ANNIE RE ILLY
 
 ANNIE REILLY ; 
 
 THE FORTUNES OF AN IRISH GIRL IN NEW YORK. 
 
 A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT. 
 
 TOHN McELGUN. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 J. A. McGEE, PUBLISHER, 7 BARCLAY ST.
 
 Entered according: to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 
 
 JOHN McELGUN, 
 In the Office of the Librarian v,. Congress, Washington, D. C.
 
 IN SINCERE FRIENDSHIP 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 171^001
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 FARRELL REILLY S HOME, i . . 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 INTRODUCES AN INTIMATE FRIEND OF ANNIE S, . 15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 INTRODUCES A VERY HONEST MAN, . ... 90 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SHOWS SOME OF THE QUALITIES OF THIS VERY 
 
 HONEST MAN, 28 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SOME MORE OF THE DOINGS OF THIS VERY 
 
 HONEST MAN 42 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CHARGE AGAINST JAMES O ROURKE EX 
 PLAINED. A VISIT TO AN IRISH MAGIS 
 TRATE, 49
 
 Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 LEAVING THE OLD HOME . 61 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 LEAVING THE OLD HOME, 68 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 TOSSED ABOUT ON THE WAVES OF ADVERSITY, . 74 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 " MY NATIVE LAND, GOOD-NIGHT," 81 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 LIVERPOOL MAN-CATCHERS AND LODGING- 
 HOUSES, . . . . . . . . 92 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 JAMES O ROURKE S FIRST DAY IN NEW YORK. 
 
 A FRAUD AND A FRIEND, . " . . .112 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ANNIE S VOYAGE. How EMIGRANTS ARE TREAT 
 ED ON SHIPBOARD, 122, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 ANNIE AT CASTLE GARDEN. How PASSENGERS 
 
 ARE TREATED THERE, 132
 
 Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. , AG . 
 
 MEETING OLD FRIENDS, AGREEABLE AND OTHER 
 WISE, I37 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FAMES O ROURKE S EXPERIENCES IN A NEW 
 
 YORK MENAGERIE, 148 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ANNIE FALLS IN WITH A MOTHER-IN-LAW AND A 
 
 TARTAR. BOTH TRY TO CONVERT HER, . 157 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 A MODERN CLERGYMAN. REV. DR. BRASSMAN S 
 
 GREAT ENTERPRISE, 172 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 JAMES O ROURKE AT THE OIL-FIELDS. A 
 
 SKETCH OF His COMPANIONS, . . . 175 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 STRANGE OCCURRENCES IN THE "MANSION." 
 HAPPY LIFE OF A MOTHER-IN-LAW. ANNIE 
 RECEIVES A LETTER FROM HOME, . . . 186 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 O ROURKE S FORTUNES BEGIN TO IMPROVE, . . 197 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 INTRODUCES A FASHIONABLE IRISH-AMERICAN 
 
 LADY, 203
 
 Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 KITTY BRADY REVISITS THE OLD LAND, AND is 
 
 VISITED BY THE FASHIONABLE IRISH-AMERI 
 CAN LADY, 213 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 EXPERIENCES OF THE FASHIONABLE LADY AND 
 HER HUSBAND IN IRELAND. ENTERTAINING 
 THE GUESTS AT A HOTEL. A LECTURE IN 
 A FORGE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT, . . . 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 ANNIE AND TAMES HAPPV, . j6
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ILL the sufferings under which the 
 Irish tenant-farmers have labored, 
 and still continue to labor, are not 
 entirely owing to the bigotry and rapacity 
 of their foreign and wealthy domestic land 
 lords. 
 
 There is to-day another class of land 
 owners in Ireland who are neither foreign 
 nor wealthy, but who, by some means or 
 other, have acquired sufficient to purchase 
 a townland or two which have dropped off 
 from some decayed estate, and who, in order 
 to follow strictly the example of their exalted 
 brothers, generally excel them in oppression 
 and brutality. 
 
 So little has been said or written of this 
 class in proportion to the magnitude of their 
 evil.-doings that I deemed it quite in place 
 to draw John G. Ryan from their number.
 
 Preface. 
 
 After all the poor emigrants have endured 
 in their native land, it is very distressing to 
 know the hardships and miseries that await 
 them, almost as soon as they lose sight of 
 the scene of the wrongs and cruelties into 
 which they have been born. Those especi 
 ally who come to this country by way of 
 Liverpool, and have endured the importunity 
 of the man-catcher, and spent a night in his 
 loathsome den, and afterwards borne the 
 heartless insolence of the shipping-office, 
 must surely enter on the Atlantic voyage 
 burdened with far less hope than they car 
 ried across the Irish Sea. The description I 
 have endeavored to give of those English 
 institutions in this volume, so far from being 
 overdrawn, falls short of what I have actual 
 ly witnessed myself. 
 
 Notwithstanding how often public opinion 
 has been directed to the coarse treatment of 
 steerage passengers by the ship officers, lit 
 tle or nothing has yet been done towards 
 abating the evil. The fault may not lie alto 
 gether with the ship-owners, but certainly
 
 Preface. vii 
 
 they are guilty of criminal carelessness in 
 selecting such men as those to whose care 
 they annually commit hundreds of thousands 
 of lives. To observe the manner, actions, 
 and conversation of some of these officials, 
 a person could not help imagining that 
 gross, vulgar, brutal ignorance was one of 
 the qualifications on which they obtained 
 their appointments. 
 
 Little better can be said of the worthy 
 gentlemen at Castle Garden to whose tender 
 care they are given on their arrival at New 
 York. The latter dignitaries, however, have 
 one very pleasant advantage over the equal 
 ly mighty ship officers ; that is, they are 
 such fastidious, lively, funny, laughing fel 
 lows, and enjoy the sufferings, fears, and 
 anxiety of the poor passengers so much, that 
 it is quite delightful to behold them after the 
 philosophic, stolid, British severity of the 
 others. 
 
 A great difficulty with which the Irish girl 
 in New York has to contend, is the fanatical 
 bigotry of some of the mushroom employers
 
 Preface. 
 
 of the city ; masters and mistresses, whose 
 bright minds are stored with such useful 
 knowledge as they derive from the teachings 
 of pious gentlemen like Rev. Dr. Brassman 
 and others of that ilk. Now, let me re 
 mark that the mean, ungenerous spirit which 
 prompts such people to take advantage of 
 the dependent station of a Catholic girl, to 
 insult and trample on her most sacred feel 
 ings, is as far from being American as 
 cowardice is. It is found only amongst those 
 low-bred creatures in whose existence not 
 one spark of noble feeling can be found. 
 However, sad to say, such wretches are not 
 few, even in free America ; and, consequent 
 ly, it devolves upon every intelligent Irish 
 girl to study thoroughly the truths of her 
 religion, that she may be able to repel the 
 foul slanders against her creed, as Annie 
 Reilly did. 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 ANNIE REILLY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FARRELL REILLY S HOME. 
 
 N the brow of a green sloping hill in 
 one of the most pleasant districts in 
 the beautiful province of Munster 
 once stood a small whitewashed cot 
 tage, shaded by tall poplars and neatly trimmed 
 whitethorns. In front of the cottage lay a 
 tastefully arranged garden, planted with choice 
 flowers, which, in the genial spring and warm 
 summer eve.nings, filled the little parlor with a 
 delightful fragrance. From the garden a charm 
 ing view of the surrounding country could be 
 obtained : the high blue mountain in the far 
 distance, towering up till its top seemed lost in 
 the clouds ; the dark and green forest stretching 
 out from the mountain base, till it fringed the 
 edge of the calm, majestic river which flowed 
 along ii quiet grandeur to the Atlantic Ocean. 
 The inmates of the cottage, at the time our story
 
 io Annie Reilly: 
 
 commences, were a man considerably advanced 
 in years, his wife, and one son and daughter. 
 Farrell Reilly, for such was the man s name, 
 rented the small farm attached to the cottage 
 from a neighboring magnate at an exorbitant rent ; 
 but by honesty, perseverance, and skilful man 
 agement, he never allowed himself to fall into ar 
 rears with his landlord, and, besides, contrived to 
 maintain his fa mily respectably. To his son and 
 daughter he gave as good an education as the 
 neighboring school could impart. Mrs. Reilly, 
 who was a devout woman, of great good sense, 
 carefully instructed her children in the true prin 
 ciples of religion, in order that they might, as 
 she often said, " never wander from the true path 
 when left to their own guidance." It is, and so 
 well it should be, as we here know, the great 
 object of every Catholic Irish mother who thinks 
 there is a likelihood of her children coming to 
 America, or going abroad into the world anywhere, 
 to impress upon their minds a thorough knowledge 
 of, and deep reverence for, the teachings of God 
 and His Church. This religious training in the 
 old land is the great reason why the Irish emi 
 grant girl so far outshines in every virtue those 
 who come to our shores from other countries. 
 
 When the worthy schoolmaster, Mr. Lacy, satis 
 fied Farrell Reilly that his son and daughter
 
 Annie Reilly. n 
 
 were as far advanced in the rudiments of educa 
 tion as his own ability permitted, the father told 
 them that, owing to his small means and total 
 absence of any prospect of bettering their worldly 
 condition at home, himself and their mother had 
 resolved on allowing them to seek their fortune 
 in America. 
 
 " For in that land, my children," said he, " by 
 faithfully practising the lessons your mother and 
 I have endeavored" to teach you, you will find for 
 yourselves the means we are unable to supply you 
 with here. It is very, very hard, my dear chil 
 dren " and poor Farrell covered his face with his 
 rough hands to hide the falling tears " to part 
 from you, God knows, perhaps never to see you 
 again ; but our prayers will be heard for you as 
 well when you are far away as near." 
 
 Annie, then a handsome girl of sixteen, with 
 long, dark hair and pensive blue eyes, who had 
 been standing by the hearth, her hands clasped be 
 fore her heart, went gently to her father s side, 
 and, putting her arms around his neck, said, while 
 she vainly tried to prevent her own tears : 
 
 " Father, oh ! do not let us see you cry ; it 
 breaks my heart to see you so distressed. Fran 
 cis and I have long known "we would have to 
 leave you and mother and seek a distant home 
 one day. You both have done all you could by
 
 I a Annie Reilly. 
 
 us, working hard to send us to school, and we 
 always pray to God that he may enable us to 
 repay you your great trouble with us." 
 
 " Yes, father," said Francis, coming to his 
 father s side also, " and sister and I, knowing 
 how much you toiled to do without our help 
 when we could have assisted you, will surely, 
 with God s help and your blessing, yet make a 
 happy home for us all." 
 
 " God grant it, my children !" said Farrell, clasp 
 ing the hand of each ; " but how can I have the 
 least doubt ?" And his face lighted up, and he 
 wiped the mist from his eyes. "You will not 
 fail. You are both good, wise children, and will, 
 I know, always continue so. Anyway," con 
 tinued he, disengaging Francis s hand, and softly 
 drawing Annie to him, as he sat down on a low 
 chair, " it was rather soon for me to mention this 
 matter to you yet. I didn t intend doing so for 
 some time to come, but I felt strangely depressed 
 this evening, and you were both running through 
 my mind so much that I could hardly avoid act 
 ing as I have done. We cannot part for some 
 time yet. Mr Lacy tells me that you are both 
 as far advanced now as he can put you." 
 
 " Oh ! there is not a doubt of that, father," 
 said Annie, looking around joyously on her bro 
 ther who. with his face toward them, rested his
 
 Annie Reilly, 13 
 
 elbow on the old oak chest. " Francis and I 
 could have told you that a week ago, but we 
 preferred letting Mr. Lacy do it, as he promised 
 us he would." 
 
 " I met him yesterday evening," said Farrell, 
 " returning from his usual walk, and, after bidding 
 him Good-evening, I was about to pass on, 
 when he placed his left hand on his side, and 
 inserted the thumb of the right in the lower 
 button-hole of his waistcoat the -sign by which 
 you can tell he is prepared for a talk. I stopped 
 on the spot, and, after a learned explanation of the 
 causes that produce heat, and smoke, and wind, 
 he told me there was no necessity for either of 
 you entering upon another quarter, that both 
 your educations were as complete to use his 
 own words as a full moon. I thought I would 
 never get home to tell your mother, and I don t 
 think I ever went to bed happier than I did 
 last night. In my joy, I did not think that what 
 I had heard from Mr. Lacy would hasten our 
 separation." 
 
 The smile on the father s face faded again, and 
 it was evident to his children something unusual 
 was annoying him. Francis said, after a pause : 
 
 " Father, nothing has happened to you since 
 last night, when you were so happy ? I wish you 
 would be so to-night."
 
 14 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " Not a thing, then," said Farrell, rising and 
 going to the window ; " and still I would give a 
 pound note to feel the same as I did last night 
 As I said a minute ago, I should not have men 
 tioned our parting to you so soon. You must 
 both now assist me in every way, till we have 
 enough to fit you out respectably. Till then, 
 we ll say no more on the subject. Here is your 
 mother coming back from the chapel. Not a word 
 of this to her." And Farrell lit his pipe, and 
 went into the garden for his evening smoke.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 INTRODUCES AN INTIMATE FRIEND OF ANNIE S. 
 
 1ILES O ROURKE was a farmer in 
 pretty much the same circumstances 
 as Reilly. Both farms lay close to 
 gether, and Reilly and O Rourke were 
 the best of neighbors, aiding each other in that 
 truly generous spirit which can be met with no 
 where outside of Ireland. O Rourke was a wi 
 dower, his wife having died some years before, 
 leaving one child, James, then a bright, fair- 
 haired little fellow of six or seven summers. 
 James O Rourke and Reilly s son, Francis, were 
 about the same age, and were playmates, very 
 much attached to each other. When at school, 
 they enjoyed their sport and studied their lessons 
 apart from the other children. Miles O Rourke, 
 partly from the example set him by his neighbor, 
 was also desirous his son should have a good 
 education, and was very careful he should attend 
 every week as regularly as young Reilly. Annie, 
 who was about three years younger than her 
 brother, at length grew strong enough to be 
 carried to the school. At first, young O Rourke
 
 1 6 Annie Reiily* 
 
 left the conducting of the little girl to and from 
 school to her brother, contenting himself with 
 carrying the two satchels and books, and occa 
 sionally lending Reilly a helping hand with his 
 little sister over some narrow plank or brook by 
 the way. 
 
 A year and more passed by in this manner, till 
 at length Annie grew lively enough to skip along 
 the way with her two companions, and join them 
 in their plays. So much were they together, and so 
 attached did they become, that the neighbors often 
 remarked how much like one family they seemed. 
 If Francis happened to be absent, and any of 
 the other children offered any injury to " little 
 Annie," as she was fondly called, James O Rourke 
 instantly became her champion and defender, and 
 many a time he hotly asserted her rights in the 
 division of fruits or lozenges, or her claim to be 
 the winner of a game at " jacks." Annie, on the 
 other hand, regarded him as a brother, and would 
 seek his protection and advice almost the same as 
 she would Franc is. 
 
 Time went by, strengthening the affection be 
 tween them, till at length they found they were 
 lovers. This feeling came on each gradually, 
 steadily, till it ripened into full bloom. The day, 
 or week, or month it became such neither could 
 tell ; and, as they looked back if look back
 
 Annie Reilly. 17 
 
 they did it seemed they had been so from in- 
 fancy. James had never told Annie of his love 
 more than by his manner towards her, and, yet 
 knew full well she was aware of it, and returned 
 it fully. Francis, too, soon discovered their regard 
 for each other. James would sing no song, as 
 they sat on the banks of the river or sailed along its 
 smooth surface in his father s fishing-boat, except 
 Annie first told him it was her choice. He would 
 gather no flowers for a nosegay in the garden or 
 on the hillside, except those that Annie loved ; 
 and in the long summer evenings, when their 
 duties for the day were over, and he carried his 
 flute to the hill-top, Annie was compelled to call 
 for every tune he played. 
 
 Mr. Lacy, though not over-clearsighted in that 
 department of knowledge, at length saw that 
 James O Rourke s and Annie s regard for each 
 other was something out of the common sphere, 
 as he termed it one day to a neighbor. 
 
 " You see," said the garrulous schoolmaster, 
 " it is. very delightful to a man of my profession, 
 whose first duty it is to study the minds of my 
 young charge, and watch the gradual expansion 
 *jf the intellect, to be able to do so thoroughly. 
 I have seen boys acquire a regard for each other 
 when at school that they afterwards carried into 
 the world, till one would actually lay down his
 
 ^ 
 
 1 8 Annie Reilly. 
 
 life for the other. When I see this feeling in two 
 youths, I make it a point to always encourage 
 that feeling, providing it does not extend to 
 prompting in the class. Then," continued he, 
 with emphasis, " I leave nothing undone, at what 
 ever cost or pain, to eradicate that evil. I have 
 always," and he nodded his head sagely, " given 
 myself, in common with other learned and wise 
 men, credit for my great knowledge of human 
 nature. The slightest iota gives me a clue. I 
 can tell by the manner in which a boy or girl 
 keeps his or her hands clean, and his or her hair 
 combed, to what degree he or she may rise or fall 
 on the platform of life. My experience is so 
 long and so varied," continued he, rubbing his 
 ear, " that I did not believe there was a crevice 
 in the heart of any boy or girl I could not ex 
 plore ; but I find " this in an injured way " that I 
 have been deceived ; yes, deceived badly, and by 
 a youthful pair who have grown up under my 
 very rod and eye. I allude to the daughter of 
 Farrell Reilly and the son of Miles O Rourke. 
 That they should be friendly to each other, their 
 parents being such agreeable neighbors, is in no 
 wise strange friendly, I mean, in the ordinary 
 way. But tis puzzling," and again he rubbed 
 his ear ; " the friendship of those children for each 
 other goes beyond my comprehension. Both are
 
 Annie Reilly. 19 
 
 very lively at their tasks, and I often watch them 
 assisting each other in their preparation ; but in 
 class, though they stand side by side, one will 
 never be found prompting the other. I always 
 find both understand the lessons exactly alike, 
 and, if one happens to be absent, the other will 
 be like a bull in a mist for that day ; and I have 
 grown so accustomed to this thing now, that 
 I cannot find it in my heart to punish the de 
 linquent, because I know the cause so well. 
 Little Annie s brother, I find and that deepens 
 the mystery though just as clever as either, un 
 derstands his lessons altogether differently from 
 them. The most ordinary person," he went on, with 
 a sweep of his arm, <T would expect the similarity 
 to exist between the brother and sister, and not 
 between two who have not a drop of each other s 
 blood in their veins ; but the thing is just as I say. 
 I have given the matter a good deal of considera 
 tion, and the only point I can arrive at is that, 
 when those young people grow up, if they do not 
 become one, I was born and will die an unquali 
 fied lunatic."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 
 
 INTRODUCES A VERY HONEST MAN. 
 
 [HEN Mrs. Reilly entered the cottage 
 on her return from the chapel, on the 
 evening her husband and children 
 held the conversation related in the 
 last chapter, Annie, who ran to help her mother 
 remove her shawl, noticed how pale and agitated 
 she was. Armie, greatly alarmed after the signs 
 of trouble in her father a few minutes before, 
 asked, while her hands trembled with apprehen 
 sion, and a flood of tears came into her eyes : 
 
 " Mother, for heaven s sake, what is the matter 
 with you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Reilly hesitated for a moment, her lips 
 quivered, and her look became more ghastly; 
 then she pressed her hand to her forehead, and 
 said : 
 
 " Nothing, I hope, child ; tell your father to 
 come here quickly. I want to speak to him a 
 moment. I have something to tell him. I should 
 not, if I could have prevented it," she added to
 
 Annie Reilly. 21 
 
 herself, sitting down in the chair from which her 
 husband had risen, " have exposed my distress to 
 you, and anyway the alarm may be groundless." 
 
 Annie s frightened look and manner, when she 
 ran to him, so alarmed Farrell that he dropped 
 his pipe on the garden-wall, and rushed breath 
 lessly into the house. Mrs. Reilly rose to her 
 feet, and tottered against the wall as she did so. 
 
 " Farrell," said she, " we can rely on Annie s 
 good sense to keep what I am going to tell you 
 from Francis. Thank God ! the poor boy is not 
 here now." 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, mother," said Annie, kissing 
 her fervently ; " you know I would tell Francis 
 nothing that would annoy him." 
 
 " Tell us quick, whatever it is," said her hus 
 band, throwing his hat on the floor. " It is some 
 thing dreadful, I know, for my heart is breaking 
 all day." 
 
 " Well, it is this, Farrell," said his wife : " When 
 I was leaving the chapel-gate this evening to come 
 home, I saw John Griffin Ryan, as he calls him 
 self, just going past, in company with a tall, big- 
 whiskered, ill-favored-looking man. I was draw 
 ing the hood of the cloak over my face, for it 
 looked like rain, and turned my head away ; for I 
 never like speaking to Ryan, he is such a false 
 hearted hypocrite, and carries such an ugly, deceit
 
 22 Annie Reilly. 
 
 ful leer on his face. The corner of his eye caught 
 me, and he said something quickly to the other 
 man, and both turned round and met me in the 
 middle of the road. 
 
 " A good-evening to you, Mrs. Reilly, said 
 Ryan, stopping my way. 
 
 <; I returned his salutation without raising my 
 head, and moved to get past him. 
 
 " Mrs. Reilly, said he, moving before me 
 again, and, as I looked up, a broad grin covered 
 hi.5 big, pasty face, this is Mr.-Crofton, our new 
 distinguished neighbor. He is thinking of settling 
 permanently amongst us, and wishes me to make 
 him known to some of our best people around, 
 and you are just the first we met since he made 
 the request ; and, in truth, a splendid beginning, 
 Mr. Crofton. 
 
 " I wish the gentleman well, said I, again 
 trying to get past. 
 
 " Mr. Crofton is an, English gentleman, Mrs. 
 Reilly, and is a great acquisition to this com 
 munity, said Ryan. We must all try and learn 
 something from him. 
 
 " Though coming from the house of God, I 
 could not keep down my anger, and I said : 
 
 " We are not so very backward in everything 
 here that any man, even though he is from Eng 
 land, can be set up as a model for us to imitate.
 
 Annie Reilly. 23 
 
 We are always anxious to learn anything profit 
 able, but not to utterly disregard the old know 
 ledge, as you have seen fit to do, Mr. Ryan. 
 
 " His face reddened like an oven, and he tried 
 to give one of those vulgar, loud laughs of his, 
 but was not able. 
 
 " Oh ! you are cm your sharps to-day, Mrs. 
 Reilly, said he ; but I can well afford to let you 
 go on. Can t I, Mr. Crofton? 
 
 " The other made no reply, but gazed at me in 
 a half-stupid, -idiotic manner, with his eyes almost 
 closed, and his mouth open. 
 
 <; I always make it a rule to be nice and civil, 
 even when doing something very unpleasant to 
 me, said Ryan. 1 always practise that, Mr. 
 Crofton, and I find it never fails. I introduced 
 you to a gentleman this evening, Mrs. Reilly, but 
 that is not all -my business. Tell your husband 
 to meet me at my office to-morrow morning at 
 nine o clock. 
 
 " If you have any business and really, I don t 
 know how you can with my husband, said I, 
 it is just as fitting for you to call on him. 
 
 " The same ugly smile came on his face, and I 
 dashed away from them. 
 
 " I felt so annoyed, after this strange inter-view, 
 that I was hurrying along as fast as I could, when 
 who did I see coming towards me, running along
 
 24 Annie Reilly. 
 
 like a madman, but Miles O Rourke. When he 
 saw me, he hastened even quicker ; and, as he 
 approached, I could see he was wringing his hands, 
 and that the heavy perspiration was falling from 
 his brow. 
 
 " What is the matter, Miles ? said I, when 
 he came near enough to hear my voice. " No 
 thing wrong with you, I hope? 
 
 " Wrong with me ? O God in heaven ! we 
 are all ruined, beggared, driven to the poor-house, 
 said he, panting for breath ; look at this read 
 it. And he pulled a paper from his breast-pocket, 
 and pushed it into my hand. 
 
 " Hardly knowing what I did, I glanced over 
 the paper. It was a notice to quit, signed by 
 Crofton and Ryan. A thick mist overspread my 
 eyes, my limbs grew weak, and I would have 
 fallen, only the heart-broken man caught me. 
 
 "What can be the meaning of this, Miles? 
 said I, when I recovered strength to speak. 
 Why is Ryan s name to this? He has nothing 
 to do with this townland. 
 
 " O heaven help us! He has, said Miles. 
 I heard a rumor a few days ago, but gave it no 
 attention, that Crofton and he were seen to 
 gether about here, and that Saunderson was 
 about to sell them this townland. I thought 
 twas only idle talk ; but, to our grief, the thing
 
 Annie Reilly. 25 
 
 is done now. I am going to Ryan to ask an ex 
 planation ; and, if he is determined to ruin us, he 
 will drive me to do something desperate. 
 
 " I begged of him to come back, and consult 
 with you ; but he answered, No use, Mrs. Reilly; 
 what can we do for each other now ? and walked 
 swiftly on towards the town." 
 
 Farrell, who, during this story, had been pacing 
 up and down the floor, his hands clasped behind 
 his back, stopped suddenly, and, turning to his 
 wife and daughter, said, " What Miles told you is 
 true. We are ruined. That low, mean, sneaking 
 turncoat, that he may win favor with this Eng 
 lishman and with the other bigots around, will 
 not leave one Catholic family on the land. You 
 know tis the only way he has got to obtain even 
 a nod from them ; for, bad as they are themselves, 
 they despise him, because they know the con 
 temptible, crawling hound he is." 
 
 " O heavens ! no, Farrell/ said Mrs. Reilly, 
 " it cannot be ; it will never come to that with us, 
 that he will drive us from our old home. God is 
 good and merciful ; nothing so bad as that can 
 happen. It is a way he has taken to let us know 
 we are in his power." 
 
 Ah ! no," said Farrell ; " I wonder at you, who 
 know Ryan so well, to talk in that way. Is there 
 anything too bad or too mean for him to attempt ?
 
 26 Annie Reilly. 
 
 a man who allowed his own father to black the 
 parson s boots, and, when he grew too old for that, 
 permitted him to be taken to the work-house, 
 where he was starved to death and buried in a 
 pauper s grave. Yes, buried in a pauper s grave ; 
 and Ryart himself that day spent hundreds of 
 pounds purchasing pork for the Liverpool mar 
 ket." 
 
 " Oh ! may the Virgin Mary protect us from 
 the power of such a man ! " said Annie, falling on 
 her knees beside her mother, who had knelt down 
 to beseech Heaven to avert the dreadful impend 
 ing catastrophe. 
 
 Farrell said nothing to interrupt their prayers, 
 but stood, with God knows what anguish of heart, 
 looking out on the beautiful valley below, on 
 which the rich dew was falling plentifully. The 
 corn-crake s loud call from the meadows of tall 
 grass, the sweet notes of the nightingale, the 
 deep bark of the faithful watch-dog, all the plea 
 sures of the summer evening which he, till that 
 night, enjoyed so much, only added to his load of 
 sorrow now, by reminding him they were scenes he 
 could not much longer enjoy. The tall white and 
 red rose-trees, now in full bloom, peeped sweetly 
 over the garden wall, or in at the little parlor 
 window, as if to softly whisper words of consola 
 tion and peace. Farrell leaned against the door-
 
 Annie Reilly. 27 
 
 post for some minutes, then raised his eyes, and, 
 gla.icing around on the beautiful scene, smote his 
 forehead, and re-entered the cottage. Mrs. Reilly 
 and Annie had just risen from their knees, and 
 began to offer all the consolation in their power 
 to the distressed man. 
 
 " Now, Farrell," said Mrs. Reilly, " we are not 
 certain yet that any such step as we dread has 
 been taken against us. Remember, we have not 
 been notified as Miles has. In the name of God, 
 do you prepare in the morning, and go and see 
 Ryan. What he wants to see you about may be 
 to make some satisfactory arrangement with you. 
 If he intended putting us out, he would not, I 
 am sure, send for you. We will place all our 
 hope in God, and not give ourselves up to grief 
 and despair ; tis time enough to deal with misery 
 when it comes, and not invite it." 
 
 Farrell shook his head, and, resting his chin on 
 his hands, sat silently till Francis came back from 
 leaving the cattle at their accustomed resting- 
 place, when, after a fervent evening prayer, thev 
 retired for the night.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SHOWS SOME OF THE QUALITIES OF THIS VERY 
 
 HONEST MAN. 
 
 fOHN GRIFFIN RYAN, " Pig-Jobber 
 and Hog-Slaughterer," as the wide, 
 dirty sign over his shop-door, in one 
 of the back streets of the town, pro 
 claimed to all who run and read, combined so 
 many qualities in one body that our readers must 
 learn a little more about him than they may be 
 able to glean from the remarks of Farrell Reilly 
 and Miles O Rourke. As to the extremities of 
 his name, very little need be said, " John " and 
 "Ryan" being very common and very familiar 
 names ; and there is no reason why they should 
 not look very well, and get along very agreeably 
 when put together. Many a less important man 
 than our subject thrives very well with a far worse 
 name. But why this extraordinary man chose to 
 put those nicely-fitting names apart by inserting 
 another between them requires some little inves 
 tigation. That John G. Ryan was a thorough 
 man of the world, his worst enemies never dare 
 deny. John boaste**d of the quality at le~st
 
 Annie Reitly. 29 
 
 twenty-five times every day, and no man had the 
 hardihood to contradict him. John never said he 
 was simply a man of the world oh ! no. He was 
 a literary man besides; but he never chose to cul 
 tivate that quality. He possessed it ; the mine was 
 there, he knew, but he kept it secure from the vulgar 
 gaze, without parade, further than to strike himself 
 on the breast, and say, " The blood of Gerald Griffin 
 flows there " ; but more calm and majestic than 
 in the veins of the great poet himself. Yes, Ryan 
 claimed to be a relative of Gerald Griffin s. How 
 or in what manner, when pressed for an explana 
 tion, he knew not. He lived at a safe distance 
 from those who knew the poet s family, and, 
 shrewd man as he was, always took care to avoid 
 the subject when business led him to that part of 
 the province. 
 
 Well, being a blood relation of Griffin s, John 
 Ryan condescended to acknowledge the former 
 so far as to give room for his name between his 
 own took him to his very heart, as it were, and 
 signed himself in very fat letters, when he learn 
 ed how, "John Griffin Ryan." 
 
 Ryan was a great philosopher. No man, living 
 or dead, knew better than he how people should 
 conduct themselves in adversity. He could lean 
 back in his greasy arm-chair, his fat face showing 
 every sign of entire satisfaction, and lecture a
 
 3O Annie Reilly. 
 
 poor cripple, or paralyzed beggar, for fully two 
 hours, on how they should bear up against their 
 trials ; and in the end, as if to see the fruit his 
 advice bore, dismiss them without a half-penny. 
 Ryan was a very great knave. 
 
 We have it on no meaft authority that his rea 
 son for changing his creed was, that he might 
 obtain the contracts for supplying pork to the 
 military barrack. This little trick he could not 
 conceal from his neighbors ; but whenever he 
 went abroad to any of the neighboring fairs, he 
 always carried a pair of beads in his pockets, and 
 always took care to display them as if by mistake, 
 when making a bargain. 
 
 If the town or village happened to contain a 
 chapel, Ryan was sure to be seen at Mass on the 
 fair morning, and always walked from the chapel 
 into the street bare-headed, while his flat gray 
 eye glanced nervously up and down, lest some 
 member of his new creed should see him. This 
 happened once; but Ryan s ready wit quickly re 
 lieved him of all suspicion. 
 
 The minister, whose church Ryan attended 
 when in his native town, happened to be driving 
 past and saw him, hat in hand, leaving the cha 
 pel. The minister pulled up his horse instantly, 
 while a tide of holy horror mounted up his throat 
 from his very heart, which was a considerable dis-
 
 Annie Reitly. 3* 
 
 tance. "Ryan s horror was not much less, though 
 of a different kind. He bowed low to the minis 
 ter so low that the crown of the hat which he 
 held in his hand came in contact with the road, 
 and received a very ugly dinge. But Ryan heeded 
 this not. He sprang to the side of his worthy 
 adviser s car, drew his cuff excitedly across his 
 brow, and said : 
 
 " O Mr. Scollop ! your reverence, I have been 
 horrified to-day. The thing is going too far; 
 they are actually planning the foundation of a 
 new popish chapel here. I heard so when I came 
 here to-day, but could not believe it till I have 
 satisfied myself by going in there just now. It 
 makes my blood boil, Mr. Scollop." And he shook 
 the hat downwards, as if it contained some of the 
 hot liquid, and drew his cuff again across his face. 
 
 The tide of holy horror at this information was 
 beating around the worthy parson s ears ; but 
 Ryan s fervor caused it to ebb, and, after a firm 
 grip of the hand, he drove away. Ryan turned 
 away, tdb, and joined a crowd of farmers who 
 were looking on at the scene, and probably told 
 them he was threatening to assault the parson. 
 
 Ryan was gifted with an Indian Ocean-ful of 
 family pride. Although just as convenient to 
 him as Parson Scollop s church, his dignity would 
 never allow him to go to the church of the parson
 
 32 Annie Reilly. 
 
 whose boots his venerable father was said to black 
 en. Now, we hold there is nothing at all discred 
 itable in blacking boots. Many of our own boot 
 blacks here have grown up to be wealthy and 
 respectable citizens, and would never blush to 
 confess they earned an honest penny with the 
 brush. Ryan being a philosopher, as we trust we 
 have established, it is hard to say how he would 
 have felt had his father followed the blacking art 
 in his rising years. He would, we venture to 
 hope, have borne it with stoical fortitude. But in 
 his early days, the man to whom the world is 
 indebted for Ryan sported the gorgeous livery of 
 a country gentleman s coachman ; or, as the case 
 most likely happened to be, a country gentle 
 man s carman. Nothing is more certain than 
 that he occupied one or the other of those daz 
 zling positions ; for numerous old men and women, 
 who distinctly remembered that day, could tes 
 tify they saw him with the lace hat on, but would 
 not commit themselves by declaring they saw the 
 lace coat ; so that whether he wore the latter 
 distinguishing garment or not must be left to 
 conjecture. The old gentleman had fallen in the 
 world a thing his son could not tolerate in any 
 man, much less in his own father ; but he called 
 the family pride to his aid, and knew him no 
 more
 
 Annie Reilly. 33 
 
 Ryan was a very great hypocrite. We do not 
 use the term in an offensive sense, but merely as 
 one of his manifold traits. There are many hypo 
 crites to be met with in every part of the world 
 so closely resembling one another that a de 
 scription of one would serve for all. But Ryan 
 possessed all his qualities in an eminent degree ; 
 each shone out brilliantly. Ryan could commit 
 the most base and grievous wrong on any of his 
 fellow-men, and at the same time shed tears in 
 the fulness of his heart over .that man s sufferings ; 
 and declare, while his voice grew husky with emo 
 tion, and his arms swept the air in a paroxysm 
 of Christian charity, that he could lay down his 
 life for that man. Any one who had not the 
 pleasure of an intimate acquaintance with him, 
 and saw him while he planned the ruin of a 
 neighbor, could not help thinking, or, if he were 
 excitable, exclaiming: "Behold him! there is a 
 true friend to all mankind." 
 
 Ryan was a liar, a great liar, a skilful, cunning, 
 systematic liar. When a stranger entered his 
 employment, and Ryan saw a likelihood of his 
 proving useful, he would, before the second day 
 passed by, promise the fortunate adventurer a 
 share in the business ; but always prefaced this 
 offer by giving it as his advice that he had 
 better, in the meantime, work for little 01
 
 34 Annie "Reilly. 
 
 nothing; and, as few could be found to with 
 stand this "luring temptation, many did take 
 Ryan s advice. Time would pass on, and 
 the day for taking in the new partner, who 
 probably by this time would have reached an ad 
 vanced stage of starvation, would come. At no 
 period of his life would Ryan look so innocent, so 
 childlike, and so oblivious of earthly things as on 
 that day. His thoughts were no longer of earth ; 
 they had penetrated the clouds, and clustered 
 around the throne of the Deity. Ryan bless 
 him ! would take off his hat and coat, and, sitting 
 down in his chair, let his head fall sadly on his 
 hand, dilate in soft, low murmurs on the short 
 ness of life here below, on the length of eternity, 
 and how little we should care for this world s 
 "vile dross." "When the hungry expectant, who 
 probably rose by daybreak, hardly condescending 
 to notice such of his acquaintances as might be 
 abroad at that hour, so much did his dignity rise 
 at the prospect of being John G.Ryan s partner, 
 would, seeing John so absorbed in heavenly 
 things, venture to remind him of his promise, 
 Ryan would gently tell him to leave him to his 
 meditation that day. Of course, the following 
 day the subject would be again brought under 
 Ryan s notice. His astonishment was unbounded. 
 He never heard of such a thing; did ho employ ?
 
 Annie Reilly. 35 
 
 madman ? When or where did he make -such a 
 promise ? Where was the witness ? His indig 
 nation rose, till he ejected the deceived wretch 
 from the place, with the comforting advice to se 
 cure his bondsmen, as he, John, intended having 
 him arrested for robbery, or larceny, or some other 
 disgraceful offence. Some minor intellects say 
 it is only needful to tell the truth when a lie will 
 not suit. But Ryan was no compromiser. He 
 never saw the necessity of telling the truth in any 
 of his transactions, and he throve on that deter 
 mination. Well, there is a prince in every trade. 
 We will not call Ryan a swindler. No. The ex 
 ample he made of an intended partner, who 
 modestly ventured to add that quality to the 
 chain, deters us. 
 
 Ryan was sitting in his office, elaborately com 
 menting on the bright world opened up before a 
 young man who stood before him, and whom ho 
 had entrapped the day previous, when Farrell 
 Reilly and Miles O Rourke entered the establish 
 ment. He had merely time to dismiss the young 
 man with " God bless you ! " when the two men 
 came into the office. Ryan rose and extended 
 his hand to Reilly, while he said, with the accus 
 tomed leer, " Farrell, I am delighted to see you , 
 there is nothing one man could do for another 
 I would not do for you. Take a seat, sir."
 
 36 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Miles stood by the office door, but Ryan seemed 
 not to notice him. Farrell sat down on a low 
 form which extended along one side of the office, 
 and Ryan wheeled his greasy chair around to get 
 a better view of his face. " I don t really know 
 how I feel this morning ; I see you look splendid. 
 My men here are so much attached to me that it 
 overpowers me. There is a young man just gone 
 out there, and he is after telling me he d rather 
 work for me night and day than get into the Bank 
 of Ireland. Did Phil say that, Ned ?" continued 
 he, addressing a long,, lean, crooked-eyed, ill-clad 
 youth, who, planted on one knee, was scratching 
 with a quill pen in a greasy book which lay on a 
 low, flat bench before him. 
 
 "Yes, sir; and more, sir," said the well-trained 
 youth, turning his face towards his master and 
 Farrell, but with his eyes on the opposite 
 wall. 
 
 " Ah ! I am so forgetful. What else did he 
 say, Ned ? Keep down your head while you re 
 talking." 
 
 Ned almost struck his nose against the desk; 
 but, being an inquisitive youth, one of his eyes 
 rested on Miles s face, where it remained, to the 
 great horror of the latter. 
 
 " Phil said, sir," he went on, " that he never 
 knew what comfort or happiness was till he met
 
 Annie Reilly. 37 
 
 with you, and that his mother thinks he must be 
 in heaven." 
 
 " Ah ! poor woman," said Ryan, rolling his eyes 
 along the ceiling, " she is a widow. I never 
 wronged a widow. Evil tongues may say I have. 
 I would wrong myself, I would wrong myself to 
 help a widow. That is my nature, Farrell. I 
 can t help it ; neither do I want to. I am a public 
 nuisance I mean a public institution, Farrell. 
 Some are grateful, some are not ; but whether 
 they are or not does not interfere with my claim 
 beyond the skies. When an injury is done to me, 
 I am always ready to forgive it ; that s me, John 
 Griffin Ryan." 
 
 " You sent for me, Mr. Gary," said Farrell, who 
 had not spoken since he sat down ; "may I ask 
 what for ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes; so I did," said Ryan, stroking his 
 chin. " I chanced to meet Mrs. "Reilly. Farrell, 
 you ought to be proud of that woman, so hand 
 some, and so clever in her remarks besides. I met 
 her yesterday evening when me and Mr. Crofton 
 were going up the street. I introduced Mr. Crof 
 ton to her, and I don t think she cared much for 
 the compliment. She is very independent, I tell 
 you. My opinion is this," and his gray eye glis 
 tened villanously : " it is all very well for some 
 people to be independent. I only say that as
 
 38 Annie Reilly. 
 
 my opinion ; other people may think different- 
 
 iy." 
 
 " Well, Mr.Ryan," said Farrell, rising, while he 
 bit his j.ip to restrain his anger, " is this all you 
 want with me?" 
 
 " No, sir," said.Ryan in a loud voice, " tis not ; 
 but, if your time is so precious that you cannot 
 wait till I am done, you may go." 
 
 " I came here to listen to all you had to say," 
 said Farrell, his heart sinking. 
 
 " Do you know, sir," said Ryan, " that I am 
 your landlord ?" 
 
 " I have heard so," said Farrell, " but was not 
 certain of it till now." 
 
 "You maybe certain of it," said Ryan pomp 
 ously. " Ned, when did we get the deed of that 
 townland, me and Mr. Crofton ?" 
 
 " Day afore yesterday, sir," replied the youth. 
 
 " Yes, so it was the day before yesterday," said 
 Ryan, nodding his head. " You see, I have so 
 much business to attend to, Farrell, that I cannot 
 remember dates at all. I want to tell you now, 
 Farrell you know the great wish I always had 
 for you quietly and in a Christian way that I 
 have let the whole townland to one man. It is 
 the most profitable way for me, and will give me 
 the least trouble." 
 
 " O great God ! Mr. Ryan," exclaimed Farrell,
 
 Annie Reilly. 
 
 smiting his forehead, and sinking back on the 
 seat, " you would not do that. You would not 
 send adrift an old family whose ancestors have 
 lived on the land for a hundred years." 
 
 " Mr.Ryan," said Miles, in a hoarse voice, burst 
 ing forward, and speaking for the first time, 
 " surely you are not in earnest. We will pay you 
 any rent you choose, if ourselves and our families 
 starve." 
 
 Ryan s gray eye turned on the last speaker, 
 and he said slowly and emphatically: "You 
 are in the hands of the law, sir ; go out 
 from this place. I will give some of your 
 family an opportunity to starve. The diet on 
 Spike Island is very low, and the air very ap 
 petizing. You can tell your son that." Then, 
 turning to Farrell, he went on : " You say, Far- 
 rell, your ancestors have lived on this townland 
 of mine for nearly a hundred years ?" 
 
 " I can prove it, sir," said Farrell. " My grand 
 father was born in the house I live in now." 
 
 " Don t you know, Farrell," said Ryan, in a per 
 suasive manner, " that this is an age of improve 
 ments ? All the old institutions are giving place 
 to new ones. Mighty changes," continuedRyan, 
 remembering a line he had read that morning in 
 an old newspaper, " are going on around us every 
 day, and we find no man Crumbling. I did not
 
 4O Annie Reilly. 
 
 think, Farrell, that you, of all men living, would 
 set yourself againstr the tide. I thought I had 
 only to mention the thing to you, and you would 
 be delighted to find this revolution coming home 
 to as. Your wife, I know, wishes things to remain 
 as they are ; but I did not think she could influence 
 a man of your sound understanding."- 
 
 " Oh ! tis nothing new, as you know very well," 
 said Farrell, " for foreigners to drive us from our 
 homes. That is one of the oldest institutions 
 of this country; and surely you, a man brought 
 up in our midst, would not follow their exam 
 ple." 
 
 " Let me go a little further," said Ryan, with 
 dignity. " Other landlords have taken their hold 
 ings from people, and, rather than let them live 
 on the land, preferred to let it lie waste. Now, 
 what I am going to do is this : I will rent the hull 
 townland to one good Englishman, who will in 
 troduce everything English and grand into the 
 parish, and make us thoroughly civilized ; for we 
 are in a backward state, Farrell." 
 
 " How can you talk so ? " said the latter, for 
 getting his danger in the height of his disgust. 
 "Are you not an Irishman yourself?" 
 
 " I don t know, I don t know," saidRyan, stand 
 ing up and straightening himself to his full 
 height. " I am not sure about that. My fore-
 
 Annie Reilly. 41 
 
 fathers were Normans the Carews. I may have 
 Irish blood in me by the Griffins, but the Carews 
 were French. Anyway, I wish there was not a 
 drop of Irish blood in my veins." 
 
 " So do I, from my heart," said Farrell ; but, re 
 membering his family at home, said no more. 
 
 " Now, the wisest and best thing for you to do, 
 Farrell," said Ryan, "is to move off as soon as 
 you can. How long, Ned, did my attorney say 
 we could give them ? " 
 
 " Three days, sir," answered Ned. 
 
 " And you are bent on doing this?" said Farrell, 
 wringing his hands. 
 
 " My dear man," said Ryan calmly, " I sent for 
 you for a little quiet chat this morning, intending 
 to mention this matter to you in the course of 
 the conversation ; and now you lose your temper." 
 
 So saying, Ryan stepped nimbly into the office, 
 for both were outside at this time, and quicklj 
 closed and locked the door. Miles had been wait 
 ing outside for his neighbor, and both slowly re- 
 turned home, a pair of heart-broken men.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SOME MORE OF THE DOINGS OF THIS VERY 
 HONEST MAN 
 
 |HE evening following the morning of 
 her father s interview with John G. 
 Ryan, Annie was sitting alone in the 
 shade of a tall whitethorn which 
 grew near the river s bank, her head bent on 
 her bosom, and the warm tears streaming down 
 her pale cheeks. Herself and her mother had 
 spent a morning of the most intense anxiety, 
 dreading, hoping, and praying for good tidings, 
 and guarding lest Francis would notice anything 
 unusual the matter; for they were resolved to 
 keep the sad news from him as long as possible. 
 
 The anguish of the family was intense when 
 Farrell returned with word that their worst fears 
 were realized in less than three days they would 
 be without a home. Mrs. Reilly fainted in her 
 unhappy husband s arms, and was with great dif 
 ficulty restored to consciousness. Francis it wa* 
 needless to keep the calamity from his know 
 ledge now was so oppressed with grief that 
 he cried like a child. Poor Annie bore up the
 
 Annie Reilly. 43 
 
 best of any, and did all in her power to comfort 
 her father and mother, and insisted on them all 
 joining her in a rosary for assistance to come 
 through this terrible misfortune that had befallen 
 them. After prayers, they felt considerably re 
 lieved, and set about the best way of removing 
 their valuables to some temporary place of se 
 curity. 
 
 Annie had struggled so hard to repress her 
 feelings during the day that, when evening came, 
 she felt she must give vent to her tears, or 
 her heart, would break. So overwhelming was 
 the misfortune that she could not bear up 
 against it all day the desolation of her own 
 home, and Ryan s threat against her lover. When 
 her father and brother were silently engaged, 
 she left the cottage, and betook herself to the 
 spot where James used to sing to her. With 
 what a light, bounding heart she used to ap 
 proach this cosey place ! But this evening how 
 different ! James was always there waiting for 
 her; but this evening the seat was empty. She 
 went up the hillside a little distance, to obtain a 
 better view along the shore ; but, no far as 
 her eye could reach, he was nowhere to be seen. 
 For a little she stood on the hillside in the 
 calm summer air, her eyes strained in the direc 
 tion from which he approached the seat every
 
 44 Annie Reilly. 
 
 evening, till her heart sank with disappointment, 
 and her sight grew dim ; then she mechanically 
 sought the spot, and let fall her burning tears. 
 
 " Oh ! " thought she, " if, in addition to our mis 
 fortune, Ryan has already put his threat into 
 execution against James, and he is dragged 
 away to where I may never see him again, 
 what shall I do? Oh!" exclaimed she, raising 
 her hands to heaven, " if such has happened, 
 may God in His mercy take me !" 
 
 She then bowed her head and wept, she knew 
 not how long, till she was startled by hearing a 
 well-known voice pronounce her name ; but, before 
 she could raise her head, James O Rourke was 
 seated by her side, her hand clasped firmly in 
 his. Annie turned her streaming face towards 
 him. For a moment neither spoke. O Rourke s 
 lips quivered, and his whole frame shook, but he 
 heroically kept back the tears rising to his eyes. 
 
 He had made his appearance so suddenly, and 
 the poor girl s joy was so great, that she could 
 only cry the more and press the hand that held 
 hers. At length James said : 
 
 " Annie, it s no use in me asking you the cause 
 of those tears. I already know the misfortune that 
 has befallen us all. But it is useless now to pine 
 and give way to sorrow. Better bear up bravely, 
 as I know you will, Annie, when you come to
 
 Annie Reilly. 45 
 
 reflect. The calamity is sudden, and we must be 
 quick to meet it." 
 
 " Oh ! it is a dreadful thing, James," said Annie. 
 " I struggled with my feelings for my father and 
 mother s sake. It is only since I came here I 
 have showed such signs of grief." 
 
 " And Heaven bless you for coming here this 
 evening," said he. " I would have been here 
 long ago, if I could ; I have had a busy evening 
 of it." 
 
 Annie surveyed him more closely, and noticed 
 how soiled and mud-spattered his clothing was, 
 and that his face was torn with thorns and 
 brambles. 
 
 " James," said she wildly, the recollection of 
 Ryan s threat again rushing into her head, " in 
 God s name, tell me what has happened. Has 
 Ryan 
 
 " Exactly, Annie," said he. " I see you know 
 it." 
 
 "Father told us," said she, "that he made 
 some threat against you ; and that has grieved 
 me more than anything else." 
 
 " God bless you !" said James, placing his arm 
 atound her neck. " I feel his villany more for 
 your sake ; I knew it would grieve you. He has 
 put his threat into execution. They are after me 
 now."
 
 4 6 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Annie s head fell against his shoulder, and she 
 moaned deeply. 
 
 " Oh ! now I am sorry I have told you so 
 much," said her lover, raising her head, and 
 looking into the beautiful, pale, quivering face. 
 " But now let me tell you more. You promise, 
 Annie, now, you promise," and he pressed his 
 lips to hers, " that you will be a brave girl, as 
 you always were? This misery will soon be 
 over." 
 
 "Oh! yes, I do promise," said she; "but I 
 beg of you to tell me quickly whatever it is." 
 
 " God bless you, my darling," said he ; and 
 again he kissed her. " I rely on you, Annie ; you are 
 as brave as a little lion, now that your resolution is 
 taken, Well, Ryan the Pig (John was known by 
 this nickname amongst the peasantry), not satis 
 fied with driving us from house and home, has 
 taken it into his head to make a charge to the 
 police against me. What the nature of the accu 
 sation is I know no more of than you do; but he 
 actually swore something against me ; for my 
 poor father God help him ! saw the warrant. 
 When the police were in our house a few hours 
 ago, I happened by good luck to be absent at 
 the time ; and now they are searching the whole 
 neighborhood for me. My father managed to 
 give me word in time to elude them, and requested
 
 Annie Reilly. 47 
 
 me, if possible, to return to the house as soon as 
 I could, and he would try and procure money 
 enough to send me to America. I did so, and 
 he gave me those seven sovereigns. He wanted 
 me to take a few more he had, but I would not. 
 He will need all that can be spared." 
 
 "O James !" said Annie, and her hand trem 
 bled violently in his. " And you are going?" 
 
 " You promised to be a brave little girl, Annie," 
 replied he, kissing her fervently. " Listen to me. 
 They will surely return after nightfall, in the hope 
 of finding me there ; and for your sake, Annie, 
 and for the sake of my poor old father, I must 
 disappoint them. Night is closing around now. 
 We have not long to stay ; and again I ask you 
 to promise you will bear up bravely and gaily 
 till we meet again." 
 
 "Ah, James !" said the poor girl, and her little 
 hand felt as cold as ice, " till we rrveet again. 
 When will that be, James?" 
 
 " In God s good time : and that will be very 
 soon, my love," replied he. " I know I shall 
 get on well in America ; and how I shall perse 
 vere, having such an object to work for to bring 
 you to me, my darling ! Nothing shall deter me 
 and your innocent, sweet prayers will save me 
 from every danger." 
 
 Both were silent for a moment. The grass
 
 4.8 Annie Reilly, 
 
 around them was wet with dew ; the thick rms* 
 began to envelope the bosom of the river ; the 
 mountain-top was no longer visible. The eastern 
 horizon was beginning to assume a golden hue, 
 and it was evident the moon would soon rise. 
 
 "Annie," said James, looking cautiously 
 around, "the time has come. I thank God I 
 am not bidding you farewell ; but I must bid 
 you good-by, my love, for a few weeks. How 
 swiftly our weeks at school fled away ! But those 
 few now will look like so many years to me. But 
 they, too, will have an end, and then we will be 
 together again." 
 
 Annie was a brave little girl. When he held 
 both her hands in his, and looked into her face in 
 the dim light, she was ashy pale ; but not a tear 
 fell. A sad smile came on her lips ; and when he 
 pressed her to his breast, and again and again 
 kissed her, she did not add to the anguish of that 
 moment by a sob. And when he darted away in 
 the darkness, and left her alone on the strand, 
 she knelt down and besought Heaven to watch 
 ovei mm.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CHARGE AGAlrfST JAMES O ROURKE EX 
 PLAINED. A VISIT TO AN IRISH MAGIS 
 TRATE. 
 
 |OHN G. RYAN was a very cautious 
 and a very prudent man. When he 
 observed so many of nature s laws 
 so faithfully, it is needless to say he 
 was not unmindful of the first self-preservation. 
 Miles O Rourke or his son had never done him 
 an injury, and, prominently as he shone among 
 other men, they hardly ever mentioned his name 
 or bestowed a thought on him. In fact, Miles 
 and his son belonged to that sensible class of 
 people who mind their own business and let the 
 virtues and failings of their neighbors alone. 
 Ryan knew he was about to perpetrate a grievous 
 wrong upon them, and James being a spirited 
 young fellow, he dreaded he might be revenged 
 upon him. This consideration annoyed Ryan 
 considerably for a little time, but for a little time 
 only. In the recesses of his cunning brain he 
 soon hit upon a remedy.
 
 50 Annie Reilly. 
 
 He was sitting in his arm-chair in his shirt 
 sleeves as usual, biting the ends of his chin 
 whisker, and pondering over the vexed question, 
 when a light suddenly shone upon him, and he 
 jumped up with a loud "By golly, sir!" that 
 made the crooked-eyed youth jump also, and his 
 eyes jump, too, in a ludicrous manner. 
 
 " I have hit upon it !" exclaimed Ryan, sitting 
 down again, and slapping his knee ; but as he did 
 not look towards the wondering youth, the latter 
 did not venture to speak. 
 
 " Ned," said Ryan at length, turning to his 
 charming clerk, " I want you to swear something 
 for me." 
 
 " Anything you like, sir," replied Ned, half 
 standing up. 
 
 " You re a splendid fellow, Ned," said he . 
 " you and I will get along smoothly when we lay 
 our names together." 
 
 The comely youth grinned from ear to ear, 
 and turned a whole battery of blinks on his kind 
 master. 
 
 " Ned," said Ryan, stretching his legs, " do you 
 know Miles O Rourke s son?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Ned ; " as well as I know 
 myself, sir." 
 
 " So far, all right," said Ryan. " When have 
 you seen him last?"
 
 Annie Reilly. 51 
 
 " I met him and three other fellows on the road 
 three or four nights ago," was the answer. 
 
 " You must be particular as to dates," said 
 Ryan, shaking his head : " say three nights ago. 
 Now, I want you " 
 
 " Yes, sir," broke in the ardent youth. 
 
 " Listen to me," said Ryan, with a slight frown. 
 " Now, I want you to make an affidavit before a 
 magistrate that you were concealed behind a 
 hedge at the time you saw O Rourke and those 
 other chaps, and that you heard them planning 
 to rob the police barracks of the arms there. Go 
 back to your writing now, and I ll call you again 
 when I am prepared to go with you before the 
 magistrate." 
 
 Ned grinned again and again something so 
 very unusual for him that the work must have 
 delighted him beyond measure. 
 
 Ryan, having transacted his morning s business, 
 talked, lied, and cheated as usual in fact, brought 
 into play a great many of his qualities at length 
 called Ned to accompany him to the office of the 
 dispenser of law and justice. Now, the private 
 office of an Irish country magistrate is such a very 
 private, sacred spot that some of our readers may 
 not object to accompany the mighty John, the 
 proud Ned, and our humble self into the presence 
 of Richard Scruffy. Esq., J.P.. on this occasion
 
 52 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Richard Scruffy, Esq., J.P., was a very fair type 
 of the Irish J.P. some years ago, or, in fact, 
 would not be altogether out of fashion to-day. 
 Short and stout in figure, with an immense red 
 face, small forehead, and very bald head, an ex 
 pression of haughty contempt, tinged with a 
 shade of profound knowledge, slowly moving in 
 terrible waves across his countenance, he looked 
 the very picture of stern, unbending justice. 
 
 He wore a blue body-coat, wide in the skirts, 
 and very tight in the shoulders wide trowsers, 
 white as snow, save one large discolored spot on 
 one thigh, the smell of which, taken in conjunc 
 tion with the high color of his face, might lead a 
 malicious person to imagine something he had 
 no right to ; a long, wide vest, which seemed to 
 be in open rebellion with the rest of his attire, so 
 fierce, staring, and puckered was it ; and an im 
 mense black neck-cloth. 
 
 The apartment in which he sat was of very 
 small dimensions four like Richard Scruffy, 
 Esq., J.P., would fill it to overflowing. It con 
 tained, besides Richard he always sat there at 
 least half the day, knowing vigilance is one of 
 Justice s handmaids a little round table with 
 very dirty legs, one gigantic chair, and a row of 
 shelving filled with large law-books, these latter 
 looking so very dry that one wondered how any
 
 Annie Reilly. 53 
 
 sensible insurance company could be induced to 
 give a policy on them. The large chair served 
 two purposes : first, it served as a judicial bench ; 
 and, secondly, as a bed for the justice; for, not 
 having much business on hand, being supported 
 by a stipend, Richard slept just as often as Justice 
 did, and often she found it no very easy matter 
 to rouse him up. When that impartial goddess, 
 in the double shape of John G. Ryan and Ned 
 Buttler, articled clerk of the aforesaid John, came 
 to the office door, and when Ryan struck the door 
 thrice with his knuckles and once with his foot, 
 and then put his ear to the keyhole, the only re 
 sponse was the slow, regular snore of Richard 
 within. Ryan scratched his head, and, looking 
 round at Ned, said : 
 
 " Here s a fix. What am I to do ? " 
 
 " Dunt the door again, sir," was the prompt 
 reply. 
 
 " I don t know about that," said Ryan, looking 
 somewhat in dread ; " he has such a bad temper, 
 if we were to rouse him up suddenly, he might 
 get so mad that he d clear us both out. I ll 
 stand back by the wall there, and do you come 
 here to the door, and give a rap or two." 
 
 Ned quickly changed places with his master 
 and gave the door two such knocks that Ryan
 
 54 Annie Reilly. 
 
 raised his eyes, hands, and heels at the same time 
 Ned listened ; still no answer. 
 
 " Try it again," said Ryan, in a heavy whisper, 
 which could be heard much further away than his 
 loudest call ; " this time with your foot." 
 
 Ryan s eye caught a glimpse of Ned s heel as 
 it swurtg behind him. The next moment a loud 
 crash sounded on his ears, followed by the noise 
 of something falling inside, and then a stifled 
 voice within the office called out, 
 
 "Murder! Housebreaking ! Where am I ?" 
 Ryan knew the magistrate s voice, and retreated 
 as far as the gate, where he stood with his head 
 just inside the entrance, and by numerous excited 
 gestures and heavy whispers directed the equally 
 alarmed Ned to speak. 
 
 "Who are you, you scoundrel?" again de 
 manded the voice. 
 
 "Speak," exclaimed Ryan, bending down and 
 lifting a large paving-stone, " or I ll scatter your 
 brains against the wall." 
 
 " It s me, sir," said Ned, in a husky voice, and 
 turning his head towards Ryan. 
 
 " Let him hear you," s<iid the latter, holding 
 the stone in a very threatening attitude. " Say 
 it s a man to do his duty, according to the 
 law." 
 
 " Where is my vagabond servant ? Where are
 
 Annie Reilly. 55 
 
 my pistols ? Is there no one to come to my re 
 lief?" said the voice inside. 
 
 " It s * man according to the law," said Ned, 
 " and wants to see you badly, sir. We re here 
 this hour." 
 
 ".You re a nice man to mention the name of 
 the law," said the voice, " and come here and 
 conduct yourstlf like a burglar, which I have no 
 doubt you are." 
 
 " Say : Your honor, we only want to speak with 
 you a minute or two," said Ryan. 
 
 " Our honors only want to speak with you 
 a minute or two," said Ned, in his excite 
 ment. 
 
 A pause followed, during which John shook 
 the stone ominously at Ned, and pledged him 
 self to straighten the eyes in his head, if he did 
 nothing else. 
 
 At length Ned heard a footstep enter the 
 office from some other apartment within the 
 building, and then he could hear the angry voice 
 of the magistrate while he rated his servant for 
 his want of vigilance. 
 
 At length Richard Scruffy, Esq., told the man, 
 in a very loud voice, fo open the door. Ned cast 
 a terrified look on Ryan, who gave him such a 
 savage glance in return that it completely turned 
 him round. The key sounded in the door.
 
 56 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " Stand your ground," whispered Ryan, " or 
 I ll knock" 
 
 The door was pulled open, and Ned s eyes 
 danced around the apartment, and, alighting on 
 Mr. Scruffy s indignant face, performed a regular 
 " break-down." 
 
 " Will I bring him in, sir?" asked the servant. 
 
 " Oh ! no," replied the magistrate, shading his 
 face ; " let him come no nearer to me. He looks 
 like the devil. Ask him what he wants. I 
 wish a few of the police were here now." 
 
 Ned stood still just outside the door, his cap 
 squeezed into a lump in his hand, and kept up a 
 galling, incessant fire of blinks on the magistrate. 
 
 "What s your business with his honor?" de 
 manded the servant, in a very haughty voice, and 
 assuming a very threatening attitude ; for Ned, as 
 our readers already know, was anything but a 
 strong man. 
 
 " He ll tell you all," said Ned, in desperation, 
 and pointing towards Ryan who had advanced his 
 head a little further, to catch what was being 
 said. The servant glanced towards him, and Ryan 
 seeing he could delay no longer, began to ap 
 proach the door. 
 
 " This is another of them, sir," said the ser 
 vant ; " but I think, sir, this last fellow is a trades 
 man of the town."
 
 Annie Reilly. 57 
 
 Richard Scruffy, Esq., stretched his neck fro look 
 into the yard, and, seeing Ryan smiled, but quickly 
 made up his mind to be stern, as became the 
 majesty of the law ; so he frowned grandly, but 
 not exactly on Ryan. 
 
 " Your honor," said the latter, with such a tre 
 mendous bow that his foot slipped on the pave 
 ment, and he fell against the side of the door, 
 and his hat tumbled into the office. Ryan s hat 
 was always unfortunate, and gave him so much 
 trouble that we wonder a man of his wisdom did 
 not conclude to go bareheaded. " P p pa 
 par pardon me, sir," he stammered, as he re 
 gained his balance, " I I I " 
 
 " You overdid the thing," said Richard, with 
 a sore attempt at a smile ; but quickly added, 
 while his judicial brow lowered, " Do yoU know 
 that fellow ?" pointing to Ned. " He is a deci 
 dedly roguish-looking fellow. He ll get the gal 
 lows yet, or my name is not R. Scruffy. How 
 is it he says you know all about him ?" 
 
 " I took hold of him," said Ryan, approaching 
 familiarly. 
 
 " Don t dirty the floor with your feet," ex 
 claimed Richard, stamping one of his own on the 
 boards. <v Go outside, sir, and wipe them, sir, 
 and stand by the door while you are talking to 
 me, sir."
 
 5 8 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " Anything at all your honor plazes," said Ryan 
 bursting outside. " I beg your pardon, sir. 
 
 " And anothei thing I beg to remind you of," 
 said Richard, in a lofty voice, and fitting on his 
 spectacles: " don t bother me with an account of 
 your rascals. You are the leader of a dangerous 
 crowd." And offended justice climbed into the big 
 chair, and dipped its pen into a huge inkstand. 
 
 John, not knowing but that terrible pen would 
 indite some words that might ruin him, mounted 
 the door-step, and exclaimed, while the heavy 
 sweat stood on his brow, " Your honor knows me 
 as a loyal, rebel-hating man." 
 
 " Confine yourself to the case," roared the 
 magistrate, " or " turning to the servant " you 
 put him outside the gate." The fellow moved 
 to John s side. 
 
 " I will, your honor," said Ryan. " I came here 
 to your honor to-day, and brought my young man, 
 in the interest of her Majesty the Queen." 
 
 " Go on," said the magistrate. 
 
 " My boy, yer honor, seen and heerd a crowd 
 of rebels plannin " 
 
 "Stop, sir!" exclaimed the magistrate. "I ll 
 swear the boy ; bring him here." 
 
 The servant guided Ned into the office, and 
 planted him in front of the magistrate. 
 
 " Don t you interrupt, on your peril," said the
 
 Annie Reilly. 59 
 
 latter, looking over his spectacles at Ryan. Ryan 
 backed a little nearer the door. 
 
 The book being handed to Ned, he instantly 
 kissed it. Mr. Scruffy looked at him for fully a 
 minute, to Ned s great comfort, and then said : 
 
 " That fellow is a fool ; I don t think I can take 
 his evidence. What do you think ?" this to the 
 servant. 
 
 " More knave nor fool," replied that personage. 
 
 " He s greedy in the good cause, your honor," 
 said Ryan, while something painful struggled in 
 
 his neck. " Wait, Ned, ye , till his honor says 
 
 the word." 
 
 Ned did wait this time, and related the story 
 to the magistrate in, as near as he could remem 
 ber, the words his master had told him. Richard s 
 rage knew no bounds. 
 
 " They "(the gentry, we suppose) " were stand 
 ing on a volcano which, if it were not quenched 
 with a flood of law, would burst forth and scorch 
 up society itself. Young, man, and you, Ryan 
 though you did dirty the floor the Queen of this 
 realm is indebted to you two," said Richard 
 Scruffy, Esq., as he commenced to make out the 
 warrant for young O Rourke s arrest, " and _shall, 
 through me, her servant, hear of your exertions 
 on her behalf." 
 
 Ryan s joy knew no bounds.
 
 60 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " Your honor," said he, scratching his head, 
 " I don t know what to do with myself. I don t 
 know how to express my thanks. I am sure 
 we" 
 
 " Put them out ; clear the office," said the 
 magistrate, with calm, cold dignity.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LEAVING THE OLD HOME. 
 
 j]HEN Annie, with tired limbs and sad, 
 sick heart, returned to the cottage 
 after parting from her lover, she 
 found her father and brother putting 
 their valuables in a condition for removal to a 
 friend s house some miles distant. Farrell had 
 resolved that they would not wait till the bailiff 
 came to dispossess them, but would move away 
 before suffering -the indignity of being turned out 
 by that obnoxious official. Owing to their un 
 happy state, they did not notice the deep grief 
 exhibited in Annie s face. She set herself to 
 help them in their work at once, calmly, quietly; 
 and, after a little, no one could tell that any other 
 pain lay at her heart except grief for the desola 
 tion that had fallen on her poor father s home. 
 
 Love, when shrouded with sorrow, is often a 
 strange feeling. It lies silently gnawing at the 
 heart, but shows itself not to the world. Al 
 though Annie s face had grown pale and wasted 
 during that night, in the morning she seemed the
 
 62 Annie Reilly. 
 
 happiest one of the family if we can apply the 
 word happy to that stricken home. 
 
 EaUy in the day, Farrell and his son had every 
 thing ready. All the neighbors came to their 
 assistance; for no man in the parish was more 
 deservedly popular than Farrell Reilly. His 
 ready help to others in their hour of need was 
 not forgotten when his own trouble came. 
 
 It was drawing towards the close of summer, 
 and Farrell had as much of his crop as the season 
 permitted gathered in. A number of men, with 
 horses and carts, and everything available for 
 carrying a load, thronged to the little farm. The 
 cattle Francis had driven in the early part of the 
 day to the friend s farm, and by evening every 
 thing that could be removed was taken away. 
 
 Farrell, and his wife, and Annie stood by the 
 old cottage, looking after the last load of furniture 
 as it lumbered down the hillside. Mrs. Reilly 
 had been very ill all the day, and the family 
 dreaded very much the effect of the last moment 
 upon her. Farrell and she had lived .happily in 
 the old place for over twenty years. Her own 
 family home stood on the top of an adjoining hill 
 looking down on her husband s cottage. Her 
 father and mother had died some years before, 
 and bad crops and sickness had swept away every 
 member of the family. One of her brothers died
 
 Annie Reilly. 63 
 
 r 
 
 from hardships endured by hard work in the cold, 
 wet season. Another had left for America many 
 years before, and the only account she ever heard 
 of him was that he had died of yellow fever in 
 Savannah. Still, it was a melancholy pleasure to 
 Mrs. Reilly to sit in the little garden during the 
 long summer evenings with her knitting, while 
 the rest of the family were engaged elsewhere, and 
 turn her eyes .towards her father s house, now un- 
 tenanted, and gaze on its ivy-covered walls and 
 tall, bare chimneys, which seemed to speak to her 
 of times long gone. Then she would think of her 
 childhood days, when she laughed, and sported, 
 and played on the hill-top. Every tree, bush, or 
 rock called back to her memory some recollection 
 of those days. Then she would think of the time 
 when Farrell, a gay young fellow, with a bright, 
 laughing face, used to come and sit by her as she 
 milked the cows in the little sheltered corner 
 field. How she used to delight in annoying him 
 by calling him names, and mocking his old frieze 
 coat, with one new arm, and his old slouch hat, 
 with the piece of black cloth wrong side out 
 sewed on its front with white thread. How she 
 used to refuse to let him help her in any way, but 
 rebuff him in every way ; and then, when he was 
 gone, cry till her eyes grew red fr\r saying so much 
 to him, and make a resolution never to torment
 
 64 Annie Reilly. 
 
 him again a resolution which was suie to be 
 broken the following evening. Then of the even 
 ing when Farrell, in spite of all her efforts, in 
 sisted on carrying the milk-cans a little way for 
 her, and how very sheepish and red he looked 
 when he left them down behind- the garden-gate, 
 and, turning his eyes away from hers, began to 
 fumble the pockets of his coat, and asked her to 
 speak a word with him. How, when he asked 
 her would she become his wife, and began telling 
 her how snug and happy he could keep her, how 
 she ran away from him, and told him she thought 
 him a bigger fool than ever ; that night she cried 
 till her heart was sick. How poor Farrell came 
 the following evening, and she would not speak 
 to him nor look at him for some time. How 
 Farrell carried the milk-cans for her that evening 
 again, and begged of her to let him ask her father 
 and mother for their consent ; and how delighted 
 he was when she told him she did not care, till 
 she had to knock the hat off his head, and tell 
 him to keep a proper distance. Even then she 
 could not help laughing at the awkward embar 
 rassment of Farrell ; and how every word stuck 
 in his throat when he came around the following 
 Sunday night, right gaily clad, with a bottle of 
 whisky staring out of each pocket, to make the 
 request. Then she would think of what a good
 
 Annie Reilly. 65 
 
 kind husband Farrell had always been. If her 
 thoughts came down to the time when her poor 
 brothers, after every effort, failed to keep the old 
 homestead, the tears would fill her eyes, and she 
 would re-enter the cottage. 
 
 As we said before, Farrell, and his son and 
 daughter, seeing her distress of mind, and know 
 ing how fondly she loved the dear old spot, were 
 in great dread lest the final moment would prove 
 too much for her. Farrell allowed his son to go 
 on, while he and Annie tried to engage the poor 
 woman s thoughts by talking of the great kind 
 ness of their neighbors, and how well and neatly 
 everything was prepared for the journey. 
 
 " You see," said Farrell, raising his hat from his 
 eyes, where he had kept it all the morning, and 
 looking round on his wife and daughter, " the 
 kindness and honest generosity of our neighbors 
 altogether take away the bitterness of this day. 
 Surely it is true tis only in adversity we can tell 
 our friends. And," added he, with an attempt 
 at a smile, " in our misfortune, we cannot count 
 our friends. We seem to have no enemies at 
 all." 
 
 " None but the one, Farrell," said Mrs. Reilly, 
 looking at him with a strange, wan, wild look, 
 " and can all the friends in the world make up 
 what he has done ? Heaven forgive me ! " she
 
 66 Annie Reilly. 
 
 added sorrowfully. " Sure our best frind is 
 God." 
 
 " Just think of that, now," said Farrell. He was 
 going to say more, but a scream from Annie 
 startled him, and, turning round, he saw his wife 
 reclining in her daughter s arms, while a stream 
 of blood poured from her nose and down over 
 her face and breast. Farrell took her in his arms, 
 and, handing Annie the key, bade her open the 
 door again ; for, unobserved by Mrs. Reilly, he 
 had locked the door, never again intending to 
 cross the threshold of the cottage. The alarmed 
 girl did so, and, procuring some water in an old 
 vessel which had been thrown aside, poured it 
 over the face and hands of the fainting woman. 
 Everything they could do was fruitless to stop 
 the flow of blood ; and, terribly alarmed, and 
 almost dead from grief, Farrell told Annie to run 
 for the priest. Her hair flowing in wild disorder, 
 and her cheeks wet from tears, Annie started off 
 to the chapel. She found Father Fitzpatrick 
 walking around the church reading. The clergy 
 man had raised his eyes from the book when she 
 was entering the gate, and, seeing the wild and 
 alarmed-looking girl coming towards *him, ad 
 vanced to meet her. Seeing who it was, he 
 asked : 
 
 " Annie, my child, what is the matter? "
 
 Annie Reilly. 67 
 
 She stopped short, and for a second or two 
 could make no reply. 
 
 "What is wrong with you, my child?" he 
 asked again softly, laying his hand on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " O father ! " said Annie at length, " I fear 
 mother is dying. Pray, father, come quickly to 
 the house with me." 
 
 The good priest needed no second request, but, 
 hastening into the chapel, prepared himself for 
 the solemn visit. Annie waited for him at his 
 request, and, his car being quickly harnessed, both 
 Jashed away at full speed to to where was once 
 the home of Farrell Reilly.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LEAVING THE OLD HOME. 
 
 jHEN Father Fitzpatrick and Annie 
 reached the cottage, they found Mrs. 
 Reilly still insensible ; but the flow 
 of blood from her nose had been 
 stopped. As they drove up the hillside, the 
 clergyman looked with a serious, troubled face at 
 the cottage, with its bare and desolated appear 
 ance, broken panes, and closed door; then at the 
 little farmyard, in which little heaps of rubbish 
 were lying here and there ; but everything else 
 was gone. He sighed heavily, but made no re 
 mark to Annie. 
 
 Mrs. Reilly reclined against her husband s 
 breast as he sat on the ground by the wall. 
 
 " O father dear ! " said Farrell, as the priest 
 entered, " I am afraid she is going from us. I 
 knew this would be too much for her. See how 
 deadly pale she is ; and I cannot feel her 
 breath." 
 The clergyman bent down, and lifted one of
 
 Annie Reilly. 69 
 
 the suffering woman s hands in his, and felt her 
 pulse. 
 
 " Her pulse is very low, Farrell," said he. " She 
 is certainly very much exhausted. Let me assist 
 you to bring her to the door. She will recovei 
 quicker in the open air than here." 
 
 Both carried her to the door-step, and Farrell 
 supported her in his arms, while the priest chafed 
 her hands and temples. 
 
 Annie s grief knew no bounds. She could not 
 silence her sobs, and, as in her present state she 
 could be of no service to her mother, the priest 
 requested her to keep within the house. This 
 poor Annie could not do, but stood apart wring 
 ing her hands and moaning sadly. 
 
 At length the clergyman announced that the 
 sufferer s pulse beat more lively, and that she 
 would soon recover. 
 
 " Oh ! thank heaven, father," said Annie, ap 
 proaching and peering into her mothers face. 
 " Do you think truly she will recover?" 
 
 " With God s help, my child," returned he, " I 
 think she will recover sufficiently to " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, and Annie and her father 
 looked into his anxious, gentle face. Farrell well 
 knew what the father would have added, and, 
 raising his eyes to heaven, exclaimed, in a voice 
 that went to the kind priest s heart :
 
 70 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " Lord, look down on us to-day ! We are in 
 deed but poor outcasts." 
 
 Gradually the fingers of the hand Father 
 Fitzpatrick held in his began to move, the white 
 lips parted a little, the poor woman opened her 
 eyes for an instant, and, seeming to notice the 
 priest, she faintly uttered : 
 
 " Thanks be to God ! " 
 
 After a few moments, her eyes opened again, 
 and she looked around on the little group. 
 
 " Speak to me, Mary. One word to poor me," 
 said Farrell, putting the side of his face to hers 
 41 one word." 
 
 " Oh ! that is you, Farrell," said she. " Where 
 are we? " 
 
 " We are here in the old home yet," said 
 he. 
 
 " Yet, Farrell," said she, in a voice so low and 
 weak as to be hardly audible, " I thought Annie 
 and I were on board a very large ship going to 
 America, and that you were beyond waiting for 
 us." 
 
 " Father Fitzpatrick is here, Mary," said her 
 husband gently. 
 
 " Oh ! and he was in my dream, too," said Mrs. 
 Reilly. 
 
 " Thank God and His Holy Mother you have 
 recovered ! " said the priest, again lifting her
 
 Annie Reilly. 71 
 
 hand ; " that your life has been spared this time 
 You will soon be well again. I will wait a little 
 till you are beyond danger ; but I think tis not 
 necessary to administer to you." 
 
 " Oh ! thank you a thousand times for that, 
 father," said Annie, in a whisper. " You being 
 here will keep her from thinking of our downfall 
 till we are away from this place." 
 
 " Away from this place ? " said the priest, with 
 a startled look. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, father ; Ryan put us out. But don t 
 mention it now," looking at her mother ; " father 
 will explain all to you. We are moving to my 
 cousin s house, and must leave here to-night. 
 Everything belonging to us is gone." 
 
 The good priest s heart sank within him. The 
 oldest and most respectable faintly in his parish 
 banished so ruthlessly. What would follow next? 
 He thought of the blessings of the union, and re 
 solved to join the National Association as soon 
 as expedient. 
 
 Mrs. Reilly s strength continued to return 
 slowly; and the kind, gentle priest entered into 
 a quiet conversation with her on, the improve 
 ments he was making in his new church ; told 
 her how beautiful the altar of the Blessed Virgin 
 would look when completed. 
 
 " Were it not for the devotion of yourself and
 
 72 Annie Reilly. 
 
 some other good ladies of the parish, in decorat 
 ing it with flowers," he went on, " it would have 
 looked very poorly indeed during the month of 
 May devotions. But now we will soon have a 
 new altar, with candlesticks from Paris ; and the 
 * Virgin and Child which we had then will be 
 too small, so I am going up to Dublin in a few 
 days to purchase an elegant one, and you must 
 come and give me your opinion of it before we 
 set it up ; and then those two windows on each 
 side of the altar are going to be taken out. A 
 wealthy Irish-American gentleman, a namesake 
 of mine, whom I met on his way to the lakes a 
 few days ago, is going to put in beautiful stained 
 glass in its place ; so that I think, when every 
 thing is completed, we ll not have*much right to 
 feel ashamed of our little chapel." 
 
 The kind, affectionate manner and chat of the 
 good pastor soothed so much the anguish the 
 poor woman felt that it almost made her forget 
 her desolation . for the time. He continued to 
 engage her thoughts in this manner till he saw 
 she was strong enough to be assisted into his car 
 and taken to her new home. Farrell and Annie 
 thanked him fervently for his kind proposition ; 
 the four seated themselves in the car, and, as they 
 did so, the priest began relating a comic incident 
 about one of his parishoners, whom the others
 
 Annie Reilly. 73 
 
 knew very well, which he kept up till they were out 
 of view of the cottage. If he saw any signs of the 
 return of the deep sorrow they had felt in the 
 face of any of his companions, he instantly be 
 spoke that one s attention, and talked and laugh 
 ed incessantly till they reached the house of 
 Maurice Handley, which was their destination. 
 After again receiving their heartfelt thanks, and 
 giving them his blessing, Father Fitzpatrick re 
 turned home with as sad a heart as those he had 
 parted from.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TOSSED ABOUT ON THE WAVES OF ADVERSITY 
 
 AUR1CE HANDLEY, Farrell s ne 
 phew, lived in a cosey little cottage a 
 short way from the broad road and 
 close by the demesne wall of Castle- 
 saunderson, the Irish residence of Colonel Saunder- 
 son, the gentleman who had sold the town-land 
 containing Reilly and O Rourke s farms to Ryan 
 and Crofton. He, too, was a tenant of Saunder- 
 son s. Maurice was a young man of thirty or 
 thereabouts, and only a year married. His wife 
 was a strong, healthy young woman, with an 
 abundance of black hair and a very sharp, rather 
 unfriendly face. A small fruit of their union, in 
 the shape of a pretty little girl about six weeks old, 
 had already appeared, and Maurice was. very 
 happy. But the sudden desolation that had 
 fallen on his uncle had pained him very much. 
 His mother had died a few years before, and 
 Maurice was very much attached to her, and 
 used to listen with pride and pleasure to her 
 stories about the old home. 
 
 Father Fitzpatrick, before leaving, had caution-
 
 Annie Reilly. 75 
 
 ed him and his wife to be careful and mention 
 nothing relating to the misfortune that had be 
 fallen his uncle s family in the hearing of Mrs. 
 Reilly, but to talk over other matters, and appear 
 as gay as possible. Both thanked the good priest 
 for his advice, and promised to strictly obey his 
 instructions. Francis and Annie, too, entered 
 into the plot, and, hard as the effort was, conduct 
 ed themselves as they used to do in the old home 
 before sorrow came there. The nephew, in order 
 to carry out the plan to the fullest, resolved to 
 make their first evening one of rejoicing, and 
 procured the necessary articles from the village 
 for that purpose. 
 
 Mrs. Handley and Annie set out for the shop 
 together, and, now that she was from the presence 
 of her heart-broken parents, and had one of her 
 own sex to confide in, her tears began to fall, and 
 she lamented bitterly their sad situation. Mrs. 
 Handley s only effort to comfort her was by re 
 minding her that she saw no cause for her lament 
 ing now that she had found a home so quickly, 
 and added that many whom she had known to be 
 " put out " had no friends to open their door to 
 them, but let them go to the poor-house. 
 
 " Oh !" said Annie, looking surprised through 
 her tears at the cutting words of the other, I 
 don t think we are so far reduced as to be com-
 
 76 Annie Reilly. 
 
 pelled to go to the poor-house. Father has a 
 little left yet." 
 
 " No danger of him or 4 you either going there 
 while Maurice has a home. That man thinks 
 more of his friends than I believe is good for 
 him. Whatever your father has got, he can hold 
 on to it now." 
 
 Annie s face flushed, and her eye kindled ; this 
 cold taunting in the day of her distress she could 
 not be silent under. 
 
 " Martha," she replied, drying her tears, " had 
 we known how unwelcome we were to you, we 
 could very easily have found a home with some 
 of our neighbors." 
 
 " Oh ! I didn t intend to vex you at all," replied 
 Martha, with a toss of her head. " For my part, 
 you are welcome to stay here as long as you 
 like." 
 
 " We will not trouble you long," replied Annie. 
 " I shall tell my brother, and he will provide some 
 place for us. You ma^ -rely on it." 
 
 The two then walked on in silence, Martha 
 amusing herself with humming a verse of 
 an old country ballad. Maurice was all kind 
 ness and hospitality, and succeeded so well in 
 entertaining the old pair that evening that, 
 before they parted for the night, both felt 
 much happier than they had at any time since
 
 Annie Reilly. 77 
 
 their desolation. When the others were engag 
 ed, Annie beckoned Francis to follow her, and 
 when he did so, led him to the edge of the grove, 
 and, sitting down on the grass, addressed him 
 thus : 
 
 " Francis, I have tried hard to keep my feelings 
 from my father and mother this evening." 
 
 " That was a great effort on my part, too," re 
 plied Francis. 
 
 " Oh ! but, Francis," she said, " you don t 
 know as much as I do. By Maurice s wife we are 
 heartily unwelcome here. I had a few words 
 with her on our way to the village this evening. 
 She insulted me very badly." And Annie put her 
 apron to her eyes and began to cry. 
 
 " Oh ! nonsense, Annie," said Francis, drying 
 her tears; " tell me what has passed. I could see 
 it in her to-night by the way she looked at 
 father and mother, and kept continually finding 
 an excuse to make one or the other shift their 
 place at the fire, that we were anything but wel 
 come. But then, Maurice is such a generous- 
 hearted fellow himself I would rather not notice 
 this for awhile, till we can find some little place 
 of our own." 
 
 " Not for the world," said Annie, " would I let 
 mother know of it. I hope she has not noticed 
 it herself already. She would sooner lie in this
 
 78 Annie Rtilly. 
 
 wood at night than there, if she once thought we 
 were unwelcome." 
 
 " I ll tell you, Annie," said Francis, after a short 
 pause, " what I intend doing. Colonel Saunder- 
 son has lately built a number of small cottages, 
 which he intends filling with his workmen ; and I 
 am thinking of seeking work at the castle and, if 
 I obtain it and one of those little houses, we will 
 be somewhat independent again." 
 
 " Ah ! Francis, that is a good thought," said 
 Annie ; " but I fear it would break poor mother s 
 heart living amongst such people as her neigh 
 bors then would be. And then, you a workman 
 at the castle." 
 
 " I have thought of all that," said Francis. 
 " When mother reflects, I don t think she will 
 take it so bad after all. Along with what little 
 we have got, I could soon earn enough to bring 
 us to America. I could not think of leaving 
 them, now that they have nothing only my exer 
 tions to rely on." 
 
 " Francis," said Annie earnestly, " what do you 
 think of this? I cannot be of much service to 
 you here none at all, in fact; only a burden. 
 And now, if you think father could spare enough 
 to send me to America alone, I could earn enough 
 there to be of great help to you." 
 
 " Ah ! I am afraid they would never consent to
 
 Annie Reilly. 79 
 
 you crossing the ocean alone," said Francis. 
 " For my part, I know very well you would suc 
 ceed. I wish you had thought of this when 
 James O Rourke was going; but," he added, 
 " you couldn t easily have done that. It would 
 not have been very pleasant to be under the pro 
 tection of a man in the danger poor James was in." 
 
 Francis felt the hand he held in his tremble, 
 and, looking around, he saw Annie struggling to 
 keep back her tears. 
 
 " Well, well, Annie," said he, with a smile, " I 
 shouldn t have spoken of James to you now ; but 
 you know he succeeded in getting off safely, so 
 that he is now beyond danger, and you and he may 
 meet on the other side of the water some day. I 
 have it now, my girl," and he slapped the back 
 of her hand. " I would bet a sovereign, if I had 
 it, that your whole anxiety to get to America 
 is because James O Rourke is there." And he 
 laughed and shook her by the hair. 
 
 "No, indeed, Francis," said she; "you do me 
 wrong there. I should certainly be glad to meet 
 him or any other friend in a strange country ; 
 but my whole anxiety is to be able to assist you 
 at home." 
 
 "I didn t doubt you, Annie," said he. "You 
 must pardon what I have said. You are a great 
 good girl and a wise girl "
 
 So Annie Reilly. 
 
 "Well, well, now, Francis," said she, interrupt 
 ing him, " mother will get alarmed if we stay h~re 
 much longer ; and so let us decide on what to 
 do. After what passed this evening, you would 
 not ask your sister to remain in that woman s 
 house ; and I beg of you to help me to make 
 father and mother let me go. Mother will not 
 be so hard to induce as you think. Nancy Brady 
 had a letter from her daughter Kitty a couple of 
 weeks ago, and showed it to mother. It gave a 
 splendid account of New York, and contained 
 five pounds and a promise of five more before 
 the end of summer. You know mother always 
 liked Kitty, and would not have the least doubt 
 of anything she d say. Now, if I got along as 
 well as Kitty, I could have you with me before 
 three months, and surely both of us could keep 
 the old pair comfortably at home if they would 
 rather live here." 
 
 " Oh ! Annie, how can I plead with them to let 
 you go away from us? But sure, I see the truth 
 of every word you say." 
 
 " God bless you, Francis !" said she. " We will 
 go back and say no more about it to-night ; but 
 delay is useless, you know, so we will try them 
 to-morrow evening."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "MY NATIVE LAND, GOOD-NIGHT !" 
 
 Byron. 
 
 IARRELL REILLY and his wife wer 
 
 a very common-sense couple; none 
 of those sentimental people who sit 
 down and weep and mourn over mis 
 fortune, and close their eyes to every effort at 
 overcoming it. They saw something must be 
 done, and done, quickly ; and, painful and dis 
 tressing as it was to them, the plan for the future 
 laid down by their son and daughter met their 
 approval much easier than the latter had expect 
 ed. Mrs. Reilly wept bitterly for some minutes, 
 and poor Farrell wrung his hands and paced up 
 and down the floor a few times ; then, turning to 
 Annie, who tried to wear as cheerful a face as 
 she could, he said : 
 
 " In God s name, my child, I ll make nojobjec- 
 tion." 
 
 " Nor I, Annie," said her mother. " I will be 
 seech Heaven, night and day, to watch over you, 
 and the just and merciful God will one day, I 
 hope, allow us to see your face again."
 
 82 Annie Reilly. 
 
 It is needless to dwell on the incidents of the 
 few days spent in Annie s preparation for her 
 journey. She went to confession to the good 
 Father Fitzpatrick, and told him of her intention, 
 and received his blessing and a promise that he 
 would say a Mass for her safety while on the 
 wide ocean. 
 
 The night previous to her departure soon 
 came, and a number of the friends of the family 
 assembled at Maurice Handley s to take farewell 
 of Annie and bid her Godspeed on her journey. 
 Mrs. Reilly was seated on a chair, on one side of 
 the room, her head resting on her hand, watching 
 Annie and Francis packing up the little trunk, 
 and Farrell stood by the window, looking out on 
 the road, when the first visitor, Nancy Brady, 
 called upon them. She carried a small bundle in 
 her hand containing some linen and worsted, and 
 a bunch of green shamrock, which she intended 
 sending with Annie to her daughter in America. 
 The brother and sister were right glad to see her, 
 and gave her a warm welcome ; for they knew all 
 she had to say in praise of America would help 
 to console their mother for the evening. 
 
 Nancy was a poor widow, and lived in a small 
 cabin by the wayside, a little distance from the 
 old home of Reilly. After the death of her hus 
 band, and when she was left with her little girl
 
 Annie Reilly, 83 
 
 in extreme poverty, Farrell Reilly had been a 
 good friend to her, often supplying her for months 
 with provisions, when otherwise her child and 
 herself might have perished of want. It grieved 
 the poor old lady sorely, the misfortune that had 
 befallen her benefactor and his family. Her 
 cabin-door commanded a view of the cottage, 
 and, when the family were gone, she built up the 
 door on that side, and opened another on the op 
 posite end of the cabin. The moment she entered 
 Handley s and saw Mrs. Reilly, she smiled as if 
 she felt quite happy, and, seating herself by her 
 side, began to praise their good wisdom in send 
 ing Annie to America. 
 
 " My poor daughter," she went on, " that had 
 neither education nor much ability of any kind, 
 see how well she is doing. Since she went to 
 America, I have never known the want of a shil 
 ling. And your daughter, Mrs. Reilly, the best 
 scholar as Mr. Lacy often told me at his school, 
 and so smart in every way, how is she going to 
 get along?" 
 
 Mrs. Reilly said very little, but let the good- 
 hearted creature talk on in this strain. The 
 effect of what she was saying, however, was not 
 lost on the other, and she soon felt well enough 
 to assist Mrs. Brady and Annie in completing 
 the trunk.
 
 84 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Amongst those who came to bid the girl fare- 
 well were a number of young men, sons of the 
 neighboring farmers, most of whom one day in 
 tended taking the same course. These fn par 
 ticular laid themselves out to enliven the party 
 and spend a pleasant night. Annie s health and 
 prosperity were drunk a hundred times. Numer 
 ous songs were sung, mostly patriotic, or bearing 
 on the event which assembled them together. 
 
 Thus the night passed away, and morning 
 came. None of the family went to sleep ; for, by 
 the time the last of those who were going no 
 further than the house had left, it was time for 
 Annie, and those who intended leaving her at the 
 railway station, to depart, too. 
 
 As the time for her parting from her daughter 
 approached, Mrs. Reilly felt her heart growing 
 doubly sad, and she dreaded she would break 
 down at the last moment. The state of her 
 health did not permit her to leave the house 
 Nancy tried to engage her attention now more 
 than ever. 
 
 At length Annie went into the room to put 
 on her hat. Noticing this, her mother s face 
 grew deadly pale, and she nervously clutched 
 Nancy s hand. 
 
 " Oh ! now, after bearing up so well all night, 
 <aid the latter, while her own voice quivered,
 
 Annie Reilly. &5 
 
 " you would not go to break your heart and 
 your child s, too, at the last moment. In pity to 
 her, don t show such signs of grief. What a 
 happy woman I would have been to see my 
 daughter going as Annie is. The morning she 
 left, not one was in the cabin but little Francis 
 he was little then who called in on his way to- 
 school. And Annie this morning leaves you for 
 a happy land with a thousand blessings on her 
 head." 
 
 Soon Annie came out from the room, with her 
 neat black hat and new cloak on, surrounded by 
 a crowd of friends. How pretty she looked, the 
 paleness of her face only serving to reveal more 
 clearly her finely arched, dark eyebrows ! Had 
 James O Rourke seen her at that moment, he 
 would have loved her better than ever, if love 
 could be stronger than his. 
 
 Farrell ran from the cottage like one wild ; he 
 could not bear to be present at the parting. 
 
 " Now is the time for your fortitude and charity, 
 too, Mrs. Reilly," whispered the old lady, as Annie 
 approached. 
 
 " Just kiss your mother and ask her blessing, 
 and leave at once, Annie," said Mrs. Brady. " The 
 less time you spend here now, the better for both 
 of you." 
 
 The girl bent over her mother.
 
 86 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " My child ! my darling ! my own Annie !" ex 
 claimed Mrs. Reilly, " in this, the saddest hour of 
 my life, I call on God to be just to that man who 
 drove us apart so soon, and sent you out alone on 
 the world to-day. O Annie ! if ever an unhappy 
 mother died of a broken, crushed heart, it will be 
 me if anything befalls you." And mother and 
 daughter were locked in each other s arms. The 
 spectators turned away from the heartrending 
 scene, and a tear came into every eye. " My 
 sweet child, my fond Annie, that was always 
 such a loving daughter to us, it has been a 
 source of sorrow to me since I first watched for 
 your footsteps to think I would one day have to 
 part from you ; but I would have lain cold in my 
 grave long ago had I ever known or thought you 
 would be left a lone bird far away from father, 
 mother, or brother." She sobbed as she pressed 
 the girl close to her heart. 
 
 " O mother!" said Annie, " my love for you 
 will be stronger than ever now, and will urge me 
 to make every effort to come to your arms again. 
 Give me your blessing, your fond blessing, and 
 neither of us need fear anything." 
 
 " My blessing, and God s choicest blessing, and 
 the blessing of all the saints in heaven for ever be 
 with you, my child," said her mother, raising her 
 hands. " And that blessing I will invoke night
 
 Annie Reilly. 87 
 
 and day on your head while God leaves me 
 life." 
 
 They held their faces together, mingling their 
 tears in silent, unutterable anguish, till Mrs. Brady 
 said softly in the mother s ear, " Mrs. Reilly, you 
 have blessed your child, we have all blessed her ; 
 tis needless to delay longer. Your next meeting 
 will be a happy one." And the good woman 
 gently withdrew the arms that embraced the girl, 
 and whispered her to leave at once. After fer 
 vently kissing the cold, wet face, Annie ran from 
 the house, and was gone. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning in the month of 
 August ; a drop of dew glistened on every blade 
 of grass and on every thorn. The webs of the busy 
 spider covered every tree and shrub, and the 
 lark s first note of welcome to the rising sun was 
 heard from the wood close by. 
 
 Farrell joined the group that had followed 
 Annie, and the little crowd set out for the neigh 
 boring station ; Maurice had gone on a little be 
 fore with the trunk, to have it marked, and ready 
 when the train would arrive. Farrell intended 
 accompanying her as far as Queenstown, but 
 Francis was to return from the station to his 
 mother. 
 
 The morning had passed away so quickly 
 that, just as they came within view of the station
 
 Annie Reilly. 
 
 the whistle of the engine sounded shrilly over a 
 hill close by, and the next moment a long line of 
 cars shot out on the plain before them, and swept 
 up to the station. A delay of half an hour, Jiow- 
 ever, would occur, and they reached the platform 
 just as an old priest, with long, white hair and- 
 bent figure, was giving his parting blessing to a 
 number of emigrants who knelt on the platform 
 around him. Annie hastily made her way and 
 knelt down on the edge of the crowd. Amongst 
 them were young men and girls, married men and 
 their wives and children. Even grandfathers and 
 grandmothers, who had bravely struggled for a 
 lifetime to live and die in the old land, knelt 
 there to receive the last blessing from an Irish 
 priest, and then face the wild Atlantic, probably 
 to die of hardships by the way, or lay their bones 
 to rest as soon as they reached the new land. 
 
 Beneath the face of God, there is no sadder sight 
 than to witness those old, helpless, broken-hearted 
 creatures, who love their native land next to their 
 God, when every earthly hope has failed, gather 
 ed at the foot of the saintly priest, to ask his 
 blessing on their flight. What hope they place 
 in this last benediction in the Isle of Saints God 
 only can tell ! 
 
 A warning whistle announced to Annie and 
 the others that it was time to go aboard. She
 
 Annie Reilly. 89 
 
 hastily took farewell of her friends, and having 
 affectionately kissed her brother, and bade him 
 be good and true to their aged parents, and 
 have every hope in her, hurried into the car, fol 
 lowed by her father. 
 
 Her brother and friends stood together on the 
 platform, replying . to the white handkerchief 
 which kept waving to them from the carriage 
 window till the train moved out of sight. 
 
 It was late in the evening when they arrived in 
 Queenstown, and, as the ship by which Annie in 
 tended going was not expected in till the following 
 morning, they sought a lodging-house for the night. 
 The lodging-house was within view of the beauti-ful 
 harbor, and the young girl sat by the window in 
 the dim twilight watching the emigrants clamber 
 ing on board a vessel which had just arrived from 
 Liverpool. Farrell sat with his elbows resting on 
 a little round table which stood in the middle of 
 the room, eagerly scanning an engraving of New 
 York Bay which hung on the opposite wall. 
 
 A strange feeling came over Annie. She could 
 not take her eyes from the ship, and she heartily 
 wished she had been in time to sail by it. Why 
 she felt thus she could not tell. Her memory 
 wandered to James O Rourke. What sort of 
 ship did he cross over in ? How did he spend his 
 time aboard, and what kind of friends did he
 
 Annie Reilly. 
 
 make? Did he enliven them with his flute, or 
 did he stand silently alone looking out on the 
 wide waters? This latter she thought more 
 likely. 
 
 It grew dark, and, though she could no longer 
 see those on board, the tall mast and yard-arms were 
 yet faintly visible through the fading light, and she 
 could hear the voices of the sailors as they callrrl 
 out to each other. A light shone on deck. A 
 man carrying a lantern passed along close by the 
 bulwark, and the reflection fell on the form of a 
 man standing alone with his arms folded, just 
 -as Annie thought a moment before James would 
 stand. She knew the figure. No ; it could not 
 be James. He had gone a week ago. The man 
 looked down the gangway, and held the light 
 before him. God ! if he would only turn its light 
 the other way. She leaned from the window, 
 and strained her eyes almost to bursting. At 
 length the light turned in the coveted direction, 
 and she saw the figure move slowly away. It 
 could be no other. Yes ; it was no other than 
 James O Rourke. She knew the form, the clothes, 
 everything. Surely it was he. She had pre 
 sence of mind enough not to alarm her father, 
 knowing how useless it would be. She waited 
 and watched, in hopes to see the light return 
 But, no ; the sky darkened for rain, and she could nc
 
 Annie Reilly. 91 
 
 loi.ger see even the main-mast ; still her eyes were 
 bent in that direction*. Soon the rain began to 
 fall. A flash of lightning filled the room, fol 
 lowed by a crash of thunder that shook the very 
 walls. Annie seemed not to notice it. Another 
 flood of lightning, more terrible than the first, filled 
 the air outside, and, darting outwards, revealed 
 the ship slowly moving out to sea. 
 
 Neither Annie nor her father slept much during 
 the night, and both were up early and waiting at 
 the ticket-office for the clerk to open. Farrell 
 paid the passage-money, and gave her besides all 
 he could possibly spare, in case she should need it 
 when she reached New York. 
 
 About noon, the noble ship came in sight, and 
 soon anchored in the harbor. The parting be 
 tween her father and Annie was quite as affect 
 ing as the morning one. Having her luggage 
 taken aboard, she joined the stream of human 
 cargo scrambling and jostling each other up the 
 ship s side.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LIVERPOOL MAN-CATCHERS AND LODGING- 
 
 HOUSES. 
 
 E shall now return to James O Rourke, 
 whom we left in the rather unpleasant 
 position of bidding a hasty good-by 
 to his sweetheart, while he dreaded 
 every moment the faithful upholders of justice 
 and fair play in Ireland would be upon him. 
 After parting from Annie, he turned his steps 
 northward, hoping to reach Dublin before the 
 authorities there could be apprised of his flight. 
 He de emed it better to take this direction, as the 
 police would be certain to warn their brothers at 
 Queenstown to look out for him. Neither did he 
 think it prudent to travel by the main roads, but 
 kept to the by-lanes and open country. 
 
 The short night passed quickly away, but, when 
 morning came, -James had left his home a long 
 way behind, and found himself in a part of the 
 country totally unknown to him. By making 
 enquiries of some laborers who were going to their 
 toil at that early hour, he found the road to Dub 
 lin ; and, as his apprehensions had calmed con-
 
 Annie Reilly. 93 
 
 siderably since he left his native county, he struck 
 boldly into the road, and that evening, tired and 
 footsore, reached the city. The Liverpool boat 
 was about to leave in a few minutes after he 
 reached the dock, and, as he did not care to 
 delay in the capital, he took passage, and was 
 soon out on the Irish Sea. 
 
 James and his fellow-passengers had a pleasant 
 voyage. The night was calm and fine on their 
 departure, and continued so till morning; when, 
 just as tall wreaths of smoke began to curl up 
 from the houses along the Mersey, they reached 
 Liverpool. A motley crowd of ship-runners and 
 lodging-house keepers met the passengers on 
 their landing, and surrounded them like a pack 
 of hungry wolves ; some crying out they repre 
 sented such a ship " the very best on the ocean " 
 and beseeching all sensible passengers who 
 valued their health and future prosperity to take 
 no other ; some frantically roaring out the nume 
 rous striking qualities of their boarding-house ; 
 what attention we don t doubt that what good 
 meals, what cleanliness was to be found there. 
 It would be much better for those man-catchers, 
 -is they are called, not to mention cleanliness, 
 lest some inquisitive emigrant should look at 
 their faces and hands, and begin to reflect, till, 
 seeing they told one lie, probably doubt all they
 
 94 Annie Reilly. 
 
 had to say. But shout, and yell, and declaiir 
 they will, and always give their voices a little 
 higher pitch at the word cleanliness. James, not 
 being encumbered with much baggage, escaped 
 pretty well till he reached the dock, where he 
 stood looking at the scramble, and din, and noise 
 going on on the gangway and around him. It 
 looked like a fierce charge on a well-fought field, 
 only more terrible ; for, when a man fell here, no 
 companion in swind in arms, bore him to the 
 rear. 
 
 The man-catchers bore down on the passen 
 gers as they left the boat, the latter slowly but 
 steadily driving them back. Old scoundrels, who 
 had made emigrant-swindling a lifelong business, 
 and were very much attached to it now, were 
 knocked down and walked over every day by 
 their stronger competitors ; but, nothing daunted, 
 they would be at their post the following morn 
 ing as determined as ever. 
 
 At length, when the strife subsided, and the as 
 sailants began to carry off their spoils, in the shape 
 of innocent men, women, and children who had 
 probably never seen a city before, James, seeing 
 a man standing with his back towards him, clad 
 in very shiny black, looking out on the river, 
 made up his mind to ask him the way to the 
 ticket-office. Thinking he must be some distin-
 
 Annie Reilly. 95 
 
 guished personage, James approached respect 
 fully, and said, " Please, sir, will you be kind 
 enough to direct me to the shipping-office ? I 
 am going to America." 
 
 The man turned towards him, and, if James 
 O Rourke had been a keen observer, he would 
 have seen at once that a front view of the gentle 
 man was hardly in keeping with the appearance 
 he presented from behind. His face was very 
 long and irregular, his mouth very wide much 
 wider than nature had intended it should be, as 
 a deep, bluish scar on one side added consider 
 ably to its proportions. His eyes were very small 
 and round, and seemed determined, through time, 
 on making their way through his brain to the 
 other side. His nose seemed to have met the 
 same adverse fate as his mouth. It hung down 
 in a heavy red bunch in front, owing, we. think, 
 to the part nearest the eyes being completely 
 flattened, probably by some blunt instrument, as 
 the doctors say. His forehead well, that very 
 important part of his head was concealed from 
 view by an immense wide-brimmed hat, which 
 had once been as shiny as his coat, but was now 
 assuming an auburn hue. He wore his coat 
 buttoned up close, a yellowish necktie, but no 
 collar. 
 
 " My dear young fellow, hi shall be appy to^
 
 96 Annie Reilly. 
 
 direct you," said he, turning to James, on hearing 
 his question. " Step this ere way a little." And 
 he led him a few yards further away from the 
 boat. " Hof course, you want to sail by the best 
 line?" 
 
 " Certainly I do, sir," said James, after a little 
 hesitation, " if it does not cost any more ; for, to 
 tell you the truth " 
 
 " Not ha penny more than the leakiest hold 
 tub as crosses the Atlantic. Ere his the name 
 hof the ship ; she sails to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Thank God !" thought James, delighted at the 
 prospect of spending so little time in Liverpool. 
 
 Now, it so happened that the gentleman, in 
 showing the notice to James, flaunted it a little 
 too much, so that it caught the eyes of a number 
 of disappointed man-catchers, who were standing 
 here and there, looking very rapacious and sullen. 
 In a moment they were upon them, pushing bills 
 into James s hand, and each begging of him to 
 put no trust in the others, but be guided by him. 
 The old gentleman was pushed to the outside of 
 the crowd in a moment, but his frantic warnings 
 could be heard above all. One in his desperation 
 caught him by the hand, and tried to pull it 
 open, that he might leave his card there. 
 
 " Let me speak, for heaven s sake," said 
 James.
 
 Annie ReiUy. 97 
 
 " Yes, sir ; yes, sir ; say whatever you have to 
 say, and come on with me," exclaimed half a 
 dozen voices. 
 
 " I am going with none of you, blast you " 
 shouted James, dashing from their midst. " This 
 gentleman," pointing to the man he had first 
 spoken to, " has kindly consented to do all I 
 want for me." 
 
 " All right, go with him ; I wish you luck. 
 You ll not get skinned. Oh ! no," said the same 
 Voices. 
 
 " What do they mean by attacking a person in 
 that way ? " asked James of the other, who had 
 taken his arm to -lead him off. 
 
 " Ho ! that s the way as they do things haround 
 ere hin general," replied the other, pulling down 
 his tie, which in the scuffle had got up around his 
 ears. " You re ha fort nate man to miss em." 
 
 " Please direct me to the office," said James, 
 looking back at the crowd. " I ll leave Liverpool 
 as soon as I can." 
 
 " Ho ! you must not judge Liverpool by what 
 you see ere this mornin ," said his companion. 
 " When you see the place as I ll take ye to, your 
 hopinion of the Hinglish ill change ; but we ll 
 go to the hoffice first." 
 
 They walked a long way along the docks, his 
 companion still holding James by the arm, and
 
 98 Annie Reilly. 
 
 < 
 
 pointing out all the places of interest to stran 
 gers which, by the way, were chiefly high, Old, 
 dirty-looking stores, with broken doors and 
 windows, outside of which sat groups of ill- 
 clad, ill-favored looking men, black with smoke 
 and grease ; and an occasional large dray, pulled 
 by huge, lazy horses so lazy that you would want 
 to be close by before knowing whether they were 
 moving or not was also an object of curiosity to 
 James. At length they turned up a side street, 
 walking over heaps of half-naked women and chil 
 dren at every step, till they reached a somewhat 
 neat-looking building neat only when contrasted 
 with its neighbors and entered an office on the 
 ground floor. The only furniture of any kind it 
 contained was a triangular desk of very doubtful 
 material, and a fat, dull-eyed, middle-aged man 
 of undoubted Saxon nationality. He was eating 
 a lump of cheese, which he held in the palm of 
 his hand, and did not seem to notice them as they 
 entered. 
 
 "The best- arted man in the world," whis 
 pered the guide. 
 
 James thought, if that were so, it had very little 
 control over his manner; but he said nothing. 
 
 " How d ye do, Mr. Bluffy ?" said the other, ap 
 proaching the desk. " I opes as yer well, sir." 
 
 " Well enough," was the reply. " Have you
 
 Annie Reilly, 99 
 
 done anything to-day ? I am afraid you re going 
 in the back of the books here, Lantern." 
 
 Why, ow is that, Mr. Bluffy?" said that gen 
 tleman, with a rueful look, which was his best 
 look. " Han t hi hout hearly and late a watch- 
 in and a strivin for this ere company ? " 
 
 " That may all be," said Bluffy, reaching for a 
 pint of ale which a boy had just entered with, 
 " but you an t doing anything." 
 
 Mr. Bluffy put the measure to his mouth and 
 drained it to the last drop, smacked his lips, 
 handed it back to the boy, and added : " There s 
 where the mistake comes in." 
 
 " Do you call this ere nothin ? " said Mr. Lan 
 tern, pointing to James. " Hi took im from 
 thirty on em ; hi did that, Mr. Bluffy." 
 
 " Well, well," said the other, " a bob, and no 
 more about it." 
 
 " Ho Mr. Bluffy, Mr. Bluffy !" And he put an 
 old, torn red handkerchief, which came out of his 
 pocket like a rope, to his eyes. " Hi earns it arc! 
 as hany man, hand why not " a sob " give me 
 the same has hanother man? " 
 
 " You know the rules," said the other : " one 
 bob for one, three bob for two, and so forth. 5 
 
 "Them ere rules is ard on a poor man," 
 blubbered Lantern. 
 
 But looking towards James, and noticing
 
 ioo Annie Reilly. 
 
 he was not so shabbily clad as the majority 
 of emigrants, he brightened up a little, and : 
 approaching near to his patron, whispered a 
 word in his ear. The latter let his heavy eyes 
 fall on James, and said : 
 
 " All right, if it can be done." 
 
 " Come ere now, my young friend," said Lan 
 tern, " hand get yer ticket." 
 
 James walked up to the desk. 
 
 " Give me the money," said the man behind it. 
 
 " How much is it, sir ? " asked James anx 
 iously. 
 
 ";5 15^-" was the reply. 
 
 O Rourke s. face flushed a little. " I thought, 
 sir," he said, " 5 105-. was the highest rate of 
 passage ?" 
 
 Bluffy looked at Lantern, and the latter quickly 
 said : 
 
 " The hextra vive bob his for hextra accom 
 modation. Mr. Bluffy, the best- arted man in 
 Hingland, says as ow you ll not be treated like 
 hanother passenger." 
 
 " Oh! but I am satisfied to rough it with the 
 rest," said James. " My funds are very low." 
 
 " All right," grunted Bluffy, " if you want to 
 sleep up by the engine, and have the smoke .and 
 dirt blowing over you every night." And he be 
 gan to make out the ticket.
 
 Annie Reilly. 101 
 
 " Young man, you re ha destroyin of yourself. 
 You may get blinded," whispered Lantern, clutch 
 ing James by the arm. " Let me hadvise you, 
 has a honest man as does fair by is fellow-man, 
 to change your mind." 
 
 " I ll pay it, then," said James ; " but it seems 
 strange to charge more than the advertised rate." 
 
 " Your wisdom ill make yer fortin , young 
 man," said Lantern, not heeding the latter part 
 of the other s remark. 
 
 James paid the money, and turned away ; but, as 
 he did so, the corner of his eye caught Mr. Lan 
 tern picking up two of the very half-crowns he had 
 paid, and thrusting them hurriedly into his pocket. 
 He was about to make some remark, but, thinking 
 it might be some money due him by the other, 
 he merely sighed and wished himself out of 
 Liverpool. 
 
 Mr. Lantern joined him outside the office, and 
 conducted him down to the docks again, and 
 along in the direction from which they had just 
 come, then up a very narrow, dirty street, with 
 high, bare, miserable-looking houses on each side, 
 which had not received a brush of whitewash 
 or paint in half a century, if they ever received 
 one. The greater part of these buildings were 
 eating and lodging-houses, and the smell of bad 
 meat, rotten cabbage, and garbage of every kind
 
 iO2 Annie Reilly. 
 
 which they sent into the street made the atmo 
 sphere well-nigh intolerable. At length Mr. Lan 
 tern stopped at one of the most ill-looking places 
 they had met, with an old weather-beaten sign 
 over the door, on which was scrawled, in almost 
 unintelligible letters, "Lodging and Entertain 
 ment." 
 
 " This is the ouse where you ll be comfortable 
 till mornin ," said Lantern. " Come halong, sir." 
 
 James followed him, and, as he entered the 
 door, the abominable smell that filled the place 
 was ten times worse than that in the street. A 
 small door just inside the entrance opened in a 
 very dark little room which fronted on the street. 
 This room, like its brothers in every house in 
 that street, had its window continually closed 
 with half-rotten, whitish shutters ; and as these 
 managed to keep together, the room was 
 left all day, at any rate, without a single ray 
 of light. Its door was standing ajar as James 
 passed, and, happening to look that way, the 
 thick darkness, with here and there the back 
 of an old white chair dimly visible, like a shy 
 ghost, made him hurry after his guide into the 
 room directly behind this one. This latter was 
 the principal apartment of the establishment. 
 Though small in size, it served as kitchen, din 
 ing-room, laundry, smoking-room, gambling-room,
 
 Annie Reilly. 103 
 
 and, in short, every purpose for which any room 
 could be used. 
 
 The only persons within when they entered 
 were an old, very ugly woman, with a large, full, 
 iron-gray face studded over with numerous small 
 projections, out of which grew several long hairs 
 corresponding in color with her face, and a young, 
 fat, sullen-looking girl, who sat so close to the 
 fire that her face shone again. The former sat in 
 the window-sill, peeling potatoes with the blade 
 of an old razor set in a piece of wood, and, as she 
 finished a potato, she threw the skins through a 
 broken pane into God knows where outside. 
 The other, who looked decidedly lazy, now and 
 then took hold of a long stick, black from grease 
 and dirt, which stood in a large pot of soup on 
 the fire, and stirred it round and round. 
 
 The old lady s face we do not think could 
 assume a cheerful expression on any occasion ; so 
 that there may not be much in saying she 
 frowned as Mr. Lantern went over to her. But 
 it was such a wicked, scornful frown, and her eye.s 
 flashed so, surely he must be no favorite of hers. 
 
 " E wants to lodge ere to-night, Mrs. Vitles. 
 Hi brought im ere." 
 
 Mrs. Witles turned her head from side to side 
 a few times, and resumed her work without mak 
 ing any reply. Mr. Lantern looked around, and
 
 IO4 Annie Reilly. 
 
 the top of his nose grew redder as he saw that 
 James noticed his reception. He turned to Mrs. 
 Witles again, and stood with his .knees together, 
 not venturing to say a word. 
 
 " Veil," said she at length, throwing down the 
 knife, but without raising her eyes. " Veil." 
 
 " Hi brought a lodger to yer, Mrs. Vitles," said 
 Lantern feebly. 
 
 " Veil, you know e can stay. Vere s yer use 
 in tellin me ? Do yer see any sign on im runnin 
 away ?" 
 
 " Hi yer know the reason I tell ye, Mrs. 
 Vitles," said he, with a mean leer, and backing 
 further away. 
 
 " Wery well I do," said she, in a loud voice ; 
 " but do ye expect me to pay ye afore I knows 
 ow much I m a goin to make meself ?" 
 
 Lantern cast a wistful look at the soup, which 
 Mrs. Witles at once interpreted ; for she ex 
 claimed : 
 
 " Hi ll be blowed if I do. Leave ere, now." 
 And she snatched the stick from the soup-pot. 
 " Go, now," continued she, advancing threaten 
 ingly upon him. " You re more arm than good to 
 any place as lets you in on em. Make tracks, now." 
 
 And as the worthy gentleman backed into the 
 hall, she slammed the door so quickly that it was 
 a miracle his nose escaped.
 
 Annie Reilly. 105 
 
 James sat for a time, oppressed by the heat 
 and smell of the place, and by his own troubled 
 mind ; for, now that he was alone we may say so, 
 for neither of the women addressed a word to 
 him or even looked towards him the unhappy 
 state of his father at home, and sorrow and 
 anxiety after Annie, crowded on his mind. So 
 much did these thoughts weigh upon him that 
 he forgot his own unhappy circumstances and un 
 certain future, and even where he was, till the 
 noise of heavy footsteps outside in the hall roused 
 him. The door was burst open, and a motley 
 crowd of coal-heavers, sailors, old pensioners, 
 browned with the sun of India, thimble-riggers, 
 trick-o -the-loop men, ballad-singers, and, in short. 
 a sample of all the lower grades of the city 
 crowded into the room. 
 
 James looked up and saw dinner was already on 
 the table, and Mrs. Witles busily engaged filling 
 a row of wooden bowls with soup, cabbage, po 
 tatoes, and loathsome-looking, lumps of fat which 
 the young woman was lifting from the bottom of 
 the pot with her fingers. 
 
 The men, such of them as could, climbed over 
 the high form which surrounded the table, and, 
 resting their elbows thereon, began to eat like 
 wolves. Many of the old soldiers and sailors, who 
 were disabled so badly in upholding the majesty
 
 io6 Annie Reilly. 
 
 of England that any future attempt of theirs at 
 stepping over a form must be hopeless, sat down 
 with their backs to the table, and such of them as 
 had two hands held the bowl in one of them ; 
 but others, who were not blessed with that num 
 ber, held it between their knees ; and a few who, 
 happened to want hands and knees both, sat down 
 on the floor and ate like animals. 
 
 James looked on in amazement at the hideous 
 
 sight, and made no attempt to join them, till Mrs. 
 
 Wittles, when the meal was almost over and some 
 
 *of the guests straggling out, said, looking sharply 
 
 at him : 
 
 " Fall hin, young man, of you ll be too late." 
 
 "With your leave, madam," replied he, "I 
 would rather wait a little." 
 
 The poor fellow could no more eat with such a 
 party than he could fly. 
 
 " Hi wouldn t keep my table set hafter the reg- 
 lar hour for the queen erself, if she was ere," 
 said Mrs. Witles, snatching a lump of meat from 
 before a lean old pensioner, which the latter had 
 stolen from the pot while her back was turned. 
 
 James moved over to the table, and, the bowl 
 being set before him, covered his eyes with his 
 hands to shut out the sight of a sailor opposite, 
 who was licking the inside of his bowl like a 
 dog. Mrs. Witles s plan for the dinner-hour was a
 
 Annie Reilly. 107 
 
 very good one for herself. As soon as she saw a 
 boarder had his bowl emptied, she immediately 
 ordered him, with a shake of the soup-stick, to 
 leave, thereby preventing the possibility of giving 
 him a second round. This, too, helped James to 
 get rid of the disgusting fellow across the table 
 much sooner than otherwise might have hap 
 pened : for Mrs. Witles s quick eye alighting on 
 him, she ordered him, with sundry choice epithets, 
 to go before he d " eat the bowl." 
 
 James tasted a little of the soup, but no 
 thing else. He went into the street, and wan 
 dered down as far as the docks again, tak 
 ing a mental note of everything of remark 
 he passed, that he might not lose his way com 
 ing back. He sat down on the edge of the 
 quay, and watched the men loading and unload 
 ing the ships, and saw several going out to sea, 
 some for China and Japan and other far distant 
 places. A number of vessels, too, arrived during 
 the evening, and, as he saw the passengers coming 
 ashore, wondered what kind of country they came 
 from, what sort of cities and people did it con 
 tain, or were they as dirty as Liverpool. 
 
 He remained there till it began to grow dark 
 and a few of the lamps around him were lighted, 
 when he turned and walked back to the lodging- 
 house.
 
 1 08 A nnie Reilfy. 
 
 If the streets presented a wretched appear, 
 ance in daytime, they looked doubly so at 
 night. They were literally filled with poverty 
 and vice of the. very worst kind. Beggars with 
 awful-looking sores stood or lay in knots around 
 the lamp-posts, frantically telling the wretched 
 passers-by of their sufferings and pain. A blind 
 or disabled musician of some kind, clad in rags, 
 scraped or thumbed a miserable instrument be 
 fore- nearly every door. Drunken men and wo 
 men rushed into the streets with yells, curses, and 
 shouts of obscenity, occasionally stopping for a 
 moment to dance to the wretched music, then 
 hurrying on, trampling over the children and 
 helpless. 
 
 Bad as his lodging-house was within, it was 
 some relief to James to escape from such a scene. 
 None of the other boarders had returned, and he 
 requested to be shown to his bed. Mrs. Witles 
 handed him a candle, and, pointing up the dingy 
 old stairs, told him to push open the door of the 
 first room he met, and lie down on any bed he 
 chose. Of beds he had a noble choice. The 
 room, which, by the way, was the entire floor, 
 was so closely packed with beds that no one 
 might attempt to walk from one side of the apart 
 ment to the other, except he stepped from bed 
 to bed. James held the candle down between
 
 Annie Reilly. 109 
 
 two beds, that he might see the floor ; this was 
 no easy task either, for it was covered to the 
 depth of a couple of inches with dust and other 
 dirt, all of which did not belong to the inanimate 
 kingdom. He raised the candle and looked 
 around the room, on the green and black walls, 
 down which the rain had poured for years and 
 years ; and from the quantity of cobwebs which 
 covered the ceiling what of it remained and 
 the angles of the room, it was evident Mrs. Wit- 
 les made very little use of her broom. 
 
 James, being very much exhausted from hard 
 ship and long want of sleep, selected a bed on 
 the outer row, which looked as if it had not been 
 occupied for some time, lay down on its edge, 
 and soon fell asleep. How long he slept he knew 
 not, till he was aroused by the noise of voices 
 around him loud, coarse voices and, looking 
 up, saw the same group he had met at din 
 ner ; some walking over the beds to reach their 
 own on the far side, others crowding in at the 
 door, and one and all in an advanced stage of in 
 toxication. 
 
 Some were pale, sick, and sad ; others were 
 sentimental, who wept to themselves over past 
 attachments in their own and other lands ; a few 
 were belligerent, and, assuming numerous fight 
 ing attitudes, boasted they were afraid of no man
 
 no Annie Reilly. 
 
 in Hingland, without reference to the present 
 company " ; and the old soldier from whom Mrs. 
 Witles snatched the lump of fat stood up on his 
 bed, and screamed in a dismal, broken voice a 
 verse of "Rule, Britannia!" By-and-by, all fell 
 here and there on the beds, in different positions, 
 and went to sleep. But so stifling was the atmo 
 sphere from the fumes of bad whisky that James 
 went out on the landing, where he remained till 
 daylight. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Witles appeared, he paid her 
 the amount of his bill, and went down to the 
 docks to wait till the time for going aboard would 
 arrive. Soon other emigrants, with packages and 
 bundles of all kinds, began to assemble at the 
 quay, and James went amongst such of them as 
 he knew were from Ireland, and talked with them 
 till the hour for starting came. 
 
 About mid-day, the ship weighed anchor, and 
 steamed "down the Mersey. James O Rourke was 
 not much of a philosopher; but, as he stood on 
 deck, looking at the noble buildings which rose 
 here and there on the Cheshire coast, and thought 
 of what he had witnessed in Liverpool, he could 
 not help thinking that a nation composed of two 
 such extremes must one day break in the centre. 
 
 The passage down the Irish Sea was beautiful. 
 James waited with great anxiety for their arrival
 
 Annie Reilly. in 
 
 
 
 at Queenstown, that he might, probably for the 
 last time, feast his eyes on the hills and valleys 
 of his native land. But to his great mortifica 
 tion, it was almost dark night when they entered 
 the harbor. The day, even at sea, had been very 
 warm, and with evening came lowering clouds 
 and other signs of a storm. For a time, he stood 
 on deck looking at the row of lights along the 
 harbor, thinking of home and the base villany 
 that had driven him thence ; of Annie what was 
 she doing now ? This was about the time they 
 used to meet on the river s bank. Did she go 
 there alone now, and sit and think of him, and 
 remember him in her prayers, as she had promised 
 to do ? Was it beyond hope that they would 
 ever meet again ? 
 
 This thought sickened his heart so much that 
 he leaned against the cabin-door, and turned his 
 eyes away from the coast. A gruff officer, carry 
 ing a light, passed down the deck, and ordered 
 him "to. stand some place else." He went down 
 to his berth, and, throwing himself on his face. 
 wept ti the ship was far out to sea.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 JAMES O ROURKE S FIRST DAY IN NEW YORK. 
 
 A FRAUD AND A FRIEND. 
 
 |FTER a comparatively safe and speedy 
 passage, James O Rourke reached 
 New York. It was one of those 
 mellow days in the early fall when 
 everything looks so serene and calm that the 
 anxious passengers were landed. How beautiful 
 New York Harbor looked ! The waters seemed 
 asleep on the bosom of the bay, save where dis 
 turbed by the lively ferry-boats ploughing their 
 way backwards and forwards in every direction, 
 and the little snorting tugs, puffing in and out 
 here and there, busy as bees of a June morning. 
 A number of large, majestic-looking ships, that 
 had just come in from all ports of the world, lay 
 out in the stream, looking weary after their long 
 voyage. 
 
 It being early day, the passengers were not 
 delayed at Castle Garden overnight, except such 
 as chose to wait for friends who were expecting 
 them. James had no friends, and he walked into 
 the streets and up along Broadway, wondering at
 
 Annie Reilly. 113 
 
 the size, and beauty, and cheerful look of the 
 buildings along that noble thoroughfare. It was 
 at the time of day when Broadway is at its live 
 liest, lined with wagons, carriages, carts, and 
 drays, and the sidewalk so crowded with people 
 hurrying along that it is impossible for any of 
 them to make much speed. James walked on 
 he knew not where looking on himself as the 
 most lonely and friendless of the great throng. 
 At length he came to what seemed to him a 
 neglected waste of ground, which, having mor 
 tally offended the city in some way, was left be 
 hind, forgotten, haggard, and cheerless. Near 
 the centre of this waste stood a large building in 
 a half-finished state, looking so dreary that the 
 ill fate of the neighborhood seemed to have 
 visited it at last. 
 
 A number of men were standing around the 
 doors or sitting on the steps of the building, and 
 all looking so much like men that had nothing to 
 do, that James thought it might not inconveni 
 ence any of them much to tell him where he 
 might find work. So approaching a gentleman 
 with a wide-leafed straw hat, a tight-fitting coat, 
 much too short for him, and very long, wide 
 pantaloons, who stood on the end of a row pick 
 ing his teeth, James asked :
 
 114 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " Please, sir, can you tell me where I may find 
 employment ? I am a stranger here." 
 
 " Most undoubtedly, sir; follow me," said the 
 gentleman, putting his tooth-pick in his vest 
 pocket. " Come along, sir." 
 
 James, delighted beyond measure at this sud 
 den good luck, hurried after his new friend, but 
 found it no very easy task to keep up with him. 
 He had such a happy method of diving past 
 crowds which jostled against the other that he 
 had once or twice to wait for him on the corner. 
 At length the gentleman swept into a low, narrow 
 door in one of the side streets, and when James 
 rushed in after him, he found him seated behind a 
 neat little desk, looking as composed as if he had 
 been sitting there since morning. 
 
 " So you want employment, do you ?" said he, 
 surveying James from head to foot. 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the latter. 
 
 " What kind do you prefer? said he. opening 
 a book which lay on the desk before him. " We 
 have a variety." 
 
 " Well, sir," replied James with a smile, " I am 
 not afraid of any kind of work, but would of 
 course preter whichever pays best. 
 
 " Let me see," said the other, closing his eyes 
 and resting his chin on his hand, " let me see. You 
 are strong enough to work in a dry-goods store ?"
 
 Annie Reilly. 115 
 
 "You mean, sir " 
 
 " I mean what you call a cloth-shop in the Old 
 Country." 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; I beg your pardon, sir/ said James. 
 greatly elated. " Certainly I am, sir." 
 
 " You landed this morning, eh?" said the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 "This morning, sir?" 
 
 " Any friends in New York ?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "All alone, eh?" 
 
 " Quite so, sir." 
 
 " Well, now, sir, I ll tell you what I ll do. You 
 give me three dollars, and I ll send you right up 
 to the establishment." 
 
 James felt greatly surprised at this, for he 
 really thought the gentleman was an extensive 
 employer himself. He had never heard of an 
 " intelligence office," and was quite at a loss 
 what to think. He couldn t be a swindler, .hav 
 ing such a handsome place. 
 
 " No ; he must be an employer, and probably 
 wants this money as security for a day or two, till 
 he sees how I get on," thought James. 
 
 And looking at the gentleman again, and see 
 ing him busy writing, and apparently utterly 
 oblivious of his presence, was confirmed in this 
 latter idea.
 
 u6 Annie Reilly, 
 
 " I ll pay the money, sir," said he, taking from 
 his pocket a few shillings and one half-crown, 
 which was his entire store. 
 
 The gentleman thought it most remarkable, but 
 nevertheless it was true, that the coins when 
 changed into dollars amounted to just the re 
 quired number and ten cents over. So he swept 
 it into a drawer, and, throwing a ten-cent stamp 
 on the desk, drew a piece of paper to him, and, 
 having written a few words on it with violet ink, 
 handed it to James. The latter glanced at it 
 and said : 
 
 " What way am I to go there, sir?" 
 
 " You see I am so busy, or I would ta"ke you 
 up myself. But, anyway, all you have to do is to 
 cross over five blocks to your right, then down a 
 long street you ll see with*i marble building on 
 the up-town corner, then one block to your right, 
 then take the cars you know the street-cars 
 and ride eleven blocks more, and any one can 
 point out Van Sleuthers & Duckey s dry-goods 
 store to you. Go inside, and show them that ad 
 dress, and you re all right." 
 
 James thanked him, left the office, and went in 
 search of Van Sleuthers & Duckey s. 
 
 That he did not find it, and that there was no 
 such firm in the city, it is needless to say. He 
 had been swindled out of the last penny by an
 
 Annie Rtilly. 117 
 
 " intelligence agent " ; and after travelling up and 
 down the streets, looking at every sign, stop 
 ping to make enquiries at every clothing estab 
 lishment, he found himself at nightfall close by 
 the East River, footsore, weary, and dejected. 
 He sat down on a log on one of the docks, and, 
 covering his eyes with his hands, began to think 
 over his forlorn, desolate state. 
 
 In a large city, without a friend, without one 
 face he had ever known, without a single penny 
 in his pocket. Where to spend the night or get 
 a morsel to eat he knew not ; he had spent the 
 ten cents riding up and down in search of 
 Van Sleuthers & Duckey s. He sat a prey to 
 these thoughts for some time, ti 11, raising his head, 
 he saw coming leisurely towards him, from the 
 direction of the street; a man in his shirt-sleeves, 
 smoking a large briar-wood pipe. 
 
 As he approached, James could see he was of 
 his own race, and made up his mind to speak to 
 him. This was no difficult matter, for the stranger 
 came on, puffing like an engine, and, sitting 
 down beside him, remarked it was a fine night. 
 
 O Rourke saw at once, from his large, rough 
 hands, that he belonged to the working-class, arid, 
 observing his neat white shirt and black tie, and 
 everything he wore so clean, thought of the
 
 !i8 Annie Reilly. 
 
 miserable appearance of the English working- 
 men. 
 
 " You re not long out from the ould counthry, 
 I think," said he kindly. 
 
 " No, indeed," said James. " I came ashore this 
 morning. 
 
 " Well, well," said the man, moving close to 
 him, " I am glad to see any one so late from the 
 ould dart. How is things there now ; anything 
 better?" 
 
 " Oh ! much the same as usual," replied James. 
 " Improvements come very slowly in Ireland." 
 
 "That s so, that s so, me friend," said the 
 other, with a sigh. " But the people an t starv 
 ing as they wor when I left there ?" 
 
 " Not so bad as that now," said James. 
 
 " Do you live around here ?" asked the stranger, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " I have no home," said James, drawing back 
 his head a little. 
 
 " No home," said the other, "and a greenhorn ; 
 why, that s rough. I suppose be that ye mane 
 you haven t got any money neither." 
 
 " Not a penny." was the reply. 
 
 Then James told him how he had been cheated 
 by the intelligence agent. 
 
 "You re not the first who has been fleeced by 
 thim robbers," said the other in a rage. " They
 
 Annie Reilly. 119 
 
 swindle dozens of poor innocent people every 
 day, and you ll niver hear of one of thim bein 
 arristed. But," added he, checking himself, " it 
 can t be helped now, and I ll niver see one of my 
 countrymen that desarves it out in the streets 
 at night while I have a room ; so you must come 
 wid me to-night. The ould woman ill find some 
 place for you to sleep." 
 
 James thanked him again and again, and, after 
 enjoying a smoke from his pipe, they walked up the 
 dock and along the street a little way, till they 
 came to a somewhat neat-looking brick house 
 with a wooden stoop. The man entered, and 
 both went up a flight of very clean but carpetless 
 stairs to the third -story, and, turning the knob 
 of the door, entered a tidily furnished room of 
 comfortable dimensions. Over the wooden man 
 tel-piece hung a handsome engraving of Arch 
 bishop Hughes, side by side with another of St. 
 Patrick, and on the opposite wall hung a picture 
 of Killarney Lakes. Several other pictures, some 
 of Irish clergy, some of American, were fastened 
 round the walls, all very tastefully arranged. 
 
 There was no person in the room on their 
 entrance, and the man, seeing James look closely 
 at the archbishop s likeness, began to tell nu 
 merous stories of his kindness and benevolence. 
 After some time, a woman came in, carrying a
 
 I2O Annie Reilly. 
 
 basket on her arm ; and from the appearance of 
 her face, and the trim, cleanly way in which she 
 was clad, James knew at once whose taste had 
 arranged the room. 
 
 " Well, well, Terence, and what a man you are," 
 said she, laying down the basket, and looking at 
 her husband with a smile, " to leave housekeeping." 
 
 " Oh ! in troth, I was afraid she d begin to 
 screech whin ye d be gone, Bridget, so I left her 
 inside with Mrs. Kearney. She stays as quiet 
 wid her as v/id yourself," said her husband. 
 
 " Oh ! just so ; anything to get rid of the job. 
 But keep quiet now ; she s asleep in Mrs. Kear 
 ney s arms, and I ll bring her in and put her in 
 the cradle." 
 
 The woman left the room, and soon returned, 
 carrying in her arms a little babe of a few months 
 old, and , shaking her hand at her husband to say 
 nothing, lest he should rouse the infant, went 
 through the passage-way into another room. 
 
 The man conversed with James for awhile, 
 then, telling him he d be back in a moment, fol 
 lowed his wife. Both soon returned, and James 
 could see from the kind, sympathetic look the 
 woman gave him that her husband had been tell 
 ing his story. 
 
 ; Excuse me," said the man, "but ye haven t 
 tould me yer name."
 
 Annie Reilly. 121 
 
 James told him. 
 
 " In troth, and a good name it is. My own is 
 Terence McManus, and this is Mrs. McManus, 
 and that sleepy youngster ye seen a minute ago 
 is Mary McManus. So we know each other all 
 roun now, and are quite at our aise." 
 
 The agreeable, honest, good-natured manner 
 of the man did make James feel much easier in 
 mind than he had felt for some time. Mrs. 
 McManus prepared a good meal, of which all 
 three partook. This over, they sat together, and 
 talked over matters in the old and new country, 
 One important point to James came out from this 
 conversation, and that was he learned that his 
 host, who worked along the docks, being what is 
 commonly called a longshoreman, would find him 
 employment at the same business the following 
 day.
 
 CHAPTER Xlll. 
 
 ANNIE S VOYAGE. HOW EMIGRANTS ARL 
 TREATED ON SHIPBOARD. 
 
 [URING the first three days out, Annie 
 was very sea-sick, and unable to come 
 on deck. So much did she suffer from 
 this distressing illness and her own 
 grief of mind that she hardly cared whether the 
 ship sank or not. At times during these days, 
 she thought she would surely have died were it 
 not for the kindness and attention shown her by 
 a young woman from Dublin, who was going out 
 to meet her husband in the West. Though 
 greatly burdened with her little son, who con 
 tinued ill all the way, she spent every moment 
 she could with Annie, getting up at least a dozen 
 times during the night to see how she felt ; often 
 going to the doctor to tell him of her state, and 
 beg him to send her some relief, and almost as 
 often getting rudely repulsed. 
 
 Of all the sinecures on land or sea, that of ship 
 doctor, as far as the poor steerage passengers are 
 concerned, is the most idle. A ship doctor is 
 generally a very stylish gentleman a snob who
 
 Annie Reilly. 123 
 
 knows far more about the fashions than about 
 medicine, and thinks all that is required of him 
 is to strut the deck, and laugh and chat with the 
 cabin passengers. Those in the steerage are so 
 much beneath his notice that nothing can induce 
 him to go below, even if a life depended on the 
 very act. He may, if caught in the humor, conde 
 scend to order a poor sufferer some medicine on 
 the report of the steward a gentleman generally 
 as ignorant in cases of sickness as himself. 
 
 What drug the model M.D. on this occasion sent 
 Annie she would not venture to touch, and this 
 probably accounted for her being able to go on 
 deck the following morning in company with her 
 kind friend. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning at sea. The sun 
 shone bright and soft on the waste of calm water, 
 and the ship was making rapid headway. Annie 
 and her friend, Mrs. Duffy, sat down on deck 
 close by the bulwark. The deck was literally 
 swarming with men, women, and children from 
 every country in Europe, every nationality keep 
 ing in little groups by themselves. Englishmen, 
 with long side-whiskers, short coats, and moist 
 eyes, stood or lay together in knots, sometimes 
 silent and sad, and occasionally talking in low 
 murmuring accents ; Irishmen, stout, hearty, and 
 pleasant, smoked, chatted, laughed together
 
 124 Annie Reilly. 
 
 and seemed to take more notice of what was 
 going on around them than any other peo 
 ple ; Germans, black and greasy, lay in heaps to 
 gether, men and women, and seemed to occupy 
 their whole time eating. All the other passen 
 gers, especially the Irish, disliked them ; their 
 hands and faces were so dirty, and their old rags 
 smelled so disgustingly, that we pity any company 
 in a close room who would have a German 
 amongst them. A few garrulous and excitable 
 Frenchmen walked up and down on one side of 
 the deck, talking loudly ; Italian organ-grinders 
 and beggars had their place, and two or three 
 swarthy Spaniards leaned over the bulwark, look 
 ing down at the water. 
 
 At a little distance from and directly in front 
 of Annie and her friend sat a Scotchman alone 
 by himself. Not that he was by any means the 
 only Scotchman on board, but he seemed to be 
 of a sentimental turn of mind, and probably 
 loved solitude. He had a very long face and 
 forehead, whitish-colored hair, a very red beard, 
 and wore a short frock-coat of heavy, coarse 
 material, with a row of immense buttons on each 
 side, short, tight trowsers, and, when he chose to 
 wear it, a torn glazed cap. One arm rested on a 
 coil of rope behind him, in the hand of which he 
 held a large-sized snuff-box, and the other hand
 
 Annie Reilly. 125 
 
 was employed in occasionally carrying the snuff 
 to his nose. Whether he was an old man with a 
 white head, or a very young man with false 
 whiskers, or a middle-aged one, it would take 
 some person well skilled in those matters to say. 
 From the time Annie and her friend came* on 
 deck, he had not taken his eyes off the former ; 
 and turn her head in what direction she would to 
 avoid his gaze, he moved so as to watch her face. 
 Whether it was from admiration, or curiosity, or 
 impertinence, his countenance gave no indication. 
 Annie felt greatly annoyed, and, not wishing to 
 go below in the damp smell, and seeing no place 
 on deck to escape to, mentioned the matter to 
 her friend. 
 
 " Oh ! I have noticed him," said Mrs. Duffy, 
 laughing. " He is some stupid lout ; don t let 
 him annoy you." 
 
 Annie laughed at this remark, and they chatted 
 away lively and soon forgot him ; but never for a 
 second did he change his look. 
 
 At length a number of those on deck went 
 below, and the two friends rose and went to 
 another place behind the engine, where they 
 found a more comfortable seat. They had hardly 
 seated themselves, when the Scotchman came 
 and lay down, this time on the deck, about the 
 same distance from them, and turned his eyes on
 
 126 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Annie again. She was so much alarmed that 
 she begged of the other to come below at once. 
 
 " Oh ! nonsense," was the reply, " are we going 
 down there because of that awkward fellow ? 
 Leave him to me, and, if he attempts to speak to 
 you, I ll insult him so badly that, if he was as 
 stupid again, he ll annoy you no more." 
 
 Annie in her heart thanked Providence she 
 had such a friend. If she were alone, what 
 would she do? He would frighten her to 
 death. 
 
 At length the dinner-hour arrived, and, as they 
 were about to descend the ladder, Annie felt a 
 light tap on her shoulder, and, looking up, her 
 eyes met her tormentor s dull gaze. She clutched 
 her friend s arm, but, before the latter could 
 speak, he was gone in amongst the crowd clam 
 bering down to the table. 
 
 Annie s heart throbbed so, and she felt so very 
 much annoyed, that she could not eat any of the 
 choice morsels which her friend took from a little 
 basket in her trunk. It was a hard task to induce 
 her to go on deck that evening, but Mrs. Duffy- 
 begged of her so much for her health s sake not 
 to remain in that "hole," as she called it, and 
 promised so fervently to put an end to the 
 Scotchman s annoyance in case he should renew 
 it, that at length she consented to go up again.
 
 Annie Reilly. 127 
 
 They climbed up on the forward deck, the 
 mother taking her little boy, who felt somewhat 
 better, and sat watching the water-fowls flying 
 about and dipping down to the water here and 
 there ; wondering where those birds built their 
 nests, or were there any islands near. 
 
 Annie had not quite recovered from the shock 
 she had received, and was yet very restless, turn 
 ing her head in the direction of the ladder now 
 and then, and starting at every glazed cap she 
 saw appearing. Mrs. Duffy drew her closer to 
 her side, and, putting her arm around her waist, 
 told her she had nothing to dread. At length 
 both, happening to look round, saw the ungainly 
 figure of the Scotchman looming into view up the 
 ladder. 
 
 "Heavens! there he is again/ - exclaimed 
 Annie, clinging to her friend. " He ll frighten 
 me to death." 
 
 Mrs. Duffy fixed her eyes steadily upon him as 
 he lumbered up the deck. When he came within 
 a few yards of them, he hesitated, stopped, came 
 a little nearer, pulled out his snuff-box, and, com- 
 ing up to them, held it open towards Annie, 
 without saying a word. 
 
 " We don t want your snuff, thank you," said 
 Mrs. Duffy, shaking her head with a frown. 
 
 " I ony want to gie this lassie a pinch," said
 
 128 Annie Reiliy. 
 
 he, thrusting the box into Annie s face. The 
 poor girl was pale with terror. 
 
 " You begone, sir !" exclaimed her friend, jump 
 ing to her feet, " and annoy this young girl no 
 more with look or word of yours, or I ll; com 
 plain to the captain. She is young, and not long 
 from home, and not used to looking at such 
 frights as you." 
 
 m " Ah wull " he began, moving backwards a 
 step. 
 
 " Say no more. Leave here, now, or I ll go 
 to the captain directly." And she moved as if 
 to fulfil the threat, when he turned and shambled 
 away down the length of the deck, down the lad 
 der, and, when he had about time to reach there, 
 they saw him standing very demure-looking, with 
 his back against the bulwark. 
 
 Mrs. Duffy laughed so heartily when he was 
 gone at his awkward look and manner that 
 Annie could not help joining her, and they 
 laughed together till the tears rolled down their 
 cheeks. The Scotchman annoyed them no 
 further during the voyage. 
 
 Any time he chanced to see them, he might 
 venture to steal a look at Annie ; but, if Mrs. 
 Duffy happened to catch him, he quickly made 
 his way out of sight. Nothing further worthy of 
 notice occurred to our heroine during the voyage,
 
 Annie Reilly. 129 
 
 which may be termed a pleasant one, excepting 
 a few stormy days crossing the banks of New 
 foundland, when the face of the ocean changed 
 from its calm aspect, the waves ran high and 
 angry, tossing the ship from side to side, drifting 
 tin cans, kettles, boxes, passengers, and baskets 
 hither and thither in every direction. The storm 
 lulled as they approached the American coast, 
 and on a beautiful warm evening Sandy Hook 
 lightship came in view. All crowded to the 
 vessel s side, crushing and climbing over each 
 other, to get a view of the new land in which they 
 intended living. 
 
 What a moment it. is for those kept down 
 with poverty and oppression at home, toiling in 
 hunger and exposure to enrich the very ones to 
 whom they owe their degradation, when their 
 weary eyes first rest on America s shore ! Once 
 there, they know tyranny can claim them no more, 
 and that every advantage, every justice allowed 
 an honest people on earth, will be their share. 
 
 When the ship had sailed up the bay and cast 
 anchor, it was nightfall, and the passengers learn 
 ed they could not go ashore till morning. What 
 an anxious, busy night it was on board : every 
 one putting in the best order they could what 
 little they possessed, that they might make as 
 good an appearance as possible when they reach-
 
 130 Annie Reilly. 
 
 ed New York. Packing up, bundling up, tying 
 up, loosing and unloosing, washing and shaving, 
 were going on in every quarter below ; while those 
 who had none of these things to do lined the 
 ship s side, watching the lights along the river 
 and in the city, till the steward announced all 
 would have to go to bed till morning. Little use 
 in sending them there ; for not one passenger on 
 board could sleep that night. 
 
 Mrs. Duffy, who did not intend staying any 
 length of time in New York, but to hurry on to her 
 husband in Ohio, however promised to remain 
 with Annie till she saw her on the right way to 
 Kitty Brady. 
 
 Poor Annie felt very sad and timid. A thou 
 sand disturbing thoughts came into her mind. 
 What if Kitty had left New York, and was not 
 to be found, and that she should be left alone in 
 the streets of the large city ? And even if Kitty 
 was where she still expected her, she might lose 
 her way, and probably meet the Scotchman or 
 somebody like him. 
 
 These and numerous other apprehensions she 
 mentioned to Mrs. Duffy, who only laughed at 
 some, and chided her good-naturedly for others. 
 
 Both were up at break of day, and sat, and 
 walked, and watched till the tender came out to 
 take the passengers ashore. What a rush was
 
 Annie Reilly. 131 
 
 there then ! Heaps of trunks and other baggage, 
 piled in every shape, covered the deck; men ;iml 
 women rushed frantically around to discover their 
 own, and the noise and confusion of tongues must 
 have resembled very much that which put an end 
 to the tower of Babel. At length, passengers 
 and baggage arrived at Castle Garden.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ANNIE AT CASTLE GARDEN. HOW PASSENGERS 
 ARE TREATED THERE. 
 
 JLL the din and confusion which Annie 
 had experienced since she left home 
 heaped together would not equal 
 that which met her at Castle Garden. 
 When the tenders reached the dock, the pas 
 sengers made a mad rush for the shore, crowding 
 over each other up the gangway. The trunks 
 and baggage were landed in the most confused 
 manner. A person would imagine it was the first 
 obligation those employed for that purpose owed 
 to the emigrants, to break and smash their articles 
 as much as possible. It seemed to be the rule to 
 throw all the small and frail boxes ashore first, 
 and then fling the heavier and stronger ones on 
 top of them. Locks were knocked off, lids and 
 sides broken in, and the contents of several 
 strewn like a wreck along the dock. The pas 
 sengers tried frantically to save their property, 
 and, in doing so, had to contend with the vulgar 
 abuse and often blows of the officials. Some old 
 and feeble men and women, and young girls. sa<v
 
 Annie Reilly. 133 
 
 all they possessed in the world trampled under 
 the feet of the excited crowd ; and, helpless to 
 prevent the injury, turned away and began to 
 cry. It was only the* strong and rugged could save 
 their share in such a place, and that only after 
 desperate exertions. 
 
 A person looking on at one of these scenes 
 c-ould not help thinking that any strong enough 
 to carry away their effects from such a place were 
 able to get along in America as far as muscle was 
 concerned. 
 
 Annie s trunk, being made of strong oak, re 
 ceived no further injury than being thrown bot 
 tom upwards on a number of small paper ones ; 
 so all she had to do was to wait till the confusion 
 would abate, to have it taken inside. 
 
 That which contained Mrs. Duffy s articles did 
 not escape so fortunately. She found it, after a 
 laborious search, broken open, and a quantity of 
 linen she was taking to her husband gone. The 
 poor woman wrung her hands, and ran here and 
 there relating her misfortune to and asking advice 
 of every man whom she saw looked like an official. 
 Not one of them even made her a reply. So all 
 she could do was to wring her hands again, and 
 gather up what was left behind in a corner of her 
 shawl, for the trunk was a total wre/ck. 
 
 Annie rendered her good benefactress all the
 
 Annie Reilly 
 
 assistance in her power, and Mrs. Duffy, being of 
 such a cheerful disposition, was soon laughing at 
 the figure she cut with the bundle in her shawl. 
 
 A thick-set, rough, decidedly bad-looking man. 
 seeing Annie standing by her trunk, hurried ove; 
 and asked her if she wished it taken inside. 
 
 Annie was about to say yes, when her com 
 panion hastily interposed, and said, " No, not 
 yet." 
 
 The fellow, seeing he would have got the 
 "job," as he called it, were it not for her, heaped 
 a volley of foul abuse on the poor woman, and 
 even shook his fist in her face, to the great amuse 
 ment of two officials who were standing by smok 
 ing very long cigars. 
 
 At length, when the greater part of the lug 
 gage was gone, Mrs. Duffy took hold of one end 
 of the trunk, and, telling Annie to lift the other, 
 both carried it into a long, wide, dreary-looking 
 structure not unlike the arch of a wooden bridge. 
 They then joined the stream, filing into another 
 part of the building, on through a number of narro\v 
 doors, at one of which they were obliged to give 
 their names, then into a large open space, like an 
 old-country market-house, filled with emigrants, 
 some walking dreamily to and fro, and others 
 lying on the* cold flags to rest their weary 
 limbs. A number of licensed boarding-house
 
 Annie Reilly. 135 
 
 keepers, or " sharks," as they are called in New 
 York, were going amongst them, seeking to entice 
 as many as they could to their establishments for 
 the night. 
 
 Now, we think it is very right and proper 
 to allow the keepers of respectable lodging- 
 houses to enter Castle Garden ; for many poor 
 emigrants, who are weary and anxious to find a 
 bed to rest on, know. not where to look for it. 
 But to permit such unscrupulous, heartless vil 
 lains as are usually found there to lead away 
 innocent, unsuspecting people to their dens is a 
 standing shame to the city. But we are greatly 
 afraid that the first-mentioned class have a slender 
 chance of that privilege till some change amongst 
 the officials takes place. 
 
 At length, when the poor creatures were worn 
 out with watching to be let out in the open air, a 
 flashily dressed official mounted a platform, and 
 began to call out the names of such as had letters 
 awaiting them. The number of letters was 
 not many, but the time he occupied in read 
 ing the addresses was intolerable. Not that 
 he was by any means a slow reader ; for he 
 mentioned a name so quickly, driving Christian 
 and surname into one, that few of his listeners 
 could make out what he said. The attention he 
 bestowed on his dress, adjusting his collar
 
 136 Annie Reilly. 
 
 smoothing down his bosom, and brushing up his 
 hair after every name seemed to be the very 
 object for which he was there. Many of the let 
 ters were thrown aside, no one claiming them, 
 while the very persons for whom they were in 
 tended were in a fever of expectation on the floor. 
 This task over, such of the emigrants as chose 
 were permitted to depart. Many availed them 
 selves of this opportunity ; but a few lonely, 
 dejected creatures remained behind, hoping to 
 find employment through the Free Labor 
 Bureau. Annie, accompanied by Mrs. Duffy 
 and her little boy, went in search of the nearest 
 way to the part of the city where Kitty Brady 
 lived, which, after many enquiries and long tra 
 velling, they found. It was a long way up the 
 city ; and, after an affectionate parting, and each 
 promising to write to the other, Annie went 
 aboard a street-car, and was driven off. Mrs. 
 Duffy stood looking after her till the car was out 
 of sight ; then began making her own enquiries, 
 and. being successful in these too, started for the 
 Chambers Street ferry.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MEETING OLD FRIENDS, AGREEABLE AND 
 OTHERWISE. 
 
 |HE street-car jingled along merrily, first 
 down a narrow, crowded street, filled 
 with shops, outside and inside of 
 which hung more ready-made clothing 
 than Annie thought would supply half the world, 
 then into a long, wide thoroughfare of much bet 
 ter appearance. Up this street, past more cloth 
 ing-houses, with figures of men and women clad 
 in the height of fashion dangling from the awn 
 ings ; and underneath, on the sidewalk, Jews 
 and Jewesses, old and young, some gesticulating 
 frantically at the passers-by to " walk in " and 
 purchase ; others, pale and worn out from inces 
 sant talking, leaned against the windows, looking 
 no more like life than the figures above their 
 heads. Past oyster and beer saloons, with fat, 
 lazy Dutchmen resting on the counters or sitting 
 by the doors, while a few .sat around a table 
 drawn near the entrance, drinking, smoking, and 
 playing cards. Past liquor-stores, looking very 
 shabby and unwashed, with numbers of red-faced,
 
 138 Annie Reilly. 
 
 bloated, stupid-looking, ill-clad men dozing on 
 barrels outside, and a few dandily-dressed fellows 
 smoking cigars or chewing tobacco inside the. 
 doors. Occasionally a youth or two, evidently 
 taking the dry-rot, roused up one of the sleep 
 ers, and engaged him in conversation. Past pea 
 nut-stands, with Chinamen or Japanese sitting on 
 the flags behind them. Up, up, on, on, till Annie 
 thought she would never reach the end of the 
 street. At length the car-conductor beckoned to 
 her, and told her she was to get off at the next 
 corner. He told her very kindly the way to take 
 from there, and to watch the numbers on the 
 doors. She thanked him, and, the car being 
 stopped, got off, and after a short walk arrived at 
 the house bearing the number she sought. She 
 descended to the basement door, and rang the 
 bell. A very cleanly-looking girl opened it, and 
 asked politely whom she wanted to see. 
 
 " Please tell me is this where Kitty Brady 
 lives?" asked Annie. 
 
 " Yes," replied the other, " but she is out to 
 market. Please step inside ; she ll be in directly." 
 
 Annie thanked her, and walked into the hall. 
 
 " Come on this way," said the other, going be 
 fore, " and take a seat ; you look tired." 
 
 Annie followed her into the apartment, and 
 being handed a chair, sat sometime in silence;
 
 Annie Re illy. 139 
 
 for the girl seemed to be busy. At length the 
 door-bell jingled loudly. 
 
 " Here she is now," said the other; and, going 
 to the door, returned with a neatly-dressed, bright- 
 eyed, intelligent-looking girl, who looked so to 
 tally unlike the Kitty Brady she remembered 
 that she could not believe it was the same, till 
 the other girl said : 
 
 " Kitty, this young lady has been waiting to 
 see you." 
 
 Kitty, who had not the least idea of who Annie 
 might be, and was about to go up-stairs to her 
 duties, turned back, and, coming close to her, 
 looked into her face. Annie s eyes met hers, 
 and for a moment they looked into each other s 
 faces. 
 
 At length Annie burst into tears, and said sor 
 rowfully : "You don t remember me, Kitty?" 
 
 This was the first time Annie had spoken. The 
 voice was enough the same sweet voice Kitty 
 had heard a thousand times in her mother s 
 cabin. 
 
 " O little Annie, darling, dear ! And can this 
 be you ?" exclaimed Kitty, throwing her arms 
 around her neck. 
 
 They kissed each other again and again, and 
 wept till their faces were wet. Neither could 
 speak a word for some minutes When Kitty sat
 
 140 Annie Reilly. 
 
 down by her new-found friend, and took her hand 
 in hers, the other girl came and kissed her, too, 
 and hoped they would always be good friends. 
 
 " I will not ask you anything further about 
 home," said Kitty, when she had wept bitterly 
 over the misfortune that had befallen Farrell 
 Reilly s family, " till we go to my aunt s. I ll 
 get leave to go with you for this evening." 
 
 Kitty dried her eyes as well as she could, and 
 ran up-stairs, taking with her the parcel her 
 mother had sent her, and soon returned with 
 word she could spend the evening with her. 
 Both girls started out, Annie feeling much hap 
 pier than she thought she could in many a day. 
 
 After a pretty long walk, they reached the 
 house. It was a neat, two-story frame building, 
 with very white walls and very green Venetian 
 blinds, and had a trim little garden in front. On 
 the door was a highly polished brass plate bear 
 ing the name, Patrick Sweeny. Patrick Sweeny 
 was the husband of Kitty s aunt, and, being a 
 .very sober, industrious mechanic, had by this 
 time accumulated money enough to purchase the 
 cottage and live comfortably. Kitty rang the 
 bell, and the door was opened by a plainly-dressed, 
 good-natured-looking, middle-aged woman, who 
 kissed her niece affectionately, and then began 
 chiding her for staying away so long. Kitty
 
 Annie Reilly. 141 
 
 made the best excuse she could, and, turning to 
 Annie, said : 
 
 " Aunt, if you were to think for the length of 
 a day, I don t believe you would find out who 
 this is." 
 
 " I am sure of that, child," said Mrs. Sweeny. 
 " I have never, I think, seen the young lady 
 before." And she looked kindly at Annie. 
 
 " Well, I ll not keep you waiting, aunt. She 
 is Farrell Reilly s daughter Annie, just landed 
 to-day." 
 
 "Farrell Reilly s daughter!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Sweeny, taking her by the hand, and kissing her 
 fondly. " You are a thousand welcomes to my 
 house. I am delighted to see one of your family 
 under my roof." And she pushed the parlor door 
 open, and led the girls inside, hastily removed 
 Annie s hat and shawl, and sat down by her on 
 the sofa. " And how is your father and mother, 
 my child ? Tis very strange, but I was dreaming 
 of the old country last night ; such a queer, 
 mixed-up dream it was. Ryan, or John the Pig, 
 as we used to call him, was in it, and Father 
 Fitzpatrick, and your mother, and a strange young 
 lady, whom I think must be you." 
 
 " Twas, indeed, a very strange dream, aunt, 
 said Kitty. "Ryan is the cause of Annie being in 
 New York to-day."
 
 142 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Mrs Sweeny raised her hands in alarm and 
 
 said : 
 
 " Tell me, Annie, did you leave your father and 
 mother well ?" 
 
 " As well as could be expected, after what had 
 happened to them," said Annie, her tears begin 
 ning to fall afresh. 
 
 Mrs. Sweeny was truly grieved when she heart, 
 the poor girl s story. 
 
 "Poor Farrell Reilly!" she said, putting her 
 handkerchief to her eyes, " that was such a good 
 friend to us all. How heart-sorry I am for his 
 trouble ! I never dream of that scoundrel Ryan," 
 she went on, " but something is sure to follow 
 either some trouble to ourselves, or I ll hear 
 bad news. You may not have heard it, child, 
 but he was the cause of our downfall in the old 
 country. But now, when I look back, I think it 
 may all have been for the best ; and you, too, 
 child," drying Annie s tears, "will, I trust in 
 God, live to say the same ; so we ll fret no more, 
 and be as merry as we can." 
 
 " That s just the way to be, aunt," said Kitty. 
 
 " I couldn t help crying, either, when I heard 
 it ; so we ll talk about something else." 
 
 By-and-by Mrs. Sweeny s daughter, a tall, hand 
 some girl of about sixteen, came in, and all four 
 spent a pleasant evening till it was time for Kitty
 
 Annie Reilly. 143* 
 
 to leave. Annie and Miss Sweeny accompanied 
 her the greater part of the way, and, after receiv 
 ing her word that she would call the following 
 day, turned back. They had not proceeded far, 
 when Miss Sweeny, happening to look across the 
 street, saw the figure of a man, buttoned up in a 
 long, close-fitting, white duster, with his back to 
 wards them, leaning against a lamp-post. He 
 was such a long figure, and such an awkward one, 
 that she could not help pointing him out to 
 Annie, and both smiled. As they approached, 
 however, Annie s smile quickly faded ; for on the 
 head of the figure she recognized the old glazed, 
 chipped cap of the Scotchman. Not wishing to 
 betray her feelings to her companion, and think 
 ing after all it might not be he, she merely 
 moved a little closer to the other, and walked 
 on. Try as she might, she could not help cast 
 ing a look in the direction of the lamp-post when 
 they came opposite to it, and there, sure enough, 
 stood the graceful Scotchman, with his dull eyes 
 fixed on her as they used to be on board the 
 ship. He moved as if to come towards them, and 
 Annie, her heart throbbing violently, caught her 
 friend by the arm, and begged her to hurry on. 
 
 "Why, what s the cause of this, Miss Reilly?" 
 asked the other, with a surprised look. " What 
 has happened to alarm you ?"
 
 * 1 44 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Annie cast a furtive glance at the Scotchman, 
 who began walking along the opposite side, and 
 said : 
 
 " Please don t ask me now. I ll tell you when 
 we reach the house. Please hurry on." 
 
 Both girls began to walk quickly ; but, when 
 they quickened their pace, the man on the other 
 side of the street did the same, jolting along, 
 swaying from side to side, like an ill-built load of 
 hay. Annie, thoroughly frightened, glanced at 
 him occasionally, and at last begged Miss Sweeny 
 to run. The latter, at length comprehending the 
 cause of Annie s fright, broke into a laugh, and 
 said : 
 
 " Now, Miss Reilly, you must not be so easily 
 alarmed as that, or you cannot well live in New 
 York. You will see more frights than him before 
 a week." 
 
 At this moment, their annoyer hastened into 
 the street, and, hurrying across, met them on a 
 corner, despite all their efforts to get past before 
 him. 
 
 " Ah ! noo, lassie, you re nae kind to run away 
 from an auld acquaintance," said he, planting 
 himself before Annie. " I hae lang been watchir. 
 to see ye." 
 
 " I don t want to see you," said Annie, her 
 terror giving her courage. " How dare you
 
 Annie Re illy. 145 
 
 annoy me this way! Let me pass now, or I ll 
 call the police." 
 
 " Nae, nae, noo, said he coaxingly ; " ye wad 
 nae do that." 
 
 " I shall, I shall. Miss Sweeny, I beg of you 
 call a policeman," said Annie. 
 
 That young lady had her face partly turned 
 away, looking in the direction of a number of 
 mechanics who were leaving a building on the 
 opposite corner. She seemed not to hear Annie s 
 entreaty, and still watched the men coming into 
 the street, and scattering in every direction. At 
 length a tall, straight, smart-looking young man 
 came out, putting on his coat as he did so. Miss 
 Sweeny quickly beckoned him, and in a second he 
 was beside them. 
 
 " Here is a ruffian annoying this young lady," 
 said Miss Sweeny, pointing to the Scotchman. 
 " He has stopped her on the sidewalk." 
 
 The young man cast a scornful look on him, 
 and, drawing his open hand, slapped him two or 
 three times on each jaw ; and, when he turned to 
 run, which was as quickly as he possibly could, 
 gave him such a kick that for the first few yards 
 he never made such speed in his life. Now, 
 whether it were that the blows blinded his eyes, 
 or that his feet were so very clumsy that they 
 could not be trusted in a long race, we don t pre-
 
 146 Annie Reilly. 
 
 sume to know ; but, after running a little distance, 
 he stumbled and fell in a heap on a pile of dirt 
 which the sweepers had just gathered up. A 
 policeman, happening to see thecrowd ofboysgath 
 ering around him, hurried up, and, in spite pf all 
 his entreaties and declarations, hauled him off to 
 the station-house for a drunken man. The police 
 man was not much to blame ; for he certainly 
 looked as if he had rolled the streets for a mile. 
 
 All this happened in such rapid succession that 
 Annie and her friend were bewildered. The 
 young man accompanied them part of the way 
 towards the house, and, when he turned away, 
 Miss Sweeny told Annie he was Kitty s lover. 
 
 Mr. Sweeny was within, anxiously awaiting 
 their return ; for, after all he had heard his wife 
 say of Annie s family, he longed to see her. He 
 was a low-sized, fat, good-humored-looking man, 
 with a merry twinkle in his eye, and just as fond 
 of fun as any Irishman in New York. He told 
 so many amusing stories, and laughed so much 
 during the evening, that Annie thought that he 
 must be the happiest man in the world. And he 
 was happy. Strictly temperate from the day he 
 came to New York, he spent none of his money 
 in the grog-shop ; never came home cross, peev 
 ish, or full of bad whisky, but always light- 
 hearted, even after the hardest day s toil, to join
 
 Annie Reilly. 147 
 
 his wife in their evening prayers ; never lounged 
 around dirty and slovenly on Sunday morning, but 
 could be seen early in his seat at church. Through 
 his industry and good habits, he was now inde 
 pendent. 
 
 Annie spent a very pleasant evening, went to 
 rest on a comfortable bed, and slept soundly till 
 the bright rays of the sun, shining through the 
 blinds, told her the morning was far advanced.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 JAMES O ROURKE S EXPERIENCES IN A 
 YORK MENAGERIE. 
 
 IAMES O ROURKE continued to 
 work along shore for several months, 
 saving up all the money he could, and 
 sending it to his father. He had 
 written to Annie the day after his arrival, but, 
 receiving word from Francis that she had gone 
 to New York, tried by every possible means to 
 learn her whereabouts in the city. He went to 
 Castle Garden, hoping to receive some informa 
 tion in that very correct establishment ; but no 
 such name had been entered on the books about 
 the time he mentioned. Thishe gleaned from a 
 clerk after a day s delay the very clerk to whom 
 Annie had given her name. He even advertised 
 in some of the daily papers, but without effect. 
 When his hard day s work would be over, he 
 went around to the houses of such as he had 
 learned were from that part of Ireland, and re 
 quested them to make every enquiry ; but months 
 went by, and he heard nothing of Annie. The
 
 Annie Reilly. 149 
 
 only conclusion he could arrive at was that she 
 had gone on to some distant city. 
 
 This bitter disappointment weighed heavily 
 on his mind. If she were in Ireland, where he 
 might hear from her now and then, he would not 
 have felt so heart-broken ; but to know she had 
 been and probably was in New York, that per 
 haps he saw the ship that carried her over 
 coming into the harbor, and that every effort of 
 his to see her or hear of her proved in vain, was 
 painfully distressing. 
 
 Meanwhile, the class of people amongst whom 
 he was thrown were not calculated much to im 
 prove his spirits. We do not mean by this his 
 fellow-laborers, who were for the most part 
 honest, hard-working men like Terence McMan- 
 us. The latter had told James, when he first 
 went to work, that he could board with him if he 
 chose ; but O Rourke knowing, from the limited 
 accommodation he possessed, that this offer was 
 prompted only by goodness of heart, sought out 
 another boarding-place an act which he very 
 soon after regretted. 
 
 This establishment stood in one of the side 
 streets, directly over a beer-saloon. It consisted 
 of three floors, divided into five or six rooms 
 each, and served no fewer than fifty boarders. 
 That these rooms were of small compass need
 
 150 Annie Reilly. 
 
 not be told. Those which looked out on the 
 street or into the yard in the rear were the lar 
 gest, and contained two and three beds each. The 
 middle bedrooms were of such small dimensions, 
 and the doors leading into them were so nar 
 row, that the beds they contained must have 
 been built there. These were sometimes called 
 the dark bedrooms a most appropriate name ; 
 fot, except the door is open or broken down, as 
 sometimes happens, not a ray of light can enter 
 them. We defy any man, even the most unim 
 aginative, to sleep there one night without think 
 ing of dungeons, skeletons, and ghosts. 
 
 All the floors were bare but clean, except 
 where covered with tobacco-juice or the ashes of 
 pipes. The beds well, one of them would not 
 be the most soothing place in the world for an ill- 
 tempered man with the toothache. The straw 
 01 hay, or whatever it might be, had an obstinate 
 habit of getting into hard, round lumps, which, 
 if you tried to smooth down in one spot, instantly- 
 burst up in another. The first night a person 
 sleeps on one of those beds he is sure to start up 
 with the impression that some one is beating him 
 about the ribs ; and, to complete the comfort of 
 the thing, the pillows are hard enough for the 
 head and neck of any patriarch. 
 
 The kitchen was on the lowest floor in the rear,
 
 Annie Reilly. 151 
 
 and so hot and fierce did it look from the front 
 room that the most stout-hearted boarder never 
 ventured to enter it during the warm weather. 
 
 The first evening James came to the establish 
 ment, the boarders were assembled at supper, and 
 the lamp on the table burned very dimly. A first 
 glance along the. row effaces, and his heart sank 
 as he thought of Liverpool ; but when he was 
 seated, and surveyed them more closely, he saw 
 that every man had his hands and face washed. 
 This must have taken considerable time ; for 
 James saw but one wash-stand in the hall, and 
 one towel sewed together at the ends, which 
 turned on a round piece of wood like a weaver s 
 reeling-stick. 
 
 The boarding-mistress, Mrs. Grady, stood at a 
 small, narrow table by the window, on which 
 were placed two such large dishes of corned beef 
 and soup that James wondered hew they main 
 tained their balance, busily engaged serving out 
 their contents. On the table were pickles, rad 
 ishes, tomatoes, onions, cheese, butter, and 
 baker s bread in every variety of shape, but all in 
 very small quantities, and so close together in the 
 centre of the table that it, must have required ex 
 traordinary exertions on the part of those at the 
 ends to reach them at all. 
 
 Mrs Grady s object in thus placing them may
 
 152 Annie Reilly. 
 
 probably have been a very laudable one. Her 
 husband, a small, weazen, crabbed-looking fellow, 
 who was what is commonly called a " curbstone 
 broker," or vagabond real-estate agent, always 
 sat at the middle of the table, and she may have 
 been determined to give him sufficient, no matter 
 who wanted. 
 
 The swarm of flies on and around the table 
 was something awful. Bread, butter, boarders 
 hands and arms, meat, soup, eyes, noses, and 
 sometimes mouths were infested with them ; and 
 the increased hum they kept up seemed to pre 
 vent Mrs. Grady hearing any boarder who hap 
 pened to want his plate replenished. 
 
 James felt nearly as much disgusted as he had 
 been in Liverpool, and ate very little supper, 
 hurried outside, and went down to the docks to 
 catch a little fresh air from the river. 
 
 When he returned, the boarders were about to 
 go to bed, and Mrs. Grady pointed out to James 
 his bedfellow while he remained in the house : 
 " A very nice, clean man," she explained. 
 O Rourke looked at his hollow, drunken eyes 
 and old, torn red shirt, and gravely doubted the 
 good lady s recommendation. 
 
 James sat for some time at the window, look- 
 ing at a wrangling crowd of Dutchmen outside 
 the saloon, one of whom kept continually shout-
 
 Annie Reilly. 153 
 
 ing, " Vat for you do mit das, ha ? Vat for you 
 do, ha ? Vat for you, oder any man, in the city of 
 Ni Yorik, dare exult me oder mine olt voomans ?" 
 
 When he had roared himself hoarse, and no 
 one appeared to show cause why himself or his 
 wife should be insulted, he muttered a few 
 drunken curses at a crowd of boys who had 
 gathered around himself and his comrades, and 
 staggered into the saloon again. 
 
 James left the window and went up-stairs to 
 his room, which, by the way, was one of the dark 
 bedrooms. As he approached the door, a faint 
 light, dimly visible through the keyhole, attracted 
 his attention. He pushed open the door, and 
 there, lying on his back in the middle of the bed, 
 with all his clothing, shoes included, on, was his 
 new comrade, quietly smoking a long white pipe. 
 James thought this a novel place to smoke in, 
 but he merely threw the door open ; for, from 
 the close heat of the room and the fumes of the 
 tobacco, the apartment was well-nigh suffocating. 
 
 He sat down on his trunk the only seat, ex 
 cept the bed, in the room and began taking off 
 his shoes, hoping the smoker would leave the 
 bed, that he might lie down. But, no ; he lay 
 there, lamenting the high price of liquor, and 
 predicting the consequent ruin of the country, 
 till his pipe was smoked down, when he turned
 
 
 
 154 Annie Reilly. 
 
 over on his side, and, pulling a paper of tobacco 
 from underneath the bolster, began to refill it, 
 which having done, he dived after a match in his 
 old, torn vest, lighted it on his thigh, and went 
 on smoking as before. 
 
 James s patience was exhausted, and he said : 
 " Do you intend smoking all night? If you do, 
 you had better sit outside here, and let me lie 
 down." 
 
 " Augh ! the divil a bit hurry I am in to go to 
 bed," said he. " Me and a couple more got a little 
 bit tight around noon-time, and the boss sacked 
 every man of us ; so I am not goin* to work in 
 the mornin ." 
 
 "Well, I am not so," said James. " I want to 
 go to bed. It wasn t on your account I spoke. I 
 assure you." 
 
 The other kept silent, and smoked away. 
 
 " Stand up and leave that pipe away ! I won 
 der how you can tolerate the smell of it your 
 self ; I am sick half an hour ago." 
 
 " Arrah! take it aisy, can t ye?" said he. " I ll 
 be through now in twinty minutes." 
 
 " Up with you to your feet !" exclaimed 
 O Rourke, losing all patience ; and, catching him 
 by the shoulder, he lifted him to his feet, and left 
 him standing on the floor. " If I have the mis 
 fortune to be in the same room with you any
 
 Annie Reilly. 155 
 
 more, I d recommend you to quit smoking in 
 bed." 
 
 " All right, I ll get square one of these days, 
 me lad. I m the ouldest boorther in this house, 
 and ought to have the same privilege as any 
 other man; but I ll get square." And he sat 
 down so heavily on the other s trunk as almost 
 to crack the lid. 
 
 " If you break my trunk, I ll flatten you," said 
 James, as he searched for a peg to hang his 
 clothes on. 
 
 " I want me rights," said the other, with a 
 drunken leer, and raising his left shoulder to his 
 ear. 
 
 " What rights ?" asked James. 
 
 " The same as other men," he shouted, waving 
 nis hand toward the other rooms. 
 
 James looked out and saw at least a dozen 
 boarders, some outside, some inside the bed 
 clothes, while the smoke from their pipes was 
 struggling desperately to escape through a broken 
 pane. 
 
 He threw himself on the bed, and, having 
 worked very hard that day, was soon asleep. 
 Happening to wake up during the night, the 
 first object that met his eyes was the red glare 
 of his companion s pipe close by his face. 
 
 The next day he made enquiries after a new
 
 56 
 
 Annie Reilly. 
 
 boarding-house ; but, being told by his fellow- 
 laborers that they were all alike, he made up his 
 mind, in case every effort to find Annie failed, to 
 leave New York. 
 
 Every effort in that direction did fail, as our 
 readers know. So when the demand for work 
 men at the oil-fields in Pennsylvania came, James 
 and a few others set out there.
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 A.NNIE FALLS IN WITH A MOTHER-IN-LAW AND 
 A TARTAR. BOTH TRY TO CONVERT HER. 
 
 IOTWITHSTANDING that Mr. and 
 
 Mrs. Sweeny and Kitty Brady did all 
 in their power to persuade Annie to 
 take a few weeks rest, she advertised 
 for a situation in one of the morning papers the 
 second day after her arrival in New York. Why 
 she insisted on putting her name to the advertise 
 ment none of her friends could make out ; but 
 Annie had been thinking very much of James 
 O Rourke, and praying that she might see him, 
 and that may have accounted for it. 
 
 In reply to the advertisement, a tall, thin- 
 jawed, oldish-looking woman, with a net shawl 
 drawn tightly around her shoulders, called about 
 noon. Mrs. Sweeny happened to be out at the 
 time, otherwise she would not have let Annie 
 engage with her. But the latter was anxious 
 to fulfil the promise she had made to Francis. 
 This was the first answer to her advertisement she 
 had received, so she answered the numerous ques 
 tions put to her as well as she could, and was not
 
 158 Annie Re illy. 
 
 a little delighted when the lady told her to come 
 in the morning. 
 
 She left a name and address on a card, which she 
 explained were not her own, but that of her mar 
 ried daughter, for whose service she had engaged 
 Annie. The latter looked at the name Mrs. 
 Derby Granville Phillips and thought to herself 
 it was a pretty high-sounding name, but not such 
 a strange one after all. 
 
 The address was Brooklyn, and this confused 
 her a little at first, knowing it was so far from her 
 friends in New York ; but that was not to be con 
 sidered. 
 
 Accordingly, at the appointed hour in the 
 morning, Annie appeared at the door of Mrs. D. 
 G. Phillips, looking very pretty and cheerful at 
 the prospect of soon being able to help her father 
 and mother. The door was opened by the old 
 lady who had hired her in New York, who, in return 
 to Annie s nod of recognition, merely held up her 
 hands very high, and said, as she pulled out a 
 large watch with a very heavy chain, which Annie 
 thought looked remarkably like brass : 
 
 " I like punctuality. You are just three minutes 
 too soon ; but we ll overlook that for this time. 
 Hurry down to your business." 
 
 Annie, not a little surprised at this odd recep 
 tion, went down-stairs to the kitchen, and, seeing no
 
 Annie Reilty. 159 
 
 one there, stood for a moment, not rightly know 
 ing what to do next. Soon she heard the tread 
 of feet coming down the stairs, and, looking along 
 the hall, saw a young lady, who in thirty years 
 hence would pass very easily for the old one, 
 coming towards her with a little white lap-dog 
 resting on one arm, and a very flashy novel in the 
 hand of the other. She put down the animal as 
 she entered the kitchen, and began talking to it 
 and fondling it, caHing it the most endearing 
 names, and bending down occasionally to kiss it 
 and hug it to her breast. 
 
 She did not look towards Annie, or seem to 
 know she was present, till she had tired herself 
 caressing the dog, when she turned round sud 
 denly, and said, with her mother s lofty scorn : 
 
 "You re the new servant, eh?" 
 
 " Yes, madam," replied Annie, her voice quiv 
 ering. 
 
 " A nice servant you are !" said the other, hold 
 ing an eye-glass, which only dimmed her sight, to 
 her eye, and, with her mouth drawn very tight . 
 looking at the poor girl. " Why don t you go up 
 stairs and change your dress, m ?" 
 
 " Please, madam," said Annie, " the other lady, 
 your mother I think " 
 
 " Go on, go on ; don t stand to talk to me about 
 what you thmk. I am mistress here," said she
 
 Annie Reilly. 
 
 lifting the dog again. " Change your clothes, and 
 look like work, quick." 
 
 " Where shall I change my clothes, please, 
 madam ?" asked Annie. 
 
 " Well, well, my dear," was the reply. " Where 
 is she to change her clothes? Have you ever 
 been in a first-class house before ?" But without 
 giving Annie time to answer, she added, throwing 
 back her head, and closing her eyes languidly, 
 " Go up to the servant s room on the top floor." 
 
 Annie went up-stairs, and, as she passed the 
 front door, she was almost tempted to run into 
 the street and away. 
 
 The servant s room of the " mansion," as Mrs. 
 Phillips loved to call it, was a very miserable 
 apartment ; the walls and floor bare, and the ceil 
 ing hardly five feet in height. 
 
 In getting ready for her work, no girl could 
 make greater haste than she did but, on descend 
 ing to the kitchen again, she was met by the 
 angry frown of the mother-in-law, who declared 
 she really thought Annie was gone and in New 
 York by this time. 
 
 The .mansion employed but one girl, and as the 
 last one had been gone three or four days, and nei 
 ther the mother nor daughter offered her the least 
 assistance, Annie spent a very laborious morning. 
 There was no system in the " mansion," which
 
 Annie Reilly. 161 
 
 made the work even harder. Mrs. Phillips would 
 call her from the range to smooth a collar, and 
 from that, before it was finished, to run up-stairs 
 or out to the shop for something she needed 
 " desperately," as she always added, to hurry 
 Annie. 
 
 Being so very busy did not annoy her, but 
 everything she did was found fault with, and 
 when she expected a smile, received only a with 
 ering frown. 
 
 Poor little Annie, her heart was almost break 
 ing; but she thought of the calm evening by the 
 river s bank in far-off Ireland, when James said 
 she was brave as a little lion, and she did not 
 shed a tear now either. 
 
 During the afternoon, Mrs. Phillips s two little 
 boys came in from school, and, seeing the new 
 servant, were delighted at the opportunity it 
 gave them to display their polite training. 
 
 " Halloo !" cried the eldest, a youth of about 
 seven, with a yellowish, unwholesome-looking 
 face, narrow forehead, atid very flat nose " hal 
 lo ! And when did you come ?" And he ran up 
 to Annie, who was lifting a large vessel, filled 
 with hot water, from the range, and deliberately 
 walked across her toes. 
 
 " Beware, beware, Gussy, of the scalding 
 water!" cried his grandmother, who happened
 
 1 62 Annie Reilly. 
 
 to come in at the moment. " What a dant * 
 lad you are !" 
 
 " None of your business," said the hopefv 
 boy. " She is our servant, not yours." 
 
 " O Gussy !" said the old lady, who, by* the way, 
 was only tolerated in the house. " I mean the risk 
 you have just run of getting the boiling water 
 over you, that s all." 
 
 " Keep your talk to yourself," said the young 
 est youth. " Papa told you and mamma told 
 you to interfere with us no more, or you might 
 go some place else." 
 
 "Say, when did you come?" asked the eldest 
 again, moving beside Annie. 
 
 She made no reply, but went on with her work. 
 
 " Oh ! she s stuck up, she is," said the young 
 est, throwing a smoothing-iron into the water, 
 causing it to splash up on the poor girl s face and 
 arms. 
 
 Annie turned to the old lady, and said, while 
 her lips quivered : 
 
 " Pray, madam, tell them to cease tormenting 
 me this way." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed ^both. "Her tell us tc 
 stop. She has no more right here than you have 
 yourself," said the oldest. 
 
 " But come along, Roy ; papa will murder us 
 for keeping her idle."
 
 Annie Reilly. 163 
 
 And the two scampered up-stairs, and amused 
 their mother, first by relating to her the tricks 
 which " Gussie had played on the new girl," and 
 again exciting her wrath by telling her that their 
 grandmother had interfered with them. 
 
 At nightfall, Mr. D. G. Phillips came home. 
 He was a small, thin, cross-grained man, with an 
 immense black mustache and a bald head. Not 
 a bald head of the ordinary kind, however, for 
 we dare say the owner of the "mansion " would 
 scorn that ; but a crown dotted over with bare 
 spots here and there, which, if put together, 
 would leave a clear space extending probably to 
 the backs of his ears. 
 
 Annie opened the door for him, and he shot 
 inside with such force that she peeped through 
 the glass to see if any person outside pitched him 
 in. When she looked around, he had disappeared 
 into the parlor, and she could hear the ring of 
 Mrs. Phillips s voice as she rated him for not being 
 home sooner. Annie hurried "down to her duties, 
 dreading lest she might hear a word not intended 
 for her ears ; but as we are not so scrupulous, we 
 w ll stop a moment and see the cause of the row. 
 
 " A pretty time of night for you to come land 
 ing home," said Mrs. Phillips, closing the novel 
 she had been reading, as her husband put his 
 head inside the parlor door.
 
 164 Annie Reilly. 
 
 "What are you talking about night for?" said 
 the husband, throwing himself on the worn sofa. 
 " Are you prepared for me this evening again?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; I am prepared for you," said Mrs 
 Phillips, coming close, and looking down on him 
 with a frown. " I want to know where you were 
 till this time of night night, I repeat. I know I 
 can t believe a word you say, but I insist on some 
 answer." 
 
 " Business in the office delayed me," said he, 
 with an ominous look, at which Mrs. Phillips 
 smiled scornfully. " And don t tell me I am a 
 liar again. It ill becomes you to call any one a 
 liar. Your mother, rot her, is the biggest." 
 
 " I ll not tolerate this, sir," exclaimed she, 
 stamping her foot and interrupting him. " If 
 anything is to be said to mother, I ll say it." 
 
 " But this is my house," said he modestly. 
 
 "Is it your house? Oh! to be sure it is. I 
 am no better than a servant here," said she, with 
 an hysterical laugh. " And of course you can 
 come in or go out any hour of the night you like." 
 
 " Why not ?" said he. 
 
 " Why not !" echoed she with a yell that brought 
 the old lady up-stairs in a second. " Oh ! what 
 treatment for me to bear. He openly tells me, 
 mother," continued she, in the same loud voice, 
 " that he ll come home when he likes, and go out
 
 Annie Reilly. 165 
 
 at night when he likes." Here a flood of tears 
 choked her utterance. 
 
 " I d put the seas between me and him," said 
 the mother-in-law, shaking her head furiously at 
 him. 
 
 " Merciful God, if I only could ! " said the son- 
 in-law, in an undertone. 
 
 " Lettie, dear, I ll run for some cold water ; I 
 think you re going to faint," said her mother. 
 
 " Oh ! don t leave the room now, I beg of you," 
 exclaimed .the sobbing lady. 
 
 "Oh! dear, oh! dear. Bless my soul, he has a 
 very villanous look on him this evening," said the 
 old lady, turning back and looking at her son-in- 
 law, who certainly did not look very agreeable, with 
 his face, mustache, and forehead puckered up with 
 an expression of deep pain. " Oh ! my soul and 
 body," continued the kind-hearted old lady, wring 
 ing her hands, " was it fo- *liis I raised and edu 
 cated ahem ! my dc^guter in the best style ? " 
 
 She seemed to expect an answer to this impor 
 tant enquiry from some person hidden up in the 
 ceiling ; for she walked the floor a dozen times, 
 her eyes turned upwards, repeating the same 
 question. 
 
 The expression on the husband s face grew 
 worse as he watched her, and his wife s tears fell 
 very plentifully and comfortably, as she sat on a
 
 1 66 Annie Reilly* 
 
 chair opposite her husband, with her head turned 
 away from him. . 
 
 " If I were you, I d put the ocean between us," 
 said the old lady again, improving on her favorite 
 expression. " Let us pack up now, my dear." 
 
 Mrs. Phillips dried her tears instantly, and, 
 springing to her feet, ordered her mother to leave 
 the room. 
 
 " What business have you in the parlor?" taking 
 her by the shoulders. " Go down-stairs, and wait 
 till you re sent for." 
 
 As the worthy daughter turned from the door 
 after putting her mother outside, she thought, 
 by the altered look of her husband, that he was 
 pleased with what she had done. And as please 
 him was the very last thing on earth she could 
 think of, she burst into tears again, and called 
 him a brute, a wretch with a heart like flint or 
 steel, and numerous other .choice names. Mr. 
 Phillips bore all patiently till her voice grew 
 hoarse, when she took the little dog in her arms, 
 and went up-stairs. 
 
 At length Sunday morning came, and there was 
 a great bustle of preparation in the " mansion. 
 A celebrated divine of Brooklyn, Rev. Dr. Brass- 
 man, was to preach in the Academy of Music thai 
 Sabbath. He was the family pastor, and a great 
 favorite with Mrs. Phillips.
 
 Annie Reilly. 167 
 
 Annie worked very hard during the morning, 
 assisting them, and, when they were just ready to 
 go out, the mother-in-law looked at her watch, 
 and announced they were half an hour too early ; 
 and as Mrs. Phillips detested a long delay in 
 church, except her favorite preacher was there 
 to entertain her, they sat down to wait till the" 
 proper time. 
 
 Now, the old lady was one of those very sensi 
 ble people who try and make the very best use of 
 every moment. The thought that now might be 
 a favorable opportunity to convert Annie came 
 into her head. She ventured to tell her son-in-law 
 and daughter of it, and was greatly delighted, good 
 soul, to find they did not snub her. 
 
 The three were seated in the parlor, with the 
 two boys tumbling over each other on the floor 
 beside them. Mrs. Phillips held the little white 
 <4pg in her arms, and the old lady sat bolt upright, 
 waving an immense black fan. 
 
 The bell rang, and Annie appeared, looking 
 very pale and beautiful, having just dressed her 
 self to go out to church. 
 
 " Ahem ! Come nearer us here," said the old 
 lady, putting on her glasses. " We want to talk 
 a little with you. now that we have time." 
 
 Annie approached, wondering greatly what the 
 cause of this solemn council could be.
 
 168 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " You re a Romanist, an t you ?" began the old 
 lady. 
 
 " I am a Roman Catholic, madam," said Annie, 
 her face flushing. 
 
 "Ah ! yes ; the greater part of you Irish are," 
 said the other. " But don t you know you are 
 astray ?" 
 
 " No, madam, I do not," said Annie. " The 
 Catholic Church was established by our Lord 
 himself. 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense," said the other, with a 
 toss of her head and fan, " impossible the Cath 
 olic Church founded by Christ ! Have you ever 
 read the Bible ?" 
 
 " Certainly, madam," replied Annie ; " it was 
 the first book I learned to read." 
 
 " Don t tell me that, girl," said the old lady, 
 looking round on the others. " Your priests for 
 bid you to read the Bible ; I know it." 
 
 " With due respect for your knowledge, ma 
 dam," said Annie politely, " our priests do no 
 such thing! They earnestly recommend every 
 Catholic to read the Bible, but it must be the 
 Bible complete and unadulterated." 
 
 " This is something new for us, said the 
 mother-in-law. 
 
 " It is by no means new, madam," replied 
 Annie, " but it is something very new and strange
 
 Annie Reilly. 169 
 
 to me to hear any one assert that priests forbid 
 the use of the Bible. Our parish priest in Ire 
 land, so anxious was he every family should have 
 a Bible, that he supplied those himself who were 
 unable to purchase one." 
 
 " I should think that a very dangerous game for 
 himself," said Mrs. Phillips, patting the dog s head. 
 
 " How, madam, may I ask?" said the girl. 
 
 " Why, then you would all see the folly of his 
 pretensions," was the reply. " The Bible doesn t 
 tell you he can forgive your sins ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," said Annie, " by any power 
 of his own." 
 
 " And by whose power, then ?" put in Phillips, 
 who thought he had been long enough si ent. 
 
 " By the power of God, who has given them 
 that authority," said Annie. 
 
 " Oh ! they all say that," said the mother-in- 
 law with a sneer. " Listen to me, young woman," 
 she added earnestly. " Do you think, because our 
 Lord promised that power to his apostles, whom 
 he saw and conversed with every day, that your 
 priests now, after the lapse of eighteen hundred 
 years, possess the same power?" 
 
 " I believe," said Annie, with something of a 
 smile on her face, " that our Lord can do now 
 what he did eighteen hundred years ago. Time 
 has not diminished his power."
 
 170 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " I I know that," said the old lady, fidgeting 
 uneasily in her chair ; " but what I mean to say 
 is, he gave that authority to his disciples only." 
 
 "There is no reason for saying or thinking so," 
 said Annie. " Those who lived at that time 
 were not a privileged people, more than that they 
 happened to be on earth at the same time as our 
 Saviour. He came to save all not one genera 
 tion and to grant all salvation through the same 
 means." 
 
 The mother-in-law was biting her lip and twist 
 ing her fingers, thinking of what she would say 
 next, when Mrs. Phillips joined in with : 
 
 " Then that is a very easy way to reach heaven 
 act as you like, and then go to your priest and 
 get forgiveness." 
 
 " Oh ! no," said Annie ; " there are conditions 
 necessary for a good confession." 
 
 "What are they?" asked the mother-in-law. 
 
 "The most important are," said the girl, "a 
 sincere sorrow for the faults committed, and a 
 strong resolution to sin no more." 
 
 " Ah !" said the old lady, pitching her head for 
 ward, " I have you now. You say our Lord came 
 to save all, and yet you believe all except Catho 
 lics will be lost." 
 
 "What I said was," replied Annie, "that our 
 Lord came to redeem all through the same means.
 
 Annie Reilly. 171 
 
 He did not adopt two methods ; and I say now 
 that the Catholic Church only preserves the Scrip 
 tures unchanged." 
 
 "Oh! yes, indeed," said Mrs. Phillips spite 
 fully, " that s more of your priests slander. I 
 don t believe they -do a thing else in their cha 
 pels on Sunday but abuse other people." 
 
 " You do our clergy a great injustice, madam," 
 said the girl warmly, " when you say so. They 
 preach the Gospel to their hearers, pointing out 
 to them the evils they are to avoid and the vir 
 tues they should practise. Now, slander is a 
 very great vice, and none is more severely con 
 demned by our priests." 
 
 " Ha ! but they tell you all Protestants will go 
 to hell, don t they?" asked the old lady, taking 
 up the thread of the argument. 
 
 " If you were to go to any of our churches on 
 Sunday," said Annie, "you would think there 
 was but one religion in the world ; because our 
 priests instruct their people in the doctrines of 
 their own, and never mention the name of Protes 
 tant or any others who differ from us." 
 
 The mother-in-law drew out her broad-faced 
 watch, and, to her great relief, saw it was time to 
 go and hear the Rev. Dr. Brassman ; so she told 
 Annie that at some future period she would con 
 vince her of her error.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A MODERN CLERGYMAN. REV. DR. BRASSMAN S 
 GREAT ENTERPRISE. 
 
 HE Rev. Dr. Brassman was a very in 
 defatigable man, not alone in the 
 service of God, but in his efforts to 
 make a name here on earth. The 
 Rev. Dr. knew as well as, perhaps, any minister 
 that the apostles were poor and lowly men who 
 cared not for this world s fame ; but thinking that, 
 as the world grows older, men grow wiser, the 
 same poverty and humility were not expected 
 from him. That the apostles preached to large 
 multitudes he had no doubt, but saw that the 
 language which gathered large crowds in those 
 days would leave him an empty church now. 
 
 Of this he was more fully convinced by the ex 
 ample of a brother divine, who totally ignored 
 Gospel preaching in his pulpit, and delighted his 
 hearers with other and more entertaining infor 
 mation. In this he was very successful, as the 
 number and respectability of his congregation 
 went to show. At this, Dr. Brassman, as became 
 a pious and charitable minister, grew very envi-
 
 Annie Reilly. 173 
 
 * 
 
 ous, and resolved, at all hazards, not to be kept 
 in the background. 
 
 Dr. Brassman was a very eloquent gentleman, 
 and had a powerful voice. Even in his calmest 
 days, before the desire to become notorious laid 
 hold of him, no nervous man or woman who 
 happened to kngw his church would venture past 
 while he was in the pulpit. 
 
 The dogs in that neighborhood had acquired 
 such a habit of barking incessantly on Sunday 
 evenings that every sensible citizen kept his can 
 ine muzzled on that day. 
 
 But when the desire to outvie his celebrated 
 brother took possession of his head and lungs, 
 the streets in his vicinity began to depopulate, 
 and what people had nerve enough to remain put 
 their dogs into the cellar before the terrible roar 
 broke upon the air. 
 
 Now, it may seem strange how any one, except 
 they were born deaf as a stone, could stand their 
 ground inside the church, while the noise affected 
 men and animals outside so much. Well, to any 
 man or woman who may be disposed to doubt 
 these truthful lines, we say and he may go and 
 try it, if he chooses that it is much easier to 
 withstand the yells of a roaring minister inside 
 his temple than without. 
 
 When Mr. Phillips and his wife and mother-in-
 
 174 Annie Reilly. 
 
 
 
 law reached the Academy, they found the worthy 
 minister already in the pulpit. This was a great 
 relief to the old lady ; for, after the indifferent suc 
 cess she had achieved in the controversy with 
 Annie, she wanted something to distract her 
 thoughts. The doctor had not commenced speak 
 ing yet, and sat on a low seat within the pulpit, 
 his chin resting on its edge, looking placidly on 
 the thickening crowd. His head, which was all 
 of him that could be seen,. was a very peculiar 
 one indeed very short and small behind, bulged 
 out alarmingly over each ear, and very narrow on 
 the crown. His face was very long and straight, 
 eyes large and watery, nose short and turned 
 down, and forehead surprisingly high and nar 
 row. When he saw every seat filled, he rose 
 slowly and with dignity, pushed his hair up in 
 front till it stood on ends, looked wildly around, 
 and, striking the side of the pulpit heavily with 
 his open hand till the building echoed again, said, 
 in a heavy undertone: 
 
 " Brothers, we air here /<?^-day " puckers up 
 his mouth, throws back his chest, and shakes his 
 head " saints and sinners. The little bird that 
 tunes its lay toe heaven speaks a lesson of wis 
 dom toe us all toe-day." A little higher : " Why 
 does that little bird sing? Because" louder 
 " it is free ; free, my brethren, toe hop from branch
 
 Annie Reilly. 175 
 
 to branch " sorrowfully " and gather up for its 
 young the tiny little worm. Again " his very 
 loudest " I ask, Why does that little bird sing ? 
 Becau au au ause it has a free conscience," 
 smiting the pulpit again. " Becau au au ause 
 it is no thief who steals. Becau au au ause 
 it is no liar who breeds discord. Becau au au 
 ause it is no drunkard who comes home late 
 at night." (Mrs. Phillips nudged her husband) 
 " Becau au au ause that little bird is no mur 
 derer who shoots, or stabs, or beats out the 
 brains of its fellow-man." (He stops and drinks ; 
 the mother-in-law is greatly affected.) " The beau 
 tiful parable ahem ! I made it myself which I 
 have told you about the little bird reminds me 
 that in the city of New York, that hot-bed of sin, 
 and crime, and etarnal drunkenness, a man lies 
 condemned toe die. Great efforts, we hear, are 
 being made by that man s friends toe save him ; 
 but " a perfect scream " what did the old law 
 say ?" stamping his foot, and swinging his arms 
 wildly round : "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a 
 tooth. My friends, it makes my heart sad when 
 I see hardened sinners going back on the old lav, 
 in this way. /Vlitical <?-ruption, my friends, is 
 at the bottom of this and every other evil in the 
 land. In the olden times, the pure old times, 
 the people had no Bill Plunderfoots, no Dick
 
 1 76 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Bezzlers ; an d if they had, my brethren, what 
 would they have done with them. Suppose, my 
 brethren, when Moses, that man of God and of 
 decided opinions, was leading the chosen people 
 through the bushes, and he hacV discerned a Bill 
 Plunderfoot in the camp, what would that up 
 right, uncompromising man," clasping his hands 
 and looking upwards, " have done? I ll tell you 
 what Moses, who knocked the ungodly Egyptian 
 on the head, would have done. He d have 
 smote," shaking his fist like another Moses, 
 " Bill Plunderfoot down down intoe perdition 
 straight away. If any man says toe any of you, 
 my brethren, that Moses wouldn t have come out 
 as I say, tell that vile man he lies" Grows fu 
 rious. " Tell that scurvy man he s in error ; tell 
 that man he s on the broad road that leads toe 
 death ; tell that blind man he s going toe hell 
 himself." 
 
 The learned doctor continued in this very edify 
 ing strain, occasionally varying his subject, for at 
 least two. hours, when he stopped as suddenly as 
 if he were deprived of the power of speech, sat 
 down in the pulpit so quickly that one might 
 think he had lost the power of his limbs, and 
 drank three glasses of brown water in succession. 
 This was a warning to his flock that he intended 
 making some very important announcement, so
 
 Annie Rwlly. 177 
 
 they ictained their seats. He sat for a few min 
 utes, his head thrown back, eyes and mouth 
 closed tightly, breathing heavily through his 
 nostrils. 
 
 " Something staggering must be coming," 
 whispered the mother-in-law to her daughter. 
 
 At length he rose, straight and slowly, like 
 steam ascending from a bottle, and, when he had 
 gained his full height, advanced to the edge of 
 the pulpit, and said: 
 
 " Brethren, speaking toe you of the old law in 
 the commencement of my sermon reminds me 
 now that we should practise a few of the ceremo 
 nies of the times gone by. That fell destroyer 
 and mad, fierce, unrelenting fiend fire fire, my 
 friends (an old, unmarried lady near the pulpit 
 tries to faint, but fails, and three little girls scream) 
 " fire, my brethren, has destroyed our taber 
 nacle wherein we used to all mingle our sweet 
 voices in salutation and praise. The old spot was 
 dear toe us all, and we long toe cover it with a 
 sacred roof again. You have all subscribed gen 
 erously towards that object, but as yet we have 
 far from enough toe complete the task. 
 
 " Let us again turn our thoughts toe the lit 
 tle bird, toe all feathered creation, my brethren. 
 They build their nests now as they did a thousand 
 years ago, choose their mates as they did a
 
 178 Annie Reilly. 
 
 thousand years ago, and wear the same plumage 
 now as they did a thousand years ago. Now, my 
 friends, let us draw a moral from the feathered in 
 habitants of the aerial skies a moral, my friends ; 
 that wifl draw us some funds. From this congre 
 gation, brethren, I will select the most beautiful 
 lady (the old maid who had tried to faint now 
 tried to smile) and the handsomest young gen 
 tleman, and on to-morrow evening marry them in 
 the good old costume of the seventeenth century, 
 in the presence of as many as choose toe pay one 
 dollar each admission." 
 
 "Hear! hear! Bravo! Bully for you ! Hur 
 rah," shouted the men, while the ladies waved 
 their fans and handkerchiefs. 
 
 " I wish toe add," said the preacher, smiling, 
 " that the marriage will not be binding except 
 both are satisfied." 
 
 The old maid, who had risen to her feet in the 
 excitement, threw herself back in her seat with a 
 deep sigh, and the Rev. Dr. Brassman retired 
 from the pulpit.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 JAMES O ROURKE AT THE OIL-FIELDS. A 
 SKETCH OF HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 | HE Pennsylvania oil-fields were only a 
 short time in operation when James 
 O Rourke and those who accompa 
 nied him arrived there. A number 
 of rude huts, of rough, unplaned timber, were in 
 course of construction for the accommodation of 
 laborers, and one or two had just been completed. 
 They were not built with much view to comfort, 
 and were but poorly adapted to keep out the 
 cold and storms of winter, which had already set 
 in ; but the air was pure, and this, after his 
 experience in a city boarding-house, made James 
 overlook every other disadvantage. 
 
 The men employed in the fields were from 
 every part of America and Europe, and were 
 for the most part a very reckless set of fellows, 
 who cared for nothing but drinking, carousing, 
 and fighting. But James kept apart from them 
 as much as possible, taking no part in their con 
 versation during the day, and in the evenings 
 sitting alone by himself, thinking of home.
 
 180 Annie Reilly. 
 
 A source of great trouble to him was, he could 
 hear of no chapel in that part of the country. 
 He made repeated enquiries among the laborers, 
 but none of them knew anything of such a place, 
 or cared, to use the words of one," if there wasn t 
 a chapel on the face of the earth." 
 
 The man who made this remark was a young 
 Irishman only a few* years from the old land. He 
 had heard old vagabonds talk in this way, and 
 thought it very manly to imitate them. 
 
 " You don t care if there wasn t a chapel in 
 the world ?" repeated James, with a look in 
 which were blended scorn and pity. 
 
 " No ; why the divil should I ?" replied Dooley 
 for such was his name stuffing half a paper of 
 tobacco into his mouth. 
 
 " You are a Catholic, are you not ?" asked 
 James. 
 
 " Yis ; they used to call me that in Ireland ; 
 but I m nothin at all now." 
 
 " And why have you seen fit to change to 
 much here?" asked the other. 
 
 " Religion, I see, is only a humbug. I had 
 very little sinse in Ireland. Augh, Lord ! sure 
 the people there know nothin at all." And he 
 pushed the old cap to the back of his head, and 
 tried to look very knowing. 
 
 " Am I to believe you are in earnest in what
 
 Annie Reilly* 181 
 
 you say ?" asked James, looking at him atten 
 tively " believe that you, a young man not long 
 from Ireland, have completely turned your back 
 on the teachings of the Holy Catholic Church ?" 
 
 " In troth, and pon me sowl, ye may shwear it 
 that I mane every word I say. I seen the toime 
 I thought the ground id open and swallow me 
 up for even thinkin the loikes ; but I tell ye, a 
 man soon gets brave in America." 
 
 " Do you call it bravery, asked James, " to 
 dread to acknowledge your creed, the creed of 
 your forefathers, because those around you de 
 spise religion ? Brave ! Why, you are the meanest 
 of all cowards !" 
 
 " What do I care what me forefathers belaved, 
 or what me father or mother belaves either. I 
 must look out for meself now. Phat s any one in 
 the world to me but meself?" 
 
 " If a dog could speak, said James angrily, 
 " I dare say he would say the very same thing. 
 He cares for no one but himself." But checking 
 his passion, he went on : " Surely you don t think 
 you ll thrive any the better here by turning your 
 back on your religion ?" 
 
 " Divil a much meself cares for money," was 
 the answer, " if I can get a bit to ate, and a 
 dhrink of whisky while I am in it ; that s all I 
 care for."
 
 1 82 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " So you re a drunkard, too," said James, nod. 
 ding his head sorrowfully. 
 
 " I can sthand more gin on a Saturday night 
 than any other man in the diggins," was the an 
 swer. " When I began to dhrink first," he went 
 on, with a laugh, " I thought I d niver be able to 
 keep up to the rest ov the boys ; it used to give 
 me a headache ; and thin I d be thinkin of phat 
 ould Father Philip used to say about drunkards 
 long ago, and phat me father and mother id think 
 if they only hard it ; but I soon got over that ; 
 and so will you too, me boy, come all right in the 
 ind; and be one of the best fellahs in the fields 
 one ov these days." And he slapped the other on 
 the shoulder. 
 
 " Sit down again, and listen to me for a mo 
 ment," said James. 
 
 " Come and have something to dhrink ; me 
 throat s dhry afther so much talk," said the 
 other. 
 
 " You know very well," said James, turning 
 away his head, " I am no drinker. Have patience 
 for a little." 
 
 " Ail right, young fellah, but don t say any. 
 thing to make me drier, or I can t st harhi it." 
 
 Janes did not heed this remark, but went on : 
 
 " You are a young man yet, and have the world 
 before you ; and just ask yourself the question, Is
 
 Annie Reilly. 183 
 
 now not the proper time for you to prepare for 
 old age ? In these fields, and in every other 
 work in America where a number of men are em 
 ployed, how many are able to work ? By right, 
 not one-half. It is pitiful to see so many old, 
 weakly, worn-out creatures, as I may call them, 
 struggling to do hard labor, with possibly not five 
 years of existence before them ; not one bit bet 
 ter than old horses. And what makes it sad 
 der still is that the greater part of them have 
 themselves only to blame for their misery. When 
 they were strong, when work was no burden to 
 them, they took care neither of themselves nor 
 of their earnings ; ruining their health with bad 
 whisky, for which they squandered their money." 
 
 " Ah, phat s life to a man without he has some 
 pleasure?" said the other, interrupting him. "And 
 I don t see anything else there s so much pleasure 
 * in as a glass of whisky." 
 
 " Pleasure?" said James. " Why, you were lis 
 tening to that old man, that works in the gang 
 with me, talking last night, were you not ?" 
 
 " Phat old man ? Oh ! yes ould Mickey that 
 was saying he s twenty-five years in the country 
 But he s a mane whinger, anyway." 
 
 " He spends all his money the same as you do, 
 at any rate," said James ; " and his shirt is no bet 
 ter or cleaner than your own."
 
 184 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " Ay, but," said the other, in an injured way, 
 " he takes the whole good out ov the thing by 
 cryin over it." 
 
 " He knows," said James, " that in a very short 
 time he ll not be able to clutch the spade, and 
 that there is nothing before him but die of want. 
 The man has become an habitual drunkard, and 
 now is powerless to save himself. To advise or 
 reason with any one reduced to his state is use 
 less ; but we can learn a lesson from his folly. 
 Drink, he tells us, is no longer a pleasure to 
 him ; tis a hell from which he cannot escape. It 
 has lowered him from the rank of a human being, 
 and left him nothing better than an animal. The 
 only feeling in his heart is regret." 
 
 " The divil a bit of me is ivir sorry," said the 
 other, in a careless way. " Whin the money s 
 gone, I say, let it go." 
 
 " Why, he says he felt in like manner when he 
 took to drink," said O Rourke ; " or, to use his 
 own words, Was as light-hearted without a penny 
 as when he d have fifty dollars in his pocket. 
 But the man was strong to earn more then ; he 
 could not look forward to the day when that 
 strength would fail him." 
 
 " Augh ! I say, replied Dooley, with a twist 
 of his body, " whin a man isn t fit to work, it 
 makes little matther what comes of him. He is
 
 Annie Rlilly. 185 
 
 afther havin his day; I wouldn t mind how I 
 spint the last few years of me days, if toimes were 
 good up to-that." 
 
 " I little thought, of all people in the world, 
 said James, " that an Irishman could be found to 
 use such an expression to show himself so utte 
 ly wanting in every honorable feeling. Picture 
 to yourself what you would then be, and what 
 you will be if you don t take heed scorned and 
 despised by every one, crawling around, a thing 
 with life in it, no more; a burden to yourself and 
 to the world." 
 
 " Oh ! be me sowl, its preachin a sarmon ye 
 are ; and, as I don t care for lecthers. I ll go and 
 have me whisky." 
 
 James looked sorrowfully after him, as his man 
 ly but ragged figure disappeared into the door of 
 the little rum-shop, and thought to himself what a 
 woful blight to his countrymen in America love 
 of such places proved. 
 
 In a few days after the foregoing conversation 
 a native of Pennsylvania State came to work in 
 the fields; and from him O Rourke learned that 
 a long way off, beyond the blue hills, a chapel 
 could be found. The following Saturday night, 
 when the laborers were enjoying themselves as 
 usual, he set off in the direction indicated, his 
 heart full of joy at. the prospect of hearing Mas? 
 in the morning.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 STRANGE OCCURRENCES IN THE " MANSION." 
 HAPPY LIFE OF A MOTHER-IN-LAW. -ANNIE 
 RECEIVES A LETTER FROM HOME. 
 
 ]NNIE lived at the " mansion " a little 
 over a month, bearing patiently with 
 every hardship and insult, but always 
 bravely and intelligently defending her 
 race and creed against the repeated attacks of the 
 mother-in-law and her daughter. 
 
 She had written to her father and mother the 
 evening before leaving Patrick Sweeny s, giving a 
 long account of her voyage, and telling them 
 what great friends she met with on her arrival 
 in New York. With what anxiety she waited for 
 an answer, giving the ship which carried her note, 
 and the one that bore the reply, the shortest pos 
 sible time to cross the ocean. From the hour 
 she expected the letter, till three days later, when 
 Kitty Brady walked in with it, a cheerful smile on 
 her face, Annie was in the height of grief, imagin 
 ing the most terrible things had caused the delay. 
 It happened, fortunately, she was alone, the old 
 and young lady having gone out for a walk-
 
 Annie ReiUy. 187 
 
 Annie caught the letter from Kitty s hand, and, 
 recognizing her brother s writing, kissed the ad 
 dress fervently. Her hands trembled, and, dread 
 ing she would tear the letter in opening it, 
 requested the other to open and read it for her. 
 Kitty stood over by the window, and, with 
 Annie s head resting on her shoulder looking 
 down at the words, read as follows : 
 
 "AUGUST 15, 186-. 
 
 " MY DEAR, DEAR SlSTER : 
 
 " To-day, the Feast of the Assumption, we be 
 sought the Queen of heaven to watch over you in 
 a far-off land. This blessed day our prayers were 
 all for you, Annie, at home and before the altar. 
 Since you left us, this is the first time mother has 
 been to the chapel ; but to-day I assisted her there, 
 that she might kneel at the Virgin s feet for our 
 darling Annie. Since her return, she has felt much 
 better than at any time since we lost our home. 
 Father goes to the chapel every evening now, to 
 pray for you, Annie. We were greatly delighted 
 to learn from your letter that you reached the end 
 of your long journey safely, and that you met 
 with such friends in New York. God s bless 
 ing on all who are kind to poor, little, lonely 
 Annie ! O Annie dear ! I thought my heart 
 would break this morning when the procession
 
 1 88 Annie Reilly. 
 
 moved down from the altar, and your gentle face 
 was not amongst the bright throng. Of all your 
 friends here, not one is more, sincerely sorry after 
 you than Mr. Lacy. When I meet him, his eyes 
 fill up, and he passes by without saying a word ; 
 and yet often when father and I are absent, he 
 comes to see mother, and talks to her of you. 
 Between him and Nancy Brady, she is recovering 
 quickly from the blow our double misfortune has 
 been to her. Nancy was extremely delighted to 
 hear your praise of Kitty s goodness to you. 
 She has taken it into her head now that Kitty 
 must come home and see her. 
 
 " The day after you left us, Annie, I went to 
 the castle, and found employment, and we are now 
 living in one of the little cottages I mentioned to 
 you that night by the pond. Martha s manner 
 towards mother was never worse than the day 
 you went away ; so I determined we should live 
 in her house as short a time as possible. Father 
 is greatly changed. He is no longer lively, anJ. 
 walks about with his head down, speaking to or 
 noticing nobody. He had a habit of going out 
 /cry early in the morning the first week or so 
 after your departure. What he could be doing 
 abroad at that hour surprised me. So I followed 
 him one morning to the top of the demense hill 
 which you know overlooks our old home, where
 
 Annie Reilly. 189 
 
 he sat down on a stone, and, turning his eyes in 
 that direction, began to cry. I begged him to 
 tell me what brought him there. He told me he 
 found great consolation in coming there, for lie 
 could look down on the old cottage, and picture 
 you to himself walking in the little garden or in 
 the green fields around. And, O Annie ! at that 
 moment I could not say he was doing wrong. 
 The old, old, once happy home was before my 
 eyes. I -saw you as you used to stand by the 
 door looking out on the river. The path leading 
 to its banks, along which you and I so often ran, 
 looked so familiar and friendly to me that your 
 figure stood in its every winding. Soon my own 
 eyes filled, and I again begged father to come 
 away, but in vain. He desired me to return to 
 mother, but mention nothing of where I had left 
 him. 
 
 " Now, Annie, from what I have told you, you 
 must not think we are very miserable here. True, 
 our sorrow that you are gone from us is very 
 great indeed, but your letter helped to calm it 
 very much, jiow that you have the danger of the 
 ocean over you. 
 
 * Now, sister, about your sending us help from 
 there, let me tell you, and believe me, Annie, I 
 am able to earn sufficient to keep us comfortably 
 till you have supplied yourself with everything
 
 Annie Reilly. 
 
 you need. And, Annie, when with God s help I 
 have managed to leave father and mother a little 
 something, I will go to you, and both of us will, I 
 trust, be able then to keep them comfortable. I 
 know, dear Annie, it is quite useless to remind you 
 of what you owe to God, but you will pardon a 
 brother s anxiety. I have done now, Annie, and 
 pray the choicest blessings of Heaven may fall 
 upon you. Father and mother send their bless 
 ings to you, Annie. 
 
 " Your loving brother, 
 
 " FRANCIS REILLY." 
 
 During the reading of the letter, poor Annie s 
 tears fell incessantly ; and Kitty, too, was so 
 much affected that she was compelled to stop a 
 few times to clear her eyes. 
 
 " Now, Annie," said she, handing the letter to 
 her, " is not that much better news than you 
 expected?" 
 
 " Oh ! but think of their unhappy state with 
 all," said Annie through her tears. " My poor 
 mother, I know, will break her heart to see Fran 
 cis working for any one ; and my poor father 
 think of him wandering away to the hill-top at 
 break of day to look down on the old home ! 
 When he takes the loss of it so much to heart, I ll 
 soon hear of his death."
 
 Annie Reilly. 
 
 " Why, no, Annie," said Kitty ; " your mother 
 has better sense than fret over such a thing as 
 Francis earning a living at the castle for a time, 
 when you tell her how well he can do here, and 
 the short time twill be till he s here with you. 
 You see, Annie, how your people will do at home 
 in a great measure depends upon how you get 
 along here. Now, what a happiness twill be to 
 you to have your brother here with you ! Just 
 think of that, and make ft an object to be gained. 
 Think how happy twill make your fatho and 
 mother to receive good, cheerful letters from you. 
 And when you are well, let them know ; never 
 tell them you are fretting ; and if you have one 
 true friend in the world, mention it to them. I 
 say this to you now, Annie, because I know you 
 will not delay in writing again, and twill make 
 you so happy yourself to think you are making 
 your people happy." 
 
 " God bless you," said Annie, kissing her friend, 
 " for that good advice. I will write as cheering 
 a letter as I can. But, Kitty, what do you say to 
 your mother being anxious to have you pay her 
 a visit ? Do you intend going ?" 
 
 "I ll think over that," said the other; " tis 
 a long time till summer yet. This is the first 
 time mother has mentioned the like since I came 
 to America. You must have said something
 
 192 Annie Reilly. 
 
 about me in your letter that made her" take such 
 a notion." 
 
 Annie smiled, and was about to make some 
 reply, when a violent ringing of the. door-bell, 
 again and again repeated, alarmed them. She 
 ran to the door, and, when she opened it, the 
 rpother-in-law, her head very erect, and a tear in 
 each eye, glided into the hall. Annie drew back 
 into the parlor door; for the look and manner 
 of the old lady was very alarming. She looked 
 wildly up the stairs, ran to the head of the base 
 ment ones, held her ear downwards in a listening 
 attitude, ran back, glared at the girl, and "asked, 
 as she shook her head fiercely : 
 
 " Has my daughter returned yet ?" 
 
 " She has not," said Annie, moving further 
 into the room. " I hope nothing is wrong, 
 madam ?" 
 
 " Don t question me ; I don t tolerate it from 
 a servant," was the kind reply. And she went 
 to the door, and tried to look out through the glass. 
 Annie did not venture to speak again ; and, when 
 she saw the old lady peering into the street, ran 
 down and joined Kitty. 
 
 " I think I had better leave you now, Annie," 
 said that young lady. Don t neglect coming 
 over on Sunday evening, and Miss Sweeny and 
 you and I will go to Vespers together."
 
 Annie Reilly. 193 
 
 " Oh ! pray don t leave me alone here yet, ; 
 said Annie earnestly. " Something is the matter 
 with the old lady. She has just come in, and 
 looks terrible. I would die here if you left me 
 alone." 
 
 " I ll wait a little while, then," said Kitty, 
 " but not long." 
 
 Another jingling of the bell, followed by a 
 sharp kick on the outside of the door ; Annie 
 sprang to open it, and in came Mrs. Phillips, her 
 face flushed, her mouth set, and her eyes fiery. 
 
 " Where is that old " But catching a glimpse 
 of her mother in the parlor, she dashed in, and 
 shouted hoarsely, " How dare you, how dare 
 you, I repeat, come into my house when I have 
 expressly forbidden you to do so?" 
 
 " I ll explain to you, Lettie, if you only have 
 patience, that twas all a mistake," said the 
 mother, trembling. 
 
 " No explanation will do," said the other, 
 stamping furiously, and scratching at her face. 
 " You have done the job, and there s no remedy 
 but prevent you ever getting a show to do the 
 like again. Oh !" and she wrung her hands, and 
 champed her teeth, " to tell Mrs. Howard Roy 
 Plantagenet that I worked in a factory in Eng 
 land !" 
 
 " Ah ! let me say one word, Lettie, just one,"
 
 194 Annie Reilly. 
 
 and the mother threw up her hands to keep her 
 infuriated daughter back, " and then you ll see 
 that wasn t what I said at all. You re the cause 
 of all the shame yourself, to strike me with your 
 parasol before so many ladies." 
 
 " You would, if you dare, you old disgrace, like 
 to throw all the blame on me ; but I am deter 
 mined to get rid of you now." And shall we re 
 cord it ? catching her by the shoulder, " Here, 
 now, leave my mansion this moment, and go 
 into the streets, where you ought to be. The 
 idea of me thinking to be as good as Mrs. 
 Howard Roy Plantagenet or any other lady in 
 the city, and keeping the like of you to tell 
 my history to them !" 
 
 " I beg of you, my child, do not cast me out in 
 my old days," pleaded the mother, turning her 
 eyes, with a strange white look, on her daughter. 
 " I don t deserve it of you." 
 
 " Oh ! no," said the other, grinning into her 
 face, " I suppose if anybody was here you d tell 
 them how you struggled in poverty and hunger 
 to raise me, wouldn t you ? Come on, now." 
 
 " Ah ! Lettie, let me alone till your husband 
 
 comes home, and then I ll leave all to him ; and 
 if " 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Lettie, giving her a shake, 
 " let him, too, know I was a factory girl in Eng-
 
 Annie Reilly. 195 
 
 land ? Then," and she laughed bitterly, " my 
 power over him would soon be gone, along with 
 my pride before Mrs. Plantagenet. Ah ! no ; I ll 
 be rid of you before that." 
 
 " So you are going to put me from your house ? 
 said the mother, facing her. 
 
 " This moment, now, you old " 
 
 " Before I go," shouted the mother, clutching 
 her by the hair, " I say you have worked in a fac 
 tory, and that I worked there to support you, and 
 starved myself to do so." 
 
 Mrs. Phillips was mad. She knew Annie heard 
 the shout, and, seizing her mother by the hair, 
 dragged her to the door, and pushed her down 
 the steps. 
 
 Annie and Kitty were nearly wild from fright. 
 The desperate, unnatural act seemed to them 
 like a dream. 
 
 Mrs. Phillips hastily closed the door and par 
 lor-blinds, and rang for Annie. 
 
 " Tell her," said Kitty, " when you go up, that 
 you are going to leave. Now, mind." 
 
 "Oh! yes, I shall," said Annie; "but I am 
 afraid to venture near her." 
 
 " Go on," said the other ; " I ll wait at the foot 
 of the stairs here." 
 
 Annie, trembling, went up to the room, and, 
 without giving her good mistress time to issue
 
 196 Annie Reilfy. 
 
 any orders, told her she was going to leave im 
 mediately, and hurried down again. Kitty as 
 sisted her in getting her articles ready, and both 
 set out for New York.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 O ROURKE S FORTUNES BEGIN TO IMPROVE. 
 
 | HE journey to the little frame chapel 
 amongst the Pennsylvania hills was 
 so long and tedious that, travel as he 
 would, James could never reach there 
 before Mass had commenced, till at length the 
 good pastor, Father Fitzsimons, noticing his 
 bright, intelligent face .and becoming manner in 
 church, resolved to have a conversation with him, 
 and from thenceforth service was delayed every 
 Sunday morning till he would arrive. 
 
 Father Fitzsimons became a great friend to 
 him, lending him books to read in the evenings, 
 and allowing his father s letters to come in his 
 care. This kindness from one whom he respected 
 so much was a great consolation to James, and 
 helped him to bear up against the hardships 
 anJ piivations of his position; for although he 
 cared little for the toil of the fields, yet the wild 
 and reckless class amongst whom he lived was a 
 source of great pain to him. 
 
 During his first few weeks there, when the 
 day s work was over, he would wander away
 
 198 Annie Reilly. 
 
 alone, and sit in some quiet spot where he might 
 not hear the curses, foul language, and drunken 
 shouts of the others, and think of Ireland, with its 
 quiet plains, gentle mountains and rivers, and green 
 hills with tall chapel-spires peeping over their tops 
 an emblem of its people s devotion to God and 
 the Catholic Church. His mind would wander 
 away back to the time when Francis Reilly and 
 he used to carry little Annie to the school ; to the 
 delight it caused when she clasped her tiny arms 
 around his neck as he lifted her over some dan 
 gerous part of the road, and with what caution 
 he used to watch lest Francis would deprive him 
 of the pleasure. Thus his memory would trace 
 every incident of their happy lives up to the last 
 evening by the river s bank. Then he would 
 vainly try to shut out the recollection of his 
 trials and fears since then, and hope that one day 
 Annie s face would smile on him again. But the 
 misery of his own present state, and the dread 
 of what may have befallen her, clouded the hope ; 
 and, with as sad a heart as ever beat within a 
 breast, O Rourke would return to his hut; and 
 so much did those bitter thoughts take hold of 
 his mind that he often lay insensible to shouts, 
 and uproar, and fighting around him. But when 
 he began to read the good books supplied him 
 by Father Fitzsimons, these gloomy thoughts
 
 Annie Reilly igg 
 
 gradually brightened somewhat, and a new life 
 seemed to open up before him. 
 
 Of all the men in the fields, he was the most 
 attentive to his business, and never during the 
 allotted hours for work idled away a moment. 
 This, amongst so many who acted differently, 
 could not escape the notice of the proprietor of 
 the field. This latter, Mr. Lewis, was a very 
 amiable, just, polite American gentleman, who 
 always made it a rule to reward honesty and in 
 dustry without regard to creed or nationality. 
 It was his custom to make a round of his men 
 thrice every day : shortly after they went to work 
 in the morning, at noon, and again towards the 
 close of the day. He was not a man to act on an 
 impulse. Before taking a step, he waited and 
 satisfied himself fully that it would not prove an 
 injudicious one. 
 
 For some weeks after O Rourke s arrival at the 
 fields, Mr. Lewis, in his daily rounds, passed him 
 by unnoticed. But by-and-by, James began to 
 observe him letting his eye rest on him a little 
 more than usual. At first he paid no attention 
 to this, thinking probably the gentleman only 
 remarked him as a stranger. One day, however, 
 he was standing on the edge of the well, looking 
 on at the work as usual, and the others were 
 laboring with might and main for the time, when
 
 Annie Reilly. 
 
 James happened to raise his eyes in that direc 
 tion, and saw Mr. Lewis regarding him very at 
 tentively. James resumed his work, but, in a few 
 minutes, Mr. Lewis came over to him, and said : 
 
 " Young man, I wish to see you during the 
 evening ; don t be out of the road, and turned 
 away without giving the other time to speak. 
 
 Accordingly, when work was over, instead of 
 hiding himself from sight with his book, he waited 
 within view of .the little wooden office, till Mr. 
 Lewis came to the door and beckoned him inside. 
 The gentleman was alone, and, returning to the 
 chair from which he had risen, crossed his legs as 
 James entered, and told him to sit down. 
 
 " Well, young man," were the first words, " how 
 do you like oil-digging?" 
 
 " Oh ! I like the work very well, sir," was the 
 reply. 
 
 "Yes; but there is something else you don t 
 like quite so well," said the gentleman, with a 
 smile. " They are rough fellows, those diggers." 
 
 " I can get along with them very well, sir," said 
 James. 
 
 " Yes ; but don t you think you could get along 
 better at something else? You write a good 
 hand, do you?" 
 
 " I ll show you a specimen, if you please, sir," 
 said James, greatly delighted.
 
 Annie Reilly. 201 
 
 " Well," said the other carelessly, drawing a 
 sheet of paper from the drawer at his hand, and 
 throwing it on the desk, " move your chair over 
 here, and let me see what you can do. Just make 
 a copy of that card." And he took one of his own 
 from a Urge pocket-book on his knee. 
 
 James did so quickly and very neatly, handed 
 it to Mr. Lewis, who, after one glance, put it in 
 the pocket-book, and said : 
 
 " You write a very good hand indeed. Now 
 what I want to propose to you is this : My busi 
 ness has increased so much of late, and I have so 
 many men employed, that I cannot attend to all 
 the duties of this office myself, and, if you think 
 well of coming in here to assist me, I ll pay you 
 a decent salary something you can live on. Now, 
 what do you say ?" 
 
 No use in us saying what James said. He 
 thanked his kind employer heartily, and, after re 
 ceiving the keys of the office, retired with a joy 
 ous heart. Next morning found him seated in 
 the office, dressed in his best clothes, busily en 
 gaged writing up and arranging the books, which 
 want of time had compelled his employer to leave 
 in a somewhat disordered way. He had every 
 thing in such good order that, when Mr. Lewis 
 arrived and looked over his accounts, he smiled, 
 and cast a look on James, as much as to say, " I
 
 202 Annie Reilly. 
 
 have not mistaken my man this time, either," and 
 walked out, as he said to himself, " Thank good 
 ness ! that s so much off my mind." 
 
 Notwithstanding James differed so widely from 
 the other workmen, and, as the saying is, " Made 
 no freedom with any of them," they were delight 
 ed, one and all, at his good luck, and began at 
 once to show him the respect he was now en 
 titled to, owing to the change in his position. 
 
 Ja-mes did not take advantage of his newly-ac 
 quired power, as a great many in such cases usu 
 ally do, to win favor with his employer at the cost 
 of the men. He became more sociable with them 
 than had been his wont, and, now that his advice 
 would be more heeded, used it trying to dissuade 
 such of them as he imagined were not hopelessly 
 lost to abandon drink and mend their lives in 
 every way ; and it was far more delightful to him 
 than the change in his own fortune, when, after a 
 weary conversation, he induced our friend Dooley 
 to come to church with him on Sunday.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 INTRODUCES A FASHIONABLE IRISH-AMERICAN 
 
 LADY. 
 
 INNIE and her friend hastened as fast 
 as they could to the nearest line of 
 cars, and were soon across the ferry 
 
 , and riding up on the other side to 
 
 Patrick Sweeny s. Mr. Sweeny and his wife were 
 at home, and, when Kitty told them what had 
 happened at the "mansion," they were greatly 
 amused, and praised Annie s good sense far I 
 ing such a place at once. 
 
 Oh ! yes," said AMIUC, " it were useless for me 
 to think of living there any longer; they would 
 frighten me to death. But the worst of 
 
 am now idle." 
 
 "A very short time you need be, said Kitty. 
 You couldn t happen on a worse place-anywh, 
 
 than that." 
 
 -Why, bless you, Annie," said Mr. Sweeny, 
 what a greedy little thing you are ! If ever any- 
 body made a fortune in America, you will. I he 
 husband that R ets you may take the world easy.
 
 204 Annie Reilly. 
 
 All had a laugh at this, and after a few pleasant 
 words all round Kitty went back to her place, 
 and Annie into the little parlor to write a letter 
 to her father and mother. 
 
 Mr. Sweeny would not hear of her advertising 
 again, but promised to find her a suitable situation 
 himself. This made Annie very happy, and the 
 time was passing along nicely, till a tall, pale, 
 smirking young lady of about twenty-five bounced 
 into the parlor to spend the remainder of the 
 evening. She wore a gray dress, very wide in the 
 skirts, and very long and tight-fitting in the body, 
 with two closely-planted rows of bright buttons 
 in front, like those on a huzzar s jacket, a white 
 hat drawn over her eyes, and carried in her hand 
 an immense fan, which she continued to wave 
 desperately. That she was not much of a favorite 
 with the family was evident to Annie from the 
 manner of her reception. Mrs. Sweeny, without 
 rising from her seat, merely said, " Good-evening, 
 MissTalbot ;" and Sweeny did not seem to notice 
 her at all. 
 
 " Well ! well ! I do declare," said she, dropping 
 into a chair, " the heat and closeness of this 
 place take the breath from me. Whew ! good 
 ness gracious me !" 
 
 " Tis very warm out this evening," said Mrs. 
 Sweeny, raising the \vindow i little, " a;vl, insiv.v. 1
 
 A nnie . Reilljr. 205 
 
 of being so very hot here, I always find a nice 
 draught in this room." 
 
 Miss Talbot made no reply, but leaned her head 
 a little one side, and fanned away. Sweeny and 
 his wife exchanged looks, and the former, with 
 an expression of disgust on his face, rose and went 
 outside on the stoop. 
 
 " I m pretty well used up," said the charming 
 damsel at length languidly, and letting the fan 
 drop. " I was up the road to-day, and what a 
 charming prospect, I do declare !" 
 
 " Oh ! you were out carriage-riding," said Mrs. 
 Sweeny, with a slight smile. 
 
 " We call it going up the road, and not carriage- 
 riding any more," said Miss Talbot emphatically. 
 " That word carriage-riding " this with scorn 
 " is in everybody s mouth now ; so, of course, we 
 had to go to work and give it a name that we d 
 com-/r^-hend amongst ourselves. You didn t go, 
 as intended, to the country this summer, eh ?" 
 
 " Only for a day or two," said, Mrs. Sweeny. 
 
 Miss Talbot, with a sudden start, picked up her 
 fan, and, wheeling herself around, looked closely 
 into Annie s face, while she hummed a lively air. 
 The poor girl blushed deeply, and, rising, went to 
 another part of the room, Miss Talbot s eyes in 
 quick pursuit. " From Ireland, I ll bet a dollar, 
 come," said she, turning her eyes on Mrs. Sweeny.
 
 2o6 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Yes ; the lady is just as much Irish as you are 
 yourself," said that lady. " It should not require 
 much penetration on your part to tell that." 
 
 " Me Irish !" said she, with a short nod of great 
 force. " / am no such a thing. Is it because 
 father and mother was rose there that / am 
 Irish ?" 
 
 " Exactly ; ther.e could be no better reason," 
 said Mrs. Sweeny. 
 
 Miss Talbot stood up as if to depart, which 
 would have been a great calamity just then ; but 
 after twisting her face a few times like a short 
 sighted man with a bad razor, she went to the 
 window, and began beating a tune with her fingers 
 on the glass. Annie and Miss Sweeny had a 
 hard task to restrain their laughter. 
 
 " Please don t rap the window that way," said 
 Mrs. Sweeny, a little sharply, " you will attract 
 the attention of the people outside. See, there 
 is a butcher on the far side thinks you re calling 
 him." 
 
 " You wouldn t have received this visitation 
 this evening at all," said the indignant lady, 
 " only Mr. La Bunty is off to Chicago, and Mr. 
 Delblether s niece has the cholera-morbus alter 
 all the mushmelons she ate at Coney Island last 
 Sunday. There wus three doctors and two nurses 
 up with her night and day since."
 
 Annie Reilly. 207 
 
 Mrs. Sweeny expressed her great sorrow for 
 the critical condition of the young lady, and 
 asked how she had been so unfortunate as to 
 imperil her life in such a way. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Frank Driggler was telling me all 
 about it," said she, again sitting down and clasp 
 ing her hands. " I went up the road with him 
 to-day, just because the other gentlemen were 
 engaged. Well, you know Mr. Delblether, and 
 old Mrs. Delblether, and Miss Delblether went 
 to Coney Island last Sunday. They went down 
 on their knees to me to go ; but, stuff!" And she 
 tossed her head. " When they got there, who 
 does they meet but Mrs. Cyrus Xersus Smot and 
 her daughter, that came home from the boarding- 
 school only a few weeks ago. Well, Mrs. Smot, 
 you know, thinks there s not the like of her daugh 
 ter in the world ; so she thought she d show off a 
 little, and put on airs. They weren t two minutes 
 talking, till she began to boast of her daughter s 
 accomplishments, and how beautiful and healthy 
 she was. Mrs. Delblether made up her mind to 
 not let her have it all her own way ; so she 
 says, says Mrs. Delblether, My granddaughter 
 here knows more than could be pounded into 
 your daughter s head in forty thousand years. 
 Talk of your daughter s beauty, and her shoul 
 ders not the breadth of my hand. Talk of her
 
 208 Annie Reilly. 
 
 health . Why my granddaughter wasn t a day sick 
 in eleven years, when she had the shakes, and 
 your daughter was home two weeks lying with 
 you last fall. And speak of accomplishments : 
 my granddaughter knows how to eat like a 
 Christian, and has the best appetite of any 
 young lady in New York. I would put her for 
 fifty dollars against yours, starved and thin as 
 she is, coming from that hungry school. I ll 
 take your bet, says Mrs. Smot, pulling out her 
 purse. She has plenty of stamps, no getting out 
 of that. It s done, says Mrs. Delblether, cover 
 ing the money in a gentleman s hand a mutual 
 friend. My dear Bella, an t you in tune for a 
 good feed after so much sea air, and the credit of 
 our family at stake? says Mrs. Delblether. Rely 
 on me, grandma, says Bella, opening her stays. 
 What s the thing going to be? Mushmelons, 
 shouted Mrs. Smot. You know they lived in 
 Georgia one time, and were used to melons. 
 That s not square, says Mrs. Delblether. Never 
 mind, grandma, I ll go it, says Bella. Let it be 
 mushmelons. 
 
 " The mutual friend hailed a vender, and told 
 him to drive round behind a sandbank. He did so, 
 and the wagon-load was purchased, and the young 
 ladies pitched in. Well, to make a long story 
 short. Bella was eating away, nothing the worse.
 
 Annie Reilly. 209 
 
 only her eyes rolling a little, when Miss Smot 
 gave a terrible roar, and fell back in a faint in 
 her mother s arms. They had the same number 
 eaten at this time; but Bella never ceased till 
 she finished three more. Her grandma begged 
 her, with tears in her eyes, to make it five ; but 
 the brave girl didn t feel as if she could. Miss 
 Smot was carried away by four men, in her 
 mother s shawl, but Bella was able to walk, with 
 the assistance of her uncle and grandmother, to 
 the boat ; and, when the excited crowd began to 
 cheer, she begged to be left to herself, and walked 
 ten yards without a hand to her. Coming home 
 on the boat, she drank a quantity of apple-sauce, 
 and, if it hadn t been for that, she d have been on 
 her feet in two days. But she took on terrible 
 that night ; a-yelling and a-twisting herself so 
 that they thought she was gone, sure pop. She 
 is not much better yet ; but her grandma is so 
 proud of her that she ll spare no cost to bring 
 her round. And why should she? See how ad 
 mired Bella 11 be now in society." And Miss 
 Talbot finished with a sigh, as if she wished she 
 could do something to gain renown. 
 
 Annie thought the story a great joke ; but, on 
 being told by Miss Sweeny it was every word true, 
 she laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks/ 
 Mrs. Sweeny was well used to such entertaining
 
 2io Annie Reilly. 
 
 accounts of high life from Miss Talbot, and made 
 no remark on the thrilling contest ; but, after a 
 pause, asked her when she intended fulfilling her 
 promise to visit Europe. 
 
 "Not this season; tis too late now," she re 
 plied carelessly. 
 
 "Then next summer?" said the other. 
 
 " Oh ! I rather guess I shall," was the reply. 
 "And when ! come to say good-by, tis not Miss 
 Talbot you ll see, I reckon. 
 
 " Oh ! twill be Mrs. Delblether we ll have then," 
 said Mrs. Sweeny, with a smile. 
 
 "Yes," said she carelessly, "the thing is to 
 come off during the holidays." 
 
 " I suppose, much as you dislike Ireland, you ll 
 not omit paying it a visit," said Mrs. Sweei.y. 
 
 " I guess I ll make a call there. For my part, 
 I don t care; but Mr. Delblether says we shall. 
 He thinks twill be so very amusing. But I have 
 my fears for him ; he s such a man to laugh that 
 he may kill himself when he goes there." 
 
 " Kitty is thinking of paying a visit to her 
 mother next year." said Annie, addressing Mrs. 
 Sweeny. 
 
 " Indeed, then," put in Miss Talbot, before the 
 person spoken to had time to answer, " 111 call 
 on Kitty if we re in Ireland together, and see 
 what them little villages with the noisy boys and
 
 Annie Reilly. 211 
 
 girls look like. I ll bet they keep pretty mum 
 while we re there." 
 
 " Yes," said Annie, with an arch smile. " I 
 dare say you ll surprise them somewhat. It s 
 ,iot very often they see such an extraordinary 
 lady as you." 
 
 " Never you mind," said the other, " if we don t 
 make them stare ! Are there any gentlemen or 
 ladies, or is there any society at all in Ireland ?" 
 she asked, after a pause. 
 
 " A few," said Mrs. Sweeny. 
 
 " Oh ! then, I suppose they ll bother the life 
 out of us so much with invitations that we won t 
 know what to do." 
 
 " I don t think you have much to dread in that 
 way," said Annie. 
 
 " I ll not put up with it ; that s how I ll fix ihe 
 thing," said she. " If I think any of them worth 
 visiting, why, all right." 
 
 A long pause followed, which was broken by 
 Mr. Sweeny returning to the parlor, and express 
 ing his surprise at th lateness of the hour. The 
 young lady, however. dr j not take the hint, but 
 fiercely assailed him with questions on different 
 public matters, not one of which she allowed him 
 to answer ; gave her own views and the opinions 
 of numerous intellectual acquaintances of hers, 
 stood up, went to the door, came back again, till
 
 2t2 Annie Reilly. 
 
 the family were in a state of distraction. At last 
 she went outside, still talking, and Mr. Sweeny, 
 who was standing in the hall listening to her, 
 hastily closed the door. 
 
 " What a strange character she is !" said Annie. 
 " I hope there are few American ladies like Mrs. 
 Phillips and her." 
 
 " No American ladies at all like either of 
 them or their acquaintances," said Mrs. Sweeny. 
 " She belongs to a class and a very large class, 
 too, in this city who think they ll be more 
 thought of by the American people for denying 
 their country and often their religion. Now, for 
 my part, I don t see how they can be so short 
 sighted ; because, of all the people in the world, 
 none despise the mean and false-hearted more 
 than the Americans."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 KITTY BRADY REVISITS THE OLD LAND, ANL 
 IS VISITED BY THE FASHIONABLE IRISH- 
 AMERICAN LADY. 
 
 |R. SWEENY procured Annie a situa 
 tion in a very respectable family, 
 whose home was on the banks of the 
 Hudson, where she lived contentedly 
 till an event occurred, of which we shall speak 
 further on, which greatly changed the course of 
 her life. 
 
 Our story now moves on one year, and we find 
 Kitty Brady standing on the quay, waiting to go 
 aboard a ship which is about to sail for Queens- 
 town. Annie, Mrs. Sweeny, her husband and 
 daughter, and Francis Reilly are standing around 
 her. Francis had arrived a few months before, 
 and carried such an earnest request to Kitty to 
 visit, her mother in the old land that it put an 
 end to her wavering on that point. Kitty is 
 much affected at parting from her friends, and 
 her tears are falling fast. They are talking of 
 the great happiness before her, to visit again the 
 scenes of her childhood, and once more hear the
 
 2 14 Annie Reilly. 
 
 only voice that sustained her there. Her trunk, 
 which has been taken aboard, is filled with pre 
 sents, neat and tasteful, sent by Annie and her 
 brother to their parents at home. * 
 
 The moment for parting comes ; all bid her an 
 affectionate good -by, and pray a blessing on hei 
 journey. 
 
 Kitty had sent a letter apprising her mothet 
 of the day she intended leaving New York. Mrs. 
 Brady hastened to Farrell Reilly s, told them the 
 joyful news, and insisted on their coming to the 
 cabin the day her daughter was expected to 
 arrive. Mrs. Reilly and her husband w-ere greatly 
 delighted at the prospect of speaking to one who 
 had so lately seen their children, and promised 
 the old woman they would be with her on that 
 day. 
 
 Mrs. Brady could not wait patiently till the 
 arrival of the happy day. She walked along the 
 road in the direction of the railway station, first 
 by the broad road, and then by the narrow lane 
 which ran across the hills, dreading, if she travelled 
 one way only, Kitty might be coming by the 
 other ; climbed up with great toil, which she felt 
 not, to the top of the steep hill which overhung 
 the cabin, and looked along the river- bank in 
 every direction. Then, after all. this hardship, 
 she would recollect Kitty had not time to reach
 
 Annie Reilly, 215 
 
 any of those places yet ; so she would return to 
 the cabin, and weep and pray till another morn 
 ing came. At length and it seemed to her she 
 had been watching for it a year the day, about 
 which there could be no mistake, arrived, and 
 Farrell and his wife were early in the cabin so 
 early that the first rays of the rising sun were 
 barely visible on the tops of the tallest trees. 
 Already Mrs. Brady was standing outside the 
 door waiting for them. 
 
 " O Farrell ! I am afraid of my life we will 
 be too late. Do you think we will, Mrs. Reilly?" 
 said she, turning from one to the other. " It 
 seems an age since daylight." 
 
 " We shall be early enough, Nancy," said Far 
 rell, following his wife into the cabin. " The train 
 from Cork will not arrive for two hours yet, and 
 i/lrs. Reilly is very tired, so I think we may rest 
 a little." 
 
 " Surely, poor dear, she is tired," said Nancy, 
 hastily handing her the best chair in the cabin. 
 " And now. Farrell, while you and her rest your 
 selves, I ll just run as far as the brae, and see if 
 there s any sight of her. The train may come 
 early this morning." 
 
 " I wish it may, 1 said Farrell ; " but there is 
 little use in your expecting that. Better giv?
 
 2iO Annie Reilly. 
 
 yourself as little fatigue as you can ; you will 
 want all your strength when Kitty comes." 
 
 " Oh ! I feel as lively these days, Farrell," said 
 she, " as I did thirty years ago. Two hours is 
 such a terrible wait. No harm in me trying, any 
 way." 
 
 " We ll go with you very soon, Nancy," said 
 Mrs. Reilly. " We can walk along leisurely." 
 
 Nancy insisted no further, but went out on the 
 lane, and returned with word that the cattle were 
 rising from their resting-places and beginning to 
 feed, and that " Pat the Brock," the apple-man, 
 had just passed by on his way to town. 
 
 " And look," she added, lifting an old tin lid 
 from a crevice in the wall, and letting in a tiny 
 stream of sunlight, " the sun does not come in 
 here till very late." 
 
 Farrell and his wife could not dispute those 
 convincing evidences of the lateness of the hour, 
 and stood up to accompany her to the station. 
 When they reached there, the depot looked the 
 most deserted of any building they hed passed. 
 An odd, smoke-begrimed car stood on the track 
 here and there, looking as if they had made up 
 their minds to traver no more, and were very 
 sorry for travelling so much. 
 
 The doors were closed, and no one to be seen 
 except a large, lazy-looking porter iji his black
 
 Annie Reilly. 217 
 
 corduroys, and smoky hair enough on his head 
 for ten porters, walking slowly along, the echo 
 of his heavy footfall only adding to the loneliness 
 of the situation. 
 
 Mrs. Brady and her friends sat down on a 
 large wooden box at one end of the building, to 
 wait. By-and-by the doors began slowly to open 
 so slow that they seemed in doubt whether to 
 close again or not and a few more porters ap 
 peared, aii differing so much in everything except 
 corduroy that any one not in the secret would 
 think they were born at least a thousand miles 
 apart. Soon a guard showed himself in brass 
 buttons and a yellow band around his cap, look 
 ing so very important, disdainful, and impolite 
 that passengers under his care must have looked 
 on themselves as in a jail for the time being. 
 
 A little later, and an occasional traveller wan 
 dered into the building ; one now, then another, 
 then three or four together, till the place became 
 lively with people. Commercial travellers, with 
 immense light bags in their hands and short lead, 
 pencils behind their ears, walked to and fro ; large, 
 fat, good-humored-looking farmers leaned against 
 the pillars, and discussed the markets ; keen-eyed 
 stylishly-clad gentlemen, some old, others young, 
 and all carrying large umbrellas, bustled in and 
 out of the crowds, not together, but separately.
 
 218 Annie Reilly. 
 
 as if they were engaged to count the number of 
 people around, and were determined, at all costs, 
 to do so correctly. It seemed remarkable, the 
 deference shown these gentlemen by every one 
 present, especially the farmers, who gave each 
 berth wide enough for a coach and four, and 
 muttered as he passed, " Damn those attor 
 
 neys 
 
 At length the ticket-office was opened, and 
 all gathered around the little window, crushing, 
 scrambling, and scolding ; for the train which was 
 to bear them away was moving into the depot. 
 When about half the passengers had received 
 tickets, the train began to move, off again, and 
 the uproar at the office became deafening. The 
 nimble clerk, however, supplied these latter in 
 time to get aboard after an exciting race, and the 
 building settled into another half hour s repose. 
 
 As the time for the arrival of their train ap 
 proached, Farrell and his companions were in a 
 fever of anxiety. Mrs. Brady asked every porter 
 she saw at least ten times what the exact min 
 ute would be. They were standing together at 
 the south end of the depot, looking along the 
 track, when a cloud of smoke rose over the low hill 
 near by, and the station bell began to ring loudly. 
 
 " Here it is at last !" exclaimed Farrell. 
 
 " Oh ! thank heaven," said Nancy, clasping Mrs.
 
 A nnie Reilly. 2 1 9 
 
 Reilly by the hand in her joyous excitement. 
 " Oh ! God be praised that I have lived to see 
 this day." 
 
 The three stood, their eyes fixed on the long 
 line of coaches gliding up. The train soon 
 stopped, and every window was filled with eager 
 faces looking out on those on the platform, and 
 the doors crowded with, men, women, bundles, 
 bags, and children hurrying down on the flags. 
 Farrell and the two women ran wildly from win 
 dow to window, from door to door, eagerly scan 
 ning each female face. But the cars were empty, 
 and the crowd beginning to disperse, and they 
 had seen no sign of Kitty. 
 
 Poor Nancy s heart sank, and a mist stood be 
 fore her and those around. Neither of her com 
 panions ventured to speak what they thought. 
 
 " O my child !" said the distracted woman 
 faintly, " if she is not here 
 
 " Hush a moment !" exclaimed Farrell. " There 
 is a young woman dressed in green with her back 
 to us, standing by the trunk down there " 
 
 But before he could finish the sentence, the 
 young lady turned and looked towards them, and 
 with a cry of joy ran up, and mother and daugh 
 ter were folded in each other s arms. Poor 
 Nancy was wild with delight. Her tears fell on 
 the face, neck, and hands of her child. Again
 
 22O Annie Reilly. 
 
 and again she kissed her frantically, and breathed 
 blessings on her, till Mrs. Reilly said : 
 
 " Nancy, you must not think of keeping her all 
 to yourself; let me kiss and welcome the darling 
 girl." 
 
 The old woman said, her face against her 
 daughter s : 
 
 " Kitty, my loving child, Mrs. Reilly is here to 
 meet you, too, and her husband. Every one must 
 be glad to see you." 
 
 The greeting between Mrs. Reilly and the girl 
 was hardly less warm, an<^, after embracing Far- 
 rell, and answering numerous questions about her 
 self and his children, the happy little party set out 
 for the cabin. 
 
 The number of callers on Kitty, every one of 
 whom were delighted with her handsome appear 
 ance and nice manners, was immense. Poor 
 Nancy was almost wild with joy. The good, 
 truthful account she gave of Francis and Annie 
 made their parents very happy, and, for the first 
 time during its existence, Nancy Brady s cabin 
 was- the scene of contentment and happiness. 
 Time, which heretofore hung so heavily on 
 Nancy s hands, swept past quickly now. Every 
 day brought some new enjoyment ; some old 
 place of historic interest, about which Kitty had 
 read in America, was to be visited ; some far-ofi
 
 Annie Reilly. 221 
 
 neighbor, whose friend or friends had sent mes 
 sages to those at home, were to be seen ; and, as 
 she always insisted on her mother accompanying 
 her, Nancy saw more strange places and people, 
 and learned more of Ireland s story the first 
 month her daughter spent at home, than she had 
 during her previous life. Invitations from old 
 and new acquaintances were numerous, and even 
 Father Fitzpatrick called one day and took both 
 to his house to spend the evening; and, rinding 
 Kitty so well informed and so intelligent, many a 
 chat they had together during the summer. Mrs. 
 Reilly let no day pass without seeing her, and 
 often they went down together by the river s 
 bank, and sat talking, till Nancy, who would insist 
 on staying behind to prepare a feast, would have 
 to go in search of them. 
 
 On one of these occasions, the old woman had 
 just thrown her shawl about her shoulders to sally 
 out in search of the " pair," as she called them, 
 when, happening to look through the little window, 
 she saw a very stylishly-dressed gentleman and 
 lady standing outside, the former pointing with 
 his cane towards the door, and the latter, with her 
 hand pressed against her side, laughing heartily 
 
 This sudden sight alarmed the old woman some 
 what, and she hesitated a moment, in hopes they 
 might pass on. But to her horror, after apparent-
 
 222 Annie Reilly. 
 
 ly satisfying themselves by scrutinizing the cabin, 
 both came over to the door, and the lady enquired, 
 in a voice which sounded so high up in her nose 
 that Nancy thought she must be suffering from a 
 severe cold, if that was where Kitty Brady lived. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes ; please sit down a moment," said 
 the old woman, handing each a chair. " I ll call 
 her directly." 
 
 The lady declined the proffered accommodation 
 with a wave of her hand, and the gentleman went 
 over and looked into the little room, the door of 
 which was open, and began to whistle softly. 
 Nancy looked from one to the other in amaze 
 ment, not rightly knowing what to do. 
 
 " Oh ! hurry up, and tell her right away, will 
 you ?" said the lady, after she had swept the floor 
 with her skirt a few times. Nancy hastened as 
 fast as she could to the river s bank, and told 
 Kitty in such an excited manner that two very 
 odd-looking people were waiting in the house to 
 see her that she hurried in as quick as she could, 
 and left her mother and Mrs. Reilly to follow 
 after
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 EXPERIENCES OF THE FASHIONABLE LADY AN1 
 HER HUSBAND IN IRELAND. ENTERTAINING 
 THE GUESTS AT A HOTEL. A LECTURE IN A 
 FORGE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 | H E " odd-looking " pair who had caused 
 Nancy so much alarm were a no less 
 couple than Mr. Delblether and his 
 wife, the once charming Miss Talbot 
 " The thing did come off during the holidays, 
 and they were now on a pleasure trip to Europe. 
 To say Kitty was delighted to see them might 
 be venturing on an assertion not strictly true ; but 
 she gave them a kindly welcome, and offered the 
 hospitalities of her mother s cottage, which was 
 rejected by Mrs. Delblether, who declared, with 
 a frown and shake of her head, that to swallow 
 anything under such a k>w roof would surely choke 
 her. Kitty thought of the dreadful misfortune 
 this would entail on so many, and pressed her no 
 further. The husband, however, dranx a large 
 glassful of pure usquebaugh, and, declaring that 
 he was something very low and mean if he didn t 
 like it exceedingly, finished another. As Kitt> ui
 
 224 Annie Reilly. 
 
 her companions did not like to lead the conversa 
 tion when two such distinguished people were 
 present, and as the distinguished people did not 
 show much inclination to talk, a very awkward 
 half-hour was spent, at the end of which Mrs. 
 Delblether said : 
 
 " Kitty, me and Mr. Delblether wishes to 
 take a look around this location at the fowling 
 and shooting, and so on ; so we ve put up at that 
 place you call a hotel in the village, and we want 
 you to pay us a visit there." 
 
 Kitty promised to do so, and the visitors walked 
 away, each looking peculiarly and unaccountably 
 sad. 
 
 Now, as our restless thoughts can travel much 
 quicker than Kitty s feet, we will precede her, 
 and see how her exalted friends are getting on in 
 the village alone. 
 
 They arrived at the hotel early in the evening, 
 and spent the time till supper in their own apart 
 ments, planning the measures they would adopt 
 to let the quiet villagers know they were some 
 thing the like of which probably had never hon 
 ored them with a visit before. 
 
 Mrs. Delblether was by far the better strate 
 gist. Her plans were numerous and well laid, 
 while all her husband could think of was for him 
 to put a long cigar in his mouth, with his hat
 
 Annie Reilly. 225 
 
 greatly on one side, his wife to hang her gold 
 watch around her neck, and let it fall down ex 
 posed to view on her breast. 
 
 She derided his want of tact, and commanded 
 his attention to listen to her. 
 
 " Now, you see," she said, " it s all very good 
 to stagger them in the hotel here ; but Something 
 must be done outside, otherwise half the people 
 may never hear of us at all. To do the thing 
 square inside here you may rely on me, and when 
 we are out together, too. But you know there 
 are some places where you can do a good deal if 
 you only have the pluck. Now, when we were 
 coming up-stairs, you remember me stopping be 
 hind for a little ?" He did not forget it. " Well, 
 there were two men talking in the room on the 
 right, and laughing very heartily over something 
 that had happened in the forge. One of them 
 said, I heard the words plainly, and more than 
 twenty men standing around at the time. Now, 
 anywhere in such a small ranch as this, where 
 twenty men can be found together must be the 
 chief place of resort, eh ?" He held the same 
 opinion. " So I want you to go there to-morrow 
 evening, and just begin by comparing everything 
 you have seen in Ireland with everything in 
 America. Tell them they hain t nothin here 
 like New York. Tell them they re darn fools
 
 226 Annie Reilly. 
 
 for living in such a country at all, and even go so 
 far as to despise the forge and blacksmith, too." 
 
 The gentleman was delighted, and declared he 
 surely would have thought of this himself before 
 morning; whereupon the lady said he would not, 
 and went so far as to say she never knew him to 
 think of anything he should. Soon after, they 
 descended to the dining-room. 
 
 A number of jovial-looking men, some standing 
 by the windows, others seated at the board, were 
 in the room. 
 
 Mrs. Delblether seated herself with a loud 
 " Oh !" as if the act distressed her, sat up very 
 erect, and, gathering her eyebrows into an ex 
 pression of keen scrutiny, looked from face to 
 face, down one side of the table, then up the 
 other. Her husband took his place by her side, 
 and closed his eyes so as to leave only the pupil 
 visible, and resting an arm on the table, threw the 
 other over the back of his chair, and waited for 
 his accomplished wife to commence. When she 
 had satisfied herself looking at the live faces, she 
 turned her attention to the painted ones on the 
 wall, and, singling out a portrait of O Connell 
 which hung over the chimney-piece, asked, as she 
 pointed her knife in that direction, and looked at 
 a gentleman opposite, " Whose is that? Tell me, 
 will you ?"
 
 Annie Reilly. 227 
 
 He hastily informed her, and she said, letting 
 her head fall back, " Mr. Delblether, that s who 
 the Irish in New York talk so much about. Well, 
 only think ; no nice paintings even to be seen in 
 this ere I don t zactly know what to call it." 
 
 The guests, who up to this had managed to 
 preserve their decorum, all glanced at her, and a 
 smile overspread every face. 
 
 She kept silent for a moment, eating away 
 rapidly, her face almost on the plate, then leaned 
 over and whispered in her husband s ear, " Why 
 don t you say something ? You look as glum as a 
 pumpkin. 
 
 " You re a-staggering them yourself. Go on, 
 I am proud of you," whispered he in return. 
 " Leave me toe to-morrow evening." 
 
 And she did go on, asking questions about this 
 article and that ; what the table was made of, 
 how much it cost ; how much difference in the 
 price of the black-handled knives and the white 
 ones; were dishes and salt-cellars sold on time. 
 and, if so, how much discount was allowed for 
 cash payment ; and even went so far as to ask an 
 old gentleman at the lower end of the table how 
 long after he purchased his wig did the maker 
 wait till he sent in his bill. On every reply to 
 those questions, she commented at moderate 
 length, and drew numerous parallels between Ire-
 
 228 Annie Reilly. 
 
 land and America, to the great disadvantage of 
 the former. 
 
 Soon the guests began to perceive they had 
 found a treasure, and employed every means to 
 make the most of it. All heartily coincided with 
 her remarks, and outwardly thanked Providence 
 for sending such an enlightened angel to tell them 
 of their failings, and point out to them so many 
 remedies. Not one of them, except those whom 
 pressing duty called away, left the hotel that 
 night, and even those latter lingered till the last 
 second, and looked back regretfully as they went 
 from the room. 
 
 Mrs. Delblether talked till after midnight. There 
 was such a crowd at the breakfast-table the fol 
 lowing morning that the landlord, in his hurry 
 and excitement, broke a pitcher over a slow 
 waiter s head, and pushed another from the 
 kitchen with such force that he fell on the tray 
 he was carrying with a terrible noise, crushing its 
 contents. One maid inflicted a severe wound on 
 the palm of her hand with a carving-fork, and 
 another fell headlong into the coal-cellar. That 
 evening, Mr. Delblether, dressed in a long black 
 coat of very cheap material, tight-fitting, short, 
 check pants, a soft, wide-brimmed hat, and a cigar 
 in his mouth, sauntered up the street to the forge, 
 to commence his grand attack on the attention
 
 Annie Reilly. 229 
 
 of the villagers. The blacksmith, a big, hearty- 
 looking fellow, with a laugh ringing as hi.s anvil, 
 kindly saluted him as he entered. A number of 
 men and boys were in the forge at the time, sit 
 ting up on the hearth or standing about the floor, 
 amongst whom he noticed many of those he had 
 seen at the hotel. 
 
 He returned the smith s friendly nod with an 
 other of quiet patronage, and, closing one eye, 
 took a deliberate survey of those present the 
 walls, the roof, and behind the bellows. During 
 this time, he had not spoken a word, but hummed 
 merrily. 
 
 " Say, young fellar," said he at length, balancing 
 himself on his cane, and looking at the blacksmith, 
 " how do the farmers cultivate the sile in these 
 ere diggins?" 
 
 " They have a number of ways, sir," said the 
 man addressed. 
 
 " Everything is done by system, sir, in my 
 country, and done co-rectly. We hain t no two 
 ways of doing anything, we haven t," said he. 
 
 " None but the right way?" said the smith, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " The right way or no way, sir," said the gen 
 tleman, shaking his watch-chain, " that s our 
 motto. 
 
 " I suppose you find things very different here
 
 230 Annie jReiliy. 
 
 from your own country," said a man, coming for 
 ward and resting his foot on the side of the 
 trough. 
 
 " Etarnally so/ was the reply. "Why, hold 
 on, me friend. If I ever seed anything to come 
 up to the difference between America and this 
 little island, I am Why, sir, in the first 
 place, I could find you a squash-field in Jarsey 
 bigger than your whole country. And, again, 
 you have no leading questions that I d bother 
 with. Look at our tar-and-feather compromise 
 question in the West ; why, it s ahead of of 
 everything," said he, unable to find a better ex 
 pression. " Then our rivers what are ye talking 
 about? Why, one on em would flow square round 
 your country ten times. Think of our mountains, 
 and snakes, and muskiters ; why, you have nothing 
 here." And he moved his head from side to side 
 in disgust. -. 
 
 Those in the forge gathered closely around, 
 hardly giving him room to swing his coat-tails 
 in, and the blacksmith rested on his sledge, and 
 looked on entranced. Others outside, hearing 
 by some means of what was going on, came 
 crowding in, till the little place was filled to over 
 flowing. The door was packed, and even the 
 little window had its two or three rows of heads. 
 Still they kept coming ; men in every variety of
 
 Annie Reilly. 231 
 
 dress ; women, some with shawls about theit 
 shoulders, others with children in their arms has 
 tily snatched from their cradles ; boys with books 
 in their hands, from which they had been study 
 ing to-morrow s lessons ; and even little creatures 
 not long out of their swaddling-clothes were met 
 making their way along the street, and, when 
 questioned as to their destination, looked up and 
 lisped, " The yantee/ and ran on. Dogs, seeing 
 they had the place to themselves, worried each 
 other behind the houses, and pursued stray cats 
 and pigs along the street. Philosophic old cocks 
 who had lived all their lives in the" village 
 stretched their necks and tried to think ; but, 
 arriving at no satisfactory conclusion, fluttered 
 across the wall into the chapel-yard, and franti 
 cally called on their charge to follow them. Never 
 was such uproar and confusion witnessed in the 
 town before. 
 
 Mr. Delblether was delighted. He could hear 
 those in the rear of the crowd exclaiming, " Where 
 is he? Why don t they put him up on the hearth, 
 and give us all a chance to see him ?" A chance 
 was offered him to " come out strong," and prob 
 ably to make himself famous. So letting his 
 tongue and arms loose, he commenced a harangue 
 on the disadvantages under which he claimed 
 the village and, in fact, all Ireland labored ; be-
 
 2 3 2 Annie Reilly. 
 
 sought his hearers to learn something from the 
 example set them by New York, with its theatres 
 parks savings-banks, and steamboats; told them 
 | had their village in America, he would bore 
 " -anai to tne ocean, and have all thn 
 tions flourishing in it before three months." 
 
 Ben s^^l^r danC . ed Wi <" Jy- Since 
 
 the ha ^ ears - 
 
 >ey had not had such amusement. The worthy 
 
 Thich Te er T aSked nUmer US <J UeStio " S * 
 J he made prompt replies; asked himself 
 
 .everal and answered them as cleverly ; skipped 
 adm,rably from one topic to another ; confounded 
 names dates, and facts delightfully; was sarcastic 
 one t,me, pathetic at another, and frequently 
 very humorous. He spoke every word with such 
 a genume twang that not a few on the edge of 
 anvil CUrSed Wh eVer WSS " di ging" the 
 
 How long he might have continued it is hard 
 y, had he not been somewhat rudely silenced 
 by a prolonged clanging noise outside, followed 
 
 the h l "T hfU Cheen He looked "iW y at 
 the blacksm,th, and asked what the uproar meant. 
 
 -ith erea n I > ^ " u ^"^ that g en tlema 
 > great pohteness (for a blacksmith), "the 
 have of hon cdabrated he, 
 
 on cdabrated
 
 Annie Reilly. 233 
 
 " Oh ! by Jove," thought Mr. DelWether, 
 they are going to serenade me ; but," he added 
 
 aloud, " your music is very coarse." 
 
 He turned to look around on his hearers befpre 
 resuming his discourse, but found the greater 
 part of them had gone into the street, and what 
 remained were huddled together at the lower 
 end of the forge, like men seeking shelter from 
 a shower. Thoroughly surprised now, he was 
 about to make some remark ; but, before he could 
 do so, the candle disappeared from its place, leav 
 ing the shop in total darkness, and a heavy thud 
 sounded along the roof, which caused him to 
 look up in terror and in time to have his eyes, 
 nose, and mouth filled with dust. He ran to 
 wards the door, but a well-directed stream of 
 water from the trough covered him from head to 
 foot before he gained the street. Blind with 
 dust and rage, he knew not what direction to 
 take, but stood rubbing his blackened hands to 
 his blacker face, till a motley crowd of boys, 
 with old tin cans, broken kettles, scraps of iron, 
 and,, in short, everything convenient that could 
 make a noise, formed a ring around him. At a 
 signal from the leader, they struck up such a 
 horrible, deafening r r r rip that the recipi 
 ent of the honor fairly jumped from the ground. 
 In vain he tried to make his voice heard ; but the
 
 234 Annie Reilly. 
 
 more excited he became, the more his tormentors 
 banged their instruments. 
 
 At length they parted on one side to let him 
 out, which, when he saw, he dashed from their 
 midst down the street towards his hotel like a 
 madman. They allowed him to gain a little on 
 them, so as to giye effect to the thing, and then 
 started in pursuit with even greater uproar, fol 
 lowed by the dogs, which had by this time grown 
 reckless, and boldly ran into the street, barking 
 furiously. Boys heretofore timid in their excite 
 ment wrenched old lids from others whom they 
 dreaded up to that night. Grown-up lads threw 
 down their smaller companions, and dragged 
 them along the pavement till they surrendered 
 whatever engine of noise they carried. Some, 
 who could find nothing else, tore up paving- 
 stones, and, holding one in each hand, rapped 
 them together as they ran. Mr. Delblether 
 having reached the hotel, the serenaders gath 
 ered around the door, cheered, yelled, laughed, 
 rapped their cans a few times, and then disap 
 peared as suddenly as they came. Mrs. Del- 
 blether screamed loud and regularly for ten 
 minutes after her husband s arrival. He was 
 blacker than any charcoal nigger she had ever 
 seen and the dust filled his mouth so that he 
 could not speak. At length, when his face re-
 
 Annie Reilly. 235 
 
 sumed its natural color somewhat, which it did 
 alter blacking all the water in the room, and five 
 or six jugfuls carried up by a waiter, she recov 
 ered sufficiently to ask what had befallen him ; 
 and when he told her, she attributed the whole 
 misfortune to his own awkwardness, and " wa" 
 gered," if she had been in his place, the story 
 would be a different one. 
 
 They left town a few days afterwards, and Mr. 
 Lacy was the .only inhabitant who regretted their 
 ever coming there. For two months after their 
 departure, he broke more rods on boys than he 
 had in as many years before. They neglected 
 their books, and took to drawing likenesses of Mr. 
 Delblether as he appeared addressing the crowd 
 in the forge on that eventful night, and as he 
 looked flying down the street during the serenade.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ANNIE AND JAMES HAPPY. 
 
 |GAIN our tale moves on, this time to 
 the end. A few years have passed by, 
 and Annie yet lives with the good, 
 kind family on the banks of the Hud 
 son. Francis is in good employment in New 
 York City, Patrick Sweeny and his small family 
 live in the same quiet happiness, and Kitty 
 Brady is married to the young man who put such 
 an abrupt end to the Scotchman s love for Annie. 
 
 It is a bright, pleasant Sunday morning in 
 April, with a gentle breeze waving the white cur 
 tains on the raised windows, that Kitty and hei 
 husband are standing together in the neat little 
 room, both dressed for church. Mrs. Ryan, for 
 that is Kitty s name now, has been to the win 
 dow half a dozen times, peeping into the street 
 below. 
 
 " I wonder what can be keeping her," she says 
 at length. " I thought she d have been here an 
 hour ago. 
 
 Mr. Ryan looks at his watch, and says 
 
 " They have twenty minutes yet."
 
 Annie Reilly. 237 
 
 "Oh! but think of the journey to Barclay 
 Street" 
 
 She had not finished the sentence, when the 
 door was pushed open, and Annie walked into the 
 room. 
 
 " I thought you would never come, my Annie," 
 said Mrs. Ryan, kissing her fondly, " My eyes 
 are tired watching for you." 
 
 " Oh !" said Annie, giving her hand to Mr. 
 Ryan, " I couldn t help it, Kitty. The train was 
 delayed an hour this morning." 
 
 Notwithstanding her hurry a few minutes be 
 fore, Mrs. Ryan sat down, and began asking the 
 girl numerous questions as to how she had spent 
 the time since she saw her last, and compliment 
 her on how well and handsome she looked, till 
 her husband said, with a smile : 
 
 " Ladies, I think you had better come on now. 
 You will have time enough for the like of that 
 during the evening. 
 
 The three then hurried out and into a car, and 
 in a short time reached Barclay Street, where 
 they alighted, and entered St. Peter s Church 
 just as High Mass commenced. The church was 
 very crowded, but two gentlemen resigned their 
 seats to Annie and Mrs. Ryan, one of whom 
 moved up towards the altar, and the other knelt 
 down by Ryan s side in the passage.
 
 238 Annie Reilly. 
 
 Had Annie s eyes been raised as the latter gen 
 tleman passed by her, she would have noticed the 
 surprised look with which he regarded her. 
 
 The music of the grand organ filled the build 
 ing, and mounted up heavenwards, carrying with 
 it the homage and adoration of the kneeling mul 
 titude ; and Annie bowed her head low in earnest 
 prayer, and was soon lost to every thought of 
 earth. The gentleman knelt at the end of her 
 seat, and, when Ryan happened to raise his eyes 
 in that direction, he could see him glance at the 
 devout girl with a strange, wild look, then turn his 
 face towards the altar, and pray fervently. Of 
 this, however, Ryan took no notice, till, during 
 the sermon, he could not help remarking the 
 strange manner of the man, who seemed to be 
 acting in a way which he himself could not 
 control. His face was suffused with blushes. 
 He knew the people near by could not avoid 
 noticing him, but still he looked at Annie with 
 a restless gaze, his lips moving as if to- speak, 
 and his feet rubbing the floor nervously. It 
 seemed that, if she turned her face towards him, 
 he would lose his senses, and spring to her side at 
 once. But Annie s eyes were cast down, and she 
 was utterly unconscious of the anxious, agitated 
 face watching her. Was one of those gentle 
 prayers breathed for the welfare of its owner ?
 
 Annie Reilly. 239 
 
 We know Annie was not unmindful of the pro 
 mise she made that evening long ago, with none 
 but the moon and stars for her witness. 
 
 At length, the ceremony over, the people be 
 gan to leave the church. The greater part of 
 the congregation, however, had departed, and 
 the altar-lights were extinguished when Annie 
 and Mrs. Ryan rose to leave ; the gentleman 
 stood up from his knees at the same moment, 
 and, if Annie felt a hand gently, very gently 
 touch hers, she did not notice it, but went down 
 the aisle with her two companions, followed by 
 the stranger ; they were about to descend the 
 steps, when a voice behind her said, " Annie ! " 
 She turned around, but seeing it was a young gen 
 tleman whom she did not know that addressed 
 her, and thinking he mistook her for some other 
 person, turned away quickly, and had reached the 
 sidewalk, when he came to her side, and, looking 
 into her face, said mournfully : 
 
 " Annie, don t you know me ? I would have 
 known you at the end of fifty years." 
 
 She looked at him in surprise. A strange, un- 
 explainable feeling came over her ; tears started 
 to her eyes, and her limbs grew weak. James 
 O Rourke came into her mind, probably because 
 the thought of him was uppermost there. But, 
 no ; the richly-clad, wealthy-looking gentleman
 
 240 Annie Re illy. 
 
 by hex* side could not be he. Nonsense ! Poor 
 James, who ran away from her that night on the 
 river s bank with worn, patched clothes, and 
 barely sufficient to bring him to America in his 
 pocket ! 
 
 " I do not know you, sir," she replied, in a low, 
 broken voice, and tried to move on. 
 
 But he caught her by the hand, and exclaimed, 
 " Oh ! yes, you do, Annie ; don t say you forget 
 your own James." 
 
 Poor Annie fell against his shoulder. " Oh ! 
 heavens, James, and this really is yourself," she 
 murmured through her tears. 
 
 He drew her closer to his heart, and said, " Oh ! 
 yes, yes, Annie, my love, it is I at last." 
 
 " O James ! how I have watched and prayed 
 for this meeting these long years !" sobbed the 
 girl. 
 
 " Not more earnestly, at -least, than I have, 
 Annie. The thought of you, my dearest, has not 
 left my mind an hour, day or night, since that 
 misty evening. It surely was the good God, who 
 has watched over us both during those weary 
 years, sent me here to-day. I knew your sweet 
 face the moment I saw you in church, and it 
 nearly drove me wild that I could not make my 
 self known on the spot." 
 
 " Ah ! little I thought," said Annie, " when my
 
 Annie Reilly, 241 
 
 mind was so full of you leaving the chapel for I 
 can never look on a crowd of people but some 
 one amongst them reminds me of you that at 
 that moment you were so near." 
 
 " Now, Annie," said he, " all our misery and 
 anxiety are melted away, and we shall not run the 
 risk of their returning again by parting any more." 
 
 Mr. Ryan and his wife being introduced, James 
 was greatly delighted to see the latter, and learn 
 how well she had done. 
 
 " I will not ask you, Annie, how you have got 
 through this time ; it is sufficient for me to see 
 you are alive and well. Oh ! what dreadful 
 misgivings I had when every effort to find you 
 failed ! One" time I thought my dear Annie 
 might have died on the voyage ; and again, that, 
 lone and friendless in America, she broke her 
 little heart." 
 
 Mr. Ryan invited him to accompany them to 
 his house for the evening. James readily agreed, 
 and, hastily telling a fellow-guest at a hotel near 
 by, who had accompanied him to church, that he 
 would be absent for the. evening, hailed a car 
 riage, and they were soon in the little, airy room, 
 with Mrs. Ryan bustling here and there prepar 
 ing dinner. 
 
 What a change had come over Annie s life since 
 she left that little room in the morning ! Then
 
 242 Annie Reilly. 
 
 ^ 
 
 she was not very unhappy, but the painful sense 
 of something wanting, which distressed her so 
 often during those years, was now banished 
 Now her heart was full, overflowing with joy, 
 and the tears which the " little lion " could keep 
 back in the presence of misfortune and grief fell 
 freely now that she was supremely happy. James 
 had been a good, religious man she could tell 
 during his long absence, from her sight. No 
 crime or vice had set their mark on his counte 
 nance. It was as bright, genial, and intellectual 
 as when she gazed on it unawares as he played 
 or sang for her on the green hill-top. His up 
 right life was receiving its reward even here. He 
 was on the high-road to fortune, if he had not 
 already reached its golden gates. His employer, 
 in return for his industry and ability, had made 
 him a partner with himself. And what shall we 
 say of his happiness now ? All the fears that 
 embittered his life so long at an end ; the dream 
 of years fulfilled ; Annie, whose shadow he traced 
 in the twilight, whose smile the moonbeams re 
 flected, was now by his side, more beautiful than 
 his imagination had ever painted her, never to 
 leave him again. Yes, Annie and James were 
 very, very happy that Sunday evening in Kitty s 
 little parlor. 
 
 By-and-by Francis called to see his sister, and
 
 Annie Reilly. 243 
 
 the meeting between the two schoolmates was very 
 cordial. Mr. Sweeny and his wife and daughter 
 dropped in during the evening, and every one 
 felt in such excellent spirits that a happier little 
 party never were together. Mr. Sweeny had a 
 joke on every one. Even Annie came in for a 
 share of his humor. He told James of her 
 frightened look the day she ran away from the 
 " mansion," and how distressed she felt at the 
 thought of being idle. James laughed heartily at 
 this, and Annie blushed very red, but soon re 
 covered sufficiently to detail, in a very arch way, 
 too, the annoyances she had experienced from 
 the Scotchman, and the ill-luck that cavalier met 
 with at the hands of Larry Ryan. 
 
 This amused James beyond measure, and he 
 requested Annie just as if she were gomg to 
 please him ! to show how she looked and frowned 
 when the Scotchman offered her his snuff-box. 
 
 Thus time passed till midnight, when O Rourke, 
 who told Annie to be watching for .him at an 
 early hour in the morning, went down to his 
 hotel, and the little party broke up. 
 
 If we were the most truthful historian in the 
 world, we would not risk our reputation by as 
 serting that James or Annie slept a wink till 
 morning. The former was waiting, accompanied 
 by the gentleman whom he had spoken to outside
 
 244 Anme Reilly. 
 
 the church, when Mr. Ryan opened the door, and 
 Annie was more than two no, we will not tell it 
 on her now Annie was already dressed, and 
 when Francis came, and all the others who had 
 been there the previous night, there was a neat 
 little wedding-party after all. 
 
 Little Annie ! a man a thousand degrees less 
 noble than James O Rourke might have gone 
 wild with joy at leading you off to be his bride. 
 You blush so much that your blue eyes sparkle 
 the more. You make so many mistakes, and you 
 are so forgetful this morning, that it is bewitch 
 ing to see your little puzzled look. In short, go 
 on, Annie ; everything you do this morning makes 
 you look the prettier. 
 
 Miss Sweeny is a very handsome bridesmaid, 
 but is greatly afraid of the portly groomsman, 
 who thinks James O Rourke one of the luckiest 
 men in America. The party went to the church 
 early in the day, and, the important ceremony 
 being performed, the happy bride and groom left 
 the city that evening for a short tour through the 
 States. When they returned, James purchased 
 a house in a beautiful part of New York City, 
 from which himself and Mrs. O Rourke, and 
 quite a number of little O Rourkes, may be seen 
 driving to the Central Park every Sun-day even 
 ing.
 
 Annie Reilly. 245 
 
 And now we will turn from our happy hero and 
 heroine, an d take leave of those other valuable 
 people who have borne us company through our 
 story. John G. Ryan being the most illustrious, 
 of course we must greet him first. He yet con 
 tinues to thrive in his old path, and his bitterest 
 enemy could not wish him worse ; for there is 
 an uplifted Hand sustained by Mercy, but which 
 Justice one day compels to fall heavily on such 
 as he. 
 
 Farrell Reilly and his wife have long since left 
 the castle cottage, and are now living contentedly 
 with Miles O Rourke, in a neat little house with 
 ivy-covered walls, within view of the beautiful 
 bay of Queenstown. 
 
 Mr. Lacy teaches school yet, but has grown 
 somewhat deaf, which renders him so cross that 
 he is the terror of all the boys in the neighbor 
 hood. His- evening walks are less freqi^nt now, 
 and always terminate at Nancy Brady s cabin. 
 Nancy, who, to use her own words, " wants for 
 nothing," is always very glad to see him, because 
 their chat is all about their old neighbors whom 
 both loved so well. 
 
 Miss Sweeny is now Mrs. Somebody, the 
 mistress of a handsome rural homestead. Her 
 father and mother still live in the little white and 
 green dwelling, happy and contented.
 
 University of California 
 
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 Return this material to the library 
 
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 RETURNED 
 
 MAR 17 1997
 
 Uri