^ ■ERKELEr LiBFrARY W^JVE il Y Of CALI 0.r4}A x# . ^ . , ^ VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, THE IRISH AGENT; OB, THE CHRONICLES OF CASTLE CUMBER; TOGETHBE WTTB THl! PIOUS ASPIRATIONS, PERMISSIONS, V0UCHSAFEMHNT8 AND OTHER SANCTIFIED PRIVILEGES OF SOLOMON M'SLIME. A RELIGIOUS ATTORNEY. BY WILLIAM ^ARLETON, AiminS OP "TKAITS AKD STOBIES of the nUSH PEASANTBT," "FAKDAROTIGHA, TH¥ MISH^ "boot, the boveb," "abt magcire," "paddt go east,''&c., &c. Qm CAPIT ILLE FACIT. WITH TWENTY ILLUSTRATIONS, BY PHIZ. DUBLIN: PUBLISHED BY JAMES DUFFY, 7, WELLINGTON-QUAY. MDCCCLIV. Paitisos Joi.liY, tteam^ Prfss Printer and Stei eoh/pe Found 12, Ang??se» street, Dublin. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Paga An Irish Fair and Spoileen Tent— A Marriage Proposal — An Under Agent — An Old Irish Squire and Union Lord 1 CHAPTER II. Christian Forgiveness — Birth and Origin of Mr. M'Clutchy — Mr. Hickman, the Head Agent — Darby O'Drive, the Bailiff— and an Instructive Dialogue 17 CHAPTER III. Solomon M 'Slime, a Eeligious Attorney — His Oflftoe — Family Devotions-- Blessed Substitute for Breakfast — ]V:nsprision of Blasphemy — Letter on Business ^ . 28 CHAPTER IV. Poll Doolin, the Child-Cadger — Raymond, her son — Short Dialogue on the Times — Poll's Opinion on the Causes of Immorality — Solomon is generous -A Squire of the Old School — And a Moral Dialogue . . . S!' CHAPTER V. Description of a Summer Evening — A Mysterious Meeting — A Jealous Vision — Letter from Squire Deaker to Lord Cumber — ^Lord Cumber's Reply A CHAPTER VI. The Life and Virtues of an Irish Absentee — ^Duties of an Irish Landlord — An Apologue on Property — Reasons for appointing an Agent — M'Clutchy's Notion of his duties — Receipt to make a Forty- Shilling Freeholder , 57 CHAPTER VII. Ejections on Absenteeism — Virtues of a Loyal Magistrate — A small dose of Flattery — A Brace of Blessings — Darby has Notions of becoming a Convert — Hints to a Trusty Bailiff, with a bit of Mystery — Drum Dhu, and the Comforts of Christmas Eve — An Extermination . . .83 CHAPTER VIIL A Winter Morning — Poverty and Sorrow — ^Father Roche— A Mountain Journey — Raymond-na-hattha — Cabin on the Moors — M'Clutchy's Blood-hounds— The Conflict— A Treble Death . • • . . 104 812 IV CONTENTS, CHAPTER IX. Page J. Dialogue, exhibiting singular principles of Justice — Solomon s Tracts and Triumph—A Sincere Convert— Darby's Views of K^ligion—PoU Doolin's Honesty — Solomon^s Christian Generosity to a Man in difficulty — M'Loughlin and liis Family 129 CHAPTER X. A Dutiful Grandson, and a Respectable Grandmother — Military Dialogue Disobedience of Orders — Solomon's Candour — A Confidential Communi- cation — Solomon dances the Swaggering Jig — Honest Correspondence — Darby's Notion of Spiritual Things — Two Religions better than One — Darby's Love of Truth 147 CHAPTER XI. Darby and Solomon at Prayer — An instance of Pure Charity — Candidates for Conversion — An Appropriate Confidence — The Rev. Phineas Lucre and his Curate, Mr, Clement — The Rev. Father Roche, and his Curate, Father M'Cabe 164 CHAPTER XII. Interview between Darby and Mr. Lucre — Darby feels Scriptural, and was as Scripturally treated — Mr. Lucre's Christian Disposition towards Father M'Cabe — A few Brands offer themselves to be plucked from the Burning — Their Qualifications for Conversion, as stated by themselves 191 CHAPTER XIII. \A Controversial Discussion, together with the Virtues it produced — Darby's brief retirement from Public Life 208 CHAPTER XIV. Poll Doolin's Honesty, and Phil's Gallantry — ^A Beautiful but Cowardly Method of Destroying Fejnale Reputation — A DomiciUary Visit from the Blood-hounds — Irresponsible Power 213 CHAPTER XV. Introduction of a New Character — Objects of an English Traveller — Q^x-^ respondence between Evory Easel, Esq., and Sam Spinageberd, Esq., — Susanna and the Elder; or, the Conventicle in Trouble—Phil's Gallantry and Courage 225 CHAPTER XVI. Solomon in trouble — Is publicly prayed for — His Gracious Deliverance and Triumph — An Orangeman's View of Protestantism and of Popery — Phil's Discretion and Valour 238 CHAPTER XVII. A Moral Survey, or a Wise Man led by a Fool— Marks of Unjust Agency — Reflections thereon — A Mountain Waterspout, and Rising of a Torrent — The Insane Mother over the Graves of her Family — Raymond's Hu- manity — His Rescue from death 251 CONTENTS. V CHAPTER XVIII. Pftge Cruel Consequences of Phil's Plot against Mary M'Loughlin — Dreadful Determination of her Brothers — An Oath of Blood — ^Father Roche's Knowledge of Nature — Interview between Mary and her Brothers — Influence and Triumph of Domestic Affection — An Execution by Val's Blood-hounds 267 CHAPTER XIX. wAji Orange Lodge at Full Work— Solomon in all his Glory — He defines Drinking to be a Religious Exercise — True Blue and the Equivocal — Phil's Eloquence— A Charter Toast .290 CHAPTER XX. Sobriety and Loyalty — A Checkered Dialogue — The Beauty and Necessity of Human Frailty — A Burning and Shining Light going Home in the Dark— The Value of a Lanthorn 303 CHAPTER XXI. A. Protestant Charger, with his Precious Burthen — A Disaffected Hack, supporting a Pillar of the Church — A Political and Religious Discussion, in a friendly way — Darby's Piety rewarded 311 CHAPTER XXII. Clastle-Cumber Grand-Jury Room — A Conscientious Hangman — ^Way to a Glebe House of more importance than the way to Heaven — Irish Method of dispensing Justice — Short Debate on the Spy System — Genealogical Memoranda — Patriotic Presentments — A Riverless Bridge . . .3)8 CHAPTER XXIII. A Rent Day — Relative Position of Landlord and Tenant — Grades of Ten- antry — Phil's Notion of Respect — Paddy Corrigan's Protestant "Wig — Phil and Solomon in a fit of admiration — The Widow Tyrrell . . 334 CHAPTER XXIV. Raymonds sense of Justice — Force of the Ideal — Poll Doolin's Remorse — Conversation on Irish Property — Disclosure concerning Mary M'Loughlin 3.59 CHAPTER XXV. A Ribbon Lodge — Val and his Son brought to Trial — Their Crimes against the People — Their Doom and Sentence — A Rebel Priest Preaching Treason — A Respite 370 CHAPTER XXVI. Harraan's Interview with Mary M'Loughlin — An Execution for Rent Forty Years ago — Gordon Harvey's friendly Remonstrance with his Brother Orangemen — Bob Beatty's last Illness — A Holy Steeple Chase — A Dead Heat — Blood against Varmint — Rival Claims — A Mutual Disappoint- ment — The last plea for Salvation — Non Compos Mentis . • « 379 ▼I CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXVII. Preparatiwis for the Great Discussion, which we do not gire — Extraordinary hope of a Modern Miracle — Darby as a Spiritual Ganymede— Solomon like an Angel looking into the Gospel 393 CHAPTER XXVIII. Solomon suffers a little Eetribution — Eequests Widow Lenehan to ** Wrestle for him — Deaker s Death-bed — Dies loyally whistling the Boyne Water 415 CHAPTER XXIX. The Mountain Grave-yard — Dreams of a Broken Heart — The Christian Pastor at his Duty — Melancholy Meeting between a Mother and her Son — A Death-bed that the Great might Envy — Phil experiences a specimen of the pressure from without — ^Eetribution — The Death of Valentine M'Clutchy 444 CHAPTER XXX. Richard Topertoe and his Brother — Lord Cumber's Duel — Shot by Hartley — Dies in the Vindication of a Tyrannical Principle — Marriage of Harman and Mary M'Loughlin — Solomon struck off the roU — Handsome compliment to the Judge — Solomons Death — ^Dances the Swaggering Jig — ^Lucres Virtues and Christian Death .... 468 DIRECTIONS FOR PLACING THE PLATES. The Ejection, to face title, The Spoileen Tent 5 Rejection of a Matrimonial Offer 13 Poll Doolin's Mysterious Communicatioa ... 49 Death of Regan 117 Raymond Defending the Widow . . . . .121 Darby O'Drive and Father M'Cabe 177 The Widow's Dying Child .189 Raymond Expounding the Bible 203 Religious Controversy between Darby and Bob . . .211 The raging Lion tamed 250 Mary and her Brothers ... ... 275 Solomon discourseth 307 The Rival Parsons 313 The Rent Day 351 The Ribbon Lodge 324 Harman's interview with -Mary ..... S19 Bob puzzles the Parsons 391 The Vulture vanquished . 435 Phil hugged in a tight embrace 453 PREFACE. It was not my intention to hare written any Preface to this book, but to hare allowed it simply to speak for itself. As it is very likely, however, that both it and the motives of its author may be misrepresented by bigotted or venal pens, I think it necessary to introduce it to the reader by a few brief observations. In the first place, then, I beg to say, tliat the work presents phases of Irish life and manners, that have never been given to the public before by any other writer upon the same subject. So far, therefore, the book is a perfectly new book — not merely to the Irish people, but also to the English and Scotch. I know not whether the authenticity of the facts and descriptions contained in it may be called in question , but this I do know, that there is not an honest man, on either side, who has lived in the north of Ireland, and reached the term of fifty years, who will not recognize the conduct and language of the northern Orange- men as just, truthful, and not one whit exaggerated. To our friends across the Channel it is only necessary to say, that I was born in one of the most Urange- eounties in Ireland (Tyrone) — that the violences and licentious abuses of these armed civilians were prepetrated before my eyes — and that tlie sounds of their outrages may be said still to ring in my ears. i have written many works upon Irish life, and up to the present day the man has never lived who could lay his finger upon any passage of my writings, and say *' that is false." I cannot, however, avoid remarking here, that within the last few years, a more enlarged knowledge of life, and a more matured inter- course with society, have enabled me to overcome many absurd prejudices with which I was imbued. Without compromising, however, the truth or integrity of any portion of my writings, I am willing to admit, which I do frankly and without hesitation, that I published in my early works passages which were not calculated to do any earthly good ; but, on the contrary, to give unnecessary offence to a great number of my countrymen. It is due to myself to state this, and to say, that in the last edition of my works I have left as many of these passages out as I readily could, without diminishing the interest, or disturbing tke narrative. A fortiori, then, this book may be considered as full of truth and fidelity as any I have ever written ; and I must say, that in writing it I have changed no principle whatsoever. I am a liberal Conservative, and, I trust, a rational one but I am not, nor ever was, an Orangeman neither can I endure their exclusive and arrogant assumption of loyalty, nor the outrages which it has generated. In what portion of my former writings, for instance, did I ever publish a line in their favour, or in favour of any secret and illegal confederacy ? Again, with regard to the Landlords and Agents, have I not written a tale called the "Poor Scholar, and another called " Tubber Derg? in both oi which their corruptions and oppressions are exposed. Let it not be mistaken. The two great curses of Ireland are bad Landlords and bad Agents, and in nineteen cases out of every twenty, the origin of the crime lies with the Land- lord or Agent, instead of the Tenant. With respect to the Established Church of forty years ago, if there is any nian living who asserts that I have not vnder-drawnhbT, rather than otherwise, he is less intimate with truth than I could wish. On this subject I challenge and dtfy inquiry. I j^rant you she is much changed for the better now but jet there is much to be done in her stiH. It is true, Irishmen at present get VU- PREFACE. Mitres, a fact vrhich jwas unknown forty years ago. We have now more Erangelicism, and consequently more sleekness and hypocrisy, more external decorum, and, I would also trust, more internal spirituality. We have now many eminent and pious Prelates in the Church, whose admirable example is enough even to shame the Clergymen under them into a sense of their duty. It is to be wished that we had many more such as they, for they are wanted. The Irish Evangelical party are certainly very numerous, and they must pardon me a slight anachronism or two regarding them, concerning what has been termed the Modern Keformation in these volumes. Are those who compose this same party, by the way, acquainted with their own origin ? If not, I will tell them. They were begotten by the active spirit of the Church of Rome, upon their own establishment, when she was asleep ; so that they owe their very existence to those whom they look upon as their enemies; and if it were only for this reason alone, there ought to be more peace between them. In England the same spirit has effected a similar seduction on that Establishment, but with this difference, that the Puseyites are a much more obedient and dutiful progeny than the Irish Evangelicals — inasmuch as they have the grace to acknowledge the rela- tionship. This book was written to exhibit a useful moral to the country. It will startle, I humbly trust, many a hard-hearted Landlord and flagitious Agent into a perception of their duty, and it will show the negligent and reckless Absentee how those from whose toils and struggles he derives bis support are oppressed, and fleeced, and trampled on, in his name. It will also teach the violent and bigotted Conservative — or, in other words, the man who still inherits the Orange sentiments of past times — a lesson that he ought not to forget. It will also test the whole spirit of modern Conservatism, and its liberality. If there be at the press, or any where else, a malignant bigot with great rancour and little honesty, it is very likely he will attack my book ; and this, of course, he is at liberty to dOi I deny, however, that modern Conservatism is capable of adopting or cherishing the outrages which disgraced the Orangemen of forty years ago, or even of a later period. And for this reason I am confident that the Conservative Press of Ireland will not only sustain me but fight my battles, if 1 shall be ungenerously attacked. Let them look upon these pictures, and if it ever should happen that arms and irrespon- sible power shall be entrusted to them, perhaps the recollection of their truth may teach them a lesson of forbearance and humanity towards those who differ from them in creed, that may be of important service to our common country. If so, I shall have rendered a service to that country, which, as is usual, may probably be recognized as valuable, when perhaps my bones are mouldering in the clay, and my ear insensible to all such acknowledgments. As for myself, I have been so completely sickened by the bigotted on each side, that I hare come to the determination, as every honest Irishman ought, of knowing no party but my country, and of devoting such talents as God ha? given me, to the promotion of her general interests, and the happiness of hei whole people. It was my intention to have illustrated some passages in this work by Alphabetical Appendices. On consideration, however, I deem it better to leave it as it stands, than impose upon Ihe reader the disagreeable task of labouring through a multitude of dry details. Dublin, November iai6. $t^%i. VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, THE IMSH AGENT. CHAPTER L AN IKISH FAIR .>.ND SPOILEEN TENT A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL— AN UNDER AOENT AN OLD IRISH SQUIRE AND UNION LORD. The town of Castle Cumber it is not our intention to describe at more length than simply to say, that it consists of two long streets, intersecting each other, and two or three lanes of cabins — many of them mud ones — that stretch out of it on each side at right angles. This street, and these straggling appendages, together with a church, a prison, a court-house, a Catholic chapel, a Presbyterian meeting-house, a few shops, and half a dozen public houses, present to the spectator all the features that are generally necessary for the description of that class of remote country towns of which we write. Indeed, with the exception of an ancient Stone Cross, that stands in the middle of the street, and a Fair-green, as it is termed, or Common, where its two half-yearly fairs are held, and which lies at the west end of it, there is little or nothing else to be added. The fair I particularly mention ; because, on the day on which the circumstances I am about to describe occurred, a fair was held in the town, and upon the green in question. The month was December — the day stormy and unpropitious. There had been a deep snow and hard frost for nearly three weeks before ; but now the aspect of the white earth, contrasted wildly with the large masses of black clouds which hung motionless in the air, and cast a dark and gloomy spirit, not only over the appearance of inanimate nature, but into the heart of man himself. About noon, just when the whole fair had been assembled, the storm commenced with wind, sleet, and rain. Never was a more 6 2 VALENTIFE M'CLUTCHT striking or unexpected change produced. Women, tucked up nearly to the knees, their garments, soaked with wet, clinging to their bodies and limbs, as if a part of themselves — men drenched and buttoned up to the chin — all plashing through the slippery streets — ♦heir shoes spouting with snow-broth — ^the falling of tents — the shouting against the loudness of the storm, in order to be heard — the bleating of sheep, lowing of cattle, the deafening and wild hum of confused noises — all, when added to the roaring of the sweeping blast, the merciless pelting of the rain, and the inclement character of the whole day, presented a scene that was tempestuous and desolate beyond belief. Age, decrepid and shivering — ^youth, benumbed and stiffened with cold — rich and poor, man and woman, all had evidently but one object in view, and that was shelter. Love, charity, amusement, business, were all either disappointed, or forced to suspend their operations, at least for the present. Every one ran or walked as quickly as possible, with the exception of some forenoon drunkard, who staggered along at his ease, with an eye half insolent and half stupid, careless, if not unconscious, of the wild uproar, both elemental and otherwise, by which he was surrounded. Nay, the very beggars and impostors — to whom, in general, severe weather, on such occasions, is a God-send, as it presents them to their fellow-creatures in a more pitiable aspect — were glad to disperse. In truth, the effect of the storm upon them was perfectly miraculous. Many a poor creature, blind from birth or infancy, was gifted with, or restored to excellent sight — the maimed were suddenly cured — the deaf made to hear — the dumb to speak — and the sturdy baccagh, or cripple, bounded away, at the rate of six miles an hour, cursing the whole thing as a bad spec — a dead failure. Solemn assignations of long promise, rustic courtships, and earnest match-makings, were all knocked up, unless in the case of those who had availed themselves of the early part of the day. Time and place, in fact, were completely forgotten by the parties, each being anxious only to secure the nearest and most commodious shelter. Nay, though ashamed to write it, we are bound to confess that some of our countrymen were ungallant enough, on approaching their sweethearts, fairly to give them the slip, or only to recognise them with a kind of dreary and equivocal salutation, that might be termed a cross between a wink and a shiver. Others, however, gallantly and magnanimously set the tempest at defiance, or blessed their stars for sending them an opportunity of sitting so close to their fair inamo- ratas, in order that their loving pressure might, in some degree, aided THE IRISH AGENT. b bj a glas3 of warm punch, compensate the sweet creatures for the unexpected drenching they had got. It has been well observed, that there is no class of life in which instances of great virtue and fortitude may not be found ; and the justness of the apothegm was fully corroborated here. Cold, bitter, tempestuous, and terrible as was the day, amidst rain, wind, sleet, and hail, there might be seen, in a thoroughfare about the centre of the town, a cripple, apparently paralytic from the middle down, seated upon the naked street, his legs stretched out before him, hirpling onward, by alternately twisting his miserable body, from right to left; while, as if the softer sex were not to be surpassed in feats of hardihood or heroism, a tattered creature, in the shape of woman, without cap, shoe, or stocking, accompanied by two naked and shivering children, whose artificial lamentations were now lost in those of nature, proceeded up the street, in the very teeth of the beating tempest, attempting to sing some dismal ditty, with a voice which resembled the imagined shriekings of a goul, more than the accents of a human being. These two were the only individuals who, in the true spirit of hardened imposture, braved all the fury of the elements in carrying out their principles — so true is it, that a rogue will often advance farther in the pursuit of a knavish object, than an honest man will in the attainment of a just one. them may be added the poor fool of the town, Raymond na hattha, who, from his childhood, was known to be indifferent to all changes of weather, and who now, elated by the festive spirit of a fair-day, moved about from place to place, with as much indifference as if it had been a day in the month of June. If the inclemency of the day, however, was injurious to the general transaction of business, there was one class to whose interests it amply contributed. I mean the publicans, and such as opened shebeen houses, or erected refreshment- tents for the occasion. In a great portion of Ireland there are to be found in all fairs, what the people term spoileen tents — that is, tents in which fresh mutton is boiled, and sold out, with bread and soup, to all customers. I know not how it happens ; but be the motive, or cause, what it may, scarcely any one ever goes into a spoileen tent, unless in a mood of mirth and jocularity. To eat spoileen seriously, would be as rare a sight as to witness a wife dancing on her husband's coffin. It is very difficult, indeed, to ascertain the reason why the eating of fresh mutton, in such circumstances, is always associated with a spirit of strong ridicule and 1 umour. At all events, nothing can exceed ♦ VALENTINE M*CLUTCHY, the mirth that is always to be found among the parties who frequent such tents. Fun, laughter, jest, banter, attack, and repartee, fly about in all directions, and tlie only sounds heard are those of light-hearted noise and enjoyment. Perhaps, if the cause of this were closely traced, it might be found to consist in a sense of shame, which Paddy good-humouredly attempts to laugh away. It is well known that the great body of the people pass through life without ever tasting either beef or mutton — a circumstance which every one acquainted with the country knows to be true. It is also a fact, that nineteen out of every twenty who go in to eat spoileen, are actuated more by curiosity than hunger, inasmuch as they consist of such persons as have never tasted it before. This, therefore, being generally known, and each possessing a latent consciousness of its truth, it is considered best to take the matter in good humour, and escape the shame of the thing, together with the poverty it implies, by turning it into ridicule and jest. This^ indeed, is pretty evident, from the nature of the spoileen-keeper's observations on being paid, which are usually, " Thank you, Barney . you may now considher yourself a gintleman ;" or, if a female, ••' Long life to you, Bridget ; you may now go into high life any time." It is unnecessary to say, that on the day in question, the spoileen tents were crowded to suffocation. In general, these are pretty large; sometimes one, occasionally two fires being kept in each. Over these, placed upon three large stones, or suspended from three poles, united at top, is the pot or pots in which the spoileen is boiled ; whilst patiently, in a corner of the tent, stand the poor invalid sheep that are doomed, as necessity may require, to furnish forth this humorous entertainment.* Truth to tell, there are many reasons why this feast is a comic one. In the first place, the description of mutton which they get is badly calculated to prejudice honest Paddy in favour of that food in general, it being well known that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the sacrifice falls upon disease, poverty, and extreme old age; or, if there be any manifestation of humanity in the selection, it is, tlint while the tenderer sex is spared, the male one is in general certain to be made the victim, but never unless when he has been know to Beach a most patriarchal length of years. Then the suddenness of the act which converts a portion of the venerable patriarch into a cohj • It is called spoileen, because the feast usually consists of spoiled mutton— that is, mutton that could not otherwise be sold as sound. I I ^/"iin^^"' v^' THE IRISH AGENT. 5 ponent part of honest Paddy, is equally remarkable ; for it generally happens that the animal now standing in a corner of the tent, will in about half an hour, be undergoing the process of assimilation in his (Paddy's) gastric region. The elastic quality of the meat is, indeed, extraordinary ; and such as, with the knowledge^ of that fact, does sometimes render Paddy's treat of spoileeu to his sweetheart an act of very questionable gallantry. Be this as it may, there is scarcely anything in life richer than to witness a tent of spoileen eaters in full operation. Tugging, pulling, dragging, tearing, swinging of the head from side to side, want of success, loss of temper, fatigue of jaw, recovery of good humour, and the wolfish rally, mingled with mock curses, loud laughter, shouting and singing, all going on together, are the ordinary characteristics of this most original banquet. About the centre of the town stood one of those houses of enter- tainment which holds rank in such towns as a head inn. On tiie day in question, it was painfully overcrowded ; and such was the hubbub of loud talk, laughter, singing, roaring, and thumping of tables, that it was almost impossible to hear or understand anything in the shape of conversation. To this, however, there was one exception. A small closet, simply large enough to hold a table and two short forms, opened from a room above stairs looking into the back yard. In this there was a good fire, at which sat two men, being, with a turn-up bed and small table, nearly as many as it was capable of holding with ease. One of these was a stout, broad-shouldered person, a good deal knock-kneed, remarkably sallow in the complexion, with brows black and beetling. He squinted, too, with one eye ; and what, between this circumstance, a remarkably sharp but hooked nose, and the lowering brows aforesaid, there was altogether about him a singular expression of acuteness and malignity. In every sense, he was a person against whom you would feel disposed to guard yourself, whether in the ordinary intercourse of life and its transactions, or btill more in the secret woikings of the darker and more vindictive passions. He was what they call a down looking man ; that is, one who, in conversation, could never look you straight in the face, which fact, together with a habit of quivering observable in his upper lip, when any way agitated, gave unquestionable proof that his cowardice was equal to his malignity, as his treachery was to both. His age might be about fifty, or perhaps beyond it. The other was a tall man, well featured, of a clear, fresh complexion, a fine blue eye, and, altogether, a kind, benevolent expression of 6 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, countenance. He had been rather stout, but not robust, and might, perhaps, at the time we write of, be about the same age as hia companion. He was evidently a man of respectability, well dressed, not badly educated, and, on the present occasion, wore good broad- cloth and top boots. The contrast between him and the other, was in nothing more striking than the honest, joyous spirit of his laughter, which rang clearly and mellowly on your ear, leaving behind it an impression of candour, light-heartedness, and good nature, that could not be mistaken. " It's idle talk to speak about going such a day as this," observed the beetle-browed man, who stirred up the fire with something that passed for a poker, in reply ; " and to tell you the truth, upon my credit, Mr. M'Loughlin, I'm not sorry that we happened to meet. You're a man I've a sincere regard for, and always had ; and on that account we'll have something more to drink." So saying, he stamped upon the floor, which was exactly over the bar, in order that some one might attend them with the liquor. " I'm obliged to you, Val," replied his companion, dryly, " for your good opinion of me ; but, at the same time, God forbid that ever I should deserve it, eh ? ha, ha, ha. Vf ell, well, let us have some drink, as you say, at all events ; only it must be at my expense, as well as the rest. Well, sure enough, you were the devil's whip-thong all your life ; and if you haven't repented yet, all I can say is, there is little time to lose, if you wish to have a bright look up at the last day" " Ha, ha, go on, Mr. M'Loughlin, we all know you, the same pleasant fellow you ever were ; and, upon my credit, as good a companion as any one could sit with. All I wish is, that we had here more of the family on both sides ; my Phil and your Mary, for in- stance, who probably might have something to whisper to one another." ** I didn't care we had, Val, my boy ; but hew on earth will we get home ? Indeed, such a terrible day I've seldom seen, for many years." *' Faith, it's good to have a dry roof over our heads, and a warm fire before us, at any rate. There's many a poor, half-drowned devil in the fair would give a trifle to change places with us ; there is, upon my credit." In a few minutes the refreshments came in, much to the satisfaction of the parties, who felt a strong sense of comfort, on contrasting the warmth of their snug little room, with the uproar of the storm that raged without, and spent its fury upon the cold, bleak, and almost lieserted streets. I am glad, indeed, Mr. M*Loughlin,*' continued his companion. THE IRISH AGENT. 7 •*tbat I happened to meet with you to-day — you and I are now neighbours, and surely we ought to live like neighbours." " Well/' replied M'Loughlin, dryly, " and don't we do so ? You haven't found me troublesome as a neighbour, have you ? Eh, Val, my man ?" **No," said the other, "certainly I have not — upon my credit 1 haven't, an' that's what I complain of; neither you nor your family associate with me or mine." "Tut, Val, man," replied M'Loughlin, still in the same dry, ironi- cal tone as before, "surely it's not long since you came to march us. It's only .two years and a half since you wormed out the O'Hagans; then the farm lay near two years idle — ay — why, man, you're not four months our neighbour yet." "No — not all out; still, Mr. M'Loughlin, somehow you don't treat me or my family as neighbours. If you have to borrow anything, no matter what it is, you never come to me for it. It was only the other day that you wanted a rope to pull that breeding mare of your's out of the drain — and yet you sent past me near half a mile, up to Widow Lenehan's, to borrow it." " Heavens pity you, Val, for it's a hard case ; but every one has their troubles, and it seems you are not without your own, poor man — eh — ha! ha! ha! Well, never mind, my friend; you're better off now, for all that, than when you were only a process-server on the estate ; however, I'll tell you what, Val the Vulture — you see I can be neighbourly sometimes — just let me know whenever you stand in need of a rope — mark, I don't say whenever you deserve it — and may I never taste worse liquor than this, but you shall have it with right good will; hoping still that you'll make ft proper use of it — ha! ha! ha! Come, man, in the mean time take your liquor, an' don't look as if you'd eat me without salt ; for I tell you, if you tried it, you'd find Brian M'Loughlin a tougher morsel than you imagine." " If any person else spoke to me in the style you do, Brian, I'd not be apt to overlook it; upon my credit and reputation I would not." "No, but you'd look round it may be, ha! ha! ha! but go on, Vulture, who minds what / say?" " Nobody, to be sure, because you make one laugh whether they will or not." "Faitli, Vulture dear, and that's what nobody can tax you with; 01, it you do, it's on the wrong side of the mouth you do it — and they say that same is but indifferent mirth, Val." "I wish, Brian, you would sometimes speak seriously; and besides, 8 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, you're always hard, too hard upon me. Anything I did harshly, it Rras always in the discharge of my duty." "Never mind, Val, the fewer of these old sores you rip up, the better for yourself — I'm not going to put* you through your cate- chism about them. If you're wise, let by-gones be by-gones ; take that advice from me. Whatever tricks you may have practised, you're now a wealthy man, and for the same reason the world will help you to forget them, if you keep your toe in your pump." "I am a wealthy man, and can set the world at defiance, if it goes to that; yes, Brian, a wealthier man than the world thinks — and, as I said, I defy it." "Faith, and you needn't, for the world won't put you to that trouble, at least a great part of it, if you were ten times the Vulture you are, so long as you have a full purse. Eh, do you perceive me? ha! ha! ha!" " Well, damn the devil, heaven pardon me for swearing, for it's a thing I hate " " And yet many a fat oath you've bolted in your time. Now, on the nick of your conscience, Val, darling, how many bibles did you wear out, by a long and honest course of hard swearing ? — eh —ha! ha! ha!" "Ha! ha! ha! Brian, I see there is little use in speaking to you, or being angry with you: you are a devilish pleasant hearty fellow, only something a little too rough about the tongue." "Never mind, Val, by all accounts it would be easy to reckon them; but seriously, is it true that the lower joint of your right thumb is horny, in consequence of having caught the character of your conscience, from having kissed it so often ?" " Go on, Brian, go on ; to be sure it is ; they may say what they like — I'm not depending upon them, and I care little. But now, Brian, there is one thing I will s&jy and I have long wished for an opportunity of saying it." "That's my bully, out with it; don't be dashed, Val, you'll get over your modesty; upon my credit you will — ^ha! ha! ha!" "D — n it, you can't be serious for a minute; but no matter, I will out with it — here's your health and fireside, in the mean time!" Brian merely nodded in reply, but said nothing. " Now you know, Brian, your property and mine lie very snugly beside one another; observe that thafs what I begin with" " Very good." " Again, your family and mine live very close to one another too.' THE IRISH AGENT. 9 " Very good." **Now, what if part of the properties, and part of the families were to become united, and get spliced together, eh?" "Very good, very good." 'y^<5^'^^ (^f^yl/ y'fi ^(yudmai 'J o THE IRISH AGENT. 13 *'I can't say I do," said M*Louglilm; "but I suppose you will let me hear it/* " I will," replied Val, and his brow darkened as before ; '* It was this — your property and mine lie very snugly together — observe, I said, ' that's what I begin with* — didn't I say that ?" " You did ; and now what else do you say ?** " The very same thing : that your property and mine lie snugly together; and mark me, Mr. M'Loughlin " " I do. Oh, upon my credit I do. Ha, ha, ha !" " Then, thafs what I end with" " Ah," replied M'Loughlin, indignantly, " you think you have the ball at your own foot, now that old Topertoe is gone, and his son has made you his under agent. A nice job, indeed, it was, tha/ transformed old drunken Tom Topertoe into Lord Cumber, and made his son, the present Lord, too proud to live on his own estate. However, I'd be glad to see the honest man that ever envied the same old Tom his title, when we all know that he got it for selling his country. As for you. Vulture, I defy, and despise you. When my rent's due, thank God, I am able to pay it ; so you may do your worst. While Mr. Hickman's over you, the tenants have some protection, in spite of your villany, you unprincipled scoundrel." " Our farms lie snugly together, Mr, M'Loughlin ; and thafs what I end with." It was from the town of Castle Cumber, which we have described at the opening of our narrative, that old Tom Topertoe, a squire of the true Irish kidney, took his title. Topertoe, or Lord Castle Cumber, as we must now call him, like many others, had the high honour of being a union lord — that is to say, his attachment to his principles was so steady, that he did not hesitate to sell his country for a title, and, we may add, something besides. It is not our intention, at this distance of time, to discuss the merits of either the Union or its Repeal ; but in justice to truth and honour, or, perhaps, we should rather say, to fraud and profligacy, we are constrained to admit, that there is not to be found in the annals of all history, any political negociation based upon such rank and festering corruption, as was the Legislative Union. Had the motives which actuated the English government towards this country been pure, and influenced by principles of equality and common justice, they would never have had recourse to such unparalleled profligacy. This is self-evident ; for those who seek an honourable end, will scorn to obtain it by foul and dishonourable means. The 14 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, conduct of England, therefore, in this base and ehameless traffic, is certainly a prima facie evidence of her ultimate policy — a policy blacker in the very simplicity of its iniquity, than its worst enemies can paint it, and so obvious in its character, that we question whether a man could be found, of ordinary information, belonging to any party, capable, at this moment, of deliberately and conscientiously defending it, so far as pertains to that transaction. But enough of this. Before the Union, old Topertoe was master of three votes — that is, he sat himself for the county, and returned members for two boroughs. He was known by the soubriquet of Pater Noster Tom^ not from any disposition to devotion, but because, whether in parliament, on the hustings, or, indeed, ar.y where else, he never made a speech longer than the Lord's Prayer. And yet, short as it was, it generally puzzled the shrewdest and most sagacious of his audience to understand it. Still, though not without his faults, he was by no means a bad landlord, as landlords went. Tis true he was fond of his wine, and of something still more profligate ; as a proof of which, it wnz well known that he seldom or ever went to bed with less than four or five bottles under his belt ; and, as touching the latter, that he had generally two agents in pay, to cater for his passions. In both these propensities he was certainly countenanced by the usages and moral habits of the times ; and the truth is, he grew rather popular than otherwise, precisely on account of them. He was bluff, boisterous, and not ill-natured — one of that bygone class who would horse-whip a tenant to-day, and fight a duel for him to-morrow. Above all things, he resided on his estate, knew all his tenantry by name and person, and contracted, by degrees, a kind of anomalous attachment for them, merely because they were his property, and voted, and fought for him at elections — and often fought with him touching their relative positions as landlord and tenant. Indeed, we question whether he would not enter into a quarrel as readily for a tenant, as he would for a favourite dog or horse ; and we are inclined to think, that to do him justice, he laid nearly as much value on the one as on the other — a circumstance which, we dare say, several of our modern landlords,, both resident and absentee, will consider as, on our part, a good- humoured stretch of fiction. His speech at elections absolutely became a proverb in the country ; and, indeed, when we remember the good-natured license of the times, as many still may, together with the singular blending THE IRISH AGENT. 1^ of generosity and violence, horse- whipping and protection, mirth and mischief, which characterised the bearing of such men as Topertoe, we are fain to think, to vary the proverb a little, that he might have spoken more, and fared worse. " Here I am again, ye blaggards ; your own ould Topertoe, that never had a day's illness, but the gout, bad luck to it. Damn your bloods, ye affectionate rascals, sure you love me, and I love you, and 'tisn*t Gully Preston (his opponent) that can cut our loves in two. No, boys ; he's not the blade to do that, at any rate ! Hurra, then, ye vagabones! Ould Tom Topertoe for ever! He loves his bottle and a pretty girl ; and v/ill make any rascal quiver on a daisy that would dare to say, bow to your blankets. Now, Gully Preston, make a speech — if you can! Hurra for Tom Topertoe, that never had a day's illness, but the gout — bad luck to it ! and don't listen to Gully Preston, boys, but shout him down ! Hurra!" This speech, from which he never varied, was waited for at S-lections with a vehemence of mirth, and a force of popularity, ^hich no eloquence brought against him could withstand. Indeed, it was perfectly well known that it alone returned him; for when upon an occasion of considerable doubt and difficulty, the two parties of the county having been considered as equally balanced, he «fas advised by some foolish friend, or enemy in disguise, to address hem in a serious speech — the consequences were near proving Jtisastrous to his interests. When he commenced — ''Gentlemen — upon an occasion of such important difficulty" — there was for about a quarter of a minute a dead silence — that of astonishment. Topertoe, however, who had stuck fast, was obliged to commence again — "Gentlemen — upon an occasion of such — ;" but it would not do. The groaning, shouting, hooting, and yelling, were deafening for some minutes, much to the gratification of his opponent. At length there was something like a pause, and several voices shouted out, " What the divil do you mane, Tom ?" " He's showin' the garrait, bane* at kst," shouted another, '*desartin' his colours!" '* Oh ! we're gintlemin now it seems, and not his own blaggards, as we used to be — Topertoe's vagabones that stood by him. Oh, no, Tom ; to hell with you and your gintlemin. Three cheers for Gully Preston !" Tom saw it was nearly over with him, and Preston's hopes ran White horse — a term of cowardice in Lcland. 16 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, high. *' Aisy, boys," said the other, resuming his old, and, indeed, bis natural manner ; " Aisy, ye vagabones. Topertoe*s ould speech for ever ! Here I am again, ye blaggards, that never had a da/a illness but the gout, bad luck to it !" &c., &c. This was enough ; the old feeling of fun and attachment kindled up ; the multitude joined him in his speech, precisely as a popular singer is joined by the gods of the upper gallery in some favourite air ; and no sooner was it concluded, than the cheering, throwing up of hats, and huzzaing, gave ample proof that he had completely recovered his lost ground, and set himself right with the people. Such is a brief sketch of old Topertoe, the first Lord of Castle Cumber, who, by the way, did not wear his honours long, the gout, to which he was a martyr, having taken him from under his coronet, before he had it a year on his brow. He was one of the men peculiar to his times, or, rather, who aided in shaping them ; easy, full of strong but gross impulses ; quick and outrageous in resentment, but possessed of broad uncouth humour, and a sudden oblivion of his passion. Without reading or education — he was coarse, sensual, careless, and extravagant, having no strong or purer principle to regulate him than that which originated in his passions or his necessities. Of shame or moral sanction he knew nothing ; and, consequently, held himself amenable to the world on two points only- — the laws of duelling and those of gaming. He would take an insult from no man, and always paid his gambling debts with honour; but beyond that, he neither feared nor cared for anything in this world, and being a member of the Hellfire Club, he did not believe in the other. In fact, he was the very man on whose peculiar temperament and character, a corrupt and wily politician might expect to impress his own principles with success. Topertoe i;»us, consequently, not only the veiy man to sell his country, but \o sell it at the highest price, and be afterwards the first to laugh, as he did, at his own corruption, and say that " he was devilish ghid be had a country to sell." Of his eldest son, who, of course, succeeded him to his rank and pro^-erty, there is not so much to be said at present, because he will appe,%r, to some extent, as an actor in our drama. It is enough then to saf here, that he inherited his father's vices, purged of their vulgarity and grossness, without a single particle of his uncertain and capricious good nature. In his manners he appeared more the gentleman — was lively, shallow, and versatile ; but having been educated at an English school and an English college, lie felti THE IRISH AGENT. 17 or affected to feel, all the fashionable prejudices of the day, and of his class, against his native country. He was an absentee from both pride and inclination ; and it is not surprising then, t-hat he knew but little of Ireland, and that that little was strongly to its disadvantage. Another brother there was, whose unpretending character requires little else than merely that he should be named. The honourable Alexander Topertoe, who was also educated in England, from the moment his father stained what he conceived to be the honour of their family, by receiving a title and twenty thousand pounds, as a bribe for his three votes against a native parliament, hung his head in mortification and shame; and having experienced at all times little else than neglect from his father and brother, he hurried soon afterwards to the continent with a heavy heart and a light purse whore, for the present, we must leave him. CHAPTER II. CHRISTIAN FORGIVENESS — BIRTH AND ORIGIN OF MR. M'CLUTCHY MR. HICKMAN, THE HEAD AGENT DARBY O'DRIVE, THE BAILIFF AND AN INSTRUCTIVE DIALOGUE. Time, which passes with a slow but certain pace, had already crept thrice around his yearly circle since the fair already described in the town of Castle Cumber. The lapse of three years, however, had made no change whatsoever in the heart or principles of Mr. Valentine M'Clutchy, although it had on his external manner and bearing. He now assumed more of the gentleman, and endeavoured to impress himself upon those who came in contact with him, as a person of great authority and importance. One morning after the period just mentioned had elapsed, he and his graceful son, " Mister Phil," were sitting in the parlour of Constitution Cottage — for so they were pleased to designate a house which had no pretension whatsoever to that unpretending appellation. " So, father," said Phil, "you don't forget that such was the treatment M'Loughlin gave you?" " Why, I remember it, Phil ; but you know, Phil, I'm a patient and ft forgiving man notwithstanding. You know that, Phil. Ha, ha, ta I" IS VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, " That was certainly tlie worst case that came across us yet," replied the son. "None of the rest ventured to go so far, even wlien you had less power than you have now." •' I didn't tell you all, Phil," continued the father, following up the ifame train of thought. " And why not ?" said Phil. " Why should you conceal anything from me?" " Because," replied the other, " I think you have heard enough for the present." The fact was, that M'Clutchy's consciousness of the truth contained in M'Loughlin's indignant reproaches, was such as prevented him from repeating them even to his son ; knowing right well, that had he done so, they could not exactly have looked each other in the face, without sensations regarding their own conduct, which neither of them wished to avow. There is a hypocrisy in villainy sometimes so deep, that it cannot bear to repeat its own iniquity, even in the presence of those who are aware of it; and in this predicament stood Valentine M'Clutchy. " Maybe he has relented," said Phil, "or that he will give me his pretty daughter yet ; and you know they have the cash. The linen manufactory of M'Loughlin and Harman is flourishing." ** No, no, Phil," replied the father, "you must give her up. That's past ; but no matter — I'll forgive him." Phil looked at him and smiled. " Come, come, father," said he, " be original ; that last is a touch of M*Slime — of honest Solomon. Keep back the forgiveness yet awhile, maybe they may come round. Begad, and upon my honour and reputation, I shouldn't wish to lose the girl. No, father, don't forgive them yet awhile." "Phil, we'll do better for you, boy. Don't be a fool, I say* but have sense. I tell you what, Phil," continued his father, and his face assumed a ghastly, deadly look, at once dark and pallid — "Listen to me: Til forgive him, Phil, until the nettle, the chickweed, the burdock, the fulsome preshaghy the black fungus, the slimiest weed that grows — ay, till the green mould of ruin itself, grows upon the spot that is now his hearth — till the winter rain beats into, and the winter wind howls over it." "No marriage, then," said Phil. **No marriage. But what keepi Darby O'Drive ? The rascal should have been here before — . Oh, no," s^d he, looking at his watch, ** he has better than half an hour yet.*' " What steps do you intend to take, father ?" THE IRISH AGENT. 19 ** Phil, when Tm prepared, jou shall know them. In the meantime eave me; I must write to M'Slime, or send to him. M*Slimc*s aseful at a hint or suggestion ; but, with all his wiliness and hypocrisy, not capable of carrying a difficult matter successfully out, he overdoes everything by too much caution; and, consequently, gets himself into ridiculous scrapes : besides, I cannot, and will not, place full confidence in him. He is too oily, and cants too much, to be trusted. I think, still, we may use him, and overreach him into the bargain. Are you going into Castle Cumber ?" " I am." '* Well, drop these couple of letters in the Post Office, and tell Rankin he must have the carts finished by Monday next, at the farthest, or it will be worse for him. By the way, I have that fellow in my eye too. He had the assurance to tell me the other day, that he could not possibly undertake the carts, until he had M'Loughlin's job at the manufactory finished. Off with you now ; I see O'Drive and Hanlon coming up." Graceful Phil, in a few minutes, was mounted in his usual lofty Btate, on ** Handsome Harry," and dashed off to Castle Cumber. It may not be improper here, before we proceed farther, to give the reader some additional knowledge of the parentage and personal history of Mr. Valentine M'Clutchy, as well as a brief statement concerning the Castle Cumber property, and the gentleman who acted in the capacity of Head Agent, The mother, then, of Valentine M'Clutchy, or, as he was more generally called, Val the Vulture, was daughter to the county gaoler, Christie Clank by name, who had risen regularly through all the gradations of office, until the power of promotion could no farther go. His daughter, Kate Clank, was a celebrated beauty, and enjoyed a considerable extent of local reputation, independently of being a great favourite with the junior portion of the grand jury. Among the latter, however, there was one, a young squire of very libertine principles, named Deakcr, whose suit to the fair Miss Clank proved more successful than those of his competitors ; and the consequence was, the appearance of young Val. The reader, therefore, already perceives, that M'Clutchy's real name was Deaker ; but perhaps he is not aware, that, in the times of which we write, it was usual for young unmarried men of wealth, not to suffer their illegitimate children to be named after them. There were, indeed, many reasons for this. In the fii'st place, the mere fact of assuming the true name, was a standing argument of the father's profligacy. 20 , VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, Secondly, the morals of the class and the period were so licentious, that the ligitimate portion of a family did not like to be either out- numbered or insulted by their namesakes and illegitimate relatives, almost at every turn of the public roa,ds. In the third place, a young man of this description could not, when seeking for a wife, feel the slightest inclination to have a living catalogue of his immor- alities enumerated to her, under the names of Tom, or Dick, or Val so and so, all his children. This, of fcourse, was an involuntary respect paid to modesty, and, perhaps, the strongest argument for suppressing the true name. The practice, however, was not certainly universal ; but infrequent instances it existed, and Val the Vulture's was one of them. He was named after neither father nor mother, but after his grandmother, by the gaoler's side. Deaker would not suffer his name to be assumed ; and so far as his mother was con- cerned, the general tenor of her life rendered the reminiscence of her anything but creditable to her offspring. With respect to his educa- tion, Val's gratitude was principally due to his grandfather Clank, who had him well instructed. He, himself, from the beginning, was shrewd, clever, and intelligent, and possessed the power, in a singular degree, of adapting himself to his society, whenever he felt it his interest to do so. He could, indeed, raise or depress his manners in a very surprising degree, and with an effort that often occasioned astonishment. On the other hand, he was rapacious, unscrupulous, cowardly, and so vindictive, that he was never known to forgive an injury. These are qualities to which, when you add natural adroit- ness and talent, you have such a character as has too frequently im- pressed itself, with something like the agreeable sensations produced by a red hot burning iron, upon the distresses, fears, and necessities of the Irish people. M'Clutchy rose from the humble office of process-server, to that of bailiff's follower, bailiff, head-bailiff, barony constable, until, finally, he felt himself a kind of factotum on the Castle Cumber property ; and in proportion as he rose, so did his manners rise with him. For years before his introduction to our readers, he was the practical manager of the estate ; and so judiciously did he regulate his own fortunes on it, that without any shameless or illegal breach of honesty, he actually contrived to become a wealthy man, and to live in a respectable manner. Much, however, will have more, and Val was rapacious. On finding himself comparatively independent, he began to take more enlarged, but still very cautious measures to secure some of the good things of the estate to him and his. This he was the TnE IRISH AGENT. 21 hetter enabled to do, as he had, by the apparent candour of his man- ner, completely wormed himself into the full confidence of the head agent — a gentleman of high honour and integrity, remarkable alike for humanity and benevolence : but utterly without suspicion. Two or three farms, whose leases dropped, he most iniquitously took into his own hands, and so far wheedled the agent, that he induced that gentleman to think he was rendering a service to the property by doing so. The tenantry now began to murmur — a complaint came here, and another there — here was an instance of private and dis- guised oppression ; and this was followed by a vindictive attempt to injure either the property or character of some one who had the courage to tell him what he thought of his conduct. Val, apprehending that he might be outborne by too powerful a mass of testimony, contrived just then, through his misrepresentations to the agent, who still confided in him, and by the political influence of his father, the squire, who was the landlord's strongest electioneer- ing supporter in the county, to get himself formally appointed under- agent. Feeling now quite confident in his strength, and that his hold on the prejudices, and, we may add, the ignorance of the absentee landlord, was as strong, if not stronger than that of the agent himself, he began to give a greater and less guarded scope to his natural principles. Mr. Hickman, the agent, had been strongly disgusted by the political profligacy with which the union had been carried ; and had, on more than one occasion, intimated a doubt whether, as an honest man, he could render political support to any one who Iiad participated in its corruption, or recognised the justice of those prin- ciples on which it had been accomplished. All this gave M'Clutchy that imperturbable insolence which is inseparable from petty tyranny and licensed extortion. Day after day did Ids character come out in all its natural deformity. The outcry against him was not now con- fined to this portion of the property, or that — it became pretty general ; and, perhaps, at the time we have brought him on the stage, there w^as not a man in Ireland holding the situation he held, who was more feared and more detested. Some time previous to this, however, Hickman's eyes w^ere opened to liis undisguised character, and what he could do he did. On finding that the Vulture was reviving all the oppressive usages with which property in Ireland is so penally taxed, he immediately gave orders that such exactions should be discontinued by M'Clutchy, and resisted by the tenants. In spite of all this, however, there were upon the property many timid persons, who, dreading his malignity of purpose, 2^ VALLNTINE M'CLUTCHY, still continued to yield to his avarice and rapacity that which nothing else but a dread of his vengea-nce could extort from them. Thus did he feather his nest at the expense of their terrors. Hickman, who had also been agent to old Topertoe, felt a kind of personal attachment to that good-humoured reprobate, so long as he believed him to be honest. Old Tom's venality, however, at the Union, made him rather sick of the connection, and the conduct, or rather the more expensive profligacy of the young absentee lord, rendered his situation, as an honest, and humane agent, one of great pain to himself, considering his position between landlord and tenant. He knew, besides, that many men of his class had taken most scandalous advantages of the embarrassments which their honesty had occasioned in the affairs of their employers, and lent them their own rents in the moments of distress, in order to get a lien on their pro- perty. For this reason, and out of a feeling of honour and self- respect, Mr. Hickman had made it a point of principle to lend the young lord no money, under any circumstances. As far as he cotild legitimately, and within the ordinary calculations of humanity, feed Lord Cumber's prodigality of expenditure he did it. This, however, was not exactly the kind of agent which his lordship wanted, and however highly he respected and honoured him, still that direful word necessity, goaded him into a forgetfulness of liis own real interests and of what was due to Hickman. He wanted an agent with less feeling, less scruple, less independence, and more of that accom- modating principle which would yield itself to, and go down with the impetuous current of his offensive vices, and satisfy their cravings even at his own ruin. Such, then, was M*Clutcliy — such the position of Mr. Hickman, the agent — and such the general state of the Castle Cumber property. As to the principles and necessities of its pro- prietor, if they are not already known, we may assure our readers that they soon will be. Constitution Cottage, M'Clutchy's residence, wag, in fact, no cot- tage at all, as we have said, but a very respectabk house, and of con- •iderable size. Attached to it was an extensive yard and office- houses, an excellent garden, orchard, pigeon-house, and everything, in fact, that could constitute substantial comfort and convenience. It was situated beside a small clump of old beeclies, that sheltered it from the north — to the front lay, at a few miles distance, a range of fine mountains — and between them stretched as rich a valley, both iu fertility and beauty, as the eye of man could rest upon. The ground before the door fell by an ei\?y and gnidaal descent, until a little THE IRISH AGENT. 23 ftrrther down it reacted a green expanse of level meadow, through which a clear river wound its lingering course, as if loth to pass awaj from the rich and grassy banks that enclosed it. It was, in fact, a spot of that calm and perfectly rural character which draws the heart unconsciously to the secret charm that rests upon it, and which, even the casual traveller leaves behind him with regret. Some improve- ments were at the present time in an incipient state — such as planta- tions, garden walls, and what seemed the lines of an avenue, or approach to the house, which, by the way, stood in the centre of a farm that consisted of about eighty Irish acres. At length a single knock came, which was given by 0*Drive, for Hanlon, who was his assistant, durst not attempt such a thing in hia presence ; and if ever a knock conveyed the duplicity of the man who gave it that did. Though, as we said, but a single one, yet there was no mistaking its double meaning. It was at once impudent and servile ; it was impudent, as much as to say to the servants, " why don*t you open the door quickly for a man who is so deep in your master's confidence as I am ?" while to that master himself, it said, or seemed to say, "I am your creature, your instrument, your slave*, ready to execute any oppression, any hardship, or villany, on which you can employ me.** It is said, and we believe with truth, that in military life no officer is so severe and oppressive as he who has risen from the ranks, and been most obsequious there. We do not doubt it, for the principle is a strong one in human nature, and is by no means confined to either the army or navy. At all events, shuffling, and cringing, and slinking Darby O'Drive presented himself to Val the Vulture. There was a downcast, cowardly, shy, uneasy, expression in his blank, straggling features, that seemed to say, " for God's sake spare my very life — don't annihilate me — ^here I am — ^you see through me — heart, spirit, and soul — body, lungs, and lights — could I tell you a lie ? No* Could I deceive you — such a man as you, that can look through me as if I was a lanthorn, or a pane of glass without a bull's eye in it. No ! only let m£ live and I'll do your bidding." " Well," said Val, in a sharp, imperious tone, '* you're punctual for a wonder." " God be praised for that," replied Darby, wiping the top of hia nose with the finger and thumb of an old mitten ; " heaven be praise<3 that I'm not late." '* Hold your damned canting tongue, you knave, what place is this for it?" 24 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, ** Knave ! well I am then." " Yes, you know you are — ^you are all knaves — every bailiff is a knave — ahem — unless, indeed, one in a thousand." " It's truth, indeed, plaise your honour." *' Not but there's worse than you, after all, and be damned to you." " An' betther, sir, too, i' you plaise ; for sure, God help me, I'm not what I ought to be." *' Well, mend then, why dont you ? for you want it. Come now, no jaw, I tell you, but answer me what I am about to ask you ; not a word now." " Well, no, then, plaise your honour, I won't in throth." " Did you warn the townland of Ballymackscud ? " Yis, plaise your honour." ** Are they ready — have they the rent ?" " Only some o' them, sir — an other some is axin' for time, the thieves." *' Who are asking for time ?" *' Why the O'Shaughrans, sir — hopin', indeed, that your honour will let them wait till the markets rises, an' not be forced to sell the grain whin the prices is so lew now that it would ruin them — ^but it's wondherful the onraisonableness of some people. Says I, * his honour, Mr. M'Clutchy, is only doin' his duty ; but a betther hearted or a kinder man never bruk the world's bread than he is to them that desarves at his hands ;' so, sir, they began to — but — well, well, i'ts no matter — I tould them they were wrong — made it plain to them — but they wouldn't be convinced, say what I might." *' Why, what did they say, were they abusing me ? — I suppose so." " Och ! the poor sowls, sure it was only ignorance and foolishness on their part — onraisonable cratures all, or most o* them, is." " Let me know at once what they said, you knave, or upon my honour and soul I'll turn you out of the room and bring in Hanlon." *' Plaise your honour, he wasn't present — I left him outside, in re- gard that I didn't think he was fit to be trust — a safe witn — no matther, 'twas for a raison I had." He gave a look at M*Clutchy as he spoke, compounded of such far and distant cunning, scarcely per- ceptible — and such obvious, yet retreating cowardice, scarcely per- ceptible abo — that no language could convey any notion of it. " Ah I" said Val, " you are a neat lad — but go on — what did they say, for I must have it out of you." " That I may die in happiness, your honour, but I'm afeard to tell you — but, sure, if you'd give your promise, sir, your bright word of honour, that you'd not pay me off for it, I'll tell you." THE IRISH AGENT. 25 ** All ! you d d crawling reptile, out with it ; I won*t pay you off.*' ** Well, then, here it is — oh ! the curse o*Cromwel an them- this day, for an ungrateful pack ! they said, your honour, that — ^bad luck to them I pray — that there wasn't so black hearted a scoundrel on the face of the airth as your four quarthers ; that the gallows is gapin* for you ; and that there's as many curses before you in hell as 'ud blisther a griddle." M'Clutchy*s face assumed its usual expression of diabolical malig- nity, whilst, at the same time, he gave a look so piercing at Darby, as if suspecting that the curse, from its peculiar character, was at least, partially his own invention, — that the latter, who stood like a criminal, looking towards the floor, felt precisely what was going forward in the other's mind, and knew that he had nothing else for it but to look him steadily in the face, as a mark of his perfect inno- cence. Gradually, therefore, and slowly, he raised his small grey eyes until they met those of M'Clutchy, and thus the gaze continued for nearly a minute between them, and that with such steadiness on both sides, that they resembled a mesmeric doctor and his patient, rather than anything else to which we would compare them. On the part of M'Clutchy the gaze was that of an inquisitor looking into the heart of him whom he suspected ; on that of Darby, tho eye, un- conscious of evil, betrayed nothing but the purest sirjplicity and eandour. And yet, when we consider that Darby most unquestionably did not only ornament, but give peculiar point to the opinions expressed by the tenantry against the Vulture, perhaps we ought to acknow- ledge that of the two he possessed a larger share of histrionic talent. At length M'Clutchy, whose eye, for reasons with which tho reader is already acquainted, was never either a firm or a steady one, removed it from Darby, who, nevertheless, followed it with a simple but pertinacious look, as much as to say, I have told you truth, and am now waiting your leisure to proceed. "What do you stare at?" said M'Clutchy, strongly disposed to vent his malignity on the next object to him ; " and, you beggarly scoundrel, what did you say to that ? Tell me, or I'll heave you, head foremost, through the window ?'' "Why," replied Darby, in a quiet, confident, and insinuating tone, * I raisoned wid them — raisoned wid them like a Christian. ' ^'ow, Sheemus O'Shaughran,' says I, *you'vp said what I know to be a lio» c 88 TALENTINE M*CLUTCnr, ** Well, then, for this one time, in regard of a Ihin-roe* or the red ivather in my stomach, I'll try it. I drank bog-bine last night goin* to bed, but divil a morsel o' good it did me." M'Clutchy handed him a full glass, which he held steadily before his eye, till the other put up the decanter. " Your honour's health, sir," said he, " and fireside ; and if you war to throw me out o' fifty windies, I'll add to that — ^here's wishin* that the devil had his own^ and I know where you'd soon be." " How, you villanous scoundrel," said Val, starting with rising wrath, " what do you mean by that ?" Darby made no reply, but hastily tossing off the glass, he seized his hat, bolted outside the door, and putting in his head, said in a kind of loud but confidential whisper— " In Hickman's place, your honour T* "• CHAPTER III. SOLOMON M*SLIME, A RELIGIOUS ATTORNEY HIS OFFICE FAMILY DEVOTIONS BLESSED SUBSTITUTE FOR BREAKFAST MISPRISION OP BLASPHEMY — LETTER ON BUSINESS. Pass we now to another worthy character, who had locality upon the aforesaid property of Castle Cumber. Solomon M'Slime, the law agent, was a satisfactory proof of the ease with which religion and law may meet and aid each other in the heart and spirit of the same person. An attorney, no doubt, is at all times an amiable, honest, and feeling individual, simply upon professional principles ; but when to all this is added the benignant influence of serious and decided piety, it would not be an easy task to find, among the several classes which compose society in general, anything so truly engaging, so morally taintless, so sweetly sanctimonious, so seductively comely, as is that pure and evangelical exhibition of human character, that is found to be developed in a religious attorney. Solomon M'Slime was a man in whose heart the two principles kept their constant residence ; indeed so beautifully were they blended, that his law might frequently be mistaken for 4'eligion, j ust • Lhin-roe, or red water— the Irish name for lieart bura THE IRISH AGENT. 20 as his religion, on the other hand, was often known to smack strongly of law. In this excellent man, these principles accommodated each other with a benignant indulgence that manifested the beauty of holiness in a high degree. If, for instance, law in its progress presented to him any obstacle of doubtful morality, religion came forward with a sweet but serious smile, and said to her companion, ** My dear friend, or sister, in this case / permit you." And on the contrary, if religion at any time felt over sensitive or scrupulous, law had fifty arguments of safety, and precedent, and high authority to justify her. But, indeed, we may observe, that in a religious attorney, these illiberal scruples do not often occur. Mr. M'Slime knew the advantages of religion too well, to feel that contraction of the mind and principles, which in so many ordinary cases occasions religion and common morality to become almost identical. Religion to him was a friend — a patroness in whose graces he stood so high, that she permitted him to do many things which those who were more estranged from her durst not attempt. He enjoyed that state ol blessed freedom which is accorded to so few, and, consequently, had his *' permissions" and his " privileges" to go in the wicked warfares of this trying world much greater lengths than those who were less gifted and favoured by the sweet and consoling principle whid regulated and beautified his life. Solomon was a small man, thin, sharp-featured, and solemn. He was deliberate in his manner and movements, and studiously correct in speech. Though solemn, however, he was not at all so severe oi querulous, as is too frequently the case with those who affect to be religious. Far from it. On the contrary, in him the gospel gifts appeared in a cheerful gravity of disposition, and a good-humoured lubricity of temper, that could turn with equal flexibility and suavity to every incident of life, no matter how trying to the erring heart. All the hinges of his spirit seemed to have been graciously and abundantly oiled, and such was his serenity, that it was quite evident he had a light within himself. It was truly a pleasure to speak to, or transact business with such a man, he seemed always so full of inward peace, and comfort, and happiness. Nay, upon some occasions, he could rise to a kind of sanctified facetiousness that was perfectly delightful, and in the very singleness of his heart, would, of an odd time, let out, easily and gently it is- true, a small joke, that savoured a good deal of secular humour. Then he was so full of charity and affection for all that were frail and erring among our kind, that he never, or seldom, breathed a 80 VALENTINE M'cLUTCHY, harsh word against the offender. Or if, in the fulness of his benevolence, he found it necessary to enumerate their faults, and place them, as it were, in a catalogue, it was done in a spirit of such love, mingled with sorrow, that those to whom he addressed himself, often thought it a pity that he himself did not honour religion, by becoming the offender, simply for the sake of afterwards becoming the penitent. In the religious world he was a very active and prominent man — punctual in his devotional exercises, and always on the look out for gome of those unfortunate brands with which society abounds, that he might, as he termed it, have the pleasure of plucking them out of the burning. He never went without a bible and a variety of tracts in his pocket, and seldom was missed from the platform of a religious meeting. He received subscriptions for all public and private charities, and has repeatedly been known to offer and afford consolation to the widow and orphan, at a time when the pressure of business rendered the act truly one of christian interest and affection. The hour was not more than ten o'clock a.m. when Darby entered his office, in which, by the way, lay three or four bibles, in different places. In a recess on one side of the chimney-piece, stood a glass- covered book-case, filled with the usual works on his profession ; whilst hung upon the walls, and consequently nearer observation, were two or three pensile shelves, on which were to be found a small collection of religious volumes, tracts, and other productions, all bearing on the same subject. On the desk was a well-thumbed bible to the right, which was that used at family prayer; and on the opposite side, a religious almanack, and a copy of congregation hymns. Darby on reaching the hall-door knocked with considerably moi*e decision than he had done at M'Clutchy's, but without appearing to have made himself heard; after waiting patiently for some time, however, he knocked again, and at length the door was opened by a very pretty servant girl, about seventeen, who, upon his inquiring if her master was at home, replied in a sighing voice, and with a demure face. " oh, yes — at family prayer." " When he's done," said Darby, " maybe you'd be kind enough to »ay that Darby O'Drive has a message for him." The pretty servant did not nod — an act which she considered aa too flippant for the solemnity of devotion — ^but she gently bowed her head, and closed her eyes in assent — upon which was heard a eoroewhat cheerful groan, replete with true unction, inside the THE IRISH AGENT. 3\ parlour, followed by a voice that said, " ah I Susanna !" pronounced in a tone of grave but placid remonstrance ; Susanna immediately entered, and the voice, which was that of our attorney, proceeded — "Susanna, take your place — long measure, eight lines, four eights, and two sixes." The psalm was then raised or pitched by Solomon himself, who was followed by six or eight others, each in a different key, but all with such reluctance to approach their leader, that from a principle of un worthiness, they allowed him, as the more pious, to get far in advance of them. In this manner they sang two verses, and it was remarkable, that although on coming to the conclusion, Solomon was far ahead, and the rest nowhere, yet, from the same principle of unworthiness, they left the finish, as they did the start, altogether to himself. The psalm was accordingly wound up by a kind of understanding or accompaniment between his mouth and nose, which seemed each moved by a zealous but godly struggle to excel the other, if not in melody at least in loudness. They then all knelt down, and Solomon launched, with a sonorous voice, into an extempore prayer, which was accompanied by a solemn commentary of groanings, sighings, meanings, and muffled ejaculations, that cannot otherwise be described, except by saying, that they resembled something between a screech and a scream. Their devotions being over, Darby, having delivered M'Clutchy*s letter, was desired to take a seat in the office, until Mr. M' Slime should be at leisure to send a reply. " Sit down, my good friend. Darby, sit down, and be at ease, at least in your body ; I do not suffer any one who has an immortal soul to be saved to stand in my office — and as you have one to be saved. Darby, you must sit. The pride of this vain life is our besetting sin, and happy are they who are enabled to overcome it — may He be praised ! — sit down." " I'm thankful to you, sir," said Darby ; " oh, thin, Mr. M'Slime, it would be well for the world if every attorney in it was like you, sir — there would be little honesty goin* asthray, sir, if there was." " Sam Sharpe, my dear boy, if you have not that bill of costs finished — " « No sir." "A good boy, Sam — well, do not omit thirteen and four pence, for two letters, which I ought to have sent — as a part of my moral, independently of my professional duty — to widow Lenehan, having explained to her, by word of mouth, that which I ought in conscieuce, 82 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, to have written — but indeed my conscience often leads me to the— what should I say ? — the merciful side in these matters. No, Darby, ray friend, you cannot see into my heart, or you would not say so — I am frail. Darby, and sinful — I am not up to the standard, my friend, neither have I acted up to my privileges — the freedom of the gospel is a blessed thing, provided we abuse it not — well, Sam, my good young friend — " ** That was entered before, sir, under the head of instructions." *' Very right — apparently very right, Sam, and reasonable for you to think so — but this was on a different occasion, although the same case." ** Oh, I beg pardon, sir, I did not know that.** •* Sam, do not beg pardon — not of me — ^nor of any but One — go there, Sam, you require it; we all require it, at least I do abundantly. Darby, my friend, it is a principle with me never to lose an opportu- nity of throwing in a word in season — but as the affairs of this life must be attended to — only in a secondary degree, I admit — I will, therefore, place you at the only true fountain where you can be properly refreshed. Take this bible. Darby, and it matters not where you open it, read and be filled." Now, as Darby, in consequence of his early attendance upon M'Clutchy, had been obliged to leave home that morning without his breakfast, it must be admitted that he was not just then in the best possible disposition to draw much edification from it. After poring over it with a very sombre face for some time, he at length looked shrewdly at M' Slime, closing one eye a little, as was his custom ; " I beg pardon, sir," said he, ** but if Fm not mistaken thia book I believe is intended more for the sowl than the body." "For the body ! truly. Darby, that last is a carnal thought, and I am sorry to hear it from your lips : — the bible is a spiritual book, my friend, and spiritually must it be received." " But, to a man like me, who hasn't had his breakfast to-day yet, how will it be sarviceable ? will reading it keep off hunger or fill my stomach ?" " Ah ! Darby, my friend, that is gross talk — such views of divine truth are really a perversion of the gifts of heaven. That book although it will not fill your stomach, as you grossly call it, actually will do it figuratively, which in point of fact is the same thing, or a greater — it will enable you to bear hunger as a dispensation, Darby, to which it is your duty as a Christian, to submit. Nay, It will do more, my friend ; it will exalt your faith to such a divine THE IRISH AGENT. 33 pitch, that if yon read it with the proper spirit, you will pray that the dispensation thus laid on you may continue, in order that the inner man may be purged." "Faith, and Mr. M'Slime, with great respect, if that is your doctrine it isn't your practice. The sorra word of prayer — God bless the prayers ! — came out o' your lips to-day, antil you laid in a good warm breakfast, and afther that, for fraid of disappointments, the very first thing you prayed for was your daily bread — didn't I hear you? But I'll tell you what, sir, ordher me my breakfast, and then I'll be spakin' to you. A hungry man, or a hungry woman, or her hungry childre, can't eat bibles; although it is well known, God knows, that when hunger, and famine, and starvation are widin them and upon them, the same bible, but nothing else, is handed to them by pious people in the shape of consolation and relief. Now, I'm thinkin', Mr. M' Slime, that that is not the best way to make the bible respected. Are you goin' to give me my breakfast, sir ? upon my sow], beggin' your pardon, if you do, I'll bring the bible home wid me, if that will satisfy you; for we haven't got e'er a one in our own little cabin." " Sharpe, my good boy, I'll trouble you to take that bible out of his hands. I am not in the slightest degree offended, Darby — you will yet, I trust, live to know better ; may He grant it ! I overlook the misprision of blasphemy on your part, for you didn't know what you said ; but you will, you will." '* This is a short repiy to Mr. M*Clutchy's note. I shall see him on my way to the Sessions to-morrow, but I have told him so in it. And now, my friend, be assured I overlook the ungodly and carnal tenour of your conversation — we are all frail and prone to error ; I, at le«st, am' so — still we must part as Christians ought, Darby. You have asked me for a breakfast, but I overlook that also — I ought to overlook it as a Christian ; for is not your immortal soul of infinitely greater value than your perishable body ? Un- doubtedly — and as a proof that I value it more, receive this — this, my brother sinner — oh ! that I could say my brother Christian also ! — receive it. Darby, and in the proper spirit too ; it is a tract written by the Rev. Vesuvius M'Slug, entitled 'Precious Puddings for Saintly Stomachs ;' I have myself found it graciously consolatory and re- freshing, and I hope that you also may, my friend." "Begad, sir," said Darby, "it may be very good in its way, and I've no doubt but it's a very generous and Christian act in you to give it — espeshilly since it cost you nothing — but for all that, upoD c2 34 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, my sowl, Pm strongly of opinion that to a hungry man itfe a bad substitute for a breakfast/* " Ah ! by the way, Darby," lending a deaf ear to this observation, •*have you heard, within the last day or two, anything of Mr. M*Clutcliy*s father, Mr. Deaker — how he is ?" " Wliy, sir," replied Darby, " I'm tould he*s breaking down fast ; but the divil a one of him will give up the lady. Parsons, and ministers, and even priests, have all been at him ; but it's useless ; he curses and damns them right and left, and won't be attended by any one but her — hadn't you betther try him, Mr. M'Slime ? Maybe you might succeed. Who knows but a little of the ' Precious Pudding' might sarve him as well as others. There's a case for you. Sure he acknowledges himself to be a member of the Hell-fire club !" •' He's a reprobate, my friend — impenitent, hopeless. I have myself tried him, spoken with him, reasoned with him, but never were my humility and my patience so strongly tried. His language I will not repeat — but canting knave, hypocrite, rascal attor — no, it is useless and unedifying to repeat it. Now go, my friend, and do not forget that precious tract which you have thrust so disrespectfully into your pocket." Darby, after a shrewd wink at one of the apprentices, which wa» returned, passed out, and left Mr. M'Slime to the pursuit of his — salvation. In the meantime, as we authors have peculiar " privileges," as Mr. M* Slime would say, we think it only due to our readers to let them have a peep at M'Slime's note to our friend Valentine M'Clutchy. " My dear friend — I felt as deep an interest in the purport of your note as you yourself possibly could. The parties alluded to I appreciate precisely as you do — M'Loughlin has in the most unchristian manner assailed my character as well as yours. So has his partner in the concern — I mean Harman. But then, my friend, are we not Christians, and shall we not return good for evil ? Shall we not forgive them ? Some whispers, hints, very gentle and delicate, have reached my ears, which I do not wish to commit to paper; — but this I may say, until I see you to-morrow, that I think your intentions with respect to M'Loughlin and Harman are premature. There is a screw loose somewhere, so to speak, that is all — but I believe, I can say, that if your father, Deaker, will act to our purposes, all will be as we could wish. This is a delicate subject, my dear friend, but still, I am of opinion, that if you could ^y any practicable means soften the unfortunate female who possesses THE IRISH AGENT. 35 guch an ascendancy over him, all will be right. I would, myself undertake the perilous task for your sake — and perilous to ordinary men I admit it would be, for she is beyond question' exceedingly comely. In me this would appear disinterested, whilst in you, suspicion would become strong. Cash is wanted in the quarter you know, and cash has been refused in another quarter, and wlien we meet I shall tell you more about this matter. In the mean time it is well that there is no legitimate issue — but should he will his property to this Dalilah — or could she be removed? — I mean to a local distance. But I shall see you to-morrow (d.v.), when Ave can have freer conversation upon what may be done. "With humble but sincere prayers for your best wishes and welfare, ** I am, my dear friend, " Thine in the bonds of Christian love, "Solomon M'Shime. . "P.S. As it is a principle of mine to neglect no just opportunity of improving my deceitful heart, I bought from a travelling pedlar this morning a book with the remarkable title of 'The Spiritual Attorney ; or A Sure Guide to the Other World.' I have not yet had time to look at any thing but the title page, and consequently am not able to inform you tvhich of the worlds it alludes to, ha ! ha ! You see, my friend, I do not think there is evil in a joke that is harmless, or has a moral end in view, as every joke ought to have. " Thine as before, **SoL. M'Slime." CHAPTER IV. POLL DOOLIN THE CHILD CADGER RAYMOND HER SON SHORT DIALOGUE ON THE TIMES — POLL's OPINION ON THE CAUSES OF IMMORALITY — SOLOMON IS GENEROUS A SQUIRE OP THE OLD SCH OL AND A MORAL DIALOGUE. The next morning was that on which the Quarter Sessions of Castle Cumber commenced ; and of course it was necessary for Darby O'D.ive, who was always fuU of business on such occc^sions, to see M*Clutchy, in order to receive instructions tcucxiing Lis Cities, on 86 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, vai'ious proceedings connected with the estate. He had reached th* cross-roads that ran about half-way between Constitution Cottage and Castle Cumber, when he met, just where the road turned to M'Clutchy's, a woman named Poll Doolin, accompanied, as sb« mostly was, by her son — a poor, harmless idiot, named Raymond ; both of whom were well known throughout the whole parish. Poll was a thin, sallow woman, with piercing dark eyes, and a very gipsy-like countenance. Her dress was always black, and very much worn ; in fact, every thing about her was black— Vack stockings, black bonnet, black hair, and black kerchief. Poll's occupation was indeed a singular one, and not very creditable to the morals of the day. Her means of living were derived from the employment of child-cadger to the Foundling Hospital of Dublin. In other words, she lived by conveying illegitimate children from the places of their birth to the establishment just mentioned, which has been very properly termed a bounty for national immorality. Whenever a birth of this kind occurred, Poll was immediately sent for — received her little charge with a name — whether true or false inattered not — pinned to its dress — then her travelling expenses ; after which she delivered it at the hospital, got a receipt for its delivery, and returned to claim her demand, which was paid only on producing it. In the mean time, the unfortunate infant had to encounter ail ike comfoi'ts of the establishment, until it was drafted out to a charter school, in which hotbed of pollution it received that exquisitely moral education that enabled it to be sent out into society, admirably qualified to sustain the high character of Protestantism.* " Morrow, Poll,** said Darby; ''what's the youngest news wid you? And Raymond, Na hatthat my boy, how goes it wid you ?" "I don*t care for you," replied the fool ; "you drove away Widow Brannigan's cow, an* left the childre to the black wather. Bad luck to you !" Darby started ; for there is a supervstition among the Irish, that ,the curse of an "innocent** is one of the most unlucky that can be uttered. ♦' Don't curse me" replied Darby ; '' sure, Raymond, I did only my duty." " Then who made you do your duty ?** asked the other. *' Why, Val the Vul— hem— Mr. M'Clutchy, to be sui-/* * See npt^ A in Appendix. THE IRISH AGENT. rj " Bad luck to him then !" His mother, who bad been walking a little before him, turned, and put her hand hastily towards his mouth, with the obvious intention of suppressing the imprecation ; but too late ; it had escaped, and be the consequence what it might, Val had got the exciting cause of it. " My poor unfortunate boy," said she, " you oughtn't to curse any body ; stop this minute, and say God bless him." " God bless who ?" " Mr. M*Clutchy." " The devil bless him ! ha, ha, ha ! Doesn't he harry the poor, an* drive away their cows from them — doesn't he rack them, an' rob them — harry them, rack them, rob them — " Harry them, rack them, rob them, Rob them, rack them, harry them— - Harry them, rack them, rob them, Rob them, rack them, harry them !" This he sung in an air somewhat like " Judy Callaghan.* " Ha, ha, ha ! Oh the devil bless him ! and they say a blessin' from the devil is very like a curse from God." The mother once more put up her hands to his face, but only with the intention of fondling and caressing him. She tenderly stroked down his head, and patted his cheek, and attempted to win him out of the evil humour, into which the sight of Darby, and the mention of M'Clutchy had thrown him. Darby could observe, however, that sIk; appeared to be deeply troubled by the idiot's conduct, as wai evident by the trembling of her hands, and a perturbation of manner, which she could not conceal. " Raymond," she said, soothingly, " won't you be good for me, darlin' — for your own mother, my poor helpless boy ? Won't you be good for me ?" ** I will," said he, in a more placid voice. " And you will not curse any body any more ?" *' No, mother, no." " And won't you bless Mr. M'Clutchy, my dear child ?" " There's a fig for him," he replied — " there's a fig for him. Now !" ** But you didn't bless him, my darlin' — ^you didn't bless him yet." As she spoke the words, her eye caught his, and she perceived that it began to gleam and kindle. «* Well no," said she hastily ; " no, I won't ask you ; only hould your tongue — and say no more." 9S VALENTINE M^CLUTCIiY, She again patted his cheek tenderly, and the fiery light which began to burn in his eye died gradually away, and no other expression remained in it, but the habitual one of innocence and good nature *'No, no," said she, shaking her head, and speaking as much to herself as to Darby ; " I know him too well ; no earthly power will put him out of his own way, once he takes it into his head. This minute, if I had spoke another word about the blessin*, M'Clutchy would a got another curse ; yet, except in these fits, my poor child is kindness and tenderness itself; and seldom spakes ill of any body unless some one that's not good." " Well now," said Darby, "that that's over, can you tell me, Poll, what's the news ? When were you in Dublin ?" " I've given that up," replied Poll ; " I'm too ould and stiff for it now. As for the news, you ought to know what's goin' as well as I do. You're nearly as much on the foot." " No ; nor if every head in the parish was 'ithin side o' mine, I wouldn't know as much in the news line as you. Poll." " The news that's goin' of late. Darby, is not good, an' you know it. There's great grumblin,* an' great complaints, ever since Mr. M'Clutchy became Undher Agent ; and you know that, too." " But how can I prevent that ?" said Darby ; " sure I'd side wid the people if I could." " You'd side wid the people, an* you'd side wid the man that oppresses them, even in spite of Mr. Hickman." " God bless Mr. Hickman !" said Raymond, " and the divil curse him ! and sure 'tis well known that the divil's curse is only another name for God's blessin'. God bless Mr. Hickman !" "Amen, my darlin' child, wid all my heart," said Poll; " Im t, Darby," she continued, "take my word for it, that these things won't end well. The estate and neighbourhood was peaceable and quiet till the Vulture began his pranks, and now " " Very well," said Darby, *' the blame be his, an' if it comes to that, the punishment ; so far as myselfs consarned, I say, let every herrin' hang by its own tail — / must do my duty. But tell me, Poll — hut, woman, never mind the Vulture — let him go to the devil his own way ; tell me — do you ever hear from your son Frank, that Brian M'Loughlin sent acrass ?" " No," said she, " not a word ; but the curse o' heaven on Brian M'Loughlin! Was my fine young man worth no more than his garran of a horse, that he didn't steal either, till he was put to it by the FiniganSi** THE IRISH AGENT. 33 *' Well, sure two o* them were sent over soon afther him, if that's any comfort." " It's no comfort," replied Poll, ** but I'll tell you what's a comfort, the thought that I'll never die till I have full revinge on Brian M^Loughlin — ay, either on him or his — or bot'h. Come, Raymond, have you ne'er a spare curse now for Brian M'Loughlin ? — you could give a fat one to M*Clutchy this minute — an' have you none for Brian M'Loughlin ?" " No," replied the son, " he does'nt be harryin the poor." " Well, but he transported your brother." " No matter ; Frank used to beat me — he was bad, an' Brian M'Loughlin was good to me, an' does be good to me ; he gives me a bully dinner or breakfast whenever I go there — an' a good bed in the barn ; I won't curse him. Now !" " It's no use," continued Poll, *' it's no use ; he'll only do what he likes himself, an' the best way is to never heed him." " I believe so," said Darby, " but where's your daughter Lucy now, Poll?" " Why," said Poll, " she has taken to my trade, an' thravels up to the Fondlin' ; although, dear knows, it's hardly worth her while now — it won't give her salt to her porridge, poor girl." "Why, are the times mendin'?" asked Darby, who spoke in a moral point of view. " Mendin' !" exclaimed Poll, " oh, ay indeed ; throth they're not fit to be named in the one day with what they used to be. But^ indeed, of late I'm happy to say that they are improvin' a bit," said she, speaking professionally. " M'Clutchy's givin' them a lift, for I've ever an' always remarked, that distress, an* poverty, an' neglect o' the poor, an' hardship, an' parsecution, an' oppression, and any thing that way, was sure to have my very heart broke wid business." " And tell me. Poll — did you ever happen to get a job from a sartia pious gintleman o' the name of M*Slime? — now tell the thruth." "It's a question," replied Poll, "you have no right to ax — you must know. Darby O'Drive, that I've had my private business a« well as my public business, an' that I'd suffer that right hand to be cut off* sooner than betray trust. Honour bright, or what's the world good for I" They now reached a spot where the road branched into two, but Poll still kept to that which led to M*Clutchy*s. " Are you for the Cottage too ?" asked Darby. 40 VALENTINE M'CLUTCnY, " I am," replied Poll, '* I've been sent for ; but what he wants wid me, I know no more than the man in the moon." Just then the tramp of a horse's feet was heard behind them, and in a minute or two, Solomon M' Slime, who was also on his way to the Cottage, rode up to them. *' A kind good morning to you. Darby, my friend ! I trust you did not neglect to avail yourself of the — Ah !" said he, complacently, on catching a glimpse of Poll's face, " I think I ought to recollect your features, my good woman — but, no — I can't say I do — No, I must mistake them for those of another — but, indeed, the best of us is liable to mistake and error — all frail — flesh is grass." *' You might often see my face," returned Poll, " but I don't think ever we spoke before. I know you to look at you, sir, that's all — an' it's thrue what you say too, sir ; there's nothing but frailty in the world — divil a much else — howsomever, be that as it may, honour bright's my motive''* " And a good motto it is, my excellent woman ; is that interesting young man your son ?" " He is, sir ; but he's a poor innocent that hasn't the full complement of wit, sir, God help himl" " Well, my good woman," continued Solomon, " as he appears to be without shoes to his feet, will you accept of five shillings, which is all the silver I have about me, to buy him a pair." " Many thanks, Mr. M'Sl-hem — many thanks, sir; honour bright's my motive." " And let it always be so, my excellent woman ; a good morning to you very kindly ! Darby, I bid you also good morning, and peace be with you both." So saying, he rode on at a quiet, easy amble, apparently at peace with his heart, his conscience, his sleek cob, and all the world besides. The sessions of Castle Cumber having concluded as sessions usually conclude, we beg our readers to accompany us to Deaker Hall, the residence of M'Clutchy's father, the squire. This man was far advanced in years, but appeared to have been possessed of a constitution which sustains sensuality, or perhaps that retrospective spirit which gloats over its polluted recollections, on to the very rerge of the grave. In the case before us, old age had sharpened the inclination to vice in proportion as it diminished the power of being vicious, and presented an instance of a man, at the close of a long life, watching over the grave of a corrupted heart, witli a hope of meeting the wan spectres of his own departed passions, since he THE IRISH AGENT. 41 oould not meet the passions themselves ; and he met them, for they could not rest, but returned to their former habitation, like unclean spirits as they were, each bringing seven more along with it, but not to torment him. Such were the beings with which the soul of this aged materialist was crowded. During life his well known motto was, " let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die." Upon this principle, expanded into still wider depravity, did he live and act during a protracted existence, and to those who knew him, and well known he was, there appeared something frightfully revolting in the shameless career of this impenitent old infidel. Deaker was a large man, with a rainbow protuberance before, whose chin, at the time we speak of, rested upon his breast, giving, to him the exact character which he bore — that of a man who to the last was studious of every sen«ual opportunity. His grey, goatish eye, was vigilant and circumspect, and his under lip protruded in a manner, which, joined to the character of his age, left no one at a loss for the g-neral subject matter of his thoughts. He always wore top boots, and generally went on horseback, having that part of his hat which rested on the collar of his coat, turned up and greasy. Squire Deaker's language was not more moral than his life — f r he not only enforced his principles by his example, but also by his precept. His conversation consequently resolved itself into a mingled stream of swearing and obscenity. Ridicule cf religion, and a hardened triumph in his own iniquitous exploits, illustrated and confirmed by aprodigality of blasphemous asseverations, constituted the staple of his thoughts and expressions. According to his own principles he could not look forward to another life, and consequently all that remained for him was to look back upon an unbroken line of seduction and proflicacy — upon w^ealth and influence, not merely abused, but prostituted to the lowest and grossest purposes of our worst passions — upon systematic crime — unmanly treachery — and that dishonest avarice which constituted the act of heartless desertion in himself the ultimate ruin and degradation of his victims. Such was this well known squiie of the old school, whose portrait, taken from life, will be recognized by every one who ever knew him, should any such happen to peruse those pages. At the period, of which we write, Squire Deaker was near eighty, and although feeble and broken down, he still exhibited the remains of a large, coarse, strong-boned animal, not without a vigorous twinkle of low cunning in his eye, and a duplicity of character and principle about hi3 angular and ill-shaped eye brows which could not 42 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY. be mistaken. He was confined to his bed, and for the first time, during many years, was unable to attend the Castle Cumber quarter sessions. It was the second or third day after their close, that about the hour of ten o'clock, a.m., he awoke from a heavy and unhealthy doze, which could scarcely be termed sleep, but rather a kind of middle state between that and waking. At length he raised his head, gasped, and on finding no one in the room, he let fly a volley of execrations, and rang the bell. " Is there any one there ? Any one within hearing ? I say Isabel, Isabel, Jezabel, are you all dead and d d ?" " No, your honour, not yet — some of us, at least," replied a shrewd- looking lad of about eighteen, making his appearance. "Ha, Lanty — it's you, is it? What do you mean by that, you devil's pick- tooth ? Where's Isabel ? Where's Jezabel ? Inlaying her pranks, I suppose — where is she, eh ?" " Do you want your brandy and wather, sir ?** " Brandy and h — 1, you scoundrel ! Where's Miss Fuzzle ?** "Why, she's just rinsin' her mouth, sir, wid a drop of — "Of what, you devil's imp? but I know — she's drinking — she's drunk! eh?" " Miss Fuzzle, sir, bid me say, that she's doin* herself the pleasure of drinkin' your health" — "Ha, ha, ha! Oh, if I were near her — that's all! drinking my health ! She's tipsy, sirra ; she never sends me that message, unless when she's tipsy" — " Not tipsy, your honour, only unwell — she's a little touched wid the falling sickness — she always takes it, after rinsin' her mouth, sir ; for she's fond of a sweet breath, your honour." "Ah, she's a confounded jade — a living quicksand, and nothing else. Lanty, my lad, if the Mississippi was brandy grog, she'd dry the river — drinking at this hour! — well, never mind, I was drunk myself last night, und I'm half drunk yet. Here, you young scoundrel, mix me a glass of brandy and water." " Wouldn't you do it betther yourself, sir ?" " No, you whelp, don't you see how my hands, and be hanged to them, tremble and shake. Put in another glass, I say — carry it to my mouth now ; hold, you croil — here's the glorious, pious, and immortal memory ! Lanty, there's nothing like being a good Protestant, after all — so I'll stand to glorious Bill to the last; nine times nine, and 01 .e cheer more I hurra l" THE IRISH AGENT. 4i He then laid himself back, and attempted to whistle the Boyne Water, but having only one tusk in front, the sound produced resembled the wild whistle of the wind through the chink of a door — shrill and monotonous ; after which he burst out into a chuckling laugh, tickled, probably, at the notion of that celebrated melody proving disloyal in spite of him, and refusing, as it were, to be whistled. At this moment Miss Isabel, or as he most frequently called her, Miss Jezabel Fuzzle, came in with a gleaming eye, and an unsteady step — her hair partially dishevelled, and her dress most negligently put on. The moment Deaker saw her, his whole manner changed, notwithstanding his previous violence — the swagger departed from him, his countenance fell, and he lay mute and terror-stricken before her. It was indeed clear that her sway over him was boundless, and such was the fact. On this occasion she simply looked at him significantly, held up her hand in a menacing attitude, and having made a mock curtsey, immediately left the room. " Lanty," said he in an undertone, when she had gone — " Lanty, you clip, go and tell her to forgive me ; I said too much, and I*m 6orry for it, say — go, you scoundrel.*^ " Faix I'll do no sich thing, sir/* replied Lanty, alarmed at the nature of the message ; '* I know better than to come across her now ; she'd whale the life out o' me. Sure she's afther flailin' the cook out o' the kitchen — and Tom Corbet the butler has one of hi* ears, he says, hangin' off him as long as a blood-hound's." " Speak easy," said Deaker, in a voice of terror, " speak lower, or she may hear you — Isn't it strange," he said to himself, " that I who never feared God or man, should quail before this jade !" ** Begad, an' here's one, your honour, that 'ill make her qiail, if he meets her. " Who is it," asked the other eagerly, " who is it, you imp ?** *' Why, Mr. M'Clutchy, sir; he's ridin' up the avenue." " Ay, Val the Vulture — Val the Vulture — I like that fellow— I like him for his confoundedly clever roguery ; only he's a hypocrite, and doesn't set the world at defiance as I do ; no, he's a cowardly skulking hypocrite, nearly as great a one as ]M' Slime, but doesn't talk so much about religion as that oily gentleman." In a few moments M'Clutchy entered. " Good morrow, Val. Well, Val — well, my vulture, what's in the wind now ? Who's to suffer ? Are you ready for a pounce ? Eh ?" " I was sorry to hear that your health's not so good, sir, as it was." 44 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHT, '*You lie, my dear Vulture; you lie in your throat, I tell yon. You're watching for my carcase, snuffing the air at a distance under the hope of a gorge. No— you didn't care the devil had me, provided you could make a hawl by it." ** I hope, sir, there's no " " Hope ! You rascally hypocrite, whafs hope good for ? Hope to rot in the grave is it ? To melt into corruption and feed the worms ? What a precious putrid carcase I'll make, when I'm a month in th*& dirt. Maybe you wouldn't much relish the scent of me then, my worthy Vulture. Curse your beak, at all events! what do you want? what did you come for ?" Val, who knew his worthy sire well, knew also the most successful method of working out any purpose with him. He accordingly replied, conscious that hypocrisy was out of the question — ** The fact is, sir, I want you to aid me in a piece of knavery." <* I'll do it— I'll do it. Hang me if I don't. Come— I like that— it shows that there's no mock modesty between us — that we know one another. What's the knavery ?*' *< Why, sir, I'm anxious, in the first place, to have Hickman, the head agent, out, and in the next, to get into his place, if possible. N^ w, I know that you can assist me in both, if you wish." ** How ?" asked Deaker, who was quite as able a tactitian as his son, and who, in fact, had contrived to put himself so completely in possession of the political influence of the county, as to be able to return any one he wished. " How is it to be done ? Tell me that ?" " I have understood from a sure source, that Lord Cumber wants money." "Tut," replied Deaker, who now forgot a great deal of his swearing, and applied himself to the subject with all the coolness and ability of a thorough man of business ; '* Tut, Val, is that your news? When was he ever otherwise ? Come to the point; the thing's desirable — but how can it be done ?" ** I think it can ; bat it must be by very nice handling, indeed." " Well — your n'ce handling then ?" " The truth is, that Hickman, I suspect, is almost sick of the Agency — thanks to Lord Cumber's extravagance, and an occasional bit of blister which I, through the tenantry, lay on him at home. Cumber, you know, is an unsteady scoundrel, and in the ordinary transactions of life, has no fixed principle ; for he is possessed of little honour, and I am afraid not much honesty." "Oh murder I this Trom Val the Vulture! Let me look ftt you I THE IRISH AGENT. 45 Did M*Slime bite you, or have you turned Methodist'' Holy Jupiter, what a sermon ! Curse your beak, sir ; go on, and no preaching." "Not much honesty, as I said. Now, sir, if you who have him doubly in your power — first by the mortgage, and, secondly, as his political godfather, who can either put him in, or keep him out of the county — if you were to write him a friendly, confidential letter, in which, observe, you are about to finally arrange your affairs ; and you are sorry — quite sorry — ^but the truth is, something must be done about tliat mortgage — ^you are very sorry — mark — but you are old, and cannot leave your property in an unsettled state. Just touch that part of it, so * " Yes — touch and go." ** Exactly — ^touch and go. Well, you [)ass then to the political portion of it. Hickman's political opinions are not well known, or at least doubtful. Indeed you have reason to believe that he will not support his lordship or his family — is not in the confidence of government — displeased at the Union — and grumbles about corrup- tion. His lordship is abroad, you know, and cannot think for himself. You speak as his friend — his tried friend — he ought to have a man on his property who is staunch, can be depended on, and who will see that full justice is done him in his absence. Hickman, too, is against Ascendancy principles. Do you see, sir ?" " Proceed — what next ?" '- Why, we stop there for the present ; nothing more can be dono until we hear from the scoundrel himself." " And what do you imagine will be the upshot ?" ** Why, I think it not at all unlikely that he will place himself and his interests, pecuniary and political, altogether in your hands, and consequently you will probably have the guiding of him." " Well, Val, you are an able knave, to be sure ; but never mind, I like you all the better. The true doctrine is always — eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow you die — take as much out of life, and your fellow men as you can. There's no knavery in the grave, my Vulture. There the honest man and the knave are alike ; and this being the case, what the devil is public opinion w^orth ?" ** It's worth a great deal if w^e use it for our own purposes while we're here ; otherwise I agree with you that it's valueless in itself." *< You're a cursed clever fellow, Val; an able knave, as I said — ^but I don't like your son ; he's a dishonest blockhead, and I needn't tell Tou that the man who has only brains enough to be dishonest is a 4^ VALENTINE AfCLUTCHT, most contemptible scoundrel. You and I are rogues, but then we are able rogues who have risen by our roguery. As for Phil, he'll never rise by his roguery except to the gallows." " Are you not able to get up ?" asked Val in a very dutiful and affectionate voice. "Able enough now, but my head swam a while ago at a duced rate. I was drunk, as usual, last night, and could do nothing, not even put a tumbler to my mouth, until I took a stiff glass of brandy and water from Lanty, and that has set me up again. When shall I write to young Topertoe, the Cumber fellow ?" " The sooner the better, now ; but I think you ought to rise and tAke some exercise." " So I shall immediately, and to-morrow I write, then, according to your able instructions, most subtle and sagacious Val. Are you off?" " Yes ; good bye, sir, and many thanks." *< None of your stuff, I say, but be off out of this — ** and as he spoke, Val disappeared So far the first steps for ousting Mr. Hickman were taken by thig precious father and his equally valuable son. Val, however, enter- tained other speculations quite as ingenious, and far more malignant in their tendency. Hickman, of course, he might, by undercurrents and manoeuvring, succeed in ejecting from the agency ; but he could not absolutely ruin him. Nothinpj short of this, however, did he propose to himself, so far as M'Loughlin, and, we may add, every one eonnected with him, were concerned ; for M*Glutchy possessed that kind of economy in his moral feelings, that always prompted him to gratify his interest and his malice by the same act of virfue. How he succeeded in this benevolent resolution, time and the progress of Ud§ truthful history will show* THE IRISH AGENT. 47 CHAPTER V. DESCRIPTION OP A SUMMER EVENING A MYSTERIOUS MEETING A JEALOUS VISION LETTER FROM SQUIRE DEARER TO LORD CUMBER LORD CUMBER's REPLY. The season was now about the close of May, that deli^'^htful month which presents the heart and all our purer sensations with a twofold enjoyment ; for in that sweet period have we not all the tenderness and delicacy of spring, combined with the fuller and more expanded charms of the leafy summer — like that portion of female life^ in which the eye feels it difficult to determine whether the delicate beauty of the blushing girl, or the riper loveliness of the full grown n aid, pre- dominates in the person. The time was evening, about half- an-hour before that soft repose of twilight, in which may be perceived the subsiding stir of busy life, as it murmurs itself into slumber after the active pursuits of day. On a green upland lawn, that was a iheep walk, some portions of which were studded over with the blooming and fragrant furze, stood an old ecclesiastical ruin, grey from time, and breathing that spirit of vague but dreamy reverie, which it caught from the loveliness of the season, the calmness and the goldm light of the hour, accessories, that, by their influence, gave a solem beauty to its very desolation. It reminded one somewhat of the lighi which coming death throws upon the cheek of youth, when he treacherously treads in the soft and noiseless steps of decline — or rather of that still purer light, which, when the aged Christian arrives at the close of a well spent life, accompanied by peace, and hope, and calmness, falls like a glory on his bed of death. The ruin was but small, a remnant of one of those humble, but rude temples, in which God was worshipped in simplicity and peace, far from the noisy tumults and sanguinary conflicts of ambitious man. Through this sweet upland, and close to the ruin, ran a footpath that led to a mountain village of considerable extent. Immediately behind the ruin stood a few large hawthorn trees, now white with blossoms, whose fragrance made the very air a luxury, and from whose branches came forth those gushes of evening melody that shed tenderness and tranquillity into the troubled heart. The country in the distance lay charmed, as it were, by the calm spirit of peace which seemed to have diffused itself over the whole landscape — western windows were turned into fire — the motionless AB VALENTINE M'cLUTCHY lakes stone like mirrors wherever they caught the beams of the evening light, as did several bends of the broad river which barely moved within its winding banks through the meadows below. The sun at length became half concealed behind the summit of the western hills, so that his rich and gorgeous beamy fell only upon the surrounding uplands, now lit into purple, leaving the valleys and lower parts of the country to repose in that beautiful shadow which can be looked upon from the higher parts, only through the crimson glory of the departing light. And now the sun has disappeared — is gone — but still how beautiful is the fading splendour that sleeps for a little on the moun- tain tops, then becomes dimmer and dimmer — then a faint streak which gradually melts away until it is finally lost in the soft shadows of that thoughtful hour. And even thus passeth away all human glory ! The ruin which we have mentioned stood about half way between the residence of Brian M'Loughlin and the mountain village to which we have alluded. Proceeding homewards from the latter place, having performed an errand of mercy and charity, was a very beautiful girl, exquisitely formed, but somewhat below the middle size. She was Brian M'Loughlin's only daughter — a creature that breathed of goodness, grace, and all those delightful qualities that make woman a ministering angel amidst the cares, and miseries, and sorrows of life. Her figure, symmetry itself, was so light, and graceful, and elegant, that a new charm was displayed by every motion, as a new beauty was discovered by every change of her expressive countenance ; hei hair was like the raven's wing, and her black eye, instead of being sharp and piercing, was more in accordance with the benignity of her character, soft, sweet, and mellow. Her bust and arm were perfection, and the small white hand and taper fingers would have told a con- noisseur or sculptor that her foot, in lightness and elegance of for- mation, might have excited the envy or Iris or Camilla. Having reached the ruin, she was rather surprised to see the figure of a thin woman dressed in black, issue out of it, and approach her with somewhat of caution in her manner. Mary M'Loughlin was a girl of strong mind and firm character, and not likely to feel alarmed by any groundless cause of apprehension. She immediately recog- nized the woman, who was no other than our old friend Poll Doolin, and in the phrases peculiar to the country, made the usual kind inquiry after her health and welfare. ** It's a very unusual thing. Poll," she proceeded, *' to see i/ou in tliis part of the neighbo THE IRISH AGENT /^ "It is," returned Poll ; <* I was'nt so near the mountains this m&ny a day; an' I wouldn't be here now, only an your account, Miss M'Loughlin." Now, Mary was by no means ignorant of the enmity which this woman entertained against her father and family, in consequence of having prosecuted and transported her profligate son. Without the slightest apprehension on that account, she felt, however, a good deal puzzled as to the meaning which could be attached to Poll's words. " How, on my account, Poll ? I don't understand you." " Neither you nor yours desarve it at my hands ; but for all that, I'm here to do you a good turn." " I hope I never deserved any evil at your hands, Poll." " No, but you're your father's daughter for all that, an' it's not usual to hate the tree and spare the branches." ** I suppose you aUude to the transportation of your son ; but remember, Poll, that I was only a child then ; and don't forget that had your son been honest, he might still be a comfort and a credit to you, instead of a shame and a sorrow. I don't mean, nor do I wish to hurt your feelings. Poll ; but I am anxious that you should not indulge in such bitterness of heart against my father, who only did what he could not avoid." " Well," said Poll, " never mind that — although it isn't aisy for a mother to forget her child wid aU his faults — I am here, as I said, ou your account — I am here, to teU you, that there's danger about you and before you, and to put you on your guard against it. I am here, Miss Mary M'Loughlin, and if Pm not your friend — and Pm not sayin' that I am not — still Tm the friend of orle that is your friend and that will protect you, if he can." " That is very strange. Poll, for I know not how I can have an enemy. What danger could a simple inoffensive girl like me feel — I who have never knowingly offended any body ?" " I have said the truth," replied Poll, " and did my duty — you're now warned, so be on your guard and take care of yourself." " But how, Poll ? You mention danger, yet have not told me what it is, where it's to come from, or how I am to guard myself against it." "Fm not at liberty," said Poll; "but this I can tell you, it's threatening you, and it comes from a quarther where you'd never look for it." Mary, who was neither timid nor surprised, smiled with the coik fidence of innocence, and replied, after a short pause of thoughtr— 3/0 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, " Well, Poll, I have been thinking over my friends, and cannot find one that is likely to be my enemy ; at all events I am deeply obliged to you ; still if you could mention what the danger is, I would certainly feel the obligation to be greater. As it is, I thank you again. Good evening." " Stay, Miss Mary,'* replied Poll, walking eagerly a step or two ifter her — stay a minute. "I have run a risk in doin' this — only pro- mise me to keep what I said to you a saicret for a while — as well a.s that you never had any private talk wid me. Promise this." " I shall certainly not promise any such thing, Poll ; so far from that, I will mention every word of our conversation to my father and family the moment I reach home. If, as you say, there is danger before or around me, there are none whose protection I should so naturally seek." " But this," said Poll, with an appearance of deep anxiety — " this is a matther of mere indifference to you : it's to me the danger is, if you speak of it — to me, I say — not to you." "But I can have no secrets from my family." " Well, but is it ginerous in you to put me — ay, my very life in danger — when all you have to do is merely to say nothing ? How- ever, since I must speak out — you'll put more than me in danger — them that you love betther, an' that you'd never carry a light heart, if anything happened them." Mary started — and a light seemed suddenly to break upon her. "How?" said she, "my engagement to Francis Harman is no secret ; our marriage, at no distant day, being sanctioned by both our families. Is he involved in any danger connected with your hints ?" " Deep and deadly, both to him and me. You don't know it, Miss Mary. If you love him as you do — as is well known you do — if you would keep him and my poor worthless self out of danger, may-be out of bloodshed — don't mention a syllable of this meetin' to any one, but of all persons livin' to himself, until I give you lave — until I can tell you it will be safe to do so. See, I kneel down with handa clasped, I beg it of you for his sake and safety !" It was pretty well known through the whole parish, especially by the initiated, that this same Poll Doolin had, in truth, most of its secrets in her keeping ; and that she had frequently conducted with success those rustic intrigues which are to be found in humble as rrell as in high life. The former part of Poll's character, however, *ra8 all that had ever reached the youthful ears of poor innocent Mary, whilst of her address as a diplomatist in the plots and pursuits THE IRISH AGENT. ^4 of love, she was utterly ignorant. Naturally unsuspicious, as wa have already said, she looked upon the woman's knowing character, rather as a circumstance calculated to corroborate the truth of the mystery which she must have discovered ; and was so much moved by the unquestionable sincerity of her manner, and the safety of her own lover, that she assured her she would keep the secret until permitted to divulge it, which she begged might be at as early a period as possible. Poll thanked her eagerly and gratefully, and in a few minutes, having made a circuit behind the ruin, sought the lower and richer country by a different path. Mary unconsciously stood for some time after Poll had left her, meditating over the strange and almost unaccountable scene which had just taken place, when a rich voice with which she was well acquainted addressed her. She started, and on turning about, found Francis Harman before her. Twilight had now nearly passed away, and the dusk of evening was deepening into the darkness of a summer night. *' What on earth are you thinking of alone in this place, my dear Mary, and who was that woman who just left you?" Mary though firm of character, was also tender and warm of heart, and felt deeply for those she loved. The interview with Poll, there- fore, had excited apprehensions concerning Harraan's safety, which disturbed her far more than any she felt for herself. He gave her his right arm as he spoke, and they went on towards her father's house. "Good God!" he exclaimed, before she had time to answer hira, " what has disturbed or alarmed you, my sweet Mary ? I feel your heart beating against my arm, in a most extraordinary manner. How is this ?" The consciousness of the injunction so solemnly and recently imposed, d>5tressed her exceedingly. Her love of truth was like her love of life or of heaven, a sacred and instinctive principle, which she must now not only violate, but be forced to run into the hateful practice of dissimulation. All this passed through her mind ia a moment. *' My dear Francis, I will freely admit that the beatings of my heart are not altogether without cause; I have been somewhat disturbed, but it will not signify; I shall be quite well in a moment — but where did you come from ?" " They told me you had gone up to poor Widow Carrick's — and I took the short way, thinking to find you there. But what has di»- iurbed you, my dear Mary ? Something has, and greatly too.'* S2 VALENTINE M^CXUTCHY, She looked up with an affectionate emile into his face, althoug}: there tremhled a tear upon her eyelids as she spoke. " Do not ask me, my dear Frank; nor don't think the circumstance of much importance. It is a little secret of mine, which I cannot for the present disclose." " Well, my love, I only ask to know if the woman that left you was Poll Doolin." " I cannot answer even that, Frank ; but such as the secret is, I trust you shall know it." " That is enough, my darling. I am satisfied that you would conceal nothing from either your family or me, which might be detrimental either to yourself or us — or which we ought to know." " That is true," said she, " I feel that it is true." ''But then, on the other hand," said he, playfully, "suppose our little darling were in possession of a secret which we ought not to know — what character should we bestow on the secret ?" This, though said in love and jest, distressed her so much that she was forced to tell him so. " My dear Francis," she replied, with as much composure as she could assume, " do not press me on this subject — I cannot speak upon it now, and I consequently must throw myself on your love and generosity, only for a short time, I hope." " Not a syllable, my darling, on the subject until you resume it yourself — how are widow Carrick's sick children ?" " Somewhat better," she replied ; " the two eldest are recovering, and want nourishment, which, with the exception of my poor con- tributions, they cannot get." " God love and guard your kind and charitable heart, my sweet Mary," said he, looking down tenderly into her beautiful face, and pressing her arm lovingly against his side. " What a hard-hearted man that under agent, M'Clutchy, is," she exclaimed, her beautiful eye brightening with indignation — " do you know that while her children were ill, his bailiff, Darby O'Drive, by his orders or authority, or some claim or other, took away her goose and the only half dozen of eggs she had for them — indeed, Frank, he's a sad curse to the property." " He is what an old Vandal was once called for his cruelty and oppression — *the Scourge of God,'" replied Harman; "such certainly the unhappy tenantry of th6 Topertoe family find him. Harsh and heartless as he is, however, what would he be were it not for the vigilance and humanity of Mr. Hickman ? But are you aware, Mary, that his graceful son, Phil, was a suitor of yours ?" THE IRISH AGENT. 10 " Of mine — ha, ha, ha ! — oh, that's too comical, Frank — but X am not. Had I really ever that honour ?" " Most certainly ; his amiable father had the modesty to propose a matrimonial union between you and him !'* *' I never heard of it," replied Mary, " never ;— but that is easily accounted for — my father, I know, would not insult me by the very mention of it." " It's a fact, though, that the illegitimate son of the blasphemous old squire, and of the virtuous and celebrated Kate Clank, hoped to have united the M'Loughlin blood with his !" " Hush !" exclaimed Mary, shuddering, " the very thought is sickening, revolting." " It's not a pleasant subject, certainly," said Harman, '' and the less that is said about it the more disgust we shall avoid, at any rate." Her lover having safely conducted Mary home, remained with her family only a few minutes, as the evening was advanced, and he had still to go as far as Castle Cumber, upon business connected with the manufactory, which M'Loughlin had placed wholly under his super- intendence. Upon what slight circumstances does the happiness of individuals, nay, even of states and kingdoms, too frequently depend ! Harman most assuredly was incapable of altogether dismissing the circum- stances of the evening — involved in mystery as they unquestionably were — out of his mind ; not that he entertained the slightest possible €uspicion of Mary's prudence or affection ; but he felt a kind of o'urprise at the novelty of the position in which he saw she was placed, and no little pain in consequence of the disagreeable necessity for silence which she admitted had been imposed on her. His con- fidence in her, however, was boundless ; and from this perfect reliance on her discretion and truth, he derived an assurance that she was acting with strict propriety under the circumstances, whatever might be their character or tendency. It may be necessary to mention here that a right of passage ran from Beleeven, the name of the village in which M'Loughlin resided, to the Castle Cumber high road, which it joined a little beyond Constitution Cottage, passing immediately through an angle of the clump of beeches already mentioned as growing behind the house. By this path, which shortened the way very much, Harman, and indeed every pedestrian acquainted with it, were in the habit of passing ; and on the night in question he was proceeding along it at » pretty quick pace, when, having reached the beeches just alluded to, M VALENTINE m'cLUTCHY, he perceived two figures, a male and female, apparently engaged h close and earnest conversation. The distance at first was too great to enable him to form any opinion as to who they were, nor would he have even asked himself the question, were it not that the way necessarily brought him pretty near them. The reader may form some conception, then, of his surprise, his perplexity, and, disguise it as he might, his pain, on ascertaining that the female was no other .lian Poll Doolin, and her companion, graceful Phil himself — the gallant and accomplished owner of Handsome Harry. It appeared quite evident that the subject matter of their con- versation was designed for no other ears than their own, or why speak as they did in low and guarded tones, that implied great secrecy and caution. Nay, what proved still a plainer corroboration of this — no sooner was the noise of his footsteps heard, than Poll squatted herself down behind the small hedge which separated the pathway from the space on which they stood, and this clearly with a hope of concealing her person from his observation. Phil also turned away his face with a purpose of concealment, but the impression left by his lank and scraggy outline, as it stood twisted before Harman, was such as could not be mistaken. Poll's identity not only on this occasion, but also during her hasty separation from Mary, was now established beyond the possibility of a doubt ; a fact which lent to hoih her interviews a degree of mystery that confounded Harman. On thinking over the matter coolly, he could scarcely avoid believing that her appearance here was in some way connected with the circumstances which had occasioned Mary so much agitation and alarm. This suspicion, however, soon gave way to a more generous estimate of her character, and he could not permit himself for a moment to imagine the existence of anything that was prejudicial to her truth and afiection. At the same time he felt it impossible to prevent himself from experiencing a strong sense of anxiety, or, perhaps we should say, a feeling of involuntary pain, which lay like a dead weight upon his heart and spirits. In truth, do what he might, and reason as he would, he could not expel from his mind the new and painful principle which disturbed it. And thus he went or», sometimes triumphantly defending Mary from all ungenerous guspicion, and again writhing under the vague and shapeless surmise* which the singular events of the evening sent crowding to his imagi- nation. His dreams, on retiring to seek repose, were frightful — several times in the night he saw graceful Phil squinting at him with & nondescript leer of vengeance and derision in his yellow goggle eyes, THE IRISH AGENT. st and bearing Mary off, like some misshapen ogre of old, mounted upon Handsome Hany, who appeared to be gifted with the speed of liarkaway or Flying Childers, whilst he himself could do nothing but stand helplessly by, and contemplate the triumph of his hated rival. In the meantime, the respected father and grandfather of that worthy young gentleman were labouring as assiduously for his ad- vancement in life, as if he had been gifted with a catalogue of all human virtues. Old Deaker, true to his word, addressed the very aext day, the following characteristic epistle — " To the Right Hon. Lord Cumber. " My Lord — It is unnecessary to tell you that I was, during my life, a plain, blunt fellow in all my transactions. When I was honest, I was honest like a man ; and when I did the roguery, I did it like an open, fearless knave, that defied the world, and scorned hypocrisy. I am, therefore, the same consistent old scoundrel as ever ; or the same bluff, good-humoured rascal which your old father — who sold his country — and yourself — who would sell it too, if you had one to sell — ever found me. To make short work, then, I want you to dis- miss that poor, scurvy devil, Hickman, from your agency, and to put that misbegotten spawn of mine in his place — I mean Val M'Clutchy, or Val the Vulture, as they have very properly christened him. Hickman's not the thing, in any sense. He can't manage the people, and they impose upon him — then you suffer, of course. Besides, he's an anti-ascendancy man, of late, and will go against you at the forthcoming election. The fellow pretends to have a conscience, and be cursed to him — prates about the Union — preaches against corrup- tion — and talks about the people, as if they were fit to be anything else than what they are. This is a pretty fellow for you to have as an agent to your property. Now, I'll tell what, my Lord — you know old Deaker well. His motto is — Het us eat, drink^ and be merry ^ for to-morroiv we dieJ I'll tell you what I say ; I have a mortgage on your property for fourteen thousand pounds. Now, put in Val, or I'll be speaking to my lawyer about it. Put in Val, or you will never warm your posterities in a seat for this county, so long as I carry the key of it. In doing so, make no wry faces about it — you will only serve yourself and your property, and serve Val into the bargain. Val, to be sure, is as confounded a scoundrel as any of us, but then he is a staunch Protestant ; and you ought not to be told at this time of day, that the greater the scoundrel, the better tbfi Ogent. Would you have a fellow, for instance, whose conscience, .^lidocd, 56 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, must stand between you and your interest ? Would you have some honest blockhead, who, when you are to be served by a piece of friendly rascality, will plead scruples ? If so, you are a greater fool than ever I took you to be. Make Yal your agent, and it is not you that will suffer by him, but the people — whom, of course, no one cares a curse about. I ought to have some claim on you, I think. Many a lift I have given your precious old father, Tom Topertoe, when I did not think of pleading scruples. To tell you the truth, many a dirty trick I played for him, and never brought my conscience to account for it. Make the most of this rascally world, and of the rascals that are in it, for we are all alike in the grave. Put in Val, then, and don't make an enemy of " Your old friend, "Randal Deaker. "P.S.^ — As to Val, he knows nothing of this transaction; I told him I would say so, and I keep my word. I forgot to say, that if you write this beggarly devil, Hickman, a sharp letter for money, he may probably save you the trouble of turning him out. I know him well ; he is a thin-skinned fool, and will be apt to bolt if you follow my advice. Indeed I have heard, or rather Val has, that he is already sick of his office ; if so, you will have the less trouble. "Yours as you deserve it, " R. D." Now, it is necessary to say here, that amidst all this pretence of open villany, there ran an undercurrent of cunning that might escape the observation of most men. In truth, old Deaker was not only a knave, but a most unscrupulous oppressor at heart, especially when he happened to get a man in his power from whom he wished to extort a favour, or on whom he wished to inflict an injury. In the present instance he felt perfectly conscious of his power over the heartless profligate to whom he wrote such a characteristic letter, and the result shows that he neither miscalculated the feeble principles of his correspondent, nor the consequences of his own influence over him. By due return of post h© received a reply, of which the following is a copy : — " Old Deaker — You have me fast, and you know it — so I suppose mvLst is the word ; now I'll tell you what I want, you old villain ; I want two thousand pounds, and if M*Clutchy is to get the agency, I THE IRISH AGENT. 57 must have the money — so there is m^ must as well as yours. In the meantime I have written to Hickman on the same subject — want of money, I mean ; what the consequences may be I know not, but I fancy I can guess them. " Yours, *' Cumber." CHAPTER VI. THE LIFE AND VIRTUES OF AN IRISH ABSENTEE DUTIES OF AN IRISH LANDLORD AN APOLOGUE ON PROPERTY REASONS FOR APPOINTING AN AGENT m'CLUTCHY'S NOTION OF HIS DUTIES RECEIPT TO MAKE A FORTY SHILLING FREEHOLDER. Lord Cumber to Henry Hickman, Esq. ** Londo?if April Isty 18 — " My Dear Hickman, "I wrote to you the day before yesterday, and as the letter was one of a very pressing nature, I hope its influence won't be lost •jpon you. To you who are so well acquainted with the cursed pickle in which I now find myself, it is unnecessary to say that I shall be fairly done up, unless you can squeeze something for me out of those rascally tenants of mine. Fairly done up is not the proper term either ; for between you and me, I strongly suspect a young fellow called Swingler, an ironmonger's son, of giving me a twist too much, on more than one occasion. He was introduced, that is, proposed as a member of our club, by Sir Robert Ratsbane, whose grandfather was a druggist, and seconded by Lord Loadstone, the celebrated lady killer, as a regular pigeon, who dropped, by the death of old * burn the wind,' into half a million at least. The fellow did appear to be a very capital speculation, but the whole thing, however, was a trick, as I strongly suspect ; for our gentleman after losing to a tolerably smart tune, began to illustrate the doctrine of re-action, and has, under the character of a pigeon, already fleeced half a score of us. Last week I suiFered to the tune of eight hundred — Sir Harry Heavy head, to that of twelve — Bill Swag, five — and the Hon. Tom Trickm«.n himself, who scaicely ever loses, gave bills for six fifties. d2 58 TALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, I can't stand this, Hickman, that is, I cannot afford to stand iC; What is fifteen thousand a year to a man like me, who must support his rank, or be driven to the purgatorial alternative of being impri- soned on his own estate ? Hickman, you have no bowels for me, although you can have for the hard-fisted boors on my property, who won't pay up as they ought, and all through your indolence or neglect. You must send me money, get it where you will ; beg, borrow, rob, drive, cant, sell out — for money I must have. Two thousand within a fortnight, and no disappointment, or I am dished. You know not the demands upon me, and therefore you, naturally enough, think Tery easily — much too easily — of my confounded diflSculties. If you had an opera girl to keep, as I have — and a devilish expensive appendage the affectionate jade is — perhaps you might feel a little more Christian sympathy for me than you do. If you had the expenses of my yacht — my large stud at Melton Mowbray and Doncaster, and the yearly deficits in my betting book, besides the never-ending train of jockeys, grooms, feeders, trainers, et hoc genus omncy to meet, it is probable, old boy, you would not feel so very boundless an interest, a,^ you say you do, in the peace and welfare of another man's tenantry, and all this ai that other man's expense. You're confoundedly unreasonable, Hickman. "Why feel, or pretend to feel, more for these fellows, their bare-legged wives, and ragged brats, than you do for a nobleman of rank, to whom you are deeply indebted ? I mean you no offence, Hickman ; you are in other respects an honest fellow enough, and if possessed of only a little less heart, as the times go, and more skill in raising money from these people, you would be invaluable to such a distressed devil as I am. As it is, I regret to say that you are more a friend to my tenantry than to myself, which is a poor qualification for an agent. In fact, we, the Irish aristocracy living here, or absentees as you call us, instead of being assailed by abuse, want of patriotism, neglect of duties, and all that kind of stuff, have an especial claim upon the compassion of our countrymen. If you knew what we, with limited means and encumbered properties, must suffer in attempting to compete with the aristocracy of this country, who are enormously rich, you would say that we deserve immortal credit for holding out and keeping up appearances as we do — not that 1 think we always come off scot fre« from their ridicule, especially when they see the shifts to which we are put, in order to stretch onward at their own pace. However, we must drink when we are thirsty as well as they, and if the water happen to be low in the cistern, which, indeed, is mostly the caeo THE IRISH AGENT. 69 with us, we must, as the rook in the fable did with the pebbles, throw in rackrenting, drivings, executions, mortgages, loans, &e., in order to bring it within our reach — for there is ingenuity in every- thing, as the proverb says, except in roasting of eggs. *^ Come, then, Hickman, set to work at once. My yacht has been damaged by a foolish wager I made, to run her through a creek of reefs at low water, so that the mere repairs will cost me a cool two hundred at least. Besides this, I have pledged myself to buy my charming little Signora a pair of Bleinheim spaniels that she has fallen in love with, for which I shall have to fork out a hundred and fifty doicn. I say, then, again, my dear Hickman, money, money ; money by any means, but by all means money ; rerti^ sed quocunque modo, rem. " By the way, is there not a man there, a kind of under-fellow in something — agent, I believe — some time appointed, named M'Switchy, or M'Smatchey, or M'Clutchy, or some such euphonious appellative ? Somebody, old Deaker I think, once mentioned him to me in strong terms, and said he might become capable of being useful ; and you know, Hickman, as well as I do, that every property circumstanced as mine is, requires a useful fellow of that particular description. For instance, I dare say there are certain proceedings connected with your duty to which you have no great inclination, and, under these circumstances, would it not be prudent at least to resort to the < agency of somebody like this M'Clutchy — a fellow not over-burthene«l with too strong a perception of the necessary pressure 9 But the truth is, if I proceed in this manner, your humanity, as the cant goes, will take the alarm ; you will say, that my residence abroad has not im- proved my principles, and that I am rather strongly tainted with club morality, and the ethics of the gaming house. So would you, perhaps, if you breathed my atmosphere, and were exposed to my temptations. But now I am preaching, and not to the right purpose either ; so as I said before, I say again — money, money, money. *' I am, my dear Hickman, " Thy friend in distress, « Cumber." Henry Hickman, Esq., to the Right Hon. Lord Viscount Cumber:—* *' Primrose Hill, April 8th. •* My Lord, ** I have had the honour of receiving both your communi- cations, and have read tham, especially that of the first instant, with CO VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY great pain. I need not tell you, that I have been your father's friend — ^that I have been, and still am your friend, and as sucb, from my age and anxiety for your Lordships*s welfare and reputa- tion, I must take the liberty of one who has both sincerely at heart, to write to you in terms which a mere agent could scarcely with propriety use. As this letter, therefore, is written for your own eye only^ you will be good enough to remember that in everything severe and home-spoken in it, the friend, and not the agent, speaks — at the same time, I must admit, that it is from the knowledge gained as an agent, that I remonstrate as a friend. " It is now beyond a doubt, my Lord, that your position is one surrounded with difficulties scarcely to be surmounted, unless by measures which I, as an honest man, cannot permit myself to adopt. So long as the course of life which it has pleased your Lordship's better taste and judgment to pursue, did not bring within the com- pass of my duties, as your agent, the exhibition of principles at variance with humanity and justice, so long did I fulfil those duties with all the ability and zeal for your just interests which I could exert. But now I perceive, that you have driven me to that line beyond which I cannot put my foot, without dishonour to myself. I have been the agent of your property, my Lord, but I shall never become the instrument of your vices; and, believe me, this is a dis- tinction which, in our unhappy country, is too seldom observed. Many an agent, my Lord, has built himself a fortune out of the very necessities of his employer, and left to his children the honour- able reflection that their independence originated from profligacy on the one hand, and dishonesty on the other. You see, my Lord, I find it necessary to be very plain with you, and to say, that however you may feel yourself disposed to follow the one course, I shall not iival you in the other. I cannot become a scourge inflicted by your necessities, not to use a harsher word, upon a suffering people, who are already exhausted and provoked by an excess of severity and neglect. Think of the predicament in which you would have me *tand — of the defence which you place in my lips. Should your tenantry ask me — ' why are you thus cruel and oppressive upon us?' what reply could I make but this — ' I am thus cruel because his Lordship is profligate. He wants money to support his mistress, .to feed her vanities and excesses, and you must endure distress and pri- vation, that the insatiable rapacity of a courtesan may be gratified. His Lordship, too, has horses and dogs, in the welfare of which he fuels a deep interest.' *But why does he not feel an interest in us^' THE IRISH AGENT. 61 So he does ; for are not you the persons by whose toil and labour he is enabled to support them all?* ' So that, in point of fact, we are made indirectly the agents of his crimes. The privations which we suffer — the sweat of our brows — the labour of our hands — go to the support of his wantonness, his luxury, and his extravagance! This, then, is his interest in us?' *Yes — work, that you may feed them — starve, that his mistress may riot in wantonness ; perish your children, that his dogs may be fed !' In such a position as this, my Lord, I shall never place myself, but you may easily find many that will. The moment your necessities are known, knavery will be im- mediately at work, and assume its guardianship over folly. Indeed there is a monarchical spirit in knavery, which has never yet been observed. The knave keeps his fool, as did the kings of old, with this only difference — and a material one it is — ^that whilst the fool always lived at the king's expense, the knave lives at the fool's. How your Lordship may feel under the new administration I cannot say; but I am inclined to think, you will not find it a distinction without a difference. By this, of course, you understand, my Lord, that I at once resign my agency. " And now, my Lord, in addition to many other unavailable re- monstrances made by me, not only against your licentious habits as a man, but against your still more indefensible conduct as a land- lord, allow me to address you in a spirit of honesty, which I fear is not easily found among the class to which I belong. I look »upon this as a duty which I owe less to you than to my country, because I am satisfied that the most important service which can be rendered to any man, not ashamed of either his habits or principles, is to lay before him a clear, but short and simple statement of that which con- stitutes his duty as a landlord — I should say, an Irish landlord — for there is a national idiosyncrasy of constitution about such a man, which appears to prevent him from properly discharging his duties, either as a friend to himself, or a just man to his tenantry. "The first principle, therefore, which an Irish landlord — or, indeed, any landlord — should lay down, as his fixed and unerring guide, is ever to remember that his tenantry are his best friends — — his only patrons ; and that instead of looking down upon them with contempt, neglect, or even indifference, he should feel that they are his chief benefactors, who prop his influence, maintain his rank» and support his authority. " The second is — that the duties of the landlord to his tenantry are much greater, and far more important, than those of his tenantry ^ VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, to him, and should at least be quite as equitably and attentively discharged. " The third is — to remember that the great mass of the population in Ireland belong to one creed, and the great bulk of landed pro- prietors to another; and to take care that none of those fierce and iniquitous prerogatives of power, which are claimed and exercised bj those who possess property, shall be suffered, in the name of religion, or politics, or prejudice of any kind, to disturb or abridge the civil or religious rights of the people, and thus weaken the bonds which should render the interests of landlord and tenant identical. Pre- judice so exercised is tyranny. Every landlord should remember that the soil is of no religion. " The fourth is — simply to remember that those who live upon our property have bodies and souls, passions, reflections, and feelings like ourselves — that they are susceptible of hunger, cold, grief, joy, sickness, and sorrow — that they love their children and domestic relatives — are attached to their religion — bound by strong and heart- felt ties to the soil they live on, and are, in fact, moved by all those general laws and principles of life and nature, which go to make up social and individual happiness — to remember, in short, that they are men who have higher destinies in life than merely administering to the wants, excesses, or crimes of others ; and that no condition has ever yet been known to subsist between landlord and tenant, or even '■ between man and man, by which one party is required to sur- render comfort, freedom, and enjoyment, in fact all that life is good for, merely to gratify the wants, vices, or ambition of another. " The fifth and last is — not by oppression, cruelty, or rapacity, to goad the people into madness and outrage, under the plausible name of law or justice ; or to drive the national mind — which is a clear one — into reflections that may lead it to fall back upon first prin- ciples, or force it to remember that the universal consent by which the rights of property are acknowledged, may, under the exasperation of over-strained pressure, in a land so peculiarly circumstanced as Ireland is, be altogether withheld, and thus its whole foundations •haken or overturned, and the justice of individual claims and pre- scriptive rights lost in the tumult, " These principles are simple, my Lord, but they ought, at least, to be better known, or what would be still more desirable, better practised. As, however, my paper is nearly filled, I shall finish my communication with a short fable, to which I beg your Lordship'i &erious attention* THE IRISH AGENT. 63 " There lived a man once who was foolish enough to entertain a Renseless prejudice against cows, because they did not give milk all the year round. This man was married, and, of course, had a numerous family of children, and being very lazy and improvident, depended principally upon the kindliness of an excellent cow, whose milk was the chief means of his support and theirs. At length, in the due course of time, the poor cow, as every one must know, began to yield it in diminished quantities, and as it happened to be a severe year, and as the lazy man we speak of had made no pro- vision for its occurrence, it is unnecessary to say that he and hi? family were put to the greatest straits for subsistence. Finding, after much deliberation, that the poor animal, which they kicked and cudgelled to excess, could not change the laws of nature, or afford them that which she did not possess, it was determined by her proprietor that, as she failed in supplying them with sufficient milk, they should try the phleme, and have recourse to her blood, in order to eke out their support. Accordingly she was bled along with being milked ; but if the quantity of milk she gave before was little, it now became less ; so that in proportion as they drew upon the one the other diminished, as was but natural. In this way they proceeded, milking and bleeding the poor animal at the same time, not only without any l)enefit to themselves, but with a certain prospect of her ultimate loss, when one day the cow, after having ruminated for some time on \'ie treatment she was receiving, began to reflect that she could not ie much worse, or rather, that she must soon altogether sink under this system of double drainage. ' Well,' thought she, ' I feel feow matters must close with me at last ; I am, indeed, near the end »f my tether; what have I now to fear when I know that I cannot he worse? And if I am to die, as I must, is it not better to hav« satisfaction for my sufferings?' Accordingly, the next morning, when lier owner went to get blood for their breakfast, it so happened that the cow thrust a horn into him, and he was found lying a corps« under her lifeless carcase — the last drop of her blood having beeK expended under the final operation of the phlemes. " My Lord, the moral of this is as obvious as it is fearful — and fearfully have the circumstances of the country, and the principles cf such men as you, caused it to be illustrated. If landlords will press too severely upon the functions of human suffering and patience, it is not to be surprised, although it is to be deplored, that where no legal remedy exists against individual cruelty or rapacity, or that plausible selfishness, whicJ^. is the woi*st species of oppresaion— . 34 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, that the law, I say, which protects only the one party, should be forgotten or despised by the other, and a fiercer code of vengeance substituted in its stead. " With respect to Mr. M'Clutchy, surely your Lordship must re- member that, by your own letter, he was appointed under- agent more than three years ago. " If, after the many remonstrances I have had occasion to make against his general conduct to the tenants, you consider him a useful man upon your property, you will, in that case, have to abide the consequences of your confidence in him. You are, at all events, duly forewarned. *' I now must beg leave, my Lord, to render up my trust, to resign my situation as the agent of your estates ; I do so with pain, but the course of your Lordship's life has left me no other alternative. I cannot rack and goad your tenants, nor injure your own property. I cannot paralyze industry, cramp honest exertion, or distress poverty still further, merely to supply necessities which are little less than criminal in yourself, and ruinous to your tenantry. " Believe me, my Lord, I would not abandon you in your difii- culties, if I saw any honourable means of extricating you from them. You know, however, that every practicable step has been taken for that purpose, but without efiect ; your property should grow rapidly, indeed, in order to keep pace with the increasing and incessant demands which are made upon it. We can borrow no more, and the knowledge of that fact alone, ought to set a limit to your extra- vagance. Excuse this plainness, my Lord ; it is well meant and void of intentional ofience. " I shall be ready in a few days to deliver all books, papers, documents, &c., connected with the property, to any person duly authorized by your Lordship to receive them. " I have the honour to be, &c., *' Henry Hickman." The Right Honourable Lord Cumber to Valentine M'Clutchy : — *' Doncaster, April 22nd. " In consequence of certain communications which have passed between Mr. Hickman and myself, I have determined that be siiall no longer act in the capacity of my agent. The situation is therefore open, and until a competent person shall be appointed, I THE IRISH AGENT. 65 authorize you to discharge its duties, and receive from him a correct statement of all accounts between us, together with all deeds, leases, books, papers, &c., in his possession; you first having procured me adequate security, the amount of which will be determined by Mr. M' Slime, my law agent, who will join or aid you in making all ne- cessary arrangements. " You will also have the goodness, as soon afterwards as you feel it practicable, to transmit me a bona fide account of the Ballyracket and TuUygrindem estates, their capability of improvement, the con- dition of the tenantry, what leases are expired, if any, and those which will soon drop, with a view of seeing what can be made out of it. In this, also, M' Slime will aid you. " As to the person who may succeed Hickman, as a necessary pre- liminary he must lay down two thousand pounds, in the shape of an equivalent for the appointment. Could you, within a fortnight or so, raise so much? if so, let me hear from you without delay, as it is not unlikely that in that case I may appoint yourself. " By the way, do you understand the manufacture of forty-shilling freeholders in an economical way, because, if you do, it would be a desideratum. Parliament, it is said, will be dissolved in June, and I want, as well as I can remember, nearly two hundred votes. My brother lost the last election by something about that number, and I know he feels very anxious to get into parliament, for many reasons. He is now on the Continent, where he has been for the last three years." Valentine M'Clutchy, Esq., to the Right Hon. Lord Viscount Cumber : — "My Lord, " I have had the honour of receiving your Lordship's kind communication, to which I hasten to make the earliest possible reply ; and first, my Lord, allow me to return sincere thanks for your warm kindness, in promising to appoint me your agent. You may rest assured, my Lord, that I will go through my duties as such without favour or affection to any one, barring your Lordship, whose interests it will night and day become my duty to study. With respect to the loan your Lordship makes allusion to, I fear it will be out of my power to raise it — that is to the full amount; but if one half would do, I might, by the aid of friends, get it together. As for security, I trust it is only necessary to say, that Randal (56 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, Deaker and Cadwallader Tullywagger, Esqrs., are ready to giye it to any amount — so that there is no diflGiculty there at all events. " On looking again at your Lordship's kind letter, it appears pos- sible that I made a mistake in considering the two thousand as a loan ; but on the other hand, there is not a man living who respects the high principles and delicate feelings of our aristocracy more than I do, and the consequence was, that I feared in supposing it otherwise than a loan, I might offend your Lordship's keen sense of honour, which, I pledge my credit and reputation, would grieve my heart even to think of. Under this impression, then, I shall con- tinue to believe it a loan, until I have the honour of hearing from your Lordship again. " Your anxiety, my Lord, to ascertain the state of your property and the condition of your tenantry, is certainly honourable to your- self, as being a direct proof of the generous interest you feel in their welfare. It is fortunate, in this instance, that your Lordship should apply to a man who has had the best opportunities of be- coming acquainted with both. True, I am a simple-minded man, my Lord, and if I possess one quality more than another, it is a love of truth, and a slow, but straightforward perseverance in whatever is right ; it is to this, always under Providence, that I owe everything. I grant, indeed, that it ill becomes me to speak in this manner of myself, but my object in doing so is, that as I am about to enter into communications touching your Lordship's tenants and property, you may be induced to place the fullest con- fidence in whatever I shall say. Many a time, indeed, my excellent and worthy friend, Mr. Hickman, has made the same observation, and I felt it gratifying in the highest degree to hear this from a man who is truth itself; and whose only fault is — if it be one — that his heart is too kind, and rather easily imposed on by those who deal in fraud and cunning. A man like him, who, if he cannot speak well of an absent friend, will be silent, is a jewel in this life, which ought to be worn in the very core of the heart. " With respect to the Ballyracket estate, of which I shall speak first, I cannot report so favourably as I could wish. The task, in fact, is to me, personally, a very painful one ; especially with refer- ence to that well meaning and estimable gentleman, Mr. Hickman. In the first place, my Lord, the tenantry are not at all in arrears, a circumstance which is by no means in favour of the landlord — especially an Irish one. Every one knows that an Irish landlord heui other demands upon his tenantry besides the payment of their T]IE IRISH AGENT. ^f rents. Is there no stress, for instance, to be laid upon his political influence, which cannot be exerted unless through their agency? Kow a tenant not in arrears to his landlord, is comparatively ind^ pendent, but it is not with an independent tenantry that a landlord can work his wishes. No, my Lord ; the safe principle is to keej the tenant two or three gales behind, and if he fails in submission, or turns restiiF, and becomes openly contumacious, then you have the means of rectifying the errors of his judgment in your own hands, and it can be done with the colour of both law and justice, behind which any man may stand without the imputation of harsh motives, or an excessive love of subordination. I am sorry that Mr. Hickman should differ with me on this point, for he is a man whose opinions are very valuable on many things, with the exception of his amiable and kind-hearted obstinacy. *« The next disadvantage to your interests, my Lord, is another error — I am sorry to be forced to say it — of Mr. Hickman. That gentleman is an advocate for education and the spread of knowledge. Now, if an agent were as much devoted to the interests of the people, as he is and ought to be to those of the landlord, this principle might pass ; but as I take it, that the sole duty of an agent is to extend the interests of his employer exclusively, so am I opposed to any plan or practice by which the people may be taught to think too clearly. For, let me ask, my Lord, what class of persons, at the approach of an election, for instance, or during its continuance, are most available for our interests ? Who are driven without reluctance, without thought, or without reason, in blind and infatuated multitudes, to the hustings ? Certainly not those who have been educated, or taught to think and act for themselves, but the poor and the ignorant. And, my Lord, is not the vote of an ignorant man as valid, in law, as that of one who is enlightened? For these reasons, then, I do not approve of the new schools which Mr. Hickman has established ; and I was pleased to hear that your Lordship was sufficiently awake to your own interests, to decline granting them any support. No, my Lord ; an educated people will be a thinking people — a thinking people will be an independent people — but an independent people will not be a manageable people ; and if that is not placing the subject in a satisfactory light, I know not what is. " I need scarcely assure you, my Lord, that in my own humbl* way, I did everything I reasonably could, to discountenance the education system. I even went so far as to prevent several of the tenants from sending their children to these schools ; but, as usual, ^ TALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, I experienced but little gratitude at their hands, or at those of tbeir parents. This, however, was not so much owing to my interference, as to the accidental circumstance of three or four of them having been hanged and transported for crimes, which they were base enough to impute to the ignorance occasioned by my principles — for so they spoke. *' Such, then, is the condition of the Ballyracket tenantry. They are not in arrears, and you may consequently guess at the wretched state of their moral feelings. They are, in fact, every day becoming more versed in the very kind of knowledge which we don't wish them to possess. They do not slink aside when they see you now ; on the contrary, they stand erect, and look you fearlessly in the face. Upon my credit and reputation this is truth — melancholy truth, my Lord — and I fear that at the next election you will find it so to your cost. "I have lost no time in ascertaining the other particulars mentioned in your Lordship's letter. The leases of three townlands expired on March last. They are Derrydowny, Crocknaboulteen, and Ballywel- tem. The principal tenant of Derrydowny is a very respectable widow — one Mrs. M' Swaddle — a woman of serious habits, if not of decided piety. She has three daughters, all of whom sit under the ministration of a Mr. Boltham — a young preacher, belonging to the Methodist connexion. They are to all appearance well to do in the world, keep a conversation car, and have the reputation of being very honest and saving. Old M'Swaddle himself was a revenue collector, and it is said, died richer than they are willing to admit. Crackna- boulteen is altogether in the possession of the celebrated family of the M'Kegs — or, as they are called, the Five Sols — ^the name of each being Solomon, which is shortened into Sol. There is lame Sol, blind Sol, long Sol, uncertain Sol, and Sol of the mountahi. They are celebrated distillers of poteen whiskey, but are not rich. The estate, in fact, would be better without them, were it not for their votes. The townland of Bally weltem is principally the property of a wild faction, named M'Kippeen, whose great delight is to keep up perpetual feud against an opposite faction of the O'Squads, who on their part are every whit as eager for the fray as their enemies. These people are also poor enough, and in an election are not to be depended on, I should say, in addition to this, that several renewal fines will fall in during the course of the winter. I shall, however, examine the leases, and other documents, still more searchingly, and eee what can be got out of them, and how far we can go. THE IRISH AGENT. " 69 "liie Tullygrindem estate is, I am sorry to sav, in a still moro disheartening condition. There is a very bitter and knowing family living on the townland of Beleeven, named M'Loughlin, who have contrived to spread dangerous and destructive principles among the tenantry. They are cunning, unscrupulous, and vindictive, but cau- tious, plausible, and cloaked with the deepest hypocrisy. I have been endeavouring for years to conciliate, or rather reform them, by kindness, but hitherto without effect ; whether I shall ultimately succeed in purifying this fountain-head of bigotry and unconsti- tutional principle — I do not wish to use a shorter, but a much stronger term — I cannot yet say. I shall, at all events, from a sense of justice to you, my Lord, and of kindness — mistaken it may be, T grant you — to them, continue to make the desirable attempt. My amiable friend, Hickman, has certainly been made the dupe of their adroitness, but, indeed, he is too simple and credulous for this world, as every kind hearted man, with great benevolence and little judgment, usually is. If I had not risen honestly and honourably, as I trust I may say, through the gradations of office upon this pro- perty, I think it probable I might myself have been deceived and misled by the natural and seductive tact of this dangerous family. Mr. Hickman espouses their quarrel, not exactly their quarrel, but their cause, against me ; but that is so completely in accordance with his easy simplicity of character, and his pardonable love of popularity, that it rather endears him to one than otherwise. "Indeed, I may say, my Lord, candidly and confidentially, that there is a spirit abroad upon your estates, which requires to be vigilantly watched, and checked with all due and reasonable promp- titude ; I allude principally to these M*Loughlins, and when I state ihat my excellent and well-disposed friend, is absolutely popular among your tenantry, even although he made them pay up to the very last gale, and that I am by no means in good odour with them, you will not be surprised when I furnish your Lordship with a key to this same state of feeling which exists so generally in this country. This, then, my Lord, is the secret : — whenever an Irish agent devotes himself honestly to the wants, wishes, and interests of his employer, especially if he be needy and pressed for money, so sure will he become unpopular with the tenantry. Now, I am somewhat unpo- pular with the tenantry, and my amiable friend Hickman is beloved by them ; but I think your Lordship by this time understands the why and the wherefore on both sides. As your agent, my Lord, I should regret such popularity; at the same time, I think the intentioua 70 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, of poor, sweet, amiable Hickman's heart, are such as we must all love and admire. " With respect, my Lord, to the manufacture of the * Forties,' as a certain comical class of freeholders are termed, I could have easilj undertaken to double the number you mention, on the most reason- able terms, were it not for the discouraging system adopted by Mr. Hickman. As it is, I must see what can be done; but your Lord- ship knows that I can take no step eitlier in this or any thing else, until my appointment shall be finally confirmed. Perhaps you are not aware of the remarkable document, on the subject in question, which has recently gone its rounds in this country. It is called — "'a receipt to make a forty-shilling freehold.' " ' Take the poorest Irishman you can get ; he must be destitute and ignorant, for then he will be slavish ; give him a mud cabin, but no education ; let the former be a bad model of an indifferent pig- sty, and held at thrice its value. Put him to repose on a comfort- able bed of damp straw, with his own coat and his wife's petticoat for bed-clothes. Pamper him on two half meals of potatoes and point per day — with water ad libitum. For clothing — let him have a new shirt once every three years — to give him exercise and keep him clean — a hat once in every seven, and brogues whenever he can get them. His coat and breeches — lest he might grow too independent — must be worn upon the principle of the Highlander's knife, which, although a century in the family, was never changed, except some- times the handle and sometimes the blade. Let his right to vote be founded upon a freehold property of six feet square, or as much as may be encompassed by his own shirt ; he must have from four to ten children, as a proof of his standing in society, all fashionably dressed, and coming at the rate of one every twelve months. Having thus, by a liberal system of feeding and clothing, rendered him strong for labour, you must work him from dark to dark — pay him sixpence a day for three quarters of the year; with permission to beg or starve for the remainder. When in health task him beyond his strength, and when sick neglect him — for there is nothing so beautiful as kindness in a landlord, and gratitude in a tenant — and thus will your virtues become reciprocal. He must live under a gradation of six landlords, so that whoever defaults, he may suffer — and he will have the advantage of six tyrants instead of one. Your agent is to wheedle, and your bailiflf to bully him ; the one must promise, and the other threaten ; but if both fail, you must try him yourself. Should he become intractable under all this, you must THE IRISH AGENT. T| take purer measures. Compliment him on his wife — praise and ad- mire his children — play upon his affections, and corrupt him through his very virtues — for that will show that you love your country and her people better than your own interests. Place a promise of inde- pendence on one side of him, but a ruined cottage and extermination on the other. When all his scruples are thus honourably overcome, and his conscience skilfully removed, take him for twenty minutes or so out of his rags, put him into a voting suit that he may avoid suspicion, bring him up to the poll — steep him in the strongest perjury, then strip him of his voting suit, clap him into his rags, and having thus fitted him for the perpetration of any treachery or crime, set him at large once more that he may disseminate your own principles upon your own property, until you may require him again. Having thus honestly discharged your duty to God and your country, go calmly to your pillow, where you can rest in the consciousness of having done all that a virtuous man and true patriot can do, to pro- mote the comfort and independence of his fellow-creatures." ** I have the honour to be, &c. &c. "Val M'Ci.utchy." Ix)rd Cumber to Solomon M'Slime, Esq., Attorney -at-Law: — " Dear Sir, "Enclosed is a letter to Mr. M'Clutchy, which I will trouble you to forward to him as soon as you can. It contains his appointment to the vacant agency, together with the proper power of attorney, and I have every reason to hope, that my property will improve under him. I did think it no breach of any honourable principle, to make him advance, by way of compensation, the sum of two thousand pounds. It is a thing very usually done, I am aware, and by men who would not bear any imputation against their honour. But I know not how it is, his letter has deterred me from taking the money in that light. It would be certainly too bad, to allow a person of his birth and standing in the world, to teach one of mine a lesson in delicacy of feeling. For this reason, then, let him advance the money on the usual terms of loan : — ihat you can adjust between you. All I ask is, that you will not lose one moment of unnecessary time in accomplishing this business, and remitting the money. Two thousand in a fortnight will be of more value to me than four in a month, owing to the peculiar difficulties in which I am placed. " Yours, " Cumber. r% VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, '• P. S — M' Slime, my little saint, I hope you are as religious aa ever — but in the meantime as it is not unlikely — but on the contrary very probable — if not altogether certain — that I shall be in Ireland should an election take place, I trust you will have the kindness to let me know if there's e'er a pretty girl in the neighbourhood — that wants a friend and protector — ^ha, ha, ha! — as great a sinner as ever, you see — ^but for that reason you now the more entitled to your prayers for my conversion. The greater the saint, the greater the sinner now a days — or is it the other way ? I forget. " Cumber." Lord Cumber to Val M*Clutchy, enclosed in the above : — '* Dear Sir, "I am very happy in appointing you to the important situation of my agent, with all the necessary powers and authority to act as may seem best to you for my advantage. The money I will take on your own terms, only I beg that you will lose no time in remitting it. I agree with you in thinking that Mr. Hickman, however well meaning, was deficient in firmness and penetration of character, so far as the tenants were concerned ; and I would recom- mend you to avoid the errors which you perceived in him. With many principles laid down in your letter I agree, but not with all. For instance if I understand you right, you would appear to advocate too much indulgence to the tenantry at my expense ; for what else is allowing them to run into arrears? This certainly keeps the money out of my pocket, and you cannot surely expect me to countenance such a proceeding as that : — whilst I say this, it is due to you that 1 consider your ultimate object a correct one. Property loses a great portion of its value, unless the landlord's influence over the people be as strong as his right in the soil ; and for this reason, the duty of every landlord is to exercise as powerful a control over the former, and get as much out of the latter, as he can. The landlords, to be sure, are of one religion, and the people of another ; but so long as we can avail ourselves of the latter for political purposes, we need care but little about their creed. The results in this case are precisely the same as if the country were Protestant, and that is as much as we want. Indeed I question, if the whole Irish population were Protestant to-morrow, whether the fact would not be against us. I now speak as identifying myself with British interests. Would we find them as manageable and as easily shaped to our purposes ? 1 feor not. They would demand education, knowledge, and all the THE IKISH AGENT. 73 fulness of civil liberty ; they would become independent, they would think for themselves, and in what predicament would that place us ? Could we then work out British interests, foster British prejudices, and aid British ambition as we do ? Certainly not, unless we had the people with us, and without them we are nothing. " On the whole, then, so long as we continue to maintain our pro- per influence over them, I think without doubt, we are much safer as we stand. *' With respect to the discharge of your duty, your own judgment will be a better guide than mine. As I said before, avoid Hickman's errors ; I fear he was too soft, credulous, and easily played upon. Excess of feeling, in fact, is a bad qualification in an agent. Huma- nity is very well in its place ; but a strong sense of duty is worth a thousand of it. It strikes me, that you would do well to put on a manner in your intercourse with the tenants, as much opposed to Hickman's as possible. Be generally angry, speak loud, swear roundly, and make them know their place. To bully and browbeat is not easily done with success, even in a just cause, although with a broken-spirited people it is a good gift; but after all, I apprehend the best method is just to adapt your bearing to the character of the person you have to deal with, if you wish as you ought, to arrive at that ascendancy of feeling on your part, and subserviency on theirs, which are necessary to keep them in proper temper for your purposes. " Your receipt for making a forty shilling freeholder contains many excellent ingredients, but I do not think it was honestly drawn up ; that is, I believe it to be the production of some one who was not friendly to that system of franchise. I have little else to say, except that you will find it necessary I think to be very firm and rigorous. Remember that we are here to-day, and gone to-morrow ; so upon this principle, keep them moving at a steady pace. In three words, think of my difficulties, and get all you can out of them — still remembering, as we say in the ring, never to train them below their strength, for that would be the loss of our own battle. *' Yours, "Cumber." Solomon M'Slime, Esq., Attorney- at-law, to Lord Cumber : " My Esteemed Lord, " I had the unmerited honour — for, indeed, to a man sensible of his many frailties as I am, I feel it is an unmerited honour — to receive any communication from one whom the Lord hath exalted tc B 74 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHr, a place of such high rank in this world, as that which your lordshij? so worthily fills. It gives me great gratification, my lord, to learn from your last letter that you have appointed my friend Mr. Valen- tine M'Clutchy, as your agent. I am not in the habit of attributing such circumstances as this — being, as they generally are, matters of mere worldly prudence and convenience — to any over-ruling cause from above ; but truly, the appointment of such a man at this particular time, looks as if there were a principle of good at work for your lordship's interest. May you continue, as you do, to deserve it ! Your change of agents is, indeed, one that, through the talent, energy, and integrity of Mr. M'Clutchy, is likely to redound much and largely to your own benefit. In his capacity of under agent, I have had frequent opportunities of transacting business with him ; and when I contrast his quickness, clearness, honesty, and •kill, with the evident want of ^but no, my lord ; far be it from me, as a Christian man, to institute any rash comparison, either in favour of my fellow-creature or against him, so long as sin, and prejudice even for that which is good, and frailty, may render us, as they often do, liable to error. In Mr. M'Clutchy it is possible I may be mistaken ; in Mr. Hickman it is possible I am mistaken — I am not infallible — I am frail — a very sinner, but not removed wholly, I would trust, out of the range of grace. My Lord, I say again, that as % conscientious man, and as far as mere human reason — ^which is at best but short-sighted— enables me to judge, I am truly cheered in spirit by this, I trust, providential change in the agency of your property, My Lord, in my various correspondence, I generally endeavour to make it a rule not to forget my Christian duties, or so to speak, to cast a single grain of the good seed into the hearts of those to whom I am privileged to write. The calls of religion are, indeed, strong upon us, if we permitted ourselves to listen to them as we ought. "Will your Lordship then pardon me for reminding you, that however humble the instrument, I have before now been the honoured means of setting your godly examples of charity before the world, with the single-hearted purpose and hope, that others might imitate your virtues. There is in the neighbourhood a case at present of great distress, in the person of a widow and her three young children, who have been left destitute by the guilt and consequent deportation of her unhappy husband to Australia, for the crime of feloniously abstracting live mutton. I defended him professionally, or, I should say — although I do not boast of it — with an eye to the relief of hia interesting wife, but without success ; and what rendered his crime THE miSH AGENT. 75 more unpardonable, he had the unparalleled wickedness to say, that he was instigated to it by the ill-advice and intemperate habits of this ami!5ble woman. "Will your Lordship, then, allow me to put your honoured name in the list of her Christian friends ? Allow me, my lord, to subscribe myself, " Your Lordship's frail, unworthy, ** but faithful and honoured servant, ** Solomon M'Slime. " P.S — With respect to your jocose and ironical postscript, may 1 again take the liberty of throwing in a word in season. If your Lordship could so far assume a proper Christian seriousness of character, as to render the act of kindness and protection on your part, such as might confer a competent independence upon a female of religious dispositions, I doubt not, should your Lordship's charity continue unabated on your arrival here, that some such desirable opportunity might offer, as that of rescuing a comely but desolate maiden from distress. " There is, indeed, a man here, living on your Lordship's property, named M*Loughlin, who has a daughter endowed with a large portion of that vain gift called beauty. Her father and family are people of bad principle, without conscience or honesty, and, withal, utterly des- titute of religion — not but that they carry themselves very plausibly to Xhe world. Among such people, my Lord, it is not possible that this engaging damsel, who is now so youthful and innocent, could resist the evil influence of the principles that prevail in her family. Lideed, ]»er abiding among them, cannot be for her welfare in any sense. " I have the honour, &c." Valentine M'Clutchy, Esq., to Solomon M*Slime. *' My Dear M'Slime, ** As it is beyond any doubt that in the fair discharge of our duty, you and I can be mutually serviceable to each other ; and as it is equally evident that it is our interest, and what is more, the in- terest of Lord Cumber, that we should be so, I therefore think it right to observe, that in all transactions between us, each should treat the other with the most perfect confidence. For this reason, I beg to assure you, once for all, that in any proceeding that may appear harsh towards any of his lordship's tenantry, I am, and shall be actuated by no other feeling than a strong, conscientious sense of my duty to him. This is, was, and will be the principle of my whole 7« VALENTINE M^CLUTCHT, life. And you know very well, my dear M< Slime, that if I were les* devoted to those interests than I am, my popularity would be greater among the tenantry. Indeed, few men have a right to know thia better than yourself, inasmuch as you stand in precisely the same beloved relation to them that I do. *' Our excellent friend Hickman is a very worthy man and exceed- ingly well meaning. Don't you think so ? Oh, I am sure you do. Yet I know not how it happened that he left out of his system of agency some of the most valuable rights and privileges of the land- iord. These I will mention to you when I see you, and when I have more time. I consequently must say, that in attempting to revive these rights, even while I was deputy-agent, the unjust odium that is falling upon me already, even while I had scarce time to move in them, ought rather to be — that is morally speaking — visited upon him who allowed them to lapse. Now that the fine old leases of the M'Loughlins, and the Harmans, and others have dropped, what can I do but study Lord Cumber's interest, in the first instance ? not but I would serve them if I could, and will, if I can. I bear them no ill feeling; and if they have joined in the calumnies and threats that are so unjustly uttered against me, what can I do, and what ought I do, but return good for evil ? You, as a truly religious and pious man, will feel delighted to support me in this principle, and also to aid me in bearing it practically out. Any services of a similar kind that I can honestly and conscientiously render you — and none other would you accept — I shall be, on my part, delighted to offer. In the meantime, let me have your excellent advice as to the most efficient means of stifling the unreasonable murmurs that are rising among the people ; and as touching M'Loughlin's and Harman's properties, I should be glad to see you, in order to consult upon what mav or can be done for them, always compatibly with Lord Cumber's interests. " The pair of turkeys which I send you are the result of my reviv- ing one of his lordship's rights. They are duty-turheys, and I do not think they will eat the worse for the blessings which Darby O'Drive tells me accompanied them ; at least / don't find they do. *' All that I have yet written, however, is only preliminary ; but now to business. I have received the letter which Lord Cumber transmitted to me, under your frank, in which I am appointed his Head Agent. He also is willing to accept the two thousand pounds on my own terms ; that is, of course, as a loan, at the usual rate of interest. But don't you think, my dear Mr. Slime, that with respect THE IRISH AGENT. 77 to this large sum, an understanding might be entered into, or rather an arrangement made, in a quiet way, that would, I flatter myself, turn out of great ultimate advantage to his lordship. The truth is, that Lord Cumber, like most generous men, is very negligent of his own interests, at least much more so than he ought to be ; and it would be most beneficial to him, in every sense, to have a person managing his estates in the best possible condition to serve him. His property, in fact, is not represented in the grand jury panel of the county. This is a great loss to him — a serious loss. In the first place, it is wretchedly, shamefully deficient in roads, both public and private. In the next place, there are many rents left unpaid through the inability of the people, which we could get paid by the making of these roads, and other county arrangements, which the ill-thinking call jobs. In the third and last place, he has on his property no magistrate friendly to his aforesaid interests, and who would devote himself to them with suitable energy and zeal. Indeed, with regard to the murmurings and heart-burnings alluded to, I fear that such a magistrate will soon become a matter of necessity. There is a bad spirit rising and getting abroad, wherever it came' from; and you know, my dear M'Slime, that it could not proceed from either you or me. You know that — ^you feel it. Now, what I would propose is this : Lord Cumber has sufficient interest with the government to have me — aU unworthy as I am — appointed a magistrate. Let the* government but hint it to the Chancellor, and the thing is done. In that event, instead of giving him this large sum of money as a loan, let it go as a per contra to my appointment to the bench. And there is another consideration, by no means to be overlooked, which is, that by this arrangement, the government would be certain to have in the commission a man who would prove himself one of the precise class which they stand in need of ; that is, a useful man, devoted to their wishes. " Now, my dear M'Slime, I mention this to you with all the con- fidence of unshaken friendship. From you these representations will go to his lordship with a much better grace than they would from me. Tell him, in your own peculiar way, that he shall have the two thousand for the magistracy. That is my first object as his friend ; this once obtained, I have no doubt of seeing myself, ere long, a member of the grand panel, and capable of serving him still more extensively. " Believe to be, my dear M- Slime, &c. ^'Valentkje M'Clutchy. 78 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, «P,S. ^I heard you once express a wish about a certain farm- but mum's the word — only this, I have something in my eye for you." Solomon M'Slime to the Right Hon. Lord Cumber. " My Gracious Lord, " I, of course, cannot look upon the condition you annex to the appointment of the agent as unreasonable, although my friend, M*Clutchy insists, he says, for the honour of the aristocracy, that it was a mistake on your Lordship's part, and that a loan only was meant. Be this as it may, I humbly hope a thought has been vouch- safed to me, by which the matter may, under Providence, assume a more agreeable character for all parties. Last night, my Lord, immediately after family worship, I found myself much refreshed in mind, but rather jaded in my poor sinful body, after the fatigues of the day ; for, indeed, I had ridden a good deal since morning. However, I desired Susanna, a pious young person, who acts as children's maid, and understands my habits, to procure me a little hot water and sugar, into which, out of a necessary regard for health, which is imposed as a duty on us all, I poured a little brandy, partly for sustainment, and partly to qualify the water. Having swallowed a little of this, I found the two principles combine together almost like kindred spirits, and I consequently experienced both nourish- ment and edification from the draught. It was then, my Lord, that it was given me to turn my mind upon the transaction alluded to, I mean the condition of paying two thousand pounds for the privilege of managing your property. Indeed, the thing was vouchsafed to me in this light : your property, my Lord, is not represented in the grand panel of the county, which is certainly a serious loss to you, as there is no one here to advocate your interests, especially since poor Mr. Deaker's infirmities (would that they were all only of the body!) have caused him to attend the grand jury less frequently. Many arrangements might be advantageously made, by which your Lord- ship would indirectly benefit ; that is, the money, so to speak, might be made to go into one pocket, in order that it should be transferred to yours. Then you have not a magistrate on your estates devoted to your special interests, as you ought to have ; this is a very neces- sary thing, my Lord, and to which I humbly endeavour to direct your attention. Again, my Lord, you have no magistrate of true Protestant and Ascendancy principles, who, from time to time, might laaiufest to the government that you did not forget their interests no THE IRISH AGENT. 79 njore than your own. Now, my Lord, what man can be, or is bettef qualified to serve your Lordship in all these capacities than that staunch and unflinching Protestant Mr. Val M'Clutchy ? In what individual could the commission of the peace more appropriately or worthily rest than in your own agent ? I therefore beg your Lord- ship to turn this in your mind, and if advised by one so humble, I would suggest the trial of a short prayer previous to entering on it. Should you exert your influence for that purpose with the govern- ment, the gracious, I trust I may call it so, appointment would be immediately made, and I think I know the grateful disposition of Mr. M'Clutchy sufficiently well to assure your Lordship that from a thorough Christian sense of your kindness, the two thousand pounds will 'be, on that condition, placed in your Lordship's hands. " I have the honour to be, my Lord, " Solomon M' Slime." •*P.S. Mr. M'Clutchy is ignorant that a suggestion, so well calculated to advance the best interests not only of your property but of religion in general, has been graciously intimated to one so un- worthy as I am." Lord Cumber to Solomon M'Slime, Esq.: — " It is done — a bargain — I have arranged the business here with the secretary, and I am obliged to you, my sleek little saint, for suggesting it ; I wonder M'Clutchy himself did not think of it. I feel glad the old leases have dropped, for I am sure that between you and him, you will take out of these farms all that can be taken. Of course, M'Clutchy and you are at liberty to receive any thing you like, provided it be done properly. What is it to me who never go there ? I do believe Hickman was not merely an easy fellow, but a fool; as to glove-money — sealing-money^-duty'fowls — and duty- work — I tell you again, provided you increase my remittance, and work the cash out of these fellows, you may insist upon as many of them as you can get. " Yours, " Cumber," P.S. — What, my little saint, did you mean by that charitable blunder, concerning the widow in your last letter ? I never knew before that a woman was a widow merely because her husband was so VALENTINE M*CLUTCHT, transported, as lie ought to be, for sheep-stealing, or, because h« happened to live, by compulsion, in another country. However, no matter ; give her, for me, whatever you think proper, and add it to your bill of costs, as you will do. " Cumber." Solomon M'Slime, Esq., to Lord Cumber : — My Gracious Lord, " As I have never intentionally varied from truth, I could not bear even for a moment to seem to fall into the opposite principle. I was certainly very busy on the day I had the honour and privilege of writing to your Lordship, and much distracted both in mind and heart, by the woeful backsliding of a member of our congregation. On looking over the copy of the letter, however, I perceive one thing that is gratifying to me. My Lord I made no mistake. It is not, perhaps, known to your Lordship that there are two descriptions of widow — the real and the vegetable ; that is, the widow by death, and the widow by local separation from her husband. Indeed the latter is a class that requires as much sustainment and comfort as the othier — being as they are, more numerous, and suffering all the privations of widowhood, poor things, except its reality. The expression, my Lord, is figurative, and taken from the agricultural occupation of ploughing ; for whenever one animal is unyoked for any other purpose, such as travelling a journey or the like, the other is forthwith turned into some park or grassy paddock, and indeed generally enjoys more comfortable times than if still with the yoke- fellow; for which reason the return of the latter is seldom very earnestly desired by the other. I am happy to tell you, my Lord, that some very refreshing revivals in the religious world have recently occurred here, such as, I trust, will cause true religion to spread and be honoured in the land ; but on the other hand, I fear that satan is at work among many evil designing persons on your Lordship's inheritance in this our neighbourhood. Of this, however, that good and conscientious man, Mr. M'Clutchy, will, 1 doubt not, give you all proper information and advice. " I have the honour to be, my Lord, with profound humility. " Your Lordship's unworthy Servant, " Solomon M*Slime.** THE IRISH AGENT. 81 Valentine M'Clutchy, Esq., J. P., to Lord Cumber : — ** ;My Lord, ** In point of fact, nothing could be more beneficial to your property than my very seasonable appointment to the commission of the peace. It has extended my powers of working for your advan- tage, and armed me with authority that will be found very necessary in repressing outrages and disturbances when they occur ; and I regret to say, that they are likely to occur much too frequently. I should be sorry to doubt Mr. Hickman's candour, but in spite of all my charity, I can scarcely avoid thinking that he did not treat your Lordship with that openness of purpose and confidence to which every landlord is entitled. Of course, I say this with great pain, and rather, between ourselves, as it were ; for, heaven forbid that a single syllable should escape either my tongue or pen that might injure that gentleman's character. The path of duty, however, is often a stern one, as I find it to be on the present occasion. The truth, then, is, that I fear Mr. Hickman must have kept the disturbed state of your tenantry from your Lordship's knowledge, owing, probably, to a reluctance in exposing his own laxity of management. Indeed, I wish I could, with a conscientious sense of my duty to your Lordship, end here, so far as he is concerned. But under eveiy circumstance, truth, and honcbty, and candour will, in the long run, tell for themselves. It is an unquestionable fact, then, that from whatever cause it may proceed, your tenantry and he, ever since my appointment, have had much intercourse of — not exactly a public — new can I decidedly term it — a private nature ; and it is equally true, that in proportion as this intercourse became extended and enlarged, so did the dissatisfaction of the people increase, until they are now almost ripe for outrage. I have observed, I think, that poor Hickman never was remarkable for strength of mind, though not destitute of a certain kind of sagacity; and whether his tampering — if it be tampering — with these people be the result of a foolish principle of envy, or whether, on the other hand, there is anything political in it, I really cannot say. All I can do is to state the facts, and leave the inference to your Lordship's superior penetration. " If, however, it be the fact, that Hickman could stoop to foment this unhappy feeling oK your property, still, my Lord, he is not alone in it. Indeed, it is possible that the intercourse between him and them may, after all, be innocent, however suspicious it looks. I trust and hope it is so — for there are two other families in the neigh- E 2 83 YAJLENTINE M^CLUTCHY, bourhood who, to my certain knowledge have, by diffusing wicked and disloyal principles among the tenantry, done incalculable injury. I had, indeed, some notion of communicating with government on the subject, but I have not as yet been able to get any information sufficiently tangible to work on. In the meantime, I think the wisest and most prudent steps I could take for your Lordship's advantage, would be, to get them as quietly as possible off the estate. I think, from a two-fold sense of duty, I shall be forced to do so. Their leases very fortunately have dropped in the first place, and, on political grounds, it will not be your interest to renew them ; for they have lately expressed a determination to vote against your brother — and in the next, we can get much larger fines from other sources, besides his large farm, one of these men, M'Loughlin, holds a smaller one of eighteen acres, of which there are fifteen years yet unexpired; but on consulting with Mr. M'Slime, and examining the lease, he is of opinion that it contains a flaw, and can be broken. I am sure, my Lord, for your sake, I shall be glad of it. ** I cannot conclude without feeling grateful to heaven for having given me such a son as I am blessed with. He is, indeed, quite invaluable to me in managing these refractory people, and were it not for his aid and vigour, I could not have been able to send your Lord- »hip the last remittance. He is truly zealous in your cause, but I regret to say, that I am not likely to be able to avail myself long of his services. He is about taking a large farm in a different part of the country with a view to marriage, a circumstance which just now occasions me much anxiety of mind, as he will be a serious loss to both your Lordship and me. I am also looking out for an under agent, but cannot find one to my satisfaction. Will your Lordship be kind enough to acknowledge the remittance of last week ? ** I have the honour to be, my Lord, "ValM'C." Lord Cumber to Val M'C, Esq. :— "Dear Sir, ** The check came safely to hand, and seasonably, and the ©ftener I receive such communications the better. The best part of it, however, is gone to the devil already, for I lost six hundred on Alley Croker at the last Ascot meeting ; I write in a hurry, but have time to desire you to keep your son, if possible, on the property. By the way, ai the under agency is vacant, I request you will let him THE IRISH AGENT. $3 iiaye it — and, if he wants a farm to marry on, try and find him one somewhere on the estate : who has a better right ? and, 1 dare say, he will make as good a tenant as another. As to Hickman, I think you are quite mistaken ; the truth being, that he resigned, b r was not dismissed the agency, and if he has not a wish to get himself replaced — which I do not think — I don't see what the deuce he should begin to plot about. I rather think the cause of complaint amonst the people is, that they find some difference between his laxity and your rigour ; if so, you must only let them growl away, and whenever they resort to violence, of course punish them. *' Very truly yours, " CUMBEK. " P.S By all means get those mischievous fellows — I forget their names — off" the property, as I shall have no tenant under me who will create disturbance or sow dissension among the people. I thank you for the fine hamper of fowl, and have only to say, as above, that the oftener, &c., &c. « Cumber.** CHAPTER VII. KEFLECTIONS ON ABSENTEEISM VIRTUES OF A LOYAL MAGISTRATE — A SMALL DOSE OF FLATTERY A BRACE OF BLESSINGS DARBY HAS NOTIONS OF BECOMING A CONVERT HINTS TO A TRUSTY BAILIFF, WITH A BIT OF MYSTERY DRUM DHU, AND THE COM- FORTS OF CHRISTMAS EVE AN EXTERMINATION. One of the greatest curses attending absenteeism is the facility with which a dishonest and oppressive agent can maintain a system of misrepresentation and falsehood, either to screen his own delinquency, or to destroy the reputation of those whom he hates or fears. An absentee landlord has no guarantee beyond the honour and integi'ity of the man to whom he entrusts the management of his property, and consequently he ought to know that his very residence abroad presents strong temptations to persons, who, in too many instances, are not possessed of any principle strong enough to compete with their rapacity or cruelty. Valentine M'Clutchy was one of those 84 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, fellows in wliom the heart was naturally so hard and selfish, that be loved both wealth and the infliction of oppression, simply on account of the pleasure which they afforded him. To such a man, and they formed too numerous a class, the estate of an absentee landlord presented an appropriate, and generally a safe field for action. The great principle of his life was, in every transaction that occurred, to make the interest of the landlord on one hand, and of the tenant on the other, subservient to his own. This was their rule, and the cunning and adroitness necessary to carry it into practical effect, were sometimes scarcely deemed worth concealment, so strong was their sense of impunity, and their disregard of what seldom took place — retribution. Indeed, the absence of the landlord gave them necessarily, as matters were managed, an unlimited power over the people, and gratified that malignant vigilance which ever attend* upon suspicion and conscious guilt. Many of the tenants, for in- stance, when driven to the uttermost depths of distress and misery, have been desperate enough to appeal to the head landlords, and almost in every case the agent himself was enabled to show them their own letters, which the absentee had in the meantime transmitted to the identical party whose tyranny had occasioned them. The appointment of Phil to the under agency was felt even more strongly than the removal of Mr. Hickman, or YaVs succession to that gentleman ; for there was about honest Yal something which the people could not absolutely despise. His talents for business, however, prostituted as they were to such infamous purposes, only rendered him a greater scourge to the unhappy tenantry over whom he was placed. As for Phil, he experienced at their hands that combined feeling of hatred and contempt with which we look upon a man who has every disposition to villany except the ability to accomplish its purposes in a masterly manner. Val's promotion to the Bench did not occasion so much surprise as might be supposed. It is well known, that every such scoundrel, however he may disregard the opinions of the people whom he despises, leaves nothing undone that either meanness or ingenuity can accomplish to sustain a plausible character with the gentry of the neighbourhood. In the times of which we write, the great pass- port to popularity among one party was the expression of strong political opinions. For this reason, Val, who was too cunning to neglect any subordinate aid to his success in life, had created for himself a certain description of character, which in a great degree occasioned much of his dishonesty and oppression to be overlooked THE IRISH AGENT. 85 or forgiven. Like his father, old Deaker, he was a furious Orange- man, of the true, loyal, and Ascendancy class — drank the glorious, pious, and immortal memory every day after dinner — was, in fact, master of an Orange Lodge, and altogether a man of that thorough, staunch, Protestant principle, which was then, as it has been since, prostituted to the worst purposes. For this reason, he was looked upon by those of his own class not so much as a heartless and un- scrupulous knave, as a good sound Protestant, whose religion and loyalty were of the right kidney. In accordance with these prin- ciples, he lost no time in assuming the character of an active, useful man, who considered it the most important part of his duty to extend his political opinions by every means in his power, and to discoun- tenance, in all shapes and under all circumstances, such as were opposed to them. For this purpose, there was only one object left untried and unaccomplished ; but time and his undoubted loyalty soon enabled him to achieve it. Not long after his appointment to the agency, he began to experience some of these uneasy sensations which a consciousness of not having deserved well at the hands of the people will occasion. The man, as we have said, was a coward at heart ; but, like many others of the same class, he contrived on most occasions, to conceal it. He now considered, that it would, at all events, be a safe and prudent act on his part to raise a corps of yeomanry, securing a commission in it for himself and Phil. In thii case he deemed it necessary to be able to lay before government such satisfactory proofs, as would ensure the accomplishment of his object, and at the same time establish his own loyalty and devotion to the higher powers. No man possessed the art of combining several motives under the simple guise of one act, with greater skill than M'Clutchy. For instance, he had now an opportunity of removing from the estate as many as possible of those whom he could not reckon on for political support. Thus would he, in the least suspicious manner, and in the very act of loyalty, occasion that quantity of disturbance just necessary to corroborate his representations to government — free the property from disaffected persons, whose con- sciences were proof against both his threats and promises — and prove to the world that Valentine M'Clutchy was the man to suppress disturbance, punish offenders, maintain peace, and, in short, exhibit precisely that loyal and truly Protestant spirit which the times re- quired, and which, in the end, generally contrived to bring its own reward along with it. One evening about this period, our worthy a^ent was sitting In 86 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, his back parlour, enjoying with Phil the comforts of a warm tumbler of punch, when the old knock already described was heard at the hall door. " How the devil does that rascal contrive to give such a knock ?" said Phil — " upon my honour and reputation, father, I could know it out of a thousand." ** It*s very difficult to say," replied the other ; " but I agree with you in its character — and yet, I am convinced that Master Darby by no means entertains the terror of me which he affects. However, be this as it may, he is invaluable for his attachment to our interests, and the trust which we can repose in him. I intend to make him a Serjeant in our new corps — and talking of that, Phil, you are not aware that I received this morning a letter from Lord Cumber, in which he thanks me for the hint, and says he will do everything in his power to forward the business. I have proposed that he shall be colonel, and that the corps be named, the Castle Cumber Yeomanry. I shall myself be captain and pay-master, and you shall have a slice of something off it, Phil, my boy." ** I have no objection in life," replied Phil, " and let the slice be a good one; only I am rather quakerly as to actual fighting, which may God of his infinite mercy prevent !" " There will be no fighting, my hero," replied the father, laughing ; ** if there were, Phil, I would myself rise above all claims for military glory ; but here there will be nothing but a healthy chase across the country after an occasional rebel or whiteboy, or perhaps the seizing of a still, and the capture of many a keg of neat poteen, Phil — eh ? what do you say to that, my boy ?" ** I have no objection to that," said Phil, " provided everything is done in an open, manly manner — in broad day-light. These scoundrel whiteboys have such devilish good practice at hedge-firing, that I have already made up my mind to decline all warfare that won't be sanctioned by the sun. I believe in my soul they see better without light than with it, so that the darkness, which would be a protection to them, could be none to me." At this moment, a tap — such as a thief would give when ascer- - taining if the master of the house were asleep, in order that he might rob him — came to the door, and, upon being desired to " come in and be d d," Darby entered. " You're an hour late, you scoundrel,** said Val ; what have you to lay for yourself?" ** Yes," added Phil, who was a perfect Achilles to every bailiff and THE IRISH AGENT. ^ driver on the estate— "what have you to say for yourself? If I served you right, upon my honour and reputation, I would kick you out. I would, you scoundrel, and I ought." " I know you ought, squire, for I desarve it ; but, any how, sure it was the floods that sent me round. The plank was covered above three feet, and I had to go round by the bridge. Throth his honour there ought to make the Grand Jury put a bridge acrass it, and I wish to goodness, Square Phil, you would spake to him to get them to do it next summer." When Solomon said, that all was vanity and vexation of spirit, we hope he did not mean that the two terms were at all synonymous ; because, if he did, we unquestionably stand prepared to contest his knowledge of human nature, despite both his wisdom and experience. Darby's reply was not a long one, but its effect was powerful. The very notion that Val M'Clutchy could, should, might, or ought to have such influence over the Grand Jury of the county was irresis- tible with the father ; and that he should live to be actually called squire, nay, to hear the word with his own ears, was equally so with the son. " Come, you sneaking scoundrel, and take a glass of spirits — the night's severe," said Val. *' Yes, you sneaking scoundrel, take a glass of spirits, and we'll see what can be done about the bridge beiore next winter," added Phil. " All I can say is, gintlemen," said Darby, that if you both take it up, it icill be done. In the mane time, here's both your healths, your honours ; an' may you both be spared on the property, as a pair of blessins to the estate 1" Then, running over to Phil, he whispered in a playhouse voice — " Square Phil, I daren't let his honour hear me now, but — here's black confusion to Hickman, the desaver I" " What is he saying, Phil ? What is the cursed sneaking scoundrel saying ?" " Why, your honour," interposed Darby, ** I was axin* permission jist to add a thrifle to what Pm goin' to drink." " What do you mean ?" said Yal. "Just, your honour, to drink the glorious, pious, and immoral mlmory ! hip, hip, hurra !" ** And how can i/ou drink it, you rascal, and you a papist ?" asked Phil, still highly delighted with Darby's loyalty. "What would your priests say if they knew of it ?" " Why," said Darby, quite unconscious of the testimony he was bearing to his own duplicity, " sure they can forgive me that along Sd VALENTINE M'CLUTCHT, with my other sins. But, any how, I have a great notion to lave them and their ralligion altogether." " How is that, you scoundrel ?" asked Val. ** Yes, you scoundrel — ^how is that ?" added Phil. " Why, throth," replied Darby, " I can't well account for it myself, barring it comes from an enlightened conscience. Mr. M'Slime gave me a tract, some time ago, called * Spiritual Food for Babes of Grace,* and I thought in my own conscience, after readin' it care- fully over, that it applied very much to my condition." " Ah r said Phil, " what a babe you are ! but no matter ; Tm glad you have notions of becoming a good, sound Protestant ; take my word, there's nothing like it. A man that's a good, sound Pro- testant is always a loyal feUow, and, when he's drunk, drinks — to hell with the Pope." " Phil, don't be a fool," said his father, who inherited many, if not all, of old Deaker's opinions. " If you are about to become a Protestant, Darby, that's a very different thing from changing your religion — inasmuch as you must have one to change first. However, as you say, M' Slime's your man, and be guided by him." " So I intend, Sir ; and he has been spakin' to me about comin' forrid publicly, in regard of an intention he has of writin' a new tract consarnin* me, to be called the Converted Bailiff, or a Compa- nion to the Religious Attorney ; and he says. Sir, that he'll get us bound up together." " Does he ?" said Val, dryly — ** strung up, I suppose, he means." " Throth you're honour's right," replied Darby ; " but my own mimory isn't what it used to be — it was strung up he said, sure enough. Sir." " Very well," said Val ; ** but now to business. Phil, my boy, you move off for a little ; Darby and I have a small matter to talk over, that nobody must hear but ourselves." " All right," replied Phil ; " so take care of yourselves ;" and accordingly he left the room. Now the truth was, that M'Clutchy, who perfectly understood the half-witted character of his son — for be it known that worthy Phil was considered, by those who had the honour of his acquaintance, as anything but an oracle — did not feel himself justified in admitting the said Phil to full confidence in all his plans and speculations. " You see now," said he, addressing Darby, sternly — '* you see the opinion which I entertain of your honesty, when I trust you more than I do my son." THE IRISH AGENT. 89 ** Troth I do, your honour — and by the same token did I ever betray you ?" "Betray, you scoundrel! what had you to betray?" said Val indignantly, " whatever I do is for the benefit of the country in general, and for Lord Cumber's property in particular: you know that." *' Know it ! does'nt the whole world know it. Sir ?" *' Well then" — said Val, softening — " now to business. In the first place, observe my words — ^listen." Darby said nothing, but looked at him in the attitude of deep and breathless attention. " Whenever you happen to execute a warrant of distress — that is, when removing furniture or any other property off the premises, keep a sharp look out for any papers or parchments that may happen to come in your way. It will do no harm if you should slip them quietly into your pocket, and bring them to me. I say quietly, because there is a spirit abroad among the people that we must watch ; but if they once suspected that we were on the look out for these things they might baffle us ; such papers, you know, can be returned." " I see, your honour," said Darby, " there you are right, as, indeed, you always are." '* Very well then. Is the night dark and stormy ?" - " So dark, Sir, that a blind man could see it." Val then approached the bailiff, looked cautiously about the room- opened the door, and peeped into the hall ; after which he returned, and placing about half a dozen written papers in his hand, whispered something to him with great earnestness and deliberation. Darby heard him with profound attention, nodded his head significantly as he spoke, and placed the point of his right hand fore-finger on the papers, as if he said, " I see — I understand — I am to do so and so with these ; it's all clear — all right, and it shall be done before I sleep." The conversation then fell into its original channel, and Phil was summoned, in order to receive his instructions touching a ceremony which was to take place on the following day but one ; which cere- mony simply consisted in turning out upon the wide world, without house, or home, or shelter, about twenty-three families, containing among them the young, the aged, the sick, and the dying — but this is a scene to which we must beg the reader's more particular attention. There stood, facing the west, about two miles from Constitution Cottage, an irregular string of cabins* with here and there something jQ VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, that might approach the comfortable air of a middle sized farm house. The soil on which they stood was an elevated moor, studded with rocks and small cultivated patches, which the hard hand of labour had, with toil and difficulty, won from what might otherwise be called a cold, bleak, desert. The rocks in several instances were overgrown with underwood and shrubs of different descriptions, which were browsed upon by meagre and hungry looking goats, the only description of cattle that the poverty of these poor people allowed them to keep, with the exception of two or three families, who were able to indulge in the luxury of a cow. In winter it had an air of shivering desolation, that was enough to chill the very blood even to think of; but in summer, the greenness of the shrubs, some of which were aromatic and fragrant, relieved the dark de- pressing spirit which seemed to brood upon it. This little colony, notwithstanding the wretchedness of its appearance, was not, how- ever, shut out from a share of human happiness. The manners of its inhabitants were primeval and simple, and if their enjoyments were few and limited, so also were their desires. God gave them the summer breeze to purify their blood, the sun of heaven to irradiate the bleakness of their mountains, the morning and the evening dressed in all their beauty, the music of their mountain streams, and that of the feathered songsters, to enliven their souls with its melody. The voices of spring, of summer, of autumn, were cheerful in their ears as the voices of friends, and even winter, with all his wildness and desolation, was not without a grim complacence which they loved. They were a poor, harmless, little community, so very humble and inoffensive, as to be absolutely beneath the reach of human resentment or injustice. Alas ! they were not so. The cause of the oppression which was now about to place them in its iron grasp, was as simple as it was iniquitous. They refused to vote for Lord Cumber's brother, and were independent enough to respect the rights of conscience, in defiance of M'Clutchy's de- nunciations. They had voted for the gentleman who gave them employment, and who happened besides, to entertain opinions which they approved. M'Clutchy's object was to remove them from the property, in order that he might replace them with a more obedient and less conscientious class; for this was his principle of action under such circumstances. It so happened that there lived among them a man named O'Regan. who, in point of comfort, was at the head of this little community He was a quiet and an affectionate individual, industrious, sober, and THE IRISH AGENT. 01 every way well conducted. This inofFensive and virtuous man, and his faithful wife, had been for some time before the period we are describing under the shadow of deep affliction. Their second child, and his little brother, together with the eldest, who for two or three years before had been at service in England, were all that had been spared to them — the rest having died young. This second boy was named Torley, and him they loved with an excess of tenderness and affection that could scarcely be blamed. The boy was handsome and manly, full of feeling, and possessed of great resolution and courage ; all this, however, was ultimately of no avail in adding to the span of the poor youth's life. One day in the beginning of autumn, he over- loaded himself with a log of fir which he had found in the moors ; having laid it down to rest, he broke a blood vessel in attempting to raise it to his shoulder the second time : he staggered home, related the accident as it had occurred, and laid himself down gently upon his bed. Decline then set in, and the handsome and high spirited Torley O'Regan lay patiently awaiting his dissolution, his languid eye dim with the shadow of its approach. From the moment it was ascertained that his death, early and unexpected, was known to be certain, the grief of his parents transcended the bounds of ordinary sorrow. It was, indeed, U distressing thing to witness their sufferings, and to feel, in the innermost chambers of your heart, the awful wail of their desolation and despair. "Winter had now arrived in all its severity, and the very day selected for the removal of these poor people was that which fills, or was designed to fill, every Christian heart with hope, charity, affection for our kind, and the innocent enjoyment of that festive spirit which gives to the season a charm that throws the memory back upon the sweetest recollections of life — I mean Christmas eve. The morning, however, was ushered in by storm. There had been above a fortnight's snow, accompanied by hard frost, and to this was added now the force of a piercing wind, and a tremendous down pouring of hard dry drift, against which it is at any time almost impossible even to walk, unless when supported by health, youth, and uncommon strength. In O'Regan's house there was, indeed, the terrible union of a most bitter and two-fold misery. The boy was literally dying, and to this was added the consciousness that M'Clutchy would work his way in epife of storm, tempest, and sickness, nay, even of death itself. A few of the inhabitants of this wild mountain village, which, by the way, was named Drum Dhu, from its black and desolate look, had too 92 VALENTINE M^CLUTCHY, much the fear of M'Clutchy before their eyes, to await his measures, and accordingly sought out some other shelter. It was said, however, and generally supposed, by several of the neighbouring gentry, that even M'Clutchy himself would scarcely dare to take such a step, in defiance of common humanity, public opinion, and the laws both of God and — we were about to add — man, but the word cannot be writ- ten. Every step he took was strictly and perfectly legal, and the con- sequence was, that he had that strong argument, " / am supported by the laws of the land" to enable him to trample upon all the principles of humanity and justice — to gratify political rancour, personal hatred, to oppress, persecute and ruin. Removal, however, in Torley O'Regan's case, would have been instant death. Motion or effort of any kind were strictly forbidden, as was conversation, except in the calmest and lowest tones, and every thing at all approaching to excitement. Still the terror lest |his inhuman agent might carry his resolution into effect on such a day, and under such circumstance, gave to their pitiable sense of his loss a dark and deadly hue of misery, at which the heart actually sickens. From the hour of nine o'clock on that ominous morning, the inhabitants of Drum Dhu were passing, despite the storm, from cabin to cabin, discussing the probable events of the day, and asking each other if it could be possible that M'Clutchy would turn them out under such a tempest. Nor was this all. The scene indeed was one which ought never to be witnessed in any country. Misery in all its shapes was there — suffering in its severest pangs — sickness — disease — famine — and death — to all which was to be added bleak, houseless, homeless, roofless desolation. Had the season been summer they might have slept in the fields, made themselves temporary sheds, or carried their sick, and aged, and helpless, to distant places, where humanity might aid and relieve them. But no — here were the elements of God, as it were, called in by the malignity and wicked- ness of man to war against old age, infancy, and disease. For a day or two preceding this, poor Torley thought he felt a little better, that is to say, his usual symptoms of suffering were mitigated, as is sometimes the case where human weakness literally sinks below the reach of pain itself. Ten o'clock had arrived and he had not yet awoke, having only fallen asleep a little before day break. His father went to his bed-side, and looking down saw that he was still asleep, with a peaceful smile irradiating his features, as it were with a sense of inward happiness and tranquillity. He beckoned to his mother who approached the bed, and contemplated him with that THE IRISH AGENT. S6 tearless agony which sears the heart and brain, until the feeling would be gladly exchanged for madness. The conversation which followed was in Irish, a circumstance that accounts for its figurative style and tenderness of expression. *' What is that smile," said the father. ** It's the peace of God," said the mother, ** shining from an inno- cent and happy heart. Oh ! Torley, my son, my son !" " Yes," replied the father, " he is going to meet happy hearts, but he will leave none in this house behind him — even little Brian that he loved so well — but where was there a heart so loving as his ?" — This, we need scarcely observe, was all said in whispers. "Ah!" said his mother, **you may well ask — but don*t you re- member this day week, when we were talking of M*Clutchy" — *I hope,' says he, * that if he should come, /'// be where no agent can turn me out — that is, in heaven — :for I wouldn't wish to live to see you both and little Brian put from the place that we all loved so weir — and then he wiped away the tears from his pale cheeks. — " Oh ! Torley, my son — my son — are you laving us ! — laving us for ever ?" The father sat down quietly on a chair, and put his hand upon his forehead, as if to keep the upper part of his head from flying off — for such he said, were the sensations he felt. He then wrung his hands until the joints cracked, and gave one short convulsive sob, which no effort of his could repress. The boy soon afterwards opened his eyes, and fixed them with the same peaceful and affectionate smile upon his parents. " Torley," said his mother, kissing him, ** how do you feel, our flower ?" " Aisier," said he, " but I think weaker — I had a dream," he con- tinued; **I thought I was looking in through a great gate at the most beautiful place that ever was — and I said to myself, what country can that be, that's so full of light, and music, and green trees, and beautiful rivers?' 'That is heaven,' said a sweet voice beside me, but I could see no one. I looked again, and then I thought I saw my three little brothers standin' inside the gate smilin' — and I said, * aren't you my brothers that died when you were young ?* * Yes,' said they, * and we are come to welcome you here.* I then was goin' to go in, when I thought I saw my father and little Brian runnin* hand in hand towards the gate, and as I was goin' in, I thought they called after me — * wait, Torley dear, for we will follow you soon.* ** 94 ^ VALENTINE M'CLUTCHT, " And I hope we all will, our blessed treasure ; for when jou lave us, son of our hearts, what temptation will we have to stay afther you ? Your voice, achora, will be in our ears, and your sweet looks in our eyes — but that is all that will be left of you — and your father and I will never have a day's happiness more. Oh, never — up""»r !" " You both know I wouldn't lave you if I could help it, but it's the will of God that I should go ; then when I'll be so happy, won't it take the edge off your grief. Bring Brian here. He and I were all that was left you, since Ned went to England — and now you will have only him. I needn't bid you to love him, for I know that you loved both of us, may be more than you ought, or more than I de- aarved; but not surely more than Brian does. Brian, my darling, come and kiss your own Torley that kept you sleeping every night in his bosom, and never was properly happy without you — kiss me when I can feel you, for I know that before long, you will kiss me when I can't kiss you — Brian, my darling life, how loth I am to lave you, and to lave you all, father — to lave you all, mother." As he spoke, and paused from time to time, the tumult of the storm without, and the fury with which it swept against the roof, door, and windows of the house, made a terrible diapason to the sweet and affecting tone of feeling which pervaded the remarks of the dying boy. His father, however, who felt an irrepressible dread of what was expected to take place, started at the close of the last words, and with a heart divided between the two terrors, stood in that stupe- faction which is only the resting place of misery, where it takes breath and strengthens itself for its greatest trials. He stood with one hand as before, pressed upon his forehead, and pointed with the other to the door. The wife, too, paused, for she could not doubt for a moment, that she heard sounds mingling with these of the storm which belonged not to it. It was Christmas eve I " Stop, Mary," said he, the very current of his heart stilled — its beating pulses frozen, as it were, by the terrible apprehension — ** stop, Mary ; you can open the door, but in such a morning as this you couldn't shut it, and the wind and drift would come in and fill the house, and be the death of our boy. No, I must open the door myself, and it will require all my strength to shut it." " I hear it all now," said Torley, " the cries and the shouting, the acreechings and the well, you need not be afeared ; put poor Brian in with me, for I know there is no Irishman but will respect a death- bed, be it landlord or agent — ay, or bayley. Oh, no, father, the hand of God is upon us, and if they respect nothing else, they will surely THE IRISH AGENT. 05 respect that. They wpn*t move me, mother, when they see me ; for that would kill me — that would be to murder a dying man." The father made no reply, but rushed towards the door, which he opened and closed after him with more ease than he had expected. The storm, in fact, was subsiding ; the small, hard drift had ceased* and it was evident from the appearance of the sky that there was likely to be a change for the better. It would, indeed, appear, as if the Divine Being actually restrained and checked the elements, on witnessing the cruel, heartless, and oppressive purposes of man. But what a scene presented itself to O'Regan, on going forth to witness the proceedings which were then about to take place on this woeful day ! Entering the northern end of this wild collection of sheelings was seen a posse of bailiffs, drivers, constables, keepers, and all that hard- hearted class of ruffians that constitute the staff of a land agent upon occasions similar to this. Immediately behind this followed a body of Orange yeomanry, dressed in regimentals, and with fire-arms — each man carrying thirty rounds of ball cartridge. "We say Orange yeomen advisedly, because at the period we speak of Roman Catholics were not admitted into the yeomanry, unless, perhaps, one in a corps ; and even out of ten corps, perhaps, you might not find the ten exceptions. "When we add to this the fact, that every Protestant young man was then an Orangeman, and that a strong, relentless feeling of religious and political hatred subsisted between them and the Catholic party, we think that there are few, even among our strongest Conservatives, if any, who would attempt to defend the inhuman policy of allowing one party of Irishmen, stimulated by the worst passions, to be let loose thus armed upon defenceless men, whom, besides, they looked upon and treated as enemies. The men in question, who were known by the soubriquet of Deaker's Dashers, were, in point of fact, the terror of every one in the country who was not an Orangeman, no matter what his creed or conduct might be. They were to a man guided by the true Tory principle, not only of supporting Protestantism, but of putting down Popery ; and yet, with singular inconsistency, they were seldom or never seen within a church door, all their religion consisting in giving violent and offensive toasts, and their loyalty in playing party tunes, singing Orange songs, meeting in Orange lodges, and executing the will of some such oppressor as M'Clutchy, who was by no means ar exaggerated specimen of the Orange Tory. Deaker's Dashers were commanded on this occasion by a little 96 VALENTINE M'cLUTCHT, squat figure, all belly, with a short pair of legs at one end, and a little red, fiery face, that looked as if it would explode — at the other. The figure was mounted on horseback, and as it and its party gallantly entered this city of cabinj?^ it clapped its hand on its side, to impress the enemy, no doubt, with a due sense of its military character and prowess. Behind the whole procession, at a little distance, rode M*Clutchy and M'Slime, graceful Phil having declined the honour of the expedition altogether, principally, he said, in consequence of the shortness of the days, and the consequent very sudden approach of night. We cannot omit to state, that Darby O'Drive was full of consequence and importance, and led on his followers, with a roll of paper containing a list of all those who were to be expelled, rolled up in his hand, somewhat like a baton of office. Opposed to this display stood a crowd of poor shivering wretches, with all the marks of poverty and struggle, and, in many cases, of famine and extreme destitution, about them and upon them. Women with their half starved children in their arms, many of them without shoes or stock- ings — ^labouring care-worn men, their heads bound up in cotton hand- kerchiefs, as intimating illness or recovery from illness — old men bent over their staves, some with long white hair streaming to the breeze, and all with haggard looks of terror, produced by the well known presence among them of Deaker*s Dashers. And this was Christmas ev^ — a time of joy and festivity ! Other features were also presented, which gave to this miserable scene a still more depressing character. The voice of lamentation was loud, especially from the females both young and old — all of whom, with some exceptions, were in tears. Many were rending their hair, others -clapping their hands in distraction — some were kneeling to heaven to implore its protection, and not a few to call down its ven- geance upon their oppressors. From many of the men, especially the young and healthy, came stifled curses, and smothered determinations of deep and fearful vengeance. Brows darkened, eyes gleamed, and teeth were ground with a spirit that could neither be mistaken nor scarcely condemned. M'Clutchy tv^as then sowing the wind; but whether at a future day to reap the whirlwind, we are not now pre- pared to state. At length it was deemed time that the ceremony should commence ; and M'Clutchy, armed also with a case of pistols rode up to Darby : — " O'Drive, you scoundrel,'* he shouted — for he saw his enemy, and got courageous, especially since he had a body of his father's Dashers at hia back — " O'Drive, you scoundrel, do you mean to keep us here THE IRISH AGENT. 97 all day ? Why don't you commence ? Whose is the first name on your list? The ejectment must proceed," he added, addressing the poor people as much as Darby — " it must proceed. Every thing we do is by Lord Camber's orders, and strictly according to the law of the land. Every attempt at refusing to give up peaceable possession, makes you liable to be punished ; and punished, by h — n, you shall be." " Do not swear, my dear friend," interposed M'Slime ; " swear not at all ; but let thy yea be yea, and thy nay, nay ; for whatsoever is more than this cometh of evil. My good friends,'' he added, ad- dressing himself to the people : "I could not feel justified in losing this opportunity to throw in a word in season for your sakes. I need scarcely tell you that Mr. M'Clutchy, whose character for benevolence and humanity is perfectly well known — and I would allude to his strong sense of religion, and its practical influence on his conduct, were I not afraid of giving rise to a feeling of spiritual pride in the heart of any fellow creature, however humble — I need not tell you, I say, that he and I are here as your true friends. I, a frail and un- worthy sinner, avow myself as your friend ; at least it is the most anxious and sincere wish of my heart to do good to you ; for I trust I can honestly say, that I love my Catholic — I mean my Roman Catholic friends, and desire to meet them in the bonds of Christ. Yes, we are your friends. You know it is true that God loveth whom he chasteneth, and that it is always good to pass through the furnace of tribulation. What are we, then, but the instruments of His chastisement of you, and of bringing you through that furnace for your own good and for His honour ! Be truly grateful, then, for this instance of His interposition in your favour. It is only a blessing in disguise, my friends — strongly disguised, I grant you — but still a blessing. And now, my friends, to prove my own sincerity — my affectionate, and, I trust. Christian interest in your welfare, I say unto you, that if such among you as lack bread will come to me, when this dispensation in your favour is concluded, I shall give them that which will truly nourish them." M'Clutchy could not stand this, but went down to the little squat Dasher, who joined him in a loud fit of laughter at M' Slime's little word in season ; so that the poor dismayed people had the bitter reflection to add to their other convictions, that their misery, their cares, and their sorrows, were made a mockery of by those who were actually inflicting them. When Darby, on whose face there was a heartless smirk of satis- P3 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, faction at this opportunity of gratifying M'Clutchy, was about to enter the first cabin, there arose from the trembling creatures a loud murmer of wild and unregulated lamentation, which actually startled the bailiffs, who looked as if they were about to be assaulted. An old man then approached M'Clutchy, bent with age and in- firmity, and whose white hair hung far down his shoulders — " Sir," said he, taking off his hat, and standing before him un- covered, severe and still bitter as was the day — ''I stand here in the name of these poor creatures you see about us, to beg you, for the sake of God — of Christ who redeemed us — and of the Holy Spirit that gives kindness and charity to the heart — not on this blake hill, undher sich a sky, and on sich a day, to turn us out of the only shelter we have on earth! There's people here that will die if they're brought outside the door. We did not, at laist the most part of all you see before you, think you had any thought of houldin* good your threat in sich a time of cowld, and storm, and disolation. Look at us, sir, then, and have pity on us ! Make it your own case, if you can, and maybe that will bring our distitution nearer you — and besides, sir, there's a great number of us that thought betther about votin' with you, and surely you won't think of puttin' them out." " It's too late now," said M*Clutchy ; " if you had promised me your votes in time, it was not my intention to have disturbed you — at present I am acting altogether by Lord Cumber's orders, who desires that every one refusing to vote for him shall be made an example of, and removed from the property — O'Drive, you scoundrel, do your duty." At this moment there rushed forth from the again agitated crowd an old woman, whose grizzled locks had escaped from under her dowd cap, and were blown in confusion about her head. She wore a drugget gown that had once been yellow, and a deep blue petti- coat of the same stuff; a circumstance which, joined to the excite- ment, gave to her appearance a good deal of picturesque effect. " Low-born tyrant," she shouted, kneeling rapidly down and holding up her clasped hands, but not in supplication — *' low-born tyrant," she shouted, ** stop ; — spawn of blasphemin' Deaker, stop — bastard of the notorious Kate Clank, hould your hand! You see we know you and yours well. You were a bad son to a bad mother, and the curse of God will pursue you and yours, for that and your other villanies. Go back and hould your hand, I say — and don't dare to bring the vengeance of God upon you, for the plot of hell THE IRISH AGENT. 99 you are about to work out this daj. Go back I say. Be warned Look about you here, and think of what you're going to do. Have you no feeling for ould and helpless age — for the weakness of women — the innocence of childre ? Are you not afraid on such a day to come near the bed of sickness, or the bed of death, with such an intention ? Here's widows and orphans, the sick and the dyin', ould age half dead, and infancy half starved ; and is it upon these that you and blasphemin' Deaker's bloody Dashers are goin' to work your will ! Hould your hand, I say, or if you don't, although I need'nt curse you myself, for I am too wicked for that — yet in the name of all these harmless and helpless creatures before you, I call their curses on your head ! In the name of all the care, and pain, and sorrow, and starvation, and affliction, that's now before your eyes, be you cursed in soul and body — in aU you touch — in all you love — cursed here, and cursed hereafter for ever, if you proceed in your wicked intention this woeful day !" " Who is that mad- woman ?" said M'Clutchy. " Let her be re- moved. All I can say is, that she has taken a very unsuccessful method of staying the proceedings." " Who am I," said she, " I will tell you that. Look at this," she replied, exposing her bosom; "these are the breasts that suckled you — between them did you often lie, you ungrateful viper ! Yes, you may stare. It's many a long year since the name of Kate Clank reached your ears, and now that you have heard it, it is not to bless you. Well you remember when you heard it last — on the day you hunted your dogs at me, and threatened to have me horse- whipped — ay, to horse-whip me with your own hands, should I ever come near your cursed house. Now, you know who I am, and now I have kept my word — which was, never to die till I gave you a shamed face. Kate Clank, your mother, is before you 1" M'Clutchy took the matter very coolly certainly — laughed at her, and in a voice of thunder desired the ejectments to proceed. But how shall we dwell upon this miserable work? The wait- ings and screams, the solicitations for mercy, their prayers, their imprecations and promises, were all sternly disregarded; and on went the justice of law, accompanied by the tumult of misery. The old were dragged out — the bedrid grandmother had her couch of straw taken from under her. From the house of death, the corpse of an aged female was carried out amidst the shrieks and impreca- tions of both men and women ! The sick child that clung with faintness to the bosom of its distracted mother, was put out under 100 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, the freezing blast of the north ; and on, on, onward, from house to house, went the steps of law, accompanied still by the increasing tumult of misery. This was upon Christmas eve — a day of joy and festivity ! At length they reached O'Regan's, and it is not our intention to describe the occurrence at any length. It could not be done. O'Regan clasped his hands; so did his wife. They knelt, they wept, they supplicated. They stated the nature of his malady — decline — from having ruptured a blood-vessel. They ran to M'Clutchy, to M' Slime, to the squat figure on horseback. They prayed to Darby, and especially entreated a ruffian follower who had been remarkable for, and wanton in, his inhumanity, but with no effect. Darby shook his head. " It couldn't be done,'* said he. *'No,** replied the other, whose name was Grimes, "we can't make any differ between one and another — so out he goes." "Father," observed the meek boy, "let them. I will only be the sooner in heaven." He was placed sitting up in bed by the bailiffs, trembling in the cold rush of the blast; but the moment his father saw their pol- luted and sacrilegious hands upon him, he rushed forward accom- panied by his mother. " Stay," said he, in a loud, hoarse voice ; " since you will have him out, let our hands, not yours, be upon him." The ruffian told him they could not stand there all day, and without any further respect for their feelings, they rudely wrapped the bed-clothes about him, and carrying him out, he was placed upon a chair before the door. His parents were immediately beside him, and took him now into their own care; but it was too late — he smiled as he looked into their faces, then looked at his little brother, and giving one long-drawn sigh, he passed, without pain or suffering, saving a slight shudder, into happiness. 0' Regan, when he saw that his noble and beloved boy was gone, surrendered him into the keeping of his wife and other friends, who prevented his body from falling off the chair. He then bent his eye sternly upon the group of bailiffs, especially upon the rude ruffian, Grimes, whose conduct was so atrocious. "Now listen," said he, kneeling down beside his dead son — " listen all of you that has wrought this murder of my dying boy 1 He is yet warm," he added, grinding his teeth, and looking up to heaven, " and here beside him, I pray that the gates of mercy may TUE IRISH AGENT. \q be cloGCvl upon my soul through all eternity, if I die without ven- geance for your death, my son !" His mother, who was now in a state between stupor and dis- traction, exclaimed — " To be sure, darling, and I'll assist you, and so will Torley." llie death of this boy, under circumstances of such incredible cruelty, occasioned even M'Clutchy to relax something of his original intentions. He persisted, however, in accomplishing all the eject- ments without exception ; but, when this was over, he allowed them to re-occupy their miserable cabins, until the weather should ger milder, and untU such of them as could, might be able to procui'e some other shelter for themselves and families. When all was over, M'Slime, who had brought with him a sheaf of tracts for their spiritual sustenance, saw, from the deeply tragic character of the proceedings, that he might spare himself the trouble of such Christian sympathy as he wished to manifest for their salva- tion. He and M'Clutchy, to whom, by the way, he presented the truly spiritual sustenance of some good brandy out of a flask, with which he balanced the tracts in his other pocket, then took their way in the very centre of the Dashers, leaving behind them all those sorrows of life, for which, however, they might well be glad to exchange their consciences and their wealth. The circumstances which we have just described, were too striking not to excite considerable indignation among all reasonable minds at the time. An account of that day's proceedings got into the papers, but was so promptly and fully contradicted by the united testimony of M'Clutchy and M'Slime, that the matter was made to appear very highly complimentary to the benevolence and humanity of both. '• So far from the proceedings in question," the contradiction went on to say, " being marked by the wanton cruelty and inhumanity imputed to them, they were, on the contrary, as remarkable for the kindness and forbearance evinced by Messrs. M'Clutchy and M'Slime. The whole thing was a mere legal form, conducted in a most benevo- lent and Christian spirit. The people were all restored to their tenernents the moment the business of the day was concluded, and we cannot readily forget the admirable advice and exhortation offered to them, and so appropriately offered, by Solomon M' Slime, Esq., the truly Christian and benevolent law agent of the property in question." By these proceedings, however, M'Clutchy had gained his point, vhich was, under the guise of a zealous course of public duty, to ^02 VALENTINE M*CLUTCHY, create a basis on which to ground his private representations of the state of the country to government. He accordingly lost no time in communicating on the subject with Lord Cumber, who at once supported him in the project of raising a body of cavalry for the better security of the public peace ; as, indeed, it was his interest to do, inasmuch, as it advanced his own importance in the eye of government quite as much as it did M'Clutchy's. A strong case was, therefore, made out by the plausible intriguer. In a few days after the affair of Drum Dhu, honest Val contrived to receive secret information of the existence of certain illegal papers which clearly showed that there existed a wide and still spreading conspiracy in the country. As yet, he said, he could not ground any proceeding of a definite character upon them. " The information," he proceeded to say, when writing to the Castle, *' which came to him anonymously, was to the effect that by secretly searching the eves of certain houses specified in the communication received, he would find documents, clearly corroborating the exis- tence and design of the conspiracy just alluded to. That he had accordingly done so; and, to his utter surprise, found that his anonymous informant was right. He begged to enclose copies of the papers, together with the names of the families residing in the houses where they were found. He did not like, indeed, to be called a " Conspiracy hunter," as no man more deprecated their existence ; but he was so devotedly attached to the interests of his revered sovereign, and those of his government, that no matter at what risk either of person or reputation, he would never shrink from avowing or manifesting that attachment to them. And he had the honour to be, his very obedient servant, Valentine M'Clutchy, J.P. P.S. — He begged to enclose for his perusal a letter from his warm fHend, Lord Cumber, on the necessity, as he properly terms it, of getting up a corps of cavalry, which is, indeed, a second thought, as they would be much better adapted, upon long pursuits, and under pressing circumstances, for scowering the country, now so dreadfully disturbed. And has once more the honour to oe, Val. M'C. Representations like these, aided by that most foolish and besotted tendency, which so many of the ignorant and uneducated peasantry have of entering into such associations, did not fail in working oui M'Clutchy's designs/ Most of those in whose houses these papers were placed, fled the country, among whom was O'Regan, whosy THE IRISH AGENT. lO.i dying son Deaker*s Dashers treated with such indefensible barbarity ; and what made every thing appear to fall in with his good fortune, it was much about this period that Grimes, the unfeeling man whom O'Kegan appeared to have in his eye when he uttered such an awful vow of vengeance, was found murdered not far from his own house, with a slip of paper pinned to his coat, on which were written, in a disguised hand, the words — " Remember O'Eegan's son, and let tyrants tremble." Many strong circumstances appeared to bring this murder home to O'Regan. From the day of his son's death, until the illegal papers were found in the eve of his house, he had never rested one moment. His whole soul seemed darkly to brood over that distressing event, and to have undergone a change as it were from good to evil. His brow lowered, his cheek got gaunt and haggard, and his eye hoUow and wolfish with ferocity. Neither did he make any great secret of his intention to execute vengeance on those who hurried his dying child out of life whilst in the very throws of dissolution. He was never known, however, to name any names, nor to mark out any particular individual for revenge. His denunciations were general, but fearful in their import. The necessity, too, of deserting his wife and child sealed his ruin, which was not hard to do, as the man was at best but poor, or merely able as it is termed, to live from hand to mouth. His flight, therefore, and all the circumstances of the case considered, it is not strange that he was the object of general suspicion, and that the officers of justice were sharply on the look out for a clue to him. In this position matters were, when the Castle Cumber corps of cavalry made their appearance under all the glitter of new arms, housings and uniforms, with Valentine M'Clutchy as their captain and pay-master, and graceful Phil as lieutenant. Upon what slight circiunstances do great events often turn. Because Phil had an ungainly twist in his legs, or in other words, because he was knock- kneed, and could not appear to advantage as an infantry officer, was the character of the corps changed from foot to cavalry, so that Phil and Handsome Harry had an opportunity of exhibiting their points together. A year had now elapsed, and the same wintry month of December had again returned, and yet no search had been successful in finding any trace of O'Regan ; but if our readers will be so good as to accompany us to another scene, they will have an opportunity of learning at least the character which M'Clutchy's new corps had won in the country. IC4 VALENTINE SrCLUTCHY, CHAPTER VIII A WINTER MORNING POVERTY AND SORROW FATHER ROCHE — A MOUNTAIN JOURNEY RAYMOND-NA-HATTHA CABIN ON THE MOORS M*CLUTCHY's BLOOD-HOUNDS THE CONFLICT A TREBLE DEATH. It is the chill and ghastly dawn of a severe winter morning; the gray, cheerless opening of day borrows its faint light only for the purpose of enabling you to see that the country about you is partially covered with snow, and that the angry sky is loaded with storm. The rising su.n, like some poverty-stricken invalid, driven, as it were, by necessity, to the occupation of the day, seems scarcely able to rise, and does so with a sickly and reluctant aspect. Abroad, there is no voice of joy or kindness — no cheerful murmur with which the heart can sympathize — all the warm and exhilarating harmonies that breathe from nature in her more genial moods are silent. A black, freezing spirit darkens the very light of day, and throws its dismal shadow upon eveiy thing about us, whilst the only sounds that fall upon the ear, are the roaring of the bitter winds among the naked trees, or the hoarse voice of the half-frozen river, rising and falling — now near, and now far away in the distance. On such a morning as this, it was, and at such an hour, that u. pale-faced, thin woman, with all the melancholy evidences of destitution and sorrow about her, knocked at the door of her parish priest, the Rev. Francis Roche. The very knock she gave, had in it a character of respectful but eager haste. Her appearance, too, was miserable; and as she stood in the cold wintry twilight, it would have satisfied any one that deep affliction and wasting poverty were both at her humble hearth. She had on neither shoe nor stocking, and the consequence was, that the sharp and jagged surface of the frozen ground, rendered severer by the impatient speed of her journey, had cut her feet in such a manner that the blood flowed from them in several places. Cloak or bonnet she had none; but instead of the former her humble gown was turned over her shoulders, and in place of the latter she wore a thin kerchief, drawn round her head, and held under her chin with one hand, as the lower classes of Irishwomen often do in short and hasty journeys. Her journey, however, though THE IRISH AGENT. 105 hasty in this instance, was by no means short; and it was easy to perceive by her distracted manner and stifled sobs, that however poorly protected against the bitter elements, she had a grief within which rendered her insensible to their severity. It was also apparent, that, though humble in life, she possessed, like thousands of her countrywomen, a mind of sufficient compass and strength to comprehend, when adequately moved, the united working of more than one principle at the same moment. We have said it was evident that she was under the influence of deep sorrow, but this was not all — a second glance might disclose the exhibition of a still higher principle. The woman was at prayer, and it was easy to perceive by the beads which she held in her fervently-clasped hands, by the occasional knocking of her breast, and the earnest look of supplication to heaven, that her soul poured forth its aspirations in the deep-felt and anxious spirit of that religion which affliction is found so often to kindle in the peasant's heart. She had only knocked a second time when the door was opened, and having folded up her beads, she put them into her bosom, and entering the priest's house, immediately found herself in the kitchen. In a moment, a middle- aged woman, with a rush-light in her hand, stirred up the greeshough, and raking the live turf out of it, she threw on a dozen well-dried peats out of the chimney-corner, and soon had a comfortable and blazing fire, at which the afflicted creature, having first intimated her wish that his reverence should accompany her home, was desired to sit until he should be ready to set out. "Why, then," exclaimed the good-natured woman, "but you had a bitther tramp of it this cowld and cuttin' mornin' — and a cowld and cuttin' mornin' it is — for sure didn't I feel as if the very nose was whipt off o' me when I only wint to open the door for you. Sit near the fire, achora, and warm yourself — throth myself feels like a sieve, the way the cowld's goin' through me; sit over, achora, sit over, and get some heat into you." "Thank you," said the woman, ^' but you know it's not a safe thing to go near the fire when one is frozen or very cowld — 'twould only make me worse when I go out again, besides givin' me pain now." "Och, throth you're right, I forgot that — but you surely didn't come far, if one's to judge by your dress; though, God knows, far or near, you have the light coverin' an you for such a mornin' as this is, the Lord be praised!" " I came betther than three miles," replied the woman. '* Than what?" ^06 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY. " Than three miles." '* Saver above, is it possible ! without cloak or bonnet, shoe of stockin' — an' you have your affliction at home, too, poor thing; why the Lord look down an you an' pity you, I pray his blessed name this day! Stop, I must warm you a drink of brave new milk, and that'll help to put the covvld out of your heart — sit round here, from the breath of that back door — I'll have it ready for you in a jiffey ; throth will I, an' you'll see it'll warm you and do you good." " God help me," exclaimed the woman, " I'll take the drink, bekase I wouldn't refuse your kind heart ; but it's not meat, nor drink, nor cowld, nor storm, that's throublin' me — I could bear all that, and many a time did — but then I had him ! but now who's to comfort us — who are we to look to — who is to be our friend? Oh, in' the wide world; but God is goodl" said she, checking herself from a pious apprehension that she was not sufficiently submissive to his will, " God is good ; but still it's hard to think of losing him." " Well, you won't lose him I hope," said the good creature, stirring the new milk with a spoon, and tasting it to ascertain if it was warm enough — "Of coorse it's your husband you — whitch! itgch! — the devil be off you for a skillet, I've a'most scalded myself wid you — it's so thin that it has a thing boilin' before you could say Jack Robison. Here now, achora, try it, an' take care it's not a trifle too hot ; it'll comfort you, any how." It is in a country like Ireland, where there is so much of that close and wasting poverty which constitutes absolute misery, that those beautiful gushes of pure and tender humanity are to be found, which spring in the obscurity of life out of the natural goodness and unafteoted piety of the Irish heart. It is these virtues, unseen and unknown as they generally are, except by the humble individuals on whom they are exerted, that so often light up by their radiance the darkness and destitution of the cold and lowly cabin, and that give an unconscious sense of cheerfulness under great privations, which those who do not know the people, often attribute to other and more discreditable causes. While the poor woman in question was drinking the warm milk — the very best restorative by the way which she could get, for poverty is mostly forced to find out its own humble comforts — Father Roche entered the kitchen, buttoned up and prepared for the journey. On looking at her he seemed startled by the scantiness of her dress on such a morning; and when she rose up at his entrance and dropped him a courtsey, exclaiming "God save you, Father!" — at the same THE IRISH AGENT. 107 time hastily swallowing down the remainder of the milk that she might not lose a moment — he cast his eye round the kitchen to see whether she had actually come in the dress she wore. " How far have you come this morning, my poor woman ?" he inquired." "From the side of the Sliebeen More Mountains, plaise your reverence." " What, in your present dress ! without shoe or stocking ?" " True enough. Sir ; but indeed it was little the cowld, or sleet, or frost troubled me." " Yes, God help you, I can believe that too — for I understand the cause of it too well, but have hope ; Katty, what was that you gave her?" " A mouthful of warm milk, your reverence, to put the cowld out of her heart." ** Ah, Katty, I wish we could put sorrow and affliction out of it — but you did well and right in the mean time ; still you must do better, Katty. Lend her your cloak — and your shoes and stockings too, poor thing !" " I'm oblaiged to your reverence," she replied, " but indeed I won't feel the want of them ; as I said there's only one thought that I am suffering about — and that is, for your reverence to see my husband before he departs." " Yes — but the consequences of this cold and bitter journey may fall upon you at another time — and before long too — so be advised by me, and don't refuse to take them." " It's not aisy to do that Sir," she replied, with a faint smile, for as she spoke, his servant had the cloak already about her shoulders, " it appears," she continued " that this kind woman must have her will and way in every thing." " To be sure I will," said Katty, " espishally in every thing that's right, any how — come here now, and while his reverence is getting his staff ancf mittens in the room above, I'll help you on with the shoes and stockings. Now," she added, in one of those touching and irresistible whispers that are produced by kindness and not by secrecy, " if any thing happens — as God forbid there should — but if any thing does happen, keep these till after every thing is over. Before strangers you know one wouldn't like to appear too bare, if they could help it." The tone in which these words were spoken, could not fail in at once reaching the poor woman's heart. She wept as much from gra- titude, as the gloomy alternative involved in Katty's benevolent offer. 108 VALENTINE M*CLUTCHT, " God bless you " she exclaimed, " but I trust in the Almighty there may be hope and that they wont be wanted. Still, how can 1 hope when I think of the way he's in ? But God is good, blessed be his holy name !" So saying, the priest came down, and they both set out on their bleak and desolate journey. The natural aspect of the surrounding country was in good keep- ing with the wild and stonny character of the morning. Before them in the back ground rose a magnificent range of mountains, whose snowy peaks were occasionally seen far above the dusky clouds which drifted rapidly across their bosoms. The whole land scape, in fact, teemed with a spirit of savage grandeur. Many of the glens on each side were deep and precipitous, where rock beetled over rock, and ledge projected over ledge, in a manner so fearful, that the mind of the spectator, excited and rapt into terror by the contemplation of them, wondered why they did not long ago tumble into the chasm beneath, so slight was their apparent support. Even in the mildest seasons desolation brooded over the lesser hills and mountains about them ; what then must it not have been at the period we are describing ? From a hill a little to the right over which they had to pass, a precipitous headland was visible, against which the mighty heavings of the ocean could be heard hoarsely thundering at a distance, and the giant billows, in periods of storm and tempest, seen shivering themselves into white foam that rose nearly to the summit of their immoveable harries. Such was the toilsome country over which our two travellers had to pass. It was not without difficulty and fatigue that the priest and his companion wended their way towards one of the moors we have mentioned. The snow beat against them with great violence, some- times rendering it almost impossible for them to keep their eyes open or to see their proper path across the hills. The woman, how- ever, trod her way instinctively, and whilst the priest aided her by his superior strength, she in return guided him by a clearer sagacity. Neither spoke much, for in truth each had enough to do in combating the toil and peril of the journey, as well as in thinking of the melan- choly scene to which they were hastening. Words of consolation and comfort he did from time to time utter; but he felt that hi? situation was one of difficulty. To inspire hope where there wa? probably no hope, might be only to deepen her affliction ; and on the other hand, to weigh down a heart already heavy laden by unnecea- THE IRISH AGENT. 109 sarily adding one gloomy foreboding to Us burtften, was not in his nature. Such comfort as he could give without bearing too strongly upon either her hopes or her fears he did give ; and we do not think, that an apostle, had he been in his place, could or ought to have done more. They had now arrived within half a mile of the moor, when they felt themselves overtaken by a man whose figure was of a very singular and startling description, being apparently as wild and un- tamed as the barren waste on which he made his appearance. He was actually two or three inches above the common height, but in addition to this fact, and as if not satisfied with it, he wore three hats, one sheathed a little into the other so that they could not readily separate, and the under one he kept always fastened to his head, in order to prevent the whole pyramid from falling off. His person seemed to gain still greater height from the circumstance of his wearing a long surtout that reached to his heels, and which he kept constantly buttoned closely about him. His feet were cased in a tight pair of leather buskins, for it was one of his singularities that he could endure neither boot nor shoe, and he always wore a glove of some kind on his left hand, but never any on his right. His features might be termed regular, even handsome ; and his eyes were abso- lutely brilliant, yet, notwithstanding this, it was impossible to look for a moment upon his tout ensemble, without perceiving that that spirit which stamps the impress of reason and intellect upon the human countenance, was not visible in his. Like a new and well proportioned house which had never been occupied, everything seemed externally regular and perfect, whilst it was evident by its still and lonely character, as contrasted with the busy marks of on-going life in those around it, that it was void and without an inhabitant. Like many others of his unhappy class, Poll Doolin's son, " Eay- mond-na-hattha,"* for it was he, and so had he been nicknamed, in consequence of his wearing such a number of hats, had a remarkable mixture of humour, simplicity, and cunning. He entertained a great penchant, or rather a passion for cock-fighting, and on the present occasion carried a game one under his arm. Throughout the county 110 man possessed a bird of that species, with whose pedigree he was not thoroughly acquainted ; and, truth to tell, he proved himself as gieat a thief as he was a genealogist among them. Many a time the llavmoud of the hats. no VALENTINE M'CLUTCHT, unfortunate foxes from some neighbouring cover were cursed and banned, when, if the fact had been known, the only fox that despoiled the roost was Raymond-na-hattha. One thing, however, was certain, that unless the cock were thoroughly game he might enjoy his liberty and ease long enough without molestation from Raymond. We had well nigh forgotten to say that he wore on the right side of his top- most hat a cockade of yellow cloth, from which two or three ribbons of a scarlet colour fluttered down to his shoulder, a bit of vanity which added very much to the fantastic nature of his general costume. " Ha! Raymond, my good boy," said the priest, "how does it hap- pen that you are so early up this stormy morning ? would you not be more comfortable in your bed ?" " Airly up," replied Raymond, " airly up ! that's good — to be sure you're a priest, but you don't know every thing." " Why, what am I ignorant of now, Raymond ?" " Why, that I didn't go to bed yet — so that it's up late, instead of early, I am — d'ye hear ? ha, ha, now take that." " When, where, and how did you spend the night then, Raymond ? but you seem in a hurry — surely if you trot on at this rate we cannot keep up with you." The truth is, Raymond's general rate of travelling was very rapid. " Where did you spend the night, Raymond ?" con- tinued the priest. " Wid a set o' jolly cocks — ha, ha — now make money of that ; d'ye hear." " You're a riddle, Raymond ; you're a riddle ; there's no under- standing you — where did you get the cock ? — but I needn't ask ; of course you stole him." " Then why do you ax if you think so ?" " Because you're notorious for stealing cocks — every one knows as much." "No, never steal 'em — fond o' me — come wid me themselves. Look." The words were scarcely uttered when he tossed the bird up into the air, and certainly, after flying about for a few yards, he alit, and tottering against the wind towards Raymond, stretched out his neck, as if he wished to be again taken up by him. " I see," said the priest, " but answer me — where did you spend last night now ?" " I tould you," said Raymond, " wid de jolly cocks — sure I mostly roost it ; an' better company too than most people, for they're fond o* me. Didn't you see ? ha, ha !" "I believe I understand you now," said Father Roche ; '^youVo THE IRISH AGENT. Ul slept near somebody's hen-roost, and have stolen the cock — to whom nre you carrying it ?" " You won't tell to-morrow — ha, ha, there now, take a rub too — that's one." " Poor creature," said the priest to his companion, " I am told he is affectionate, and where he takes a fancy or has received a kindness, very grateful." The parish where the circumstances we are describing occurred, having been that in which Raymond was born, of course the poor fool was familiar to every one in it, as indeed every one in it, young and old, was to him. During this short dialogue between him and the priest, the female, absorbed in her own heavy sorrow, was observed by Raymond occa- sionally to wipe the tears from her eyes ; a slight change, a shade of apparent compassion came over his countenance, and turning to her, he gently laid his hand upon her shoulder, and said, in a voice different from his flightly and abrupt manner — " Don't cry, Mary, ke has company, and good things that wei-e brought to him — ^he has indeed, Mary ; so don't be crying now." " What do you mean, poor boy ?" asked the woman. " I don't understand you, Raymond.** " It is difficult to do that at all times,'* said Father Roche, " but notwithstanding the wildness of his manner, he is seldom without " meaning. Raymond will you tell me where you came from cow ?" he asked. '' From your house," he replied ; " I went to fetch you to him ; but you were both gone, and I overtook you — I could aisy do that — ha, ha." " But what is the company that's with him, Raymond ?" asked the female, naturally anxious to understand this part of his communi- cation. Raymond, however, was now in one of his silent moods, and appeared not to hear her; at all events, he did not think it worth his while to give her any reply. For a short period he kept murmuring indistinctly to himself, or if a word or two became audible, it was clear that his favourite sport of cock-fighting had altogether engrossed his attention. They had now reached a rough, dark knoll of heath, which brought them in view of the cabin to which they were going, and also com- manded an extensive and glorious prospect of the rich and magnificent inland country which lay behind them. The priest and his now iiimost exhausted companion, to whom its scenery was familiar 112 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, waited not to look back upon its beauty, or its richness. Not so Raymond, who, from the moment they began to ascend the elevation, kept constantly looking back, and straining his eyes in one particular direction. At length he started, and, placing his right hand upon the priest's shoulder, said in a suppressed but eager voice — *' Go on — go on — they're comin'." Then, turning to the female— " Come," said he ; " come, Mary — ^I'U help you." **Who is coming?" she exclaimed, whilst the paleness of death and terror settled in her face ; " for God's mercy, Raymond, who is coming ?" " I saw them," said he ; "I saw them. Come — come fast — I'll help you — don't thrimble — don't thrimble." " Let us be guided by him," said the priest. " Raymond," he added, " we cannot go much faster through this marshy heath ; but do you aid Mary as well as you can ; as for me, I will try if it be possible to quicken my pace." He accordingly proceeded in advance of the other two for a little ; but it was only for a little. The female — who seemed excited by some uncommon terror, and the wild apprehensive manner of her companion, into something not unlike the energy of despair — rushed on, as if she had been only setting out, or gained supernatural strength. In a few minutes she was beside the priest, whom she * encouraged, and besought, and entreated — ay, and in some moments of more vehement feeling, absolutely chided, for not keeping pace with herself. They had now, however, come within about a hundred yards of the cabin, which they soon reached — the female entering it about a minute or two before the others, in order to make those humble arrangements about a sick-bed, which, however, poverty may be forced to overlook on ordinary occasions, are always attended to on the approach of the doctor, or the minister of religion. In the ynstance before us, she had barely time to comfort her sick husband, by an assurance that the priest had arrived, after which she hastily tviped his lips and kissed them, then settled his head more easily ; after which she spread out to the best advantage the poor quilt which covered him, and tucked it in about his lowly bed, so as to give it something of a more tidy appearance. The interior of the cottage, which the priest and Raymond entered together, was, when the bitter and inclement nature of the morning, and the state of the miserable inmates are considered, enough to make any heart possessing humanity shudder. Two or three stools; a couple of pots ; a few shelves, supported on pegs driven into the pea4 THE IRISH AGENT. 113 wall; about a bushel of raw potatoes lying in a corner; a small heap of damp turf — for the foregoing summer had been so incessantly wet that the turf, unless when very early cut, could not be saved ; a few wooden noggins and dishes ; together with a bundle of straw, covered up in a corner with the sick man's coat, which, when shaken out at night, was a bed ; and these, with the exception of their own simple, domestic truth and affection, were their only riches. The floor, too, as is not unusual in such mountain cabins, was nothing but the natural peat, and so damp and soft was it, that in wet weather the marks of their feet were visibly impressed on it at every step. With the exception of liberty to go and come, pure air, and the light of the blessed day, they might as well have dragged out their existence in a subter- raneous keep, belonging to some tyrannical old baron of the feudal ages. There was one small apartment in this cabin, but what it contained, if it did contain anything, could not readily be seen, for the hole, or window, which in summer admitted the light, was now filled with rags to keep out the cold. From this little room, however, the priest, as he entered, was surprised to see a young man come forth, apparently much moved by some object which he had seen in it. "Mr. Harman," said the priest, a good deal surprised, "who could have expected to find you here?" They shook hands as he spoke, each casting his eyes upon this woeful scene of misery. "God pity them," ejaculated the priest clasping his hands and looking upwards, *'and sustain them!" "I owe it to poor Raymond, here," replied the other, "and I feel obliged to him ; but," said he, taking Father Roche over to the door, "here will be a double death — father and son." "Father and son, how is that? — she mentioned nothing of the son.'» " It is very possible," said Harman, " that they are not conscious of his danger. I fear, however, tliat the poor child has not many hours to live." All that we have just described occurred in three minutes; but short as was the time, the wife's impatience to have the rights of the church administered, could scarcely be restrained; nor was poor Raymond's anxiety about the dying man much less. "They're comin'," said he, "Mr. Harman, they are comin'; hurry> hurry, I know what they'll do." "Who are coming, Raymond?" asked Harman. "Oh!" said the fool, "hurry— M'Clutchy's blood-hounds." The wife clapped her hands, shrieked, and falling on her kneets ll4 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHT, dxclaimed in a piercing voice, "merciful God, look down on us! Oh, Father Roche, there is not a moment to be lost!" The priest and Harman again exchanged a melancholy glance: "you must all retire into the little room," said the clergyman, "until I administer to him the last rites." They accordingly withdrew, the woman having first left a lit rush-light candle at his bed-side, as she knew the ceremony required. The man's strength was wasting fast, and his voice sinking rapidly ; but on the other hand he was calm and rational, a circumstance which ]Qelieved the priest's mind very much. As is usual, having put a stole about his neck, he first heard his confession, earnestly exhorted him to repentance, and soothed and comforted him with all those promises and consolations which are held out to repentant sinners. He then administered the Extreme Unction ; which being over, the ceremony, and a solemn one it must be considered, was concluded. The priest exhorted him with an anxiety for his salvation which transcended all earthly and temporal considerations, prayed with him and for him, whilst the tears streamed in torrents down his cheeks. Nor was the spirit of his holy mission lost; the penitent man's face assumed a placid and serene expression; the light of immortal hope beamed upon it; and raising his eyes and his feeble arms to heaven, he uttered several ejaculations in a tone of voice too low to be heard. At length he exclaimed aloud, " thanks to the Almighty that I did not commit this murder as I intended! I found it done to my hand; but I don't know who did it, as I am to meet my God!" The words were pronounced with difficulty; indeed they were scarcely uttered, when his arms fell lifelessly, as it were, by his side: they were again suddenly drawn up, however, as if by a convulsive motion, and the priest saw that the agonies of death were about to commence; still it was easy to perceive that the man was collected and rational. It was now, however, that a scene took place which could not, we imagine, be witnessed out of distracted and unhappy Ireland. Ray- mond, who appeared to dread the approach of those whom he termed M'Clutchy's blood-hounds, no sooner saw that the religious rites were concluded, than he ran out to reconnoitre. In a moment, however, he returned, a picture of terror, and dragging the woman to the door, pointed to a declivity below the house, exclaiming — " See, Mary, see ; they're gallopin'." The dying man seemed conscious of what was said, for the groan he gave was wild and startling ; his wife dropped on her knees at the door, where she could watch her husband and those who approached, THE IRISH AGENT. 115 and clasping her hands, exclaimed, "To your mercy, O Lord of heaven, to your mercy take him, before he falls into their hands, that will show him none !** She then bestowed upon him a look full of an impatient agony, which no language could describe ; her eyes had already become wild and piercing, her cheek flushed, and her frame animated with a spirit that seemed to partake at once of terror, intense hatred, and something like frenzy. " They are gallopin' ! they are gallopin' !" she said, " and they will find life in him !" She then wrung her hands, but shed not a tear — " speed, Hugh," she said ; " speed, speed, husband of my heart ; the arms of God are they not open for you, and why do you stay?" These sentiments, we should have informed our readers, were uttered, or rather chaunted in a recitative of sorrow, in Irish — Irish being the language in which the peasantry who happen to speak both it and English, always express themselves when more than usually excited. " The sacred oil of salvation is upon you — the sacrament of peace and forgiveness has lightened your soul — the breath of mercy is the breath your breathin' — the hope of Jesus is in your heart, and the intercession of his blessed mother, she that knew sorrow herself, is before you ! Then, light of my heart, the arms of God are they not open for you, and why do you stay here ?" " Nearer, nearer," she exclaimed, " they are nearer ; whippin* and spurrin' their horses ! Hugh O'Regan, that was the sun of my life, and of my heart, and ever without a cloud, hasten to the God of mercy! Oh, surely, you will not blame your own Mary that was your lovin' wife, and the treasure of your young and manly heart, for wishin' to see you taken from her eyes, and for wishing to see the eyes that never looked upon us all but with love and kindness, closed on us for ever. Oh!" said she, putting her hands to her forehead, ** an' is it — is it come to this, that I that was dearer to him than his own life a thousand times, should now be glad to see him die — be glad to see him die! Oh! they are here," she shrieked, "before the door ; you may hear their horses' feet ! Hugh O'Regan," and her voice became louder and more energetic, " the white-skinned — the fair of hair, the strong of hand, and the true of heart ; as you ever loved me that was once your happy bride — as you ever loved the religion of our holy church — as you hope for happiness and mercy, hasten from me — from our orphan — from all ; oh, hasten to the arms of your God!" During this scene there was a solemn silence in the house, the priest and Harman having both been struck mute at the solemnity of the scene. 110 VALENTINE M'CLUTCHT, "They are here; they are here!" she screamed. ''Oh, sun of my heart, -think not now of me, nor of the childre of your love, for we will follow you in time ; but think of the happy country you're going to — to live in the sunshine of heaven, among saints and angels for ever! Oh, sun of my heart, think, too, of what you lave behind you! What is it? Oh! what is it to you but poverty, and misery, and hardship ; the cowld cabin and the damp bed ; the frost of the sky ; the frown of power, and the scourge of law ; all this, oh, right hand of my affection, with the hard labour and the scanty food, do you fly from! Sure we had no friend in this world to protect or defend us against them that would trample us under their feet ! No friend for us, because we are poor ; and no friend for our religion, because it is despised. Then hasten, hasten, oh, light of my heart, and take refuge in the mercy of your God !" *' Mary," said the priest, who had his eyes fixed on the sick man^ " give God thanks, he is dead, and beyond the reach of human enmity for ever." She immediately prostrated herself on the floor in token of humility and thanksgiving ; then raising her eyes to heaven, she said, " may the heart of the woeful widow be grateful to the God who has taken him to his mercy before they came upon him ! But here they are, and now I am not afraid of them. They can't insult my blessed husband now, nor murdher him, as his father's villains did our dyin' son, on the could Esker of Drum Dhu ; nor disturb him with their barbarous torments on the bed of death ; and glory be to God. for that J" Many of our readers may be led to imagine that the terrors of Mary O'Regan were altogether unproportioned to anything that might be apprehended from the approach of the officers of justice, or, at least, of those who came to execute the law. The state of Irish society at that time, however, was very different from what it is now, or has been for the last thirty years. At that period one party was in the ascendant, and the other directly under their feet ; the former was in the possession of irresponsible power, and the other, in many matters, without any tribunal whatsoever to which they could appeal. The Established Church of Ireland was then a sordid corporation, whose wealth was parcelled out not only without principle, but without shame, to the English and Irish aristocracy, but principally to the English. Church livings were not filled with men remarkable for learning and piety, but awarded to political prostitution, and often to young rakes of known and unblushing profligacy connected with families of rank. The consequence was, that a gross secular spirit. ■r-r / THE IRISH AGENT. H. replete with political hatred and religious ranc^»ur, was the only principle which existed in the place of true religion. That word waa then, except in rare cases indeed, a dead letter ; for such was the state of Protestant society then, and for several years afterwards, that it mattered not how much or how little a man of that creed knew about the principles of his own church ; and as it was administered, the less he kneAv of it the better ; all that was necessary to constitute a good Protestant was " to hate the Pope." In truth — for it cannot be concealed, and we write it with deep pain and sorrow — the Esta- blished Church of Ireland was then, in point of fact, little else than a mere political engine held by the English government for the pur- pose of securing the adherence of those who were willing to give support to their measures. In such a state of things, then, it need not be wondered at that, neglected and secularized as it was at the period we write of, it should produce a class of men whose passions in everything connected with religion and politics were intolerant and exclusive. Every Church, no matter what its creed, unfortunately has its elect of such professors. Nor were these confined to the lower classes alone ; far from it. The> squire and nobleman were too frequently both alike remarkable for the exhibition of such principles. Of this class was our friend M'Clutchy, who was now a justice of peace, a grand juror, and a captain of cavalry — his corps having, a little time before, been completed. With this posse, as his officer^ of justice, the pranks he played were grievous to think of, or to remember. He and they were, in fact, the terror of the whole Roman Catholic population ; and from the spirit in which they executed justice, were seldom called by any other name than that of M'Clutchy's Blood-hounds. Upon the present occasion they were unaccompanied by M'Clutchy himself — a circumstance which was not to be regretted, as there was little to be expected from his presence, but additional brutality and insult. On arriving at the door, they hastily dismounted, and rushed into *he cabin with their usual violence and impetuosity, each being armed writh a carbine and bayonet. " Hallo !" said the leader, whose name was Sharpe; "what's here? shamming sickness, is it ?" ** No," said Father Roche ; " it is death 1" '* Ay ! shamming death, then. Never mind ; we'll soon see that. Come, Steele, give him a prod — a gentle one — and I'll engage if 11 make him find tongue, if anything will." 118 VALENTINE M*CLUTCHY, Steele, to whom this was addressed, drew his bayonet, and com- menced screwing it on, for the purpose of executing his orders. " A devilish good trick, too," said he ; " and the first of the kind that has been practised on us yet ; here goes" Up to this moment 0'Regan*s wife sat beside the dead body of her husband, without either word or motion. A smile of — it might be satisfaction, perhaps even joy, at his release, or it might be hatred, was on her face, and in her eye ; but when the man pointed his bayonet at the corpse of her husband, she started to her knees, and opening out her arms, exclaimed — " Here's my heart, and through that heart your bayonet will go, before it touches his body. Oh, ii you have hearts in your bodies, you will surely spare the dead !" " Here goes, ma'am," the fellow repeated, '^ and you had better lave that ; we're not in the habit of being checked by the like of you, at any rate, or any of your creed." " I am not afeared to profess my creed, nor ashamed of it," she exclaimed ; " and if it went to that, I would die for it ; but I tell you, that before your bayonet touches the dead body of my husband, it must pass through my heart!" " Don't be alarmed, Mary," said the priest ; '' they surely cannot be serious. Its not possible that any being in the shape of man could be guilty of such a sacrilegious outrage upon the dead as they threaten." * " What, is it your business ?" said the leader ; go and tare oiF your jiasses, and be hanged; none of your Popish interference here, or it'll be worse for you! I say the fellow's not dead ; he's only scheming. Come, Alick, put the woman aside, and tickle him up." " Keep aside, I tell you," said Steele, again addressing her ; ^' keep aside, my good woman, till I obey my orders, and don't provoke mft." Father Roche was again advancing to remonstrate with him, for the man's determination seemed likely to get stronger by opposition, when, just as the bayonet, which had already passed under the woman's arm, was within a few inches of O'Regan's body, he felt himself dragged forcibly back, and Raymond-na-hattha stood before him, having seized both carbine and bayonet with a strong grip. " Don't do that," he exclaimed ; " don't — you'd hurt him ; sure you'd hurt poor Hugh !" The touching simplicity of this language, which, to a heart pos- sessing the least tincture of humanity, would have had more force k THE IRISH AGENT. ^119 Ihfin the strongest argument, was thrown away upon him to whom it was directed. " Fling the blasted idiot off," shouted Sharpe ; ''don't you see he has let the cat out o* the bag — how could the man be hurted if he was dead? I knew it was a schame." To throw Raymond off, however, was easier said than done, as the fellow found on attempting it. A struggle commenced between them, which, though violent, was not of long duration. Raymond's eye got turbid, and glared with a red, fiery light; but otherwise his complexion did not change. By a vehement twist, he wrenched the arms out of Steele's hands, hurling him from him, at the same time, with such force, that he fell on the floor with a crash. "Now," said he, pointing the bayonet to liis rjeck, "would yoM like it? — ha, ha!— think of that." Four carbines — the whole party consisting of five — ^were imme- diately levelled at him; and it is not improbable that half a minute more would have closed both his existence and his history, had not Father Roche and the widow both succeeded, with some difficulty, in drawing him back from the prostrate oflficer of justice. Raymond, after a little time, gave up the arms ; but his eye still blazed at his opponent, with a glare that could not be misunderstood. Harman, who had hitherto taken no part whatsoever in the alter- cation, now interfered ; and with feelings which he found it nearly impossible to restrain, pointed out to them the wanton cruelty of such conduct towards both the living and the dead. " I am ashamed of you," said lie, "as countrymen — a? Irishmen. Your treatment of this poor, heart-broken woman, amidst her desolation and sorrow, is a disgrace to the country that gave you birth, and to the religion you profess — if, indeed, you profess any." " Come, come, my good fellow, " said Sharpe, " what is it you say about my religion ? I tell you I'll allow no man to spake a syllable against my religion ; so keep quiet, if you're wise, and don't attack that, otherwise don't be surprised if I make you dance the devil's hornpipe in half a shake — great a hairo as you are." "And yet you felt no scruple in just now insulting religion, in the person of this reverend gentleman who never offeLJed you." " Him ! why what the hell is he but a priest ?" "And the more entitled to your respect on iuiitl account; but since you are io easily excited in defence of your own creed, why so ready to a^ ack in such offensive and insulting language that of another ?" 120 YALENTINE M'CLUTCHY. " Come, come, Sharpe," said another of them, *' are we to be hei*e all day j whatever we're to do let us do it at once. If the fellow't dead, why he has had a devilish good escape of it, and if not, let ua clap him on a horse — ^that is, provided he's able to travel. I think myself he has got the start of us, and that the wind's out of him." *' Take your time, said Steele," who felt anxious to avenge his defeat- upon some one, "we must know that before ever we leave the house — and by the great Boyne, the first person that goes be- tween me and him will get the contents of this ; and as he uttered the words, he cooly and deliberately cocked the gun, and was ad- vancing, as before, to the dead body. **Hold back," said Harman, in a voice which made the man start, whilst, with a firm tread and resolute eye, he stood face to face before him; *'hold back, and dare not to violate that sacred and awful privilege, which, in every country and creed under heaven, is sufficient to protect the defenceless dead. What can be your object in this ? are you men — have you the spirit, the courage of men? If you are human beings, is not the sight of that un- happy fellow-creature — I hope he is happy now — stretched out in death before you, sufficient, by the very stillness of departed life, to calm the brutal frenzy of your passions? Have you common courage? No; I tell you to your teeth that none but spiritless caitiffs and cowards would, in the presence of death and sorrow in the miserable cabin of the destitute widow and her orphan boy exhibit the ruffianly outrages of men who are wanton in their cruelty, merely because they know there is none to resist them ; and I may add, because they think that their excesses, however barbarous, will be shielded by higher authority. No ; I tell you, if there stood man for man before you, even without arms, in their hands, you would not dare to act and swagger as you do, or to play these cruel pranks of oppression and tyranny any where, much less in the house of death and affliction ! Fie upon you ; you are a dis- grace to everything that is human — a reproach to every feeling of manhood, and every principle of religion." Hardened as they were by the habits of their profligate and de- basing employment, such was the ascendancy of manly truth and moral feeling over them, that for a minute or two they quailed under the indignant glance of Hardman. Steele drew back his gun, and looked around on his companions to ascertain their feeling. " Gentlemen," said Father Roche, anxious to mollify them as much as he could — " gentlemen, for the sake of that poor, heart- ^■-:^ c'^ ^ ^^ S^ :<^ »: THE IRISH AGENT. 12i broken, widowed woman, and her miserable orphan son — for her and his sake, and if not for theirs, tlien for the sake of God him- self, before whose awful judgment-seat we must all stand, to render an account of our works, I entreat — I implore you to withdraw ; do, gentlemen, and leave her and her children to their sorrows and their misery, for the world has little else for them." " I'm willin' to go," said a fellow, ironically called Handsome Hacket, because he was blind of an eye and deeply pock-pitted; "there's no use in quarrellin' with a woman certainly, and I don't think there can be any doubt about the man's death — devil a bit." "Well said, Vaynus," exclaimed Sharpe, <'and it not ten days since we were defrauded of Parra Rackan, who escaped from us in Jemmy Reilly's coffin, when we thought to nab him in the wake- house ; and when we went away didn't they set him at large, and then go back to bury the man that was dead. Now, how do you know, Vaynus, my purty boy, that this fellow's not playin' us a trick o* the same colour ?" *' Come, come," said another of them who had not yet spoken, " it's aisy to know that. Curse me, Steele, if you don't give him a tickle, I will — that's all ; we're losin' the day, and I want my breakfast — living or dead, and be hanged to him ; I'm starved for want of something to eat — and to drink too — so be quick, I tell you." "Very well, my buck," said Steele, "that's your sort — here goes — ^" He once more advanced, with a savage determination, to effect his purpose, when the priest gently, and in a mild spirit of remon- strance, laid his hand upon his shoulder ; but he had scarcely done so, when one of them seized him by the collar, and flung, or rather attempted to fling, him back with great violence. " Go on, Steele," shouted the last speaker, whose name was Harpur — "go on, and be cursed, man; we will support you." The words, however, were scarcely out of his lips, when Ray- mond, his eye glaring like that of a tiger with the wildness of un- tamed resentment, sprung upon him with a bound, and in a mo- ment they once more grappled together. It was, however, only for a moment — for by the heavy blow he received from Raymond, the man staggered and fell, but ere he reached the ground, the gun, which had been ineffectually aimed at the poor fool, went off, and lodged its contents in the heart of the last speaker, who staggered, groaned, and fell lifeless where he stood. For a minute or so this fatal and unexpected catastrophe stunne4 122 YALENTINE M'CLUTCHY, them. They looked upon each other, amazed and apparently stupified. " What," cried Sharpe, " is Harpur dead ?" Two of them thejp placed their arms against the wall, in order to ascertain the exact nature of the injury inflicted. At this moment, Sharpe, who saw at once^that the man was indeed lifeless, raised his gun, about to take aim at Raymond, when a blow from Harman felled him to the earth. "And here's for your kindness, Miste/- Harman," shouted Steele ; but ere the words were uttered, O'Regan's wife threw herself upon him so effectually, that he felt it impossible to avail himself of his fire-arms. "Fight now," she shouted in Irish; "it is for your lives — it is for the widow — for the orphan — ^for the bed of death — and the dead that's upon it — fight now, for God will be with us! May his strength and power be in your arms and your hearts, prays the woeful widow this day! Villain — villain," she shouted, "I have you powerless now; but it's the strength of God that is in me, and not my own !" The conflict that ensued now was bitter, savage, deadly. The moment Sharpe was knocked down Raymond flew to their fire- arms — ^lianded one to Harman, and kept the other himself. The men who used them were fierce, and powerful, and cruel. In a moment a furious contest took place. The four men immediately grappled — each one attempting to wrest the gun from his antagonist. Raymond, whose passions were now roused so as to resemble the ravenous fury of madness itself, at one time howled like a beast of prey, and shouted, and screamed, and laughed with maniac wild- ness that was enough to make almost any heart quail. His eyes blazed, his figure dilated, his muscles stood out, his mouth was white with froth, and his eye-brows were knit into a deep and deadly scowl. Altogether his appearance was frightful and ap- palling. Harman was still better matched, and the struggle with his foe was for some time doubtful enough, the latter being one of the strongest and most resolute men in the whole parish. A powerful tug for the gun now took place, each pulling in opposite directions with all his might. At length a thought struck Harman, who all at once let the gun go, when the other, having no longer a resisting power to sustain him, fell back upon the floor, and in an instant Harman's knee was on his chest and the gun in his possession. The man ground his teeth, and looking up into his face with a black scowl of hatred, exclaimed — THE miSH AGENT. 123 " It is your turn now, but I will have mine." '' You have had yours too long, you villain," replied the other; " but in the meantime I will teach you to respect the bed of death and the afflictions of a widow." Saying which, he vigorously applied the butt of the gun to his ribs, until he had rendered him anything but disposed for further conflict. Both victories were achieved much about the same time, Ray- mond's opponent being far the more severely punished of the twa. What, however, was their surprise, after each had expelled his man from the cabin, to find Steele down, his gun lying on one side, O'Regan's wife fastened on his throat, and he himself panting and almost black in the face ! '' Here now !" she exclaimed, " the battle of the widow was well fought, and God gave us strength. Put this man out with the rest." This was accordingly done, but as in the case of his companions, the gun for the present was retained. " See now," she proceeded, still in Irish, *