows had given their three cheers for Her Majesty, 
 according to their father's order, and were answered by three, 
 equally hearty, from a lot of boys who had assembled to see the 
 train arrive. 
 
 Mrs. Doolan's equanimity was again disturbed by the advance 
 of an officer, who requested her to open her trunks and chests in 
 order to have them searched. 
 
 " Sarched, indeed ! " not she. " None of her breed, seed, or 
 gineration, had iver been suspected of stalin' or harbourin' stolen 
 goods." 
 
 Tim had turned away to see that the children did not stray off' 
 in the crowd. 
 
 " You needn't be afeerd of us, Sir, I '11 be bound," said Mr. 
 Doolan, senior, to the searching officer, "we haven't a ha'poi*tli 
 belongin' to anybody but ourselves." 
 
 Tim soon arrived, and put an end to the conference by getting 
 his wife's keys, and proceeded to untie one of the chests. 
 
 " You must excuse the wife and the owld couple. Sir," he said 
 to the officer, " they don't ondherstand nor make allowance for you 
 in doing yer duty." 
 
 "There now," said the officer, "that will do. You don't look 
 like a smuggler. Have you anything here but your clothes, and 
 bedding, and such like 1 " 
 
 " Not a thing. Sir," said Tim ; " but I '11 give ye all the satis- 
 faction ye require, an' as little delay as T can." 
 
 The officer marked all his parcels without opening, and pro- 
 ceeded to inspect others. 
 
 " You see now," said Tim to his wife, " what a little civility 
 does. Peeple are in the habit of smugglin' tobackey and other 
 things over widout payin' the duty, an' that 's the raison they 're 
 so partic'lar." 
 
 " Indeed, thin, if it was only smugglin' a bit o' tobackey," said 
 his wife, " I 'd have no scruples about that same ; but I wouldn't 
 like to be suspected for harbourin' stolen goods." 
 
 "An' what is smugglin' only stalin'?" said her husband. 
 
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN STEALING AND SMUGGLING. 353 
 
 eatli, boiling 
 
 v^hirling giilf 
 
 fancied that 
 
 she quite re- 
 
 jht now step 
 
 Ser Majesty, 
 ed by three, 
 jd to see the 
 
 the advance 
 md chests in 
 
 eed, seed, or 
 oourin' stolen 
 
 not stray off 
 
 id," said Mr. 
 I't a ha'poi*tli 
 
 ce by getting 
 sts. 
 
 Sir," he said 
 wance for you 
 
 ou don't look 
 : clothes, and 
 
 all the satis- 
 ing, and pro- 
 little civility 
 ey and other 
 aison they're 
 
 >backey," said 
 it I wouldn't 
 
 ler husband. 
 
 " Only that ye stale from the gover'mint instead of from a private 
 person." 
 
 " Much I pity gover'mint," his wife answered. "What business 
 have they wid poor people's tobackey ] 'T is a hard case if poor 
 people can't take a blast o' the pipe, widout payin' gover'mint for it. 
 Shure they liave plinty o' money o' theii* own." 
 
 "Where do you think gover'mint gets it?" Tim asked. 
 
 " From the Queen, to be shure, God bless her," said his wife j 
 "shure she pays 'em, an' pays the sogers, an' peelers." 
 
 " An' where does the Queen get tlu; money to pay all these 
 people?" her husband again inquired. 
 
 " My gracious, how ye bother mo wid yer questions. Shure, 
 hasn't slie the full of a great big castle o' goold an' silver ? " 
 
 " She might, thin," said Tim, " an' the full o' twinty castles into 
 the bargain, an' unless there was some way o' raisin' more it would 
 all be soon gone." 
 
 " An' what did I iver get by all the taxes we iver paid 1 " his 
 wife inquired, like one who felt that to be taxed was to be robbed of 
 money, hardly earned, to support people who, in her opinion, had 
 nothing to do. 
 
 "What did ye get? is it. Ye got yer peaceable sleep at night, 
 an' the purtection o' good laws to punish thim that would do ye 
 harm, an' ye got the right to go where ye plaised, and to come back 
 when ye plaised, an' to be the owner of all ye could honestly aim." 
 
 " Oh, you 'd bother a counsellor wid yer jaw," his wife replied, 
 unable any longer to fence off Tim's reasoning. 
 
 Two military officers happened to be standing on the platform 
 while the family were waiting for a train to convey them to 
 Toronto. They overheard the latter dialogue, and one of them, in 
 particular, felt deeply interested in Tim's fervour of utterance, honest 
 simplicity of manner, and true loyalty of sentiment. He stepped 
 up to Tim, and accosted him. 
 
 " Well, my man, you are waiting for a train, I suppose ? " 
 
 " We are thin. Sir," said he, touching his hat respectfully. 
 " Me father an' mother, meself an' wife, an' four childher — eight 
 of us." 
 
 " A pretty large lot," replied the officer. " Where are you going 
 to ? if it is a fair question." 
 
 "Fifty or sixty miles back o' Toronto, yer honour. A gintleman 
 in Liverpool, the best frind I iver had on airth, owns land there, 
 an' he wrote to me to settle on some of it, an' pay him wheniver I 
 could. There was an honest man settled on part of it, an' made 
 
 23 
 
M i 
 
 354 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ! i 
 
 good improvemints on it, but ho died a little while ago. I have 
 bought the improvemints from his widdee, an' we are goin' to see 
 what tlie good God will do for us there. Boys," he said to his sons, 
 " be keerful, an' don't go too near them locomotions, nor on the rails 
 at all at all. Now, mind." 
 
 "Those are jour little fellows, I suppose?" said the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " They are, Sir," he replied. 
 
 " Are they not the very little chaps whom I heard hurrahing for 
 the Queen as tliey passed over the Bridge 1 " 
 
 *' The same, Sir, I dare say," said Tim. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Why, my lads," said the gentleman, " you should 
 have waited till you were half way over before you cheered ; I 
 rather think you lacked six inches or a foot of it," and he shook 
 each of them l)y the hand. " Stay here," he said, " till I come back 
 to you," speaking to Tim. " Now be sure and don't leave this." 
 
 " I 'd be happy to obleege yer honour," Tim said, " but it is 
 time to look afthor our tickets," 
 
 " There will be plenty of time for that after you see me again," 
 the gentleman added, and disappeared. 
 
 He returned after a few minutes, and invited the whole family 
 into the refreshment room, wliere he had paid for a comfortable 
 meal of the best the house afforded. 
 
 " Now," he said, " fall to ; you have half-an-hour to work, and 
 I will watch for you, so that you shall not be too late." He then 
 withdrew, and, in about twenty minutes, returned, as they were 
 leaving the room, having regaled themsehes with a bountiful 
 repast. " All is right now for Toronto," he said. *' Here are 
 your tickets. Ask no questions," and he hurried them off to the 
 train. 
 
 Having taken their seats, a few minutes still remained, during 
 which time he stood by a window talking to Tim and his wife of 
 their prospects. He shook hands over and over again with the boys 
 who had clieered so lustily for the Queen, and appeared as well 
 pleased at having it in his power to show kindness as if he had 
 himself been the receiver rather than the giver. 
 
 The party reached Toronto in the evening. They were met at 
 the station of the Great Western Hallway by Twomey and his 
 friend Sheehy, each of whom drove a sleigh, for plenty of snow 
 had fallen since Tim had left Canada. Each sleigh was fur- 
 nished with plenty of straw to keep the feet warm, and several 
 buffalo skins or " robes," as they call them, to cover all parties 
 
MRS. DOOLAN's first EXPERIENCE OF SLEIGH TRAVELLING. 356 
 
 ago. I have 
 3 goiu' to see 
 id to his sons, 
 Dr on the rails 
 
 d the gentle- 
 
 hurrahing for 
 
 , *' you should 
 3U cheered ; I 
 and he shook 
 1 I come back 
 leave this." 
 id, "but it is 
 
 see me again," 
 
 ! whole family 
 a comfortable 
 
 to work, and 
 te." He then 
 
 as tliey were 
 
 1 a bountiful 
 
 " Here are 
 
 em oft' to the 
 
 lained, during 
 id his wife of 
 I with the boys 
 )eared as well 
 J as if he had 
 
 y were met at 
 omey and his 
 )lenty of snow 
 fur- 
 and several 
 
 3igh was 
 
 en 
 
 rer all parties 
 
 up snugly, and protect them from any kind of severe weather that 
 might occur. 
 
 Arrangements had been made for the whole party to spend the 
 night where the men had fed their horses, within two or three 
 miles of the city, and the whole family, witli bag and baggage, 
 were quickly rattled through the streets of Toronto, and within 
 less than an hour after their arrival in the city were comfortably 
 seated by a huge log fire, the above distance away from it. 
 
 " The farmers must be very poor here," said the old woman, 
 when taking her seat, for the first time in her life, in that mode 
 of conveyance, " or," she added, " they must have very poor 
 tradesmen." 
 
 " What makes ye think so?" said Twoiney. 
 
 " Bekase they can't afford any wheels to their carriages," she 
 replied. 
 
 " Oh, aunt," said he, " you '11 soon find out that runners are 
 better than • l eels for the snow." 
 
 " Runners," said she, catching at the word, " 't is crawlers ye 
 mane, I suppose. What are all thim little bells for about the 
 horses' necks 1 
 
 "They are to give notice to any parties meeting us," he replied, 
 " bekase the sleigh slips so smoothly over the snow tliat it makes 
 no noise, as a waggon or carriage does." 
 
 The baggage being stowed away and all parties seated, Twomey 
 led the way, giving the word to his horses, which started oft' 
 at fine speed, rather too high a rate for the nerves of Mrs. Doolan, 
 senior. 
 
 " Is it runnin' away wid us they are ? " she inquired. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Twomey, " this is the way in which we crawl 
 along in this country." 
 
 " Now for a short night's rest," said Twomey. " Up at six, 
 breakfast at half-past, and start at seven. So that we can reach 
 Castle Doolan by seven or eight, at farthest, in tlie evening." 
 
 Our party, having travelled a couple of days without any regular 
 rest, save what they could take by snatches in a sitting posture, 
 were glad of the opportunity for a night's repose, to which we 
 must leave them for the present. 
 
i' i ', it 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL AT " CASTLE DOOLAN " — JERRY FINDS A WIFE, AND TIM 
 SITS IN A HIGH PLACE — THE FENIANS ARE ROUTED, AND, OLD 
 FRIENDS ARRIVING, A COLONY IS FORMED, WHERE ALL GOES 
 "MERRY AS A MARRIAGE BELL." 
 
 fl^H i 
 
 mil, 
 
 I Mr. i . ■ 
 
 !;f-^f 
 
 i'' 
 
 Our travellers weie all \ip betimes in the morning, and ready for 
 the start. 
 
 A suVistantial Canadian Lreakfast awaited them, to which all 
 parties, 'ixcr-pt the children, did ample justice. They, as is often 
 the case with children, felt the excitement too keenly to have 
 much appetite, especially at so early an hour. 
 
 They had rasLers, and eggs, and beefsteaks, and molasses, and 
 stewed apples, and })unipkin ])ies, and whitetish, and what not, 
 until Mrs. Doolan, senior, declared that all the people in Canada 
 must bo " quoUity," they ap[)eared to hare such good living. 
 
 The old gentleman declared he woidd not make a ^^ putto- 
 gether's * shop " of his stomach, by putting so many things into it 
 at once. WJien asked if he would have some potatoes, he replied 
 that he would, if he could get them ; and when they were shown 
 to him on a dish, bruised, or mashed up with butter, " No, 
 thank 'eo. Sir," ho replied, " I niver ate any dog's mess in me 
 life, an' I 'm too owld to begin now. I heerd of 'em thratin* the 
 pratees that way in Ingland," he added, " but no one iver heerd 
 tell of it in a Christhun counthry. I 'm seventy years owld, an' 
 have two-an'-thirty good teetli in me head, thank God, an' whin 
 they can't bruise me pratees, I '11 say it 's all up wid me for this 
 world, so I will." 
 
 The whole company enjoyed the joke to the full, the reader 
 may be sure. 
 
 '* Wait," said Sheehy, " until ye get 'em of home manufacture, 
 at * Castle Doolan,' an' thin you '11 have 'em as nathural as life 
 itself." 
 
 * Apothecary's. 
 
 '! , I 
 
A MAGIflFICENT SPECTACLE. 
 
 357 
 
 ife, and tim 
 .:d, and, old 
 ,e all goes 
 
 nd ready for 
 
 to which all 
 y, as is often 
 iuly to have 
 
 nolasses, and 
 id what not, 
 le in Canada 
 living. 
 
 ze a "/mWo- 
 lings into it 
 es, ho replied 
 r were shown 
 )utter, "No, 
 mess in n'.e 
 11 thratin' the 
 le iver heerd 
 lars owld, an' 
 rod, an' whin 
 me for this 
 
 1, the reader 
 
 manufacture, 
 thural as life 
 
 "If I don't," said the old nian, " I '11 go back to the place where 
 I can get 'em jist as they wor made." 
 
 By seven o'clock they were on the road. The horses, with their 
 heads towards home, showed the desire to abridge the space that 
 separated them from it, by keeping up as brisk a trot as the drivers 
 would permit them, and made the merry sleigh-bells jingle in tune 
 to their measured steps. 
 
 The children, completely covered up by the buffalo skins, and 
 nestling in the warm straw, amused themselves with projects of 
 what they would do when living on their own farm, and frequently 
 put up their heads to inquire, ' 'Vliere are we now, mammy?" 
 "Granny, are ye warm?" "iS'iiall we see Uncle Jerry to-day, 
 father ? " And when the sleighs stopped to water the horses, they 
 invariably jumped out, with the inquiry, " Is this Castle Doolan ? " 
 
 About two o'clock in the afternoon a hoavj'- shower of sleet fell, 
 loading the branches of the trees ; a sudden gleam of sunshine 
 thawed it, so as to turn it all to water ; ami then while the 
 branches were thoroughly wet, a change of wind to the north as 
 suddenly froze it, so that every tree in the forest looked as if 
 encrusted with molten, transparent glass, from the topmost twig 
 down to the trunk. It is a sight on which the eye may revel for 
 hours. No imagination, excited by fairy tales, can equal the 
 impression produced by this magnificent spectacle. It must be 
 seen in order to be felt t)r a])preciated, and no description can 
 exaggerate, or perhaps equal it, in its gorgeous splendour. The 
 writer has seen a whole jjeach orchard, while in blossom, sviddenly 
 encased ia this congelation, and does not expect to see the sight 
 repented, oi- <'V -o equalled, in this world. The road of our travel- 
 lers lay tl>rGa;-di several miles of woods which presented this grand 
 appear! nor us far as the eye could reach. 
 
 By noon lliey had made half their journey, and agreed to make 
 a halt of two hours, to rest and feed their hor.ses, and partake of 
 dinner. 
 
 The old people declared they could do without dinner very well 
 for one day. "Where was the use," they wanted to know, "in 
 throwin' away such a fishtful o' money for a mal.1" 
 
 " Money ! " said Twomey. " Arrah, my dear uncle, don't let 
 Canadian farmers hear ye talkin' o' money for the bit a family 
 would eat goin' along. I '11 tell 'em ye can't stomach the pratees 
 any way only with their surtouts on. They'll know be that 
 where ye kem from, and I '11 promise you '11 be as welcome as the 
 flowers o' May." 
 
\>' 
 
 358 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 M 
 
 I ll' 
 
 !.',{ 
 
 ;. !f 
 
 f ff 
 
 " Fire away, thin," replied the old man, " I 'm satisfied, wid it 
 or widout it." 
 
 They accordingly turned into the next comfortable-looking place 
 they met, and drove up to the house. Two fine-looking young 
 men, brothers, issued from the doorway, and proceeded to help the 
 women and children out of the sleighs. The father, a man a little 
 past the meridian of life, stood in the door-way ; to him they 
 passed the children, one by one, without suffering them to touch 
 the snow, which was pretty deep around the house, the women 
 followed, and then the men. The horses were unhitched from the 
 sleighs in a few seconds, and plentifully supplied with hay in the 
 farmer's stable, for they were too warm to get grain immediately. 
 The farmer's wife and daughters soon divested the women and 
 children of their outer clothing, The stove was replenished witli 
 wood, the kettle sang its old, monotonous, but ever-pleasing 
 tune of *' We '11 all take tea." The frying-pan "hissed, and spat, 
 and sputtered," like a host of fighting cats. A carcass of beef, 
 which had been slaughtered on tlie evening before, and hung up 
 to freeze for the winter, afforded abundance of steaks, and half-an- 
 hour had barely elapsed when they were all seated around hf 
 comfortable a table as need be desired. 
 
 No one inquired their iiaTucs or destination until they had dined, 
 after wliich they entered into a free conversation. Their host was 
 a son of one of those noble-hearted men called " united empire 
 loyalists," who, at the time of the American revolution, refused to 
 forswear themselves by throwing off their allegiance to Groat 
 Britain, and were consequently obliged to brave the perils of the wil- 
 derness in a long and toilsome journey to Canada, at a time when 
 there were no railroads and no steam-vessels, nor indeed any roads 
 whatever deserving the name, for the greater part of the journey. 
 
 The home government of that day rewarded tlie loyalty of those 
 men by free grants of land. Mai.y of the di'scendants of such aro 
 now men of mark and eminence in the ])vovince, possessing wealth 
 and influence, and directing its public affairs. 
 
 The host himself had fought against the invading Americans in 
 the war of 1812. 
 
 He served under General Brock, being then nearly twenty years 
 old, and regaled his guests with many stirring anecdotes of tJaose 
 trying times, and was listened to with de^p interest. 
 
 When his eldest son thought the li^^rses Rufficiently cool to eat 
 oats, he inquired, " How many oats do you wi«b to give your horses, 
 gentlemen 1 " 
 
CANADIAN HOSPITALITY. 
 
 359 
 
 nipncans in 
 
 " James," said the father, " how often have I told you that we 
 don't reckon the oats in this country ? Give them plenty. Enough 
 of good oats will never hurt a horse on a journey." 
 
 The two Mrs. Doolans also improved the time in making 
 acquaintance with their hostess and her daughters. They were 
 taken over the whole internal part of the establishment, instructed 
 in the mysteries of the sewing-machine, and the washing-machine, 
 and the apple-paring machine, and various other machines, ending 
 their tete-ct-tete with mutual invitations, on their part and that of 
 the hostess, to visit each other when all things were made straight 
 at « Castle Doolan." 
 
 After a rest of two hours, the horses were again led out, giving 
 ample evidence of the coincidence of their opinion with that of 
 the farmer, that " plenty of oats never hurt a horse on a 
 journey." They were all soon coated and cloaked, the children's 
 pockets filletl with apples and dough-nuts, a bottle of the host- 
 ess's rhubarb wine slipped into old jNlrs. Doolan's basket, and 
 two hot bricks wrapped in flannel placed under her feet. A 
 hearty shake hands all round, an injunction to the children to be 
 " good," and to their mother to make them keep their hands under 
 the buffalo skins, and our friends were off on the last stage of 
 their journey. 
 
 After a drive of a couple of hours night fell ; a clear, cold night 
 without wind. Starlirjht and moonlij'ht both gave their influence 
 to the pure, white snow, in rendering all surrounding objects sutll- 
 ciently visible to awaken the highest f('elinf;s of the sublime. The 
 tall pines and cedars, and hemlocks stretchinr,' on either hand as 
 well as before them, to all appearance interminably onward, 
 heightened the feeling if possible • and the total absence, for miles, 
 of anything like a waymark, made the strangers feel as if it were 
 a " moral impossibility " for any creature to find its way with 
 certainty tlirough such a wilderness. 
 
 " I 'm afeerd o' my life," said the gnvndmother, " that we '11 
 niver get there. 'T is quite onpossiblo to know the way where 
 there isn't a house to be seen, nor anything different from another. 
 I wish T niver li'ft the owld sod, so I do." 
 
 "Great good yer wishin' will do ye now," said the old man. 
 " Why don't ye wish yerself back agin ] " 
 
 " Don't bother me," she replied, " wid yer cosherin' nonsense. 
 I *11 engage we '11 niver get out o' these woods. What bad luck I 
 had, not to stay where I was." 
 
 " What is that afore us, on our track 1 " Tim inquired of the driver. 
 
360 
 
 TIM DOOLAN, 
 
 I l!i' 
 
 i > 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 He had scarcely uttered the words when the horses shied to 
 one side, the sleigh struck one of its runners against a stump of 
 a tree and upset, and the whole party were precipitated into a 
 liollow place nearly three feet deep, which had filled up with 
 snow. 
 
 The children, having fallen asleep, and being suddenly aroused, 
 screamed with terror, which was heightened by the screams of 
 old Mrs. Doolan, who roared in tones that echoed dismally 
 through the silent forest. " Och, millia murther, I 'm kilt 
 intirely, I am, an' there's my bra' new cloak, that cost me a 
 pound a yard for the cloth, will be all spoilt, an' I '11 niver be 
 able to ware it in dacency any more. Och, isn't it a misforthinit 
 counthry ? an' ain't I the misforthinit craythur that consinted to 
 come to it ? " 
 
 "Howld yer tongue now," said the old man, lifting her out of 
 the snow. " I 'm shure you '11 have no occasion for the cloak any 
 more when ye are kilt, as ye say you are." 
 
 Providentially there was no one a bit the worse for the tumble ; 
 there was nothing broken ; the horses, being well trained, stood 
 perfectly still after the first plunge or two. The sleigh was soon 
 righted, and the women and children put into it as snugly as 
 before. The horses wei-e tied to a bough of a tree by their 
 halters, and the men turned back to ascertain the cause of the 
 accident. 
 
 They soon found a sleigh in a like predicament with their own, 
 turned upside down ; the horses up to their shoulders in a snow- 
 bank, and the driver, with the reins firmly grasped in his hand, 
 fast asleep, under the influence of potations, too strong and deep, 
 of the bane of many in Canada, namely, whisky. 
 
 On trampling the snow around they picked up several parcels 
 which had been thrown out by the upsetting of the sleigh, and, 
 among the rest, a two gallon jar, nearly full oi whisky. 
 
 They were unable to recognise his features, because of the shade 
 of the trees under which he lay preventing the moon's rays from 
 shining on him, until Sheehy, pulling a match and a ])iece of paper 
 from his pocket, ignited the former by rubbing it against his vest, 
 then lighted the paper, and discovered a neighbour who had 
 assisted in " the raisin' " of Tim Doolan's house. 
 
 "Oh, Tim EafFerty, mo poor fellow," he said, "at the owld 
 thrick agin ? It was well for ye we upset, or this would be yer 
 last sleep. As it is, ye may lose yer fingers an* toes, or maybe yer 
 hands an' feet." 
 
ARRIVAL AT " CASTLE DOOLAN. 
 
 361 
 
 "It was the great God made us to come this road, at this hour, 
 an' made the horses to shy," said Tim, "so as to save the poor 
 fellow's limbs, or maybe his life." 
 
 " You may , say that," said Sheehy. " He 'd niver sleep 
 another sleep in this world oulecs we, or some other people, kem 
 along." 
 
 Tlie men were busy lifting him into his sleigh, after righting 
 it, and backing his horses out of the drift ; at the same time con- 
 sulting how to cover him up as warmly as possible, and get one of 
 their number to drive his horses, but the difficulty was whom to 
 spare. 
 
 Twomey could not let Tim drive his horses because of his want 
 of knowledge of the track, nor could he drive Raflerty's for 
 the same reason. They had agreed to hitch them behind one 
 of their sleighs, when they heard a halloo ring through the 
 woods. 
 
 " Is that a wolf or a bear 1 " one of the men inquired Avith 
 alarm. 
 
 " 'Tis naythur the one nor the other, thiu," saic^ Tim, "only a 
 wild Irishman they calls Jerry Doolan. There he is agin, J ist 
 listen to the fellow." Jerry was singing in his loftiest strain : — 
 
 *' Success to the Callaghans, Brallaghans, 
 Nowlans and Dowlans likewise. 
 A pair o' black eyes, botheration, 
 That min of family ties," &c. &c. 
 
 " Halloo ! " he shouted, " who comes here 1 " 
 
 " If ye knew ye could tell in three guesses," said Tim. 
 
 "Hero they are, me darlin's/' said Jerry, cutting a ca{»ei', and 
 giving another " Hurrah for the Doolans ! " 
 
 Jerry was anxiously expecting the fauiily, and a friend, whose 
 horses were spoiling for want of a drive, made up u party of young 
 fellows to go a few miles with them to meet thi' new-comers and 
 cheer them up. Providentially, they came in the right time. One 
 of their number took charge of the unfortunate drunken man's ti>am, 
 Only three miles more intervened between the travellers iiu. iheir 
 home, which they reached in less than half-an-hour after gttting 
 started again. 
 
 Mrs. Twomey was waiting with the greatest impatience at Oustle 
 Doolan (for it had now been fairly christened, and tlu> nauii ivuuld 
 stick to it) for the arrival. She How to embrace bor aunt, and 
 cousin, and the children. The tongues of all the pany were ^Hhawed 
 out" in a few minutes, and questions were bandied about from 
 
362 
 
 . IM DOOLAN. 
 
 iiMi 
 
 !':?• .1 
 
 Pr 
 
 
 one to another, and no sooner answered than they were asked over 
 again. 
 
 Tlie house was well warmed. Each room had a blazing log fire. 
 A steaming hot snpper sent up its aroma to greet the olfiictories of 
 the party, which organs were rendered particularly acute by the 
 frosty air. " Sit up now all o' yez, an' ate yer supper," said Mrs. 
 Twomey. "Ye must be hungry enough to eat a horse." 
 
 "Not a bite or sup will I take in it," said Tim, "ontil we all kneel 
 down an' thank the great God for it, an' for bringin' us safe an' 
 sound to it, an* for makin' us save that poor man's life this blessed 
 night." 
 
 All, except Sheehy, immediately knelt down, and Tim poured 
 out his full soul in thanksgiving to the God of all his mercies. 
 Sheehy, too, before the close of the prayer, was brought to his 
 knees, and seemed to feel the propriety and impressiveness of the 
 scene around him. 
 
 After that they surrounded the table. Sausages, and venison, 
 and roast goose, with buckwheat cakes, and 
 
 '* Potatoes dressed both ways, 
 Both roasted and boiled," 
 
 and tea, and maple sugar, and maple molasses, formed the enter- 
 tainiuont, and everything to match. 
 
 When old Mr. Doolan was asked to take " some of the deer " a 
 rich scene ensued. "No," said he, with a snarl j "I 've lived all 
 me days widout atin' stolen mate, an' it's not worth me while now 
 in me owld days to brake a good rule. Take it back to whativer 
 gintlcraan it belongs to, for he has the best riglit to it." 
 
 " That gintleman, thin, is Mr. Twomey," said his wife. 
 
 " He 's much likelier to own a fat pig," said her uncle. 
 " Ho 's a likely fellow enough, an' as good, perhaps, in the sight 
 o' God, as if he was a lord or a king, but gintlemin only can keep 
 deer parks, an' he must be a gintleman, an' no misthake, who can 
 aflbrd it. I niver heerd o' deer bein* kept but by the tip-top 
 quality." 
 
 " But, uncle," said his niece, "don't ye know that the deer run 
 wild here in the woods, an' anybody may shoot 'em 1 There isn't 
 a deer park in all the counthry, nor a lord, nor a fine gintleman, 
 as they have at home, but ivery man is an esquire here." 
 
 " I wouldn't give much for the counthry, thin," said the old 
 man, " if it has no lords nor ladies in it. I tell ye, the rale owld 
 sort o' ginthry is the best people iver wor in a counthry. Shure 
 
E^^sfwwppwflpwnw!?!;-*- 
 
 OLD MR. DOOLAN S OPINION OF " WENZIN. 
 
 363 
 
 nd venison, 
 
 i the enter- 
 
 what 'ud a poor man do if he was oppressed or disthressed, if he 
 hadn't thim to go to 1 " 
 
 " I haven't a word to say agin thim," she replied. " There 's 
 a great many of 'em very good intirely, but we have none of 'em 
 hero, an' it isn't the place for them, bekase ivery one here must 
 work, an', thank God, there 's full an' plinty by workin' for it. 
 Here, now, just taste the deer," and she put a piece of it on his 
 plate. 
 
 The old man took a mouthful of it, and, after swallowing it, 
 gave vent to his disapproval. 
 
 " Millia murther, is that the sort o' mate that fellows get tran- 
 sported for Stalin' at home 1 That an owld house may niver fall 
 on me, but I 'd rayther have a piece of a pig's countenance, or any 
 other part of the baste, or any other baste Christhuns ate, thin sich 
 mate as the quollity ate. I '11 be bound I won't ate any more of 
 your wenzin, or whativer ye calls it." 
 
 After supper was ended, and the children put to bed, the friends 
 spent two or three hours in conversation about old scenes and 
 incidents, relatives, friends, and acquaintances ; after which, Mrs. 
 Twomey remarked, "that it was past twelve o'clock, and that, as 
 her aunt and uncle must be tired, it would be better to disperse to 
 their own Loiues and leave the 7iew settlers to their repose." 
 
 A glance at the timepiece admonished the company that the 
 good woman was right, and all present feeling an instinctive pro- 
 pensity to yawning, agreed that the sooner each sought the l)almy 
 sweets of refreshing sleep the better, and thereupon, hearty " good 
 mornings " were wislied, and not less hearty shaking of hands. 
 There were but a few hours to rest when work of some kind must 
 be resumed. 
 
 Although it was the depth of winter, and the snow likely to 
 remain on the ground for three months at least, our heroes were 
 determined not to be idle. Agricultural work could not be pro- 
 secuted, but then the Canadian settler has plenty of work to do in 
 the winter. He fells timber, in order to clear his land, makes fuel, 
 and provides rails wherewith o fence his fields. He avails him- 
 self of the snow, which proves to be the very best and smoothest 
 of roads, over which ho can draw much heavier loads, to and from 
 market on his sleigh, than can be drawn on a wheeled vehicle. 
 
 A few weeks sufficed to restore Jerry's broken arm to its usual 
 soundness, so that he and his brother soon became expert choppers, 
 and, in their turn, able to laugh at the awkwardness of new settlers 
 coming in from the old country. 
 
364 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 '*. I 
 
 nr 
 
 The father and mother soon became reconciled to everything 
 around them, except the wood fires, which they never could be 
 brought to believe equal in goodness to their native peat and 
 bogwood. Their surplus timber, when cut into proper lengths, 
 and drawn to the nearest villages, was a source of supply in the 
 way of a little ready money, or of obtaining in barter from the 
 shops many little requisites in the way of food and clothing for the 
 family. 
 
 The widow turned out to be a very agreeable companion to both 
 the elder and the younger Mesdames Doolan, so much so, that the 
 latter jocosely remarked at breakfast one morning, about six months 
 after her arrival, " that she wouldn't be a bit sorry if that lady 
 should become ere long Mrs, Doolan the third." Mrs, Doolan the 
 first declared that there must be something in it, for she had 
 " dhramed o' that same two nights runuinV' and that if " the same 
 dhrame " was repeated the third night, '* all the wather in the say 
 wouldn't prevint its takin' place." 
 
 Jerry wished from his heart she would "dhrame it six 
 times more," for that, as soon as the next six months should 
 be "past and gone," he was determined to try his "luck in 
 that line," 
 
 The old man being — like the majority of his creed and country 
 — a great fatalist, declared that " what is to be must be," and that, 
 "if it was his luck, he couldn't escape it," 
 
 On the next morning tlie motlior declared it to be fixed as fate, 
 for the inevitable third " dhrame " had been dreamed by her, in 
 reference to that subject; and, six months afterwards, when sitting 
 at the wedding breakfast, the old lady defied anybody, and every- 
 body to "conwince" her "there was nothin' in dhrames." 
 
 Jerry became a steady, religious man, and his wife an excellent 
 helpmate. Before his marriage he insisted that all his wife's 
 interest in the purchase of her improvements, (fee, should be 
 invested for the benefit of her children by her first husband. 
 
 The brothers worked together in partnership, soon paid for their 
 land, took good care of their father and mother while they lived, 
 and buried them respectably when they died. 
 
 One of Tim's first public acts was to set on foot a movement for 
 the building of a snug, commodious place for religious worship. 
 In new settlements there is seldom a sufficient number of persons 
 of any one religious denomination to sustain the ordinances of 
 religion among themselves. 
 
 This 
 
 often leads to total neglect of 
 
 religious observances. 
 
TIM APPOINTED TO A RESPONSIBLE OFFICE. 
 
 365 
 
 s " luck in 
 
 jservances. 
 
 Families grow up without any spiritual instruction. To obviate 
 this, they built by their joint labours a log-chapel. 
 
 Tim and Jerry gave the ground, others gave logs, others, again 
 labour, until, between them all, everything was furnished, except 
 doors and windows, locks, hinges and a few et ceteras. These were 
 contributed by merchants in the villages in which they disposed of 
 their produce, so that, in a few weeks from its commencement, 
 " Union Meeting House " became a waymark for travellers pass- 
 ing through the settlement. 
 
 Here they assembled every Sabbath for the purpose of prayer, 
 whether they had a minister or not. A Sabbath school was also 
 established, which became a blessing to the young. 
 
 Occasionally a minister of some evangelical denomination gave 
 them a sermon on Lord's-days, or week-days, as the case might be. 
 Religious colporteurs began to visit them with Bibles, tracts, and 
 religious books. These laborious, self-denying men enlighten those 
 otherwise dark regions very much. They converse on spiritual 
 things ; read and pray with families ; sell, and often give away to 
 the poor the Word of life ; and many of them, being students for 
 the Christian ministry, who thus employ their college vacations, 
 preach 1 e gospel very acceptably and efficiently whenever they can. 
 
 Tim .lad settled but a very short time in his new home when 
 Mr. Vansittart employed him as his agent for the sale of his lands. 
 It puzzled him at first to think how it was possible for him, who 
 knew nothing of accounts, to discharge the duties of such an office, 
 but the schoohnastor of the " section " volunteered his services in 
 that matter, and as he had been furnished with a map of the lands, 
 taken from the government survey, with every "lot" regularly 
 numbered, it was easy enough to become acquainted with the 
 boundaries, and so they got on. 
 
 In a very few year3 the neighbourhood became populous. The 
 roads were improved every year by the labour of the settlers. A 
 thriving village sprung up in their vicinity. A grist-mill, a saw- 
 mill, a cloth-mill, a founclry, quickly arose within short distances 
 of each other. The log-cabins have given place to painted wooden 
 two-storey houses, and in many instances to stone or brick 
 mansions, with their ornamental porticoes and tastily laid-out 
 gardens. 
 
 The log-chapel stands roofless, but three or four handsome 
 churches invite worshippers of as many denominations to the wor- 
 ship of the Most Higb on His holy day. 
 
 Tim — I beg his pardon — Timothy Doolan, Esq., holds her most 
 
366 
 
 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
 ' il 
 
 a ■* 
 
 )!. 
 
 gracious Majesty's commission as a " majesty," or magistrate. 
 There may be some more learned, but a more upriglit one is not to 
 be found in the province — I beg pardon again — ^the Dominion of 
 Canada. 
 
 He has been a happy and prosperous man. He has set the Lord 
 always before him, and has realized the promise that his stej)S have 
 been directed by unerring wisdom. His children have become 
 educated and intelligent. The glorious common-school system of 
 Canada, which is working such wonders in raising up an intelligent 
 and loyal po])ulatiou, has stamped its impress upon them ; and 
 when the Fenian invasion called forth the patriotism of loyal hearts 
 and stalwart arms, they were well represented by three dashing 
 young follows, who hurried to *' the front " to meet the foe. Nor 
 could Jerry be restrained from joining the ranks on that occasion. 
 The tears and entreaties of his wife could not prevail on him to 
 stay at homo while others risked their lives in defence of their 
 homes and of the honour of his sovereign. " All I 'd ax," said he, 
 "is a good blackthorn sthick in me fisht to clear a whole fail* o' 
 sich fellows." 
 
 When the order came to repair to the front, he buckled on his 
 knapsack, shouldered his rifle, kissed his wife and children, and 
 departed, giving three cheers for the Queen of England and a loud 
 " Hurrah for the Doolans ! " 
 
 During the month of their encamj)ment on the border, Jerry was 
 the "life and soul" of the camp. " Millia murther," he used to 
 say, " but if this is sogerin' 't is an aisy life. I 'm shure I used to 
 see more fun at home botune the M' Gaffe rtys and the O'Brallaghans 
 in half-an-hour thin we 're likely to see here in .a month o' Sundays. 
 Bad manners to the spalpeens o' Faynians. If they only waited 
 till we came along and showed the colour of our jackets, there would 
 be some sinse in their runnin' away, but to come and stale a few 
 dozen chickens an' a couple o' little bonnofs,* I ax any man if there 's 
 sinse or raisin in it. But, the poor hungry craythurs ! I dare say 
 they wanted a taste o' mate, an' wor too lazy to work for it." 
 
 " Here you are afthor your campaign," Tim said, addressing his 
 brother and sons on their return home. " Jerry Doolan ! I 'm 
 ashamed o' ye intirely, so I am, to disgrace the blood o' the 
 Doolans as you've done." 
 
 " How did I disgrace 'em 1 " he inquired. 
 
 "How did ye disgrace 'em, is it? Shure an' didn't they bate 
 ye clane, as all the world knows by this time ? " 
 
 * Sucking pigs. 
 
ARRIVAL OF OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 3G7 
 
 " How did they bate uz 1 " he agaiu asked, with some warmth. 
 
 " Didn't they bate ye at runnin' 1 " Tim asked, somewhat drily. 
 
 "Och! if tliat's what ye mane," said Jeny, "I confess. We 
 used to say long ago, * Open confession is good for the sowl.' They 
 sartinly made a good run of it, an' a quick one." 
 
 " What wor they like at all ? " Tim inquired. 
 
 "Well, tliin," Jerry rejilied, "if ye want to lam what the 
 Faynians are like, ye must thravel fartlier thin we did, for I don't 
 know the face of one of *em from Adam. They have a few of 'em 
 in jail, but wo didn't care to see 'em. Poor craythurs ! I sujijwse 
 they wanted somethin' to ate, an' they '11 get it there, by all 
 accounts, betther than the most of 'em wor used to." 
 
 " I 'm afeerd they 're goin' to have throublesome times in 
 Ireland," said Tim, " wid thim same bliggards, or tlie likes of 'cm. 
 I wrote to Mr. Noonan, while you wor awaj'', to come out wid his 
 wife an' all belongin to him that would come ; for, if the Faynians 
 gain the day, they 'd be shure to be hard on him for turnin' Pro- 
 testant. There are two hundred acres of flue hardwood-land 
 belongin' to IMr. Vansittart lyin' on the next concession to this, 
 and as he doesn't want for manes, it would be a good opportunity 
 for his grandsons. He is too owld to work now, an' he would be 
 very useful witli his wise talk in explainin' the Gospel about from 
 house to house. The fellow who is on the place has been idlin* 
 and dhrinkin' imtil he hasn't salt for his ])orridge, and has not paid 
 the first instalment of the purchase yit, although ho has becni there 
 five years. It would be betther to give him a thrifle and let him 
 
 "I declare," said Tim's wife, "mo heart jumps to me mouth 
 whin I hear talkin' of sendin' for the poor owld man. Do ye think 
 he '11 comer' 
 
 " I 'm shure he will," her husl)and replied. " All he wanted 
 whin he wrote last was for me to give him the word. The 
 Romans* were giving him a good deal of annoyance. His 
 grandchildren are grown up and able to woi\ now, an' betune 
 thim an' ourselves an' others here we would have a quiet, peace- 
 able neighbourhood." 
 
 True enough for Tim. Two months after the above conversation 
 the old patriarch, in his seventy-third year, though apparently as 
 hearty as when they saw him fifteen years before, walked into 
 Tim's house, hat in hand, at the head of his tribe, and with the 
 usual Irish salutation, " God save all here," greeted the occupiers. 
 
 * Catholics. 
 
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 TIM DOOLAN. 
 
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 His wife and himself; his daughter and her husband; his 
 daughter-in-law, newly married to a fine young Protestant farmer ; 
 her children by her former marriage, and a couple of young men 
 who had seen the errors of Popery, and lacked courage to confess 
 it at home, made a right jovial visiting party at " Castle Doolan " 
 that day. 
 
 The old man immediately purchased the two hundred acres for 
 his daughter and daughter-in-law, whose husbands were " mad/' as 
 they expressed it, to " begin work." 
 
 He selected another two hundred, about two miles distant, for 
 himself and his wife, to be worked by his grandsons until the 
 decease of the old people, when it is to become their own. 
 
 The Doolan brothers give the young men all the aid they can 
 in the way of advice and assistance in the management of their 
 land, which differs in some things considerably from the methods 
 they had been in the habit of adopting at home. 
 
 We have followed this interesting group in their travels through 
 many a scene by sea and land, till we find them settled in abodes 
 of plenty as proprietors of the soil which they cultivate, in the 
 western dominion of our gracious Queen. Let us hope that the 
 latter immigration may be as successful as the former, and that 
 each, as he is called from his earthly inheritance, may rise to an 
 inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away. 
 
 Let none of my readers imagine that even in Canada all adven- 
 turers are equally successful, * 
 
 "Various causes, here as elsewhere, conspire and disappoint and 
 frustrate the expectations of men. Farmwork is acknowledged 
 to be more laborious in this country than in England or Ireland. 
 The short space of time between the seeding and harvesting is 
 one cause of this, but a man, with a little capital, and health and 
 strength to work, together with industry and frugality, seldom 
 fails to acquire a competency for the declining years of life. 
 
 May the Dominion of Canada long enjoy the fostering care of 
 Britain, and repay to the flag, which she is so proud to acknow- 
 ledge, the loyalty of hearts ever true to the race and the nation 
 whence she has sprung. 
 
 How true were the parting words of our hero to his father and 
 mother when leaving home, for both of them did " live to see that 
 all was for the best." 
 
 \.M 
 
 H. W. PARTBIDGE AND CO., 9, PATERNOSTER ROW, lONDON. 
 
usband; his 
 tant farmer ; 
 ' young men 
 ge to confess 
 itle Doolan" 
 
 [red acres for 
 re " mad," as 
 
 s distant, for 
 ns until the 
 wn. 
 
 aid they can 
 
 lent of their 
 
 the methods 
 
 Lvels through 
 ed in abodes 
 livate, in the 
 lope that the 
 ler, and that 
 ay rise to an 
 ot away, 
 da all adven- 
 
 3appoint and 
 cknowledged 
 I or Ireland, 
 larvesting is 
 health and 
 ility, seldom 
 flife. 
 
 ering care of 
 d to acknow- 
 d the nation 
 
 Ls father and 
 e to see that 
 
 S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.'S 
 
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