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X 
 
MAURICE AND BERGHETTA ; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 PRIEST OF RAEEEY. 
 
 
MAURICE AND BERGHETTA; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 WELLS AND LILLY, COURT-STREET. 
 1820. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 CATHOLIC PRIESTHOOD 
 
 OF IRELAND. 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 I AM glad to have an opportunity of 
 giving a public, though small mark of 
 respect to men, whose merits have always 
 appeared to me equal to their privations. 
 This is a very large compliment ; for 
 these privations have indeed been great. 
 We may however begin to speak of them 
 without bitterness, for their end is clearly 
 approaching; the bigotry, which darken- 
 ed the understanding of the Irish Govern- 
 ment, has passed away ; and it is not likely 
 that the Government should continue to 
 reject a body of men, on whom the civili- 
 zation and subordination of the lower 
 orders in Ireland depends. But when the 
 
 A* 
 
VI 
 
 exclusion of your body from the rights 01 
 civil society shall cease, the peculiarities 
 of manner and character, which distin- 
 guished it in adversity, will disappear 
 also. 
 
 There is something, however, every in- 
 teresting in these national and professional 
 features, though they are merely Irish ; 
 arid before they are quite forgotten, this 
 attempt is made to fix and embody them 
 in the description of an Irish priest, such 
 as may have existed a century ago. I am 
 afraid, that he will not be thought quite 
 orthodox, at least by that large description 
 of Christians, which exists among Catholics, 
 as well as among every other religious 
 sect, who value the Church more than the 
 Gospel. Allowance ought however to be 
 made for a Protestant writer, who does his 
 best to reconcile differences, believing 
 that the time is fast approaching, when the 
 great foundation principles, the warmth, 
 the sincerity, and the benevolence of re- 
 ligion, will be so prevalent, that the present 
 differences, which have been exalted into 
 disproportioned importance by controver- 
 
Vll 
 
 sy, will be as little regarded as the differ- 
 ences respecting meats, which divided the 
 Church in its early ages. 
 
 The character of your Clergy will in 
 future partake more of that of the upper 
 orders of society, yet perhaps it will be 
 intrinsically less amiable, than that of the 
 age which the following pages represent. 
 -You have hitherto remained in peace- 
 ful and useful obscurity, safe from the 
 contamination of the Castle and the Vati- 
 can ; and it would be difficult to say in 
 which of these petty courts, the foulest 
 traffic to corrupt the purity of individual 
 principle has been carried on. But now 
 you have acquired sufficient value to be 
 worth being purchased ; nor can your 
 Church hope to escape the certain con- 
 tamination of influence, but in the measure 
 of the domestic nomination of your Hie- 
 rarchy. 
 
 This principle, happily begun, must 
 raise your Church to an eminence of piety 
 and talent, far beyond that of the Protes- 
 tant or any other Church, where the inter- 
 est of politicians is allowed to influence 
 
VII 1 
 
 the choice of the chief servants of reli- 
 gion ; this measure can alone ensure, that 
 with the manners and mental cultivation 
 of a more refined age your pastors may 
 preserve the simpicity and purity of the 
 Priest of Rahery. 
 
 The intercourse, Gentlemen, which I 
 have had with very many of your body, 
 has impressed me with sentiments of the 
 deepest esteem, which I cannot express 
 better than by the wish, that the Catholic 
 Priesthood, in its constitution and destina- 
 tion, may be neither English, Roman, nor 
 Italian, but Christian and Irish. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 1 HOUGH no one, who appears as an author, can 
 hope to free himself from the charge of being 
 actuated by a love of distinction ; yet the writer 
 of the present work is conscious, that there are 
 grounds for extenuation. 
 
 He scarcely remembers the time, when a pas- 
 sion for his native country, and a painful com- 
 miseration of the deplorable state of the peasantry 
 in Ireland, were not the strongest feelings in his 
 breast. When very young, these were very acute ; 
 and even now the miseries, which every where 
 surround him, would make a residence in Ireland 
 too melancholy to be endured, but for the hope 
 and exertion, which still suggest a flattering belief, 
 that their end is approaching. 
 
 The squalid appearance of the peasantry, and 
 their horrid habitations, are sights that his eyes 
 never get accustomed to ; though a short resi- 
 dence in Ireland makes most people inattentive to 
 them : he seems forced on to a study of these de- 
 tails of wretchedness, till so pained with the recur- 
 rence of the idea of suffering, that any exertion 
 with a chance of mitigating, it becomes a relief. 
 Like the nightingale that is safd to lean its breast 
 against a thorn, that sleep miy not interrupt its 
 
song, this aching pity for poor Ireland has kept 
 him constantly thinking, studying, writing, talking, 
 in hopes that by exertion or good fortune he 
 might be the means of bettering her condition. 
 One claim, at least, to attention he may be allowed, 
 which is having minutely, carefully, and unremit- 
 tingly studied the subject. 
 
 To the governing powers he of course has ap- 
 plied, but not very often, as every little chance of 
 success with them would be lost by importunity. 
 But success, indeed, he never had to boast of, 
 
 English strangers, when they first come to Ire- 
 land, are invariably surprised and shocked at the 
 misery of the lower orders ; but their eyes soon 
 become accustomed to the sight, and they acquire 
 an obduracy and indifference on the subject greater 
 than exist in those who always reside there. 
 
 Neither do the official men sent from England 
 form any exception to the general rule. These 
 at first are solicitous to devise remedies for the 
 misery that it is new to them ; but they are soon 
 hardened by the unfeeling society, in whose nar- 
 row circle they pass their time ; they eat pine- 
 apples, drink champaign, shoot woodcocks, are 
 assiduously flattered, and feeling themselves very 
 well off, forget how other people suffer. 
 
 Matters have grown worse, since certain max- 
 ims of political economy have become prevalent. 
 Those who espouse these opinions do not perceive, 
 that the maxim of government not interfering, is 
 good only when consistent and general ; that there 
 is neither political nor economical wisdom in first 
 
XI 
 
 reducing a country to ruin, persevering in those 
 measures of violent interference which have 
 brought it to ruin, and then, when applied to for 
 exertions to mitigate, or remedy, saying, " it is 
 very inexpedient for government to interfere." 
 
 A country that has been depressed by active 
 interference may surely claim to be advanced by 
 some greater exertion on the part of government, 
 than if the order of society, and the course of 
 individual industry, had never been interrupted. 
 At present every application for relief, is answer- 
 ed by a maxim of political economy. 
 
 So that to exact money from a distressed peo- 
 ple, to tax to the utmost extreme, and distrain 
 when the tax is not to be had ; all this is very 
 allowable : but to give, relieve, or remit, is quite 
 contrary to all wise principles. 
 
 When the Irish administration is called on to 
 advance the education of the lower orders, to 
 abate a tax, or to give a stimulus to industry, it is 
 not sufficient to turn to Adam Smith, and say, 
 " look at this chapter ; it is best not to interfere :" 
 as long as it can be plainly shown, that the minds 
 of the people have been degraded, and the desire 
 to better their condition (from which all industry 
 takes its origin) has been paralyzed by the inter- 
 ference of government. 
 
 This affectation in the Irish administration of 
 a dread of interfering where- any good is to be 
 done, whilst the whole country is a scene of dis- 
 tress from the violence with which the order of 
 society is broken, throws an air of ridicule over 
 
XI 1 
 
 the proceedings of the governing power. Thus, 
 last year, when the obvious measures for arresting 
 the progress of the typhus fever in Ireland (now 
 at length adopted) were first proposed : " What !" 
 cried the Irish administration, " sanction so gross 
 an invasion of the liberty of the subject, as to 
 give a power to enter a poor man's house, and 
 make a window in it ? What ! take up the poor, 
 and immure them in hospitals ; and stop the free 
 march of a beggar, though his cloak and bag may 
 spread infection from house to house ! What un- 
 heard of interference !" 
 
 And yet this administration had not only inter- 
 fered, so far as to maintain all political power and 
 valuable patronage in the hands of a small minor- 
 ity of the nation, while the great majority was 
 excluded from hope and enterprise ; but, in pur- 
 suance of this disturbing system, they had neces- 
 sarily been led to interfere so much farther, as to 
 punish all individuals, who were found out of their 
 houses after nine o'clock, with transportation to 
 Botany Bay : and under the name of police "peace 
 preservation," and the disguise of brown coats, to 
 establish a military force in the provinces, acting 
 without even the benefit of military law. Really, 
 to hear the supporters of such a system assume a 
 zeal for liberty, is like a Chinese parent, who 
 puts his child's feet in a compress, and then says, 
 " Now go, and dance about as much as you like." 
 
 It is the same with regard to education. If you 
 apply to the Irish administration to exert itself, and 
 advance ever so trifling a fund, it repeats a maxim 
 it has lately learned, that the moment government 
 advances any money, all private subscription ceas- 
 
X11I 
 
 es. It does not consider, that it has rendered the 
 country so poor, and its inhabitants so spiritless, 
 that the amount of this private Fuhscription is 
 quite insignificant, and perfectly imcompetent to 
 the great object : and therefore any consideration 
 of its increase or decrease at the present moment, 
 cannot excuse the inactivity of the Irish ministry, 
 and its apparent indifference to civilize the minds 
 of a people reduced to this state. 
 
 But the most lamentable misapplication of this 
 doctrine of noninterference has been in the case of 
 the famine and fever, which have desolated Ireland. 
 Not less than a million of people have been total- 
 ly ruined by these dreadful scourges, of whom at 
 least one hundred thousand have died* : and these 
 under every circumstance of horror exposed in 
 ditches ! in open fields ! by the road sides ! whole 
 districts without any medical or charitable assis- 
 tance. Repeated instances have occurred of 
 whole families perishing unknown and without 
 help. And you see every where cabins fallen 
 down, where you are told, the family died of the 
 feverf ! And this must necessarily have been the 
 case, for when the whole family were ill, which 
 
 * We must not be deceived by the flattering returns of 
 the public hospitals. It is not in these, but upon the re- 
 turn to insufficient nourishment, and the filth of their ca- 
 bin, that the numerous deaths of those discharged take 
 place from relapses. 
 
 f It is difficult to bring an idea of national misery 
 strongly home to the feelings of the public. It is too im- 
 patient of details, and is not to be moved by general 
 description: among a multitude of others, the two following 
 instances are selected from letters addressed to and pub" 
 
frequently occurred, they had no support but such 
 casual supply as might be left by a neighbour on 
 the outside of the door, or was put in on a long 
 
 lished in the Eighth Report of the Sunday School Socie- 
 ty ; for as the facts are mentioned only incidentally, they 
 may be safely relied on. 
 
 BERAGH. Co. of Tyrone. 
 
 Qih Dec. 1817. 
 
 In addition to poverty, fever has raged. Great num- 
 bers have already fallen ; some families, consisting of 
 many branches, are nearly extinct, others deprived of 
 their most useful members ; helpless infant orphans left 
 destitute, and multitudes still under the disease. The 
 wretched victims of want and disease are in many cases 
 left to languish in lingering and protracted torments, 
 without an eye to pity, or a hand to save. On some oc- 
 casions, people can scarcely be found to put the dead in- 
 to a coffin, or the coffin into a grave. 80 familiar has 
 death become, that the passenger can listen, apparently 
 unmoved, to the wailings of the sick, or the groans of the 
 dying, anxious only for personal safety. That this is no 
 exaggerated statement, may be readily conceived, by con- 
 sidering, that in consequence of the prevalence of fever, 
 no service has been in the parish church for some months 
 past." 
 
 JEDD. Co. of Fermanagh. 
 
 12th Jan. 1818,' 
 
 " The fever raged so high, that we were obliged to dis- 
 miss our school early in September last ; we opened it 
 the first Sunday in "November, but had to close again. 
 We intend to open the first Sunday in March, if our lives 
 are spared. The distemper is raging ; the cries of wid- 
 ows and orphans are very affecting. The grave yards are 
 ploughed : red carts and cars are employed to earrj ofl 
 the dead : and all relief by friends and neighbours to the 
 unhappy sufferers is refused, A poor woman and her Ii 
 
XV 
 
 handled shovel so that when they became unable 
 to rise, or if no assistance was at hand, they must 
 have perished from want of sustenance, as well as 
 from disease. There being no legal provision for 
 the poor in Ireland, no assistance whatever to save 
 a poor person perishing from want made the sit- 
 uation of the sick more perilous ; as there are no 
 parish officers, there is no person whose business 
 it is officially to inquire into the state of the poor. 
 Miserably inadequate to the relief of this great 
 calamity was the assistance, which the reduced 
 number of the Irish gentry could afford. They 
 did exert themselves most meritoriously. The 
 absentee proprietors, with a few splendid excep- 
 tions, did little or nothing ; and here, as in the 
 case of the local disturbances of the country, the 
 deplorable effect of the Union, in banishing the 
 resident proprietors, was sensibly felt. The ines- 
 timable value of an old resident gentry was per- 
 ceived in its loss ; it was seen, that it could not be 
 compensated by any sudden rise of trade and mer- 
 chants ; and all this nonsense of the political econ- 
 omists and advocates of the Union was at length 
 justly appreciated. Whole districts suffered under 
 the cruel alternative of famine and fever, without 
 the smallest medical or charitable assistance, or 
 without an inquiry being made into their situation. 
 
 tie son of five years old were refused access to any house ; 
 and night coining on, she took shelter under a car, in a gra- 
 vel pit, and ]\\ 2 a true. mother,took offher flannel petticoat, 
 wrapped it round the little object of her care, put him in her 
 bosom and lay down and died. In the morning, a man enquir- 
 ed how she was ; the child replied, that she had fallen asleep, 
 and that he could not wake her. Many suchlike instan- 
 ces of distress have occurred in our neighbourhood this 
 season. O what a tiine is this '." 
 
XVI 
 
 Ail this time, the Irish administration adhered 
 to its cold pedantry, and with such implicit belief 
 in its Adam Smith, that it must he freed from any 
 hlame of personal want of feeling, or mal-intention. 
 It took care also, to give sufficient relief to save its 
 credit : but pretty much upon the same principle 
 as a friend of the Author, who devised a means to 
 free himself from the importunity of itinerant beg- 
 gars, and yet preserve his character for charity. 
 He lived a quarter of a mile from the road side. 
 and to every beggar that came he always gave one 
 halfpenny ; the beggars, finding that one halfpen- 
 ny did not recompense the time and trouble o( 
 walking half a mile, soon made very rare visits. 
 
 Thus the Irish administration devoted to the 
 relief of the horrible distresses of the year 1817 
 a sum of 8,000. For the relief of a population 
 of many millions, suffering the worst extreme of 
 famine, and reduced to feed upon charlock and 
 other weeds ! for the succeeding year, (when Par- 
 liament purchased the Elgin marbles and Dr. 
 Burney's library,) when the fever was at its height, 
 15,000 were all it destined to the relief of this 
 worst calamity ; and these sums were dealt out in 
 wretched pittances of 30 for whole parishes, 
 (unless a person of influence applied,) and subject 
 to all the forms and delays of solicitation. 
 
 But these evils, it is to be hoped, are 
 rary. The ponderous mischief, that constantly 
 weighs down Ireland, exists in the laws which 
 injuriously distinguish Catholics from Protestants. 
 These, by giving the Protestants a factitious pre- 
 eminence, have rendered them ostentatious, ex- 
 travagant, expensive beyond their means, and, by 
 
XVII 
 
 a certain consequence, corrupted and dependent 
 on government. These, by violently depressing 
 the Catholics, have degraded what may be con- 
 sidered as the public mind and character of Ire- 
 land suppressing all demand for the public activ- 
 ity and intelligence of this prominent part of the 
 nation, they have struck at the very existence of 
 these qualities, while they have nearly annihilated 
 all public honour and honesty, by making them not 
 essential in Protestants, and of no avail in Catho- 
 lics. 
 
 Nothing can more strongly prove, that, so long 
 as the oppression of the Catholics is continued in 
 Ireland, all efforts of melioration are nugatory, 
 than the result of Mr. Peel's administration in 
 Ireland. We mention it with reluctance, for, 
 though a succeeding age will deem it very oppres- 
 sive, our habits were reconciled to it ; and it was 
 dealt in so very courteous a measure, that we 
 were inclined to return thanks for the civility, 
 with which we were shut out of doors. The pol- 
 ish of the weapon was so fine, that life was fled 
 before we perceived the wound. We were like 
 the Pelew Islander, whose thoughts, while he lay 
 dying at the bottom of the boat, were engaged in 
 admiring the complexion of the man who had shot 
 him. Let us be just to Mr. Peel ; he possessed 
 a great deal of good intention, an admirable free- 
 dom from all sordid interest, and a mind naturally 
 inclining to liberal and wise government ; and if 
 he had not lately betrayed something of too strong 
 a bias to government influence, and to the court, 
 in the cases of the Custos Rotulorum, and the 
 Custos Regis, there is no one in whose political 
 success (Catholic Emancipation once granted) we 
 could take a warmer sympathy. 
 
XVI 11 
 
 Now though there was much good intention oil 
 Mr. Peel's part, and an example of great activity 
 and attention given and followed through every 
 department of government, yet, while this griev- 
 ous sore was exasperated, these political balsams 
 and liniments were mere quackery. The head 
 of the canker was seared, but its roots spread ; 
 faction, party -spirit, discontent, and alienation 
 from the English Government increased to a de- 
 gree, that was remarkable even in a country 
 where they always abounded. But the mournful 
 and hopeless distress, to which all ranks of society 
 were reduced, has scarcely been paralleled in 
 countries laid waste by military force. Let any 
 one read the reports of the four physicians sent to 
 examine into the state of disease ; and, though 
 they were made with something of travelling ce- 
 lerity, and an air of extenuation appears through- 
 out, sufficient facts escape, to mark the magnitude 
 of this horrid calamity. 
 
 But it will immediately be said, why make Mr, 
 Peel accountable for the effects of the atmosphere 
 and the seasons ? What has his administration to 
 do with famine and fever ? Nothing certainly, if 
 these evils arose entirely from the inclemency of 
 the times and seasons ; but if the intolerable de- 
 gree of these evils had their origin in the want 
 of foresight, of prudence, and of accumulation, 
 which always characterizes an oppressed and de- 
 graded people, then his administration must have 
 had a very great concern in producing these 
 deplorable effects. 
 
 As Maurice observes, when we see a miserable 
 aiad wretched people with depressed minds and 
 
XIX 
 
 indolent habits, we do not ascribe their poverty to 
 the men who govern them ; but no one, that sees 
 a mangy, half-starved flock of sheep, ever doubts 
 that it is the fault of the farmer, to whom it be- 
 longs. 
 
 This is not exactly the place to introduce a sys- 
 tem of political economy, especially a new one, or 
 the author would urge at length, that the wealth 
 and prosperity of a country depend for improve- 
 ment on the improvement of the minds of the 
 inhabitants ; that attention to appearance, a desire 
 of comforts, enterprise, a free and hardy spirit, 
 sober, temperate habits, prudence, and fore- 
 thought, are the materials on which we should 
 ground the wealth of nations, and not merely upon 
 such commercial and financial prosperity, as is 
 attempted by the short sighted political economy 
 of modern times. If this be true, can we be sur- 
 prised, that a system of government, founded upon 
 the depression of four fifths of the inhabitants of 
 a nation, should have found no resources in times 
 of distress, but should have ended in an extreme 
 of national suffering ? 
 
 Let not Mr. Peel consider this as the language 
 of hostility ; so far as the Author is personally 
 concerned, he is anxious that this gentleman 
 should learn to look back on his Irish administra- 
 tion with some degree of compunction, and that 
 the future part he probably will hold in the Eng- 
 lish administration may be of a more benevolent 
 and equitable cast. 
 
 Mr. Peel is himself too candid not to excuse 
 Kim, and remember, that 
 
x-y 
 
 44 Friendship by sweet, reproof is shown. " 
 
 To return to the Tale before us, the character 
 of Maurice, he fears, will be thought exaggerated 
 by English readers. Yet it is drawn from nature ; 
 from a person who not many years ago was a 
 ploughman, but who by his merits has obtained 
 the esteem of every one that has employed him, 
 and his wife might bear comparison with Ber- 
 ghetta. 
 
 Englishmen scarcely credit the accounts given 
 of the intelligence of the Irish. Even certain 
 reviewers, who are tolerably conversant with Irish 
 matters, do not seem to be aware of the ambitious 
 style of the conversation of peasant wits in Ire- 
 land, and esteem the asseveration, which Miss 
 Edge worth puts in the mouth of an Irish genius, 
 "by the pride of man, and the vanity of woman," 
 as above the reach of rustic style. Yet no one 
 conversant with this class of society in Ireland 
 would think so. 
 
 There would be less hesitation in admitting 
 such facts, if writers, who' treat on Irish affairs, 
 would take more pains to discover and explain the 
 causes of these variations from the usual course 
 of society and manners in England. 
 
 Perhaps it will not be difficult to account for 
 the conversational wit, intelligence, and suavity 
 of manner, which the Irish possess in a superior 
 degree to the English peasantry. 
 
 The English peasantry may be pretty generally 
 considered as a domestic race of people they 
 
XXI 
 
 have the virtues of domestic habits, and the defects, 
 if they may be called so, of a want of vivacity 
 and conversation. 
 
 On the whole their character is well adapted to 
 their station of life, and they are pretty much what 
 one would wish a religious and industrious peas- 
 antry to be. 
 
 On the contrary, the habits of the Irish peasan- 
 try are all anti-domestic ; they miss no opportuni- 
 of being in society, and these perpetually occur 5 
 hence the habit of conversation and art of man- 
 ners are familiar to them. 
 
 Irish merry meetings of the lower ranks, though 
 they may differ in the polish of the detail, have the 
 same general effects as the more fashionable as- 
 semblies of the higher ranks ; funerals, wakes, and 
 saints' days, though they have duty for their pre- 
 tence, are all a species of route ; and when to 
 these fairs, markets, races, occasional parties for 
 a fight, hurling, or football match, and several 
 night dances and card assemblies in each parish 
 are added, and all eagerly attended, it may easily 
 be conceived, that an Irish peasant is rather more 
 sociable and polished than befits his station. 
 
 The causes which lead to this disturbance, as 
 it must be considered in the order of society, ap- 
 pear to be principally these. 
 
 1st. That landlord's in Ireland generally throw 
 upon the tenants the business of building, while 
 the leases they give fall short of the length which 
 a building lease ought to be. The peasantry have 
 generally to build their own houses, and being 
 
XX11 
 
 either possessed of no capital, or naturally unwill- 
 ing to lay out any that they have to the reversiona- 
 ry profit of the landlord, they build houses of the 
 most wretched description, usually of mud with 
 clay floors, too often without windows and chim- 
 neys. It is impossible, that domestic habits should 
 be formed in these horrid habitations, and the 
 natural result is, that the whole family feel hap- 
 pier any where than at home. 
 
 2d. Being generally illiterate, or at best pos- 
 sessing no books, they have no means of amuse- 
 ment at home during the long winter evenings ; 
 and as a substitute, assemble either at a neigh- 
 bour's house, or a dancing house, where the con- 
 versation and amusement are of a very question- 
 able description. The establishment of lending 
 libraries in Ireland has already been found to 
 check this evil. 
 
 3d. As individuals, the Irish peasantry have 
 been degraded and oppressed, and they are not 
 connected in any manner with the civil business 
 of the country, an evil that is aggravated by their 
 exclusion from vestries. 
 
 An Irishman of the lower orders, individually, is 
 dejected, timid, and spiritless ; it is only in combi- 
 nations and social confederacies that he feels him- 
 self a man, and that his natural energy and viva- 
 city display themselves. 
 
 This seems to be the principal cause of the un- 
 common avidity, with which the lower orders in 
 Ireland seize every pretence and opportunity for 
 assembling together, and also for their proneness to 
 
XX111 
 
 o\ciy kind of illegal combination: legally, they 
 have no opportunity of escaping from their indi- 
 vidual insignificance; in these, at least, they find 
 that they are of sufficient importance, to make 
 themselves feared. 
 
 And yet the tendency of all modern legislation, 
 that concerns Ireland, is to render this exclusion 
 of the lower orders from all participation in civil 
 affairs more strict, and their separation from the 
 higher orders more marked ! 
 
 The peasantry in Ireland, compared with the 
 same class in England, are distinguished by a 
 very striking superiority in benevolence and 
 charity. That they have long been a suffering 
 race, may partly account for their compassionate 
 temper and generosity. Virtues, like grosser 
 commodities, generally exist in proportion to the 
 demand for them ; and in no country has suffering 
 humanity presented a more importunate claim for 
 mutual commiseration and assistance than in 
 Ireland. But the difference, in its extreme degree, 
 we should ascribe principally to the operation of 
 the poor laws in the one country, and the absence 
 of all legal provision for the poor in the other. 
 It is evident, that, where the domestic and neigh- 
 bourly affections in the one country are seldom 
 called into exertion, they will exist in a very 
 torpid degree and where in the other country 
 the remedy for all the casual evils of life is sought 
 for only in their exertion, they will be in the same 
 degree abundant and energetic. 
 
 The Author must now apologize for the length, 
 to which this preface is extended. Irishmen 
 
XXIV 
 
 prehaps, when deprived of all other rights, are 
 too apt to abuse the last privilege conceded to 
 the unfortunate, the right to complain. 
 
 He hopes, however, that the English begin to 
 consider Ireland with some little compunction for 
 what has past, and some good resolutions for 
 amendment in future. 
 
 The repeal of the Still-fine laws this session is 
 a good omen, and he earnestly trusts, that another 
 will not pass away without an example being 
 shown, that it is possible for a nation to have a 
 heart. 
 
 If any reader should feel disappointed in the 
 want of dramatic interest in the following Tale, 
 let him consider, that the Author's object is not 
 to write a novel, but to place such observations 
 on the manners of the Irish peasantry, as have 
 occurred to him, in a less formal shape than that 
 of a regular dissertation. 
 
TUB 
 
 PRIEST OF RAHERY'S TALE. 
 
 1 AM priest of the Island of Rahery. I shall soon 
 follow the good and beloved that I baptized and 
 buried, for my heart is not at home in this world, 
 praise be to God. Yet while it is his good will 
 that I should live in clay, let me still be enacting, 
 if nothing for his glory, sinner that I am, some- 
 thing for his service. 
 
 Shall I not be called to account at the great 
 harvest, what good seed I have sown, what full 
 ears I have to show ? there will be confusion for my 
 own sins, and burning blushes for yours ; sons 
 and daughters mine ! 
 
 How may I insense you with that wisdom, which 
 is like the coals of fire upon the lips of the old. 
 and which burns under the snows of age ? My 
 voice is grown weak and has a silly sound, and 
 therefore you do not heed my exhortation. You 
 see me about to die, and you already look upon 
 my jurisdiction as a fire side chronicle. The 
 young will never be persuaded by the aged, or the 
 foolish by the wise, but the living will condescend 
 to learn from the dead, for them they neither en- 
 vy nor hate. The memory of the good multiplies 
 1 
 
info virtues, aiid'the moral fruits of succeeding 
 ages derive their nutriment from the ashes of the 
 past. 
 
 I observed, that at the College of St. Omer's 
 there was mighty little good in the students, be- 
 cause there where no local traditions of excelling 
 characters, that might give young minds a taste 
 for goodness ; every one there was come and gone 
 so soon, no one was remembered The same 
 when I was chaplain on board le Neptune ; every 
 one set up for himself in vice and profanity, for a 
 ship has no history ; and every man thinks it would 
 be a shame to be controlled by his messmate, but 
 especially by his priest or his God. 
 
 What wonder then that we were delivered into 
 the hands of the enemy, who carried us into Gib- 
 raltar, and who at least had so much respect for 
 the vestments of religion, that they allowed me to 
 go where I would, so that I did not remain in the 
 town. Spain was so convenient, that I would not 
 want the opportunity of seeing a kingdom the 
 more I found that people proud and destitute ; 
 not that they wanted for gold, with the Indies in 
 their hands ; but they did not know what good- 
 ness meant, either at home or abroad and 
 where's the wonder if you read their history it is 
 a history of tyrants, the most pardonable of whom 
 were the crazy ones. It did not therefore sur- 
 prise me to see one of their bull fights, where a 
 multitude of hired men and animals were set to 
 contend, and encouraged by the ferocious accla- 
 mations of the spectators ; and when one of the 
 cavaliers was thrown, and gored, and trampled on, 
 the ladies applauded the bull. 
 
But when I came to Pau in Beanie, the birth 
 place of the great Henri Quatre, I found that the 
 small gossoons had a smack of generosity and loy- 
 alty in them, from sucking in the narratives of that 
 great monarch with their mothers' milk. It was 
 this circumstance reviving in my mind, which put 
 me upon what I am about. You all knew Mori- 
 ertagh O'Neal and Berghetta his wife : are you 
 not the better for their having lived amongst you ? 
 and can I give your children a greater blessing, 
 than by setting before their eyes an exemplifica- 
 tion of such industrious and sainted lives ? 
 
 To begin from the beginning ; Muircheartach, 
 Moriertagh, or, as we call him, Maurice's grand- 
 father, was a descendant from the antient house of 
 O'Neal ; yet of all the potency of his family he 
 possessed nothing but a beautiful old pedigree 
 written in gold on vellum, a mud cabin, and a 
 score of acres of hungry ground, which the worthy 
 M'VTillan, prince of Clanreaguikie, bestowed on 
 his forebearers, when they were driven out of Ty- 
 rone. It was a grandson of that same M'Willan, 
 who, when he was driven from his own fair and 
 royal territory by king James and the Scotch 
 McDonalds, sold all they left him, and putting the 
 money into one bag, shared it with his followers 
 while it lasted, and so lr became extinct. 
 
 I have it from tradition, that Maurice's grand- 
 father rid his mind of all family pride, wisely I 
 trow, and dedicated himself to black industry. His 
 farm was cold and wet, and clung, and interspers- 
 ed with lumps of rocks and roots of old yew trees, 
 that once they say stood there as thick as in a 
 forest ; it was on the head land of Bengore, bitten 
 by the wind, and not the better for the sea spray. 
 
After spending his youth and strength on this 
 ungrateful spot, he thought he had put some soul 
 into it, and sowed it with corn ; it promised well 
 at harvest, but a storm, which scourged the whole 
 kingdom, thrashed the corn clean out at the head 
 land of Beagore, and he reaped only sixteen bar- 
 rels of oats, where he had sown twenty-four. He 
 sowed these same sixteen barrels again : ill luck 
 betided the corn, it rained fifty days before St. 
 Kevin's day, and a hundred days after ; and was 
 ripened only by the November frosts. A low born 
 spalpeen would have been discouraged, but this 
 O'Neal had the right blood in his veins, and though 
 he was not proud, as I have already said, he was 
 J'Miacious, and not to be beat down by accidents of 
 wind and weather. There is a bay in the head land 
 called Port na Spania, some of you know it, where 
 one of the Spanish armada was wrecked : there are 
 kelp rocks at the bottom, but to get to them you go 
 down a precipice four hundred feet high by a very 
 indifferent path. O'Neal's farm was entitled to a 
 quarter of this bay, it might be about thirty square 
 yards of rock. Well, the third year he would not 
 trust entirely to the farm, but leaving that to his 
 son David who was newly returned from sea, he 
 and his wife laboured every day at cutting sea- 
 weed, and converting it into kelp. It told well, 
 and the cropa, ujuugh iudiilfcrently laboured by 
 the sailor, were well headed and ripening fast, 
 when this O'Neal accompanied by his wife slipped 
 in going down the path, a thing unheard of before, 
 though always counted dangerous, and was dashed 
 upon the rocks. Though the widow, who was a sensi- 
 ble woman, I remember her well, told her son Da- 
 vid that she had often and often heard her husband 
 say, that he would wish for nothing so little as a 
 fine funeral, and that it was very idle if not saprile- 
 
gious, to rob the living to be at a great expense 
 about the dead, who also could know nothing 
 about it ; yet David, who had more of the pride 
 of birth in him than the generality of his kindred, 
 would have it otherwise ; and there were to be 
 pipes and tobacco, whiskey, two pipers arid a blind 
 tiddler, and even oats for the horses of all the 
 friends that attended the wake, which of course 
 were a great many ; the singularity of the defunct's 
 exit making a great talk in the country, every idle 
 person was glad to be at the wake of the body to 
 hear the particulars. All the money the family 
 had was sunk in this wake ; do not think that I 
 make matters worse than they were, because you 
 know I do not approve of wakes, for it was worse 
 than this. David O'Neal had forgot the credi- 
 tors : his father had been enabled to repair his 
 losses partly by his good credit ; but these very 
 creditors, who had feasted and played their gam- 
 bols at the wake, when they saw how the money 
 was spending, thought right to secure themselves, 
 and seized upon corn, cows, pigs, and poultry, and 
 would scarcely spare the widow's feather-bed ; so 
 that David found himself heir to the land and mud 
 cabin only with a mother and wife, (for he had 
 * married a pretty girl before he went to sea,) and 
 a coming family to maintain. But his crops were 
 good, and he had the value of some matter of prize 
 money converted into plate ; that is a silver watch, 
 silver tobacco box and stopper, and a very large 
 pair of silver knee and shoe buckles, with some 
 outlandish finery picked up at different ports, of 
 which he had either not inquired or had forgotten 
 the use. These he sold : and as I was then lately 
 come to the parish, being grown tired of foreign 
 service, and sighing after rny native country, sorry 
 though it be, 1 purchased for four guineas a very 
 1 * 
 
elegantly embroidered sort of mantle, to supply 
 the place of the old altar cloth, which had fallen 
 to pieces from the damp of the chapel. By these 
 means David was enabled to purchase in the first 
 instance ahorse, but being quite an innocent natu- 
 rally, and inexperienced from a sea life, he was 
 imposed on, and bought a jade that was well re- 
 membered in the country for twenty years, and 
 was not a young one neither when it was first in- 
 troduced into those parts. When David found 
 that a horse of thirty years standing might rank 
 with a septuagenary, he became so afraid of his 
 dying on his hands, and thinking he never could 
 get too far from the danger he had escaped, he ex- 
 changed him with a piece of plate to boot, for a 
 colt that was as useless from youth, as the garron 
 was from old age. His father's misfortunes were 
 compassionated because they were inevitable, 
 but David's seemed the fruits of folly, and were 
 held in derision. However, some landholders of 
 the town, who had more nature than the rest, ad- 
 mitted him to a neighbour dealing, and joining his 
 colt in the team with three of their horses, the 
 plough was employed by turns in each man's farm. 
 
 It was singular, that though David never arrived 
 to know a fat beast from a lean one, and was al- 
 ways obliged to get a neighbour to come and tell 
 him when his corn was ripe ; and I believe was 
 cheated besides in every bargain he made ; 
 yet no one had better crops, no one had a cleaner 
 house, or made money more rapidly. And indeed 
 he deserved it, for passing his extreme simplicity, 
 which yet had a winningness in it, there was no 
 more respectable man ; he was industrious, though 
 he had neither genius nor taste for farming, and as 
 other farmers leave their work to run after a pack 
 
of hounds, so he would throw aside his fac when- 
 ever a ship passed the head, and had always a long 
 history for his wife, which from his great skill in 
 these matters I verily think was often correct, of 
 what country she came from, where she was 
 bound, how much she had suffered in the last gale, 
 where she was built, what she was laden with, 
 and so on. Besides in one respect he was a real 
 gentleman ; for never would you hear his Maker's 
 name profaned in his mouth, though an inadvert- 
 ent oath might be more seemly in him, having 
 been so long used to sea scurrility. He was also 
 a man of reading, and great piety, paid much de- 
 ference to his wife, and was tender of his children, 
 for he had two. 
 
 I will tell you the manner of his death. These 
 children, a boy and girl, might be about the age of 
 eleven and twelve, when their father was seized 
 with a violent sickness and drowsiness, which lasted 
 some three days. Unhappily his wife had a distant 
 relation in Isle Rahery, one of those old supersti- 
 tious crones, who with their news and lies, antiqua- 
 ted usages, and preposterous legends, usurp a do- 
 mination over families, and are mighty pretenders 
 to skill in medicine. To give her her due, she 
 had a knowledge of herbs and simples, and made 
 an excellent water for curing the scab in sheep, 
 yet so poisonous was its nature, that, if applied to a 
 breeding ewe, she generally lost her lamb. Well, 
 this beldame was sent for, Rose M'Cormick was 
 her name, and she came with too great speed ; 
 she would cross the sea between Rahery ajid Bal- 
 lycastle in the roughest weather, when in the 
 calmest there is often a broken swell from the 
 conflict of the tides that makes it dangerous; it 
 was wonderful to see her coming full trot behind 
 
a gossoon on the crupper of a horse without pillow 
 or pillion under her. She was a woman of greaL 
 size, yet agile withal, and so hardened by haps 
 and hazards, that she had little personal feeling 
 for herself, and less for any one else, except a son 
 that she had indulged and spoilt from infancy. 
 
 I had heard that David O'Neal was ill, but 
 judging it only the effects of cold that nature 
 would relieve, I did not trouble myself to go to 
 him, being at that time an indifferent Christian, 
 though a middle-aged priest. But hearing that 
 Rose M'Cormick had been sent for, 1 became un- 
 easy, and sent one to desire her to attend me the 
 next day. In the mean time I heard that he wag 
 affected with what the commonalty call a blast, 
 (that is, an erysipelas) supposing from the sudden- 
 ness of the attack, that it arises from some perni- 
 cious influence in the air ; a violent swelling and 
 redness being succeeded by pustules on the skin 
 resembling blisters. 
 
 The next day, when Rose M'Cormick came, I 
 asked her what ailed the man. 
 
 " He has gotten a water farcy, your reverence." 
 
 " A farcy, woman, what do you take him for a 
 horse ? I never heard of man or Christian having 
 such a distemper." 
 
 " Please your reverence, there may be ailments 
 in this country unlike to what there are in foreign 
 parts." 
 
 " That's true any how, Mrs. M'Cormick, and 
 may I ask if you have done any thing for the cure 
 of this farcy." 
 
; - I will conceal nothing from the like of you, 
 your reverence, though 1 do not wish to expose 
 my nostrums to all the world," replied she. " I 
 had him dipt seven times in Saint Burdoc's pool, 
 and when he was put to bed, gave him a pill of 
 sublimate of mercury." 
 
 " Out upon you, you old witch," I exclaimed, 
 and worse than that (for I was then in the habit 
 of indulging in many impious ejaculations,) " the 
 first was enough to kill the man, you might have 
 spared your pill." 
 
 " Old witch, old witch, old witch," muttered 
 she, striking the floor very quick with a brown 
 crooked handled cane she held in her hand, " if 
 any one but a priest had put such a spot on me, 
 this very night he should have had my curse on my 
 bended knees. O your reverence, your reve- 
 rence, troth you are a foul mouthed Christian." 
 
 " That's true, Mrs. M'Cormick, I confess," re- 
 plied I, "for if you had killed twenty men, with a 
 good intention, I had no business to have called 
 you names." 
 
 Kill David O'Neal, however, she certainly did j 
 the complaint was driven in on his brain, and he did 
 nothing but rave till he died. I never saw any 
 thing so moving as the grief of his darling children, 
 while the poor wife sat like one amazed. But 
 there was no want of stir where Mrs. M'Cormick 
 was, and now she would dole out a scrap of con- 
 solation to the widow, and now give fifty direc- 
 tions for the waking of the body. I knew that it 
 was no use to oppose this pagan rite, neither had 
 Mrs. M-Cormick lost any of her predominance by 
 
10 
 
 the failure of her prescription ; his time was come, 
 and that being the case, a saint would have failed 
 to cure him; so I took my departure, grieving 
 much for the widow and orphans. 
 
 The next morning I saw one of their neigh- 
 bours standing before my window. 
 
 " What news ?" said I. 
 
 " Please your reverence, I made bold to step 
 over and ask your reverence's interposition to 
 save something for the desolate orphans, for Rose 
 M'Cormick insists there must be another wake to- 
 night, though the dead body's friends are consid- 
 erate and to a man against it ; otherwise there 
 will not be a copper left for the childers' main- 
 tenance." 
 
 " Another wake !" cried I, " sure the woman's 
 beside herself, did ever any one hear, even in this 
 island of superstition, of a dead body being 
 waked twice ?" 
 
 " Oh your reverence is out," rejoined the man. 
 " sure you have not heard, then, that the wife, 
 Peggy O'Neal, died this morning." 
 
 " Ah, well-a-day !" cried I, " how's that ?" 
 
 " Sure, there was an inhuman noise all last 
 night, and the cratur was almost distract, she 
 wrung her hands piteously ; but Rose M'Cormick 
 said, it would get up her spirits to keep her with 
 us while the gambols were going on, and, indeed, 
 where else could she go ? the spare room was full 
 af horses, the stable being but small ; but it was 
 
11 
 
 all one, she regarded none of our plays and the 
 like, but kept her eyes full on the corpse, lying 
 laid out in the room all the while ; and early this 
 morning, just before we parted, whether the noise 
 was too much for her, being a delicate one 
 always, or being kept too long from her natural 
 rest having tended the sick so many nights before, 
 or it might be pure grief, her heart burst, and she 
 died but with one groan." 
 
 I sent by this man a message to the big woman, 
 that a public wake might be dispensed with, and 
 only herself and a neighbour or two to watch at 
 night, that something might be saved for the or- 
 phans. What was her answer ? " Heavens send 
 that Father O'Brien is not a worse Catholic for 
 his foreign breeding ; but let that be as it will, it 
 shall never be said that this poor dead thing, born 
 a M'Cormick, and married to an O'Neal, shall be 
 buried without a wake, and that a decent one 
 too." So refractory was she grown, in the con- 
 ceit of her old customs and superstitions. 
 
 Well, I buried the two, and a great funeral 
 Mrs. M'Cormick made .pf it ; proud enough she 
 was, and looked as if she was drunk ; and nothing 
 particular if she was, for there were two thousand 
 people there, men and women, and not one but 
 was drunk or noisy. " Better," thought I, " my 
 friends, if you had staid at home, and minded your 
 industry." But the Irish are full of ostentation, 
 and mighty fond of being wherever there is a 
 crowd, and then they flatter themselves withal, 
 that this is being vastly good Christians. But I 
 said nothing, for I knew they looked on me in the 
 light of half a foreigner. 
 
IS 
 
 1 saw nothing of the orphans at that time, who 
 became so dear to me afterwards, for I was order- 
 ed by my superiors to dwell in the island of Rahe- 
 ry, where it was reported that religion was ex- 
 tinct. A sorry apostle was 1 5 and little were they 
 likely to be benefited by me, if it was bo, bat it 
 was not. You are as good and creditable a ilock 
 as any in Ireland, sober, industrious, peaceable, 
 stayers at home. There are no great crimes 
 committed in Rahery, and the smaller kind of pet- 
 ty delinquences are punished by a drench of sea- 
 water, the larger, by banishment to Ireland. Su- 
 perstition, however, there is here, as elsewhere. 
 It was about ten days after my arrival, I saw a wo- 
 man, with nothing on her head, on her bare knees, 
 for she had pulled her clothes from under them, 
 and no object of adoration but an old thorn co- 
 vered with bits of rags, that hung over a green 
 well ; however, this was it, a holy well, famous 
 for cures ; the rags the testimonials, being the vo- 
 tive gifts of convalescents. As I approached, I 
 saw the woman was Rose M'Cormick. She got 
 up and made twenty curtsies, and then advanced 
 zig zag, making a curtsy to the well at every turn. 
 When she had crossed herself with the well water, 
 as if it had been holy water, I called to her. 
 " Come hither, Mrs. M'Cormick," for my con- 
 science was ill at ease, at not having inquired far- 
 ther about the orphans. 
 
 " Bless your reverence," cried she, " you quite 
 startled me ! I did not think that you would have 
 been the one to disturb my devotions." 
 
 " Your devotions, woman !" said I, " why I 
 thought you had been conjuring. But 1 want to 
 ask you about David O'NeaPs orphans." 
 
13 
 
 " O ask me nothing about them, I have rid my 
 heart of them quite and clean. The girl is un- 
 controllable, and the boy is the most unnatural 
 aspic I ever laid eyes on ; I thought he would 
 have thrown the griddle at my head when I want- 
 ed to take his sister with me, and what does he 
 do at last, watches his opportunity, and locks the 
 door, And I on the outside, which I will remember 
 as I ^Wuld my prayers, to the longest day I live." 
 
 This account made me the more resolute to look 
 after these children, and every day I thought the 
 better of their judgment in turning out against 
 this evil woman. What with her drugs, her tales, 
 and superstitions, she was in the middle of every 
 body's business, and every where doing mischief. 
 It was only a few days after that a poor creature 
 came to me, with his face all swelled, a horrid sight, 
 and could neither speak nor eat. I found that he 
 had suffered from a bad tooth-ache, and sending 
 for Rose M'Corrnick, she desired him to pound a 
 green glass bottle coarsely, to mix it with whiskey, 
 and work it briskly about in his mouth ; the fool- 
 ish fellow persisted in this cure, till his tongue and 
 mouth became shockingly inflamed, and the mus- 
 cles of his jaws so swollen and rigid, that he could 
 not open his teeth, and had lived two days on suc- 
 tion. I desired him to stupe his jaws with a stone 
 weight of wool, wrung out of scalding water, which 
 immediately relieved him ; but he seemed disap- 
 pointed after all, that he was not cured by being 
 read over. Indeed if I had chosen to act the re- 
 ligious impostor, I might have spoilt all Rose M'- 
 Cormick's trade, people with agues, and fits, and 
 scrofula, and white swellings, came from all part* 
 to have the Bible read over them, or to have me 
 stroke the seat of the complaint ; but it alwavs 
 
14 
 
 seemed impious to me, to allow these poor crea- 
 tures to believe, that sinners like themselves could 
 work miracles, even though a cure might some- 
 times be wrought by the strong agency of their 
 own fancies , and its being so generally practised 
 by priests, may give a colour to our enemies, to 
 say we do not care by what means we keep up 
 the influence of our clergy over their igjorant 
 flock. I said to them all, "If you want^ro be 
 cured by conjuring, go to Rose M'Cormick." 
 
 A year passed away, the most important in my 
 life ; for attending a sick creature 1 was surprised 
 to find a number of well bound books in his house. 
 They had belonged to a traveller, who had come 
 to see the Giant's Causeway, passed over into Ra- 
 hery to shoot gulls and sea parrots, overheated 
 himself, and died of a pleurisy. 
 
 I borrowed some of them, they were all reli- 
 gious, and, though written by Protestants, yet hav- 
 ing no heretical matter, and treating only on the 
 main principles common to both churches, they 
 made so deep an impression on me by convincing 
 me that I had no religion in my heart, that my 
 thoughts became one continual prayer to the 
 Great God, that he would change my vain world- 
 ly, selfish hard, and proud temper, into a tender 
 and pious one You, my dear flock, must judge 
 from my conduct if my prayers were heard The 
 first proof of a change was setting out for the 
 main land with a resolution to bring David O'- 
 Neal's orphans home to me. 
 
 When 1 got to the house, I concluded the poor 
 things had been forced to give it up to some new 
 possessor, more the pity when it had been so long 
 
in the family, for the house was new thatched and 
 white washed, and a very pretty garden with 
 flowers and cabbages in it, things unseen before 
 on the headland of Bengore. 
 
 As I approached, a young lass cams out so tidy 
 and genteel withall, that 1 could scarce recog- 
 nise her for O'NeaPs daughter, Una. 
 
 " My pretty one," said I, " I am glad to see 
 you in such good case ; then your poor father left 
 more behind him than was supposed." 
 
 ' Indeed he did not Sir," she replied, " we 
 were poor enough at first, but Maurice is such a 
 good manager, that he has brought every thing 
 about, and we are now comfortable and decent 
 without being obliged to any one." 
 
 " Maurice," exclaimed I, " why the boy is but 
 a child ! what could he do ?" 
 
 " What can he not do ?" replied Una, with a 
 proudish look that became her well : " but will 
 not your Reverence walk in, and I will go for 
 Maurice to the field, for he never returns from 
 the time he goes out to his work." 
 
 " No, don't go yet," said I, when I was seated, 
 * for this all seems very amazing, and 1 want to 
 ask you a question or two more> The house is 
 staunch and clean, more so than ever I saw it in 
 its hest of days ; you are tidy and smart too, and 
 a garden into the bargain, and yet 1 cannot con- 
 ceive, for the life of me, how the lad could even 
 crop or stock his land," 
 
16 
 
 " O, he found a good tenant, and set the land 
 the first thing he did, for he said, the value of the 
 time lost on the ground, without money to do 
 things as they ought to be done, was more than 
 any good that was got out of the ground and it 
 was better to set the ground and work for wages, 
 and then he should be certain that both the farm 
 and his own labour would pay something." 
 
 u Then what do you do for a cow what do 
 you do for potatoes ?" 
 
 "We never -eat potatoes." 
 
 " Never eat potatoes, pretty one then how do 
 you live ?" 
 
 "Maurice lives on meat and wheaten bread, 
 and drinks nothing but water, unless he takes tea 
 A r ith me in the evening." 
 
 "Meat! tea! wheaten bread! Why how do 
 you pay for it all ? I believe your old grand-aunt, 
 ilose M c Cormick, has taught you to dream for 
 gold." 
 
 " I earn two-pence a day by spinning, and Mau- 
 rice thirteen pence a day by his work. We get 
 good meat for two-pence a pound, and bread for 
 a penny, so after paying the week's expenses, there 
 is enough to buy clothes, something for charity, 
 and to help a neighbour ; and we have a strong 
 box, with two guineas already in it, in case of 
 sickness and accidents ; all the rent of the farm 
 will go for some years to pay our grandfather's 
 debts. 
 
17 
 
 u My pretty maid," said I, for I would not in- 
 terrupt her, " if 1 did not know the veracity of 
 your family, I should think you were rhodomon- 
 tading. Maurice earn thirteen pence a day, when 
 the best man in the parish only gets sixpence !" 
 
 " Yes ; but Maurice works task work, and as he 
 is so well fed, he says he is able to work better 
 than many^rown up men. Indeed, he says eating 
 meat is the cheapest and best, for besides being 
 able to earn so much more, he can take his cold 
 meat and bread with him, and look for work five 
 miles off; but if he ate potatoes, I should be forced 
 to carry them twice a day through all weathers, 
 which would oblige him to work only near home ; 
 besides, I should lose the most of what I earn by 
 spinning, and wear out my shoes and clothes ; 
 have to pay for medicines two or three times a 
 year, from colds ; and what he thinks worst of, 
 be in company with all the labourers during their 
 meals, without mentioning the idle tattered girls 
 who carry them their meals ; and any how he can- 
 not endure that I should leave the house unless 
 he is with me. Now he takes his cold meat and 
 bread with him, and asks no more till he comes 
 home to supper." 
 
 " God love your brother, child," said I, " I 
 never heard the like before : where is he ? for my 
 heart will not be at ease till I see him." 
 
 " He is about two miles off, but if your reve- 
 rence will have patience the while, I will run and 
 bring him ; he will not mind my going alone, when 
 he hears that you are at home, where there has 
 been nothing holy for a long time*" 
 2* 
 
i 18 
 
 " Run you shall not," said I, " but stay here 
 till I visit a neighbour or two, and by that time 
 your brother will be back ; and if you have a wad 
 of straw in any corner, I will sleep here to night, 
 preferable to the best house in the parish." 
 
 " Then come and see your bed," said the 
 charming maid, giving me her hand, u many's the 
 envious heart there will be to night, when it is 
 known the honour we have got ; but we will not 
 rejoice the less for that." 
 
 She showed me a tidy room and a white bed, 
 that might have served a Cardinal. 
 
 " This is my room," said she, " which you shall 
 have, with a pair of sheets of my own spinning." 
 
 " And where, love, will you sleep ?" 
 
 " Oh never mind, I have settled it all just as I 
 know my brother would have it ; here you sleep, 
 that's all ; I shall sleep in his bed, and he will 
 sleep on the wad of straw by the kitchen fire 
 but it will go hard with him if he had not a spare 
 bed by another year." 
 
 I went my ways, as I said, and though I had a 
 great opinion of the blood of the O'Neals, which 
 in spite of poverty and depression still would 
 speak out in some of its ancient splendour, yet 
 what I had seen and heard surprised me. The 
 girl was grown the handsomest creature I had ever 
 seen, something of the kind I had seen in Spain, 
 her eyes were large, and of a velvet black, with 
 very long eye-lashes, her teeth beautiful and regu- 
 lar, and her cheeks rudred. She had no brogue 
 or accent, but an ease, jauntiness, and gentility of 
 
 
19 
 
 r, quite uncommon and the boy seemed 
 to have all the industry of his forefathers, with 
 more conduct to boot. 
 
 I went to rate half a score of my flock, who had 
 been leagued in plundering a wreck, and after 
 dining with one of the most respectable of them, 
 I returned in the evening to O'Neal's tenement. 
 
 Maurice was returned from his work, and at 
 the first sight my heart warmed to him ; his face 
 and forehead were full of nobleuess, and I ceased 
 to be surprised at what his sister" told me of the 
 produce of his labour, for he was very large and 
 robust for his age, with a look of great sagacity 
 and graveness, indeed, to describe his countenance 
 once for all, it seemed to feel more and think 
 more than any visage I ever saw. 
 
 After 1 had inquired into his affairs, and found 
 them pretty much as his sister had represented, 
 she made tea for us, and no court lady'could en- 
 tertain her company with more ease and agreea- 
 bleness. No, thought I, the stock of the O'Neals 
 will never degenerate, graft it as you will with 
 briars, still its flowers are roses. 
 
 After his sister Una had retired to her room, I 
 told Maurice with what intention I had come ; 
 make your home with me, I will instruct you in 
 the Greek and Latin writers, which can do no 
 harm to any man, that you may at least be on a 
 par with" the mountaineers, who are very good 
 scholars ; and what religious instruction I am ca- 
 pable of, I will give you ; but for that you had 
 best read your testament, and pray yourself to 
 God, who is the only effectual teacher. Maurice 
 
 
20 
 
 thanked me in very well chosen terms, but said, 
 for the present he had best remain as he was, till 
 he could gather money enough to place his sister 
 in some respectable family, as that lay most upon 
 his mind. He had no relations that could take 
 care of her; if Mrs. M'Cormick had been a de- 
 cent person, he would have taken her into the 
 house, but she was quite drunk the night before 
 she went. He had since been very much dis- 
 turbed by a visit from his cousin, her son, Merritt 
 M'Cormick, which had obliged him to stay at 
 home a whole week, for he would not leave his 
 sister an instant in his company. 
 
 " And what do you think of that cousin of 
 yours ?" said I. 
 
 "Bad enough," replied Maurice; "he is a 
 pickthank, a flatterer, and a liar, with a great 
 share of acuteness and drollery, and as handsome 
 as an angel." 
 
 I asked if he had any instruction for himself 
 and his sister. He said he had : he took her on 
 Sundays to an English gentlewoman, who had 
 fieen left by the death of her husband, an officer, 
 so destitute, that to maintain herself and daughter 
 she had been obliged to open a school; and he 
 preferred it to another, on account of the goodness 
 of the lady's accent; "besides," said he, "she 
 comes here at odd times, and gives Una instruc- 
 tions in needle-work, and is so obliging as to lend 
 us her books, which are very good books. But," 
 added Maurice, " if your Reverence would really 
 condescend so much, I would think nothing, after 
 I had left Una at school on Sundays, of borrow- 
 ing a boat, and rowing to Rahery, and if your 
 
 
21 
 
 Reverence could afford me half an hour only to 
 put me in the way of what I should learn, I would 
 engage to turn it to account in the course of the 
 week. Even if I returned too late to bring Una 
 home, I dare say Mrs. Clifford would let Una 
 sleep with her daughter." 
 
 I approved his reasons, and arranged it so ac- 
 cordingly ; and every Sunday would this indefati- 
 gable boy row from the little Bay of Bengore to 
 Rahery, and return in the evening. The wea- 
 ther was seldom so rough but he ventured across, 
 and it was often with an anxious eye that I watch- 
 ed his little boat, now appearing, now lost from 
 sight behind a swelling wave. Latterly, however, 
 he did not return till the Monday morning, as he 
 found that his sister Una derived great improve- 
 ment from being with Mrs. Clifford, and he was 
 satisfied that she should stay there the whole of 
 Sunday. 
 
 Maurice's advance was the more rapid, and as 
 he knew how short the time was that he could 
 spare from his daily labour, he turned every mo- 
 ment to account. And here I learnt how much 
 more a boy accomplishes, who studies from his 
 own good will, than one who has it thrashed into 
 him : for Maurice, with only a few hours' instruc- 
 tion, on odd Sundays, learnt five times as speedi- 
 ily as any student I had ever known, and at the 
 end of three years, the scholar, I confess, was 
 wiser than the master. There was a long inter- 
 val, even in this time, when I could give no in- 
 struction, being wholly occupied in suppressing 
 tumults among the populace. The English, how- 
 ever gentle at home, were always severe and un- 
 natural towards the Irish subjects, whom thejr 
 
 I 
 
 
22 
 
 sometimes considered as holding by right, some- 
 times by conquest, so that never was more aptly 
 instanced that saying of the great historian, " Ha- 
 bent inimicos ut alienos, viles tanquam suos." 
 An act of the English Parliament, which prevent- 
 ed the importation of the usual Irish commodities 
 into that country, produced a sudden stoppage of 
 trade and industry. The farmers could get no 
 sale where the tradesmen were ruined, and began 
 to turn off their labourers, who, in a kind of des- 
 perate idleness, took to drinking and nightly meet- 
 ings. The vain young fellows who cut a dash at 
 fairs and wakes, and hurling matches, and are al- 
 ways desirous to head they don't care what, gath- 
 ered them in large bodies on the bogs and moun- 
 tains, and frightened the whole country out of 
 their wits : then the laws, and the magistrates, and 
 the army made bad worse, so that it was only by 
 flying about like a will-o-the-wisp, that I brought 
 the misguided people to a sense of their interest 
 and duty, which is always to be peaceable and 
 patient. 
 
 During these three years, Maurice had been 
 earning and saving money so fast, that it seemed 
 to grow in his hands ; but in his hands thrift was 
 the fuel of kind deeds ; and though he had it much 
 at heart to be able to stock and crop his land, and 
 hold again the land that had been ploughed by so 
 many of his forefathers, his first care was, to pro- 
 cure a safe and honourable residence for his sister 
 Una. Mrs. Clifford had told him, that she knew 
 an infirm old lady of quality, in London, who want- 
 ed a young companion to read to her; but she was 
 far from wealthy, and could give but a very small 
 salary ; and it would be necessary for Una to be 
 provided with handsome clothes, as the lady, who 
 
 
was of an old Catholic family, saw the best compa- 
 ny, and had a sister greatly married in France, who 
 was one of the ladies of the palace, and whom 
 she occasionally visited. 
 
 By the time that Maurice had saved what money 
 was needful, he had every thing prepared, the lady 
 written to, and expecting Una's arrival. Maurice 
 accompanied her both for her protection, and that 
 he might see the lady to whom he was going to 
 intrust her, being resolved to bring her back again 
 rather than leave her with any one, with whom 
 either her virtue or happiness might suffer : it was 
 a long journey, and seemed a perilous one too for 
 these children like, with no better directions than 
 what I could give them; but letters I gave them, 
 addressed to jpious ecclesiastics in Dublin and 
 London, removed many embarrassments, and they 
 reached their journey's end in safety. And here 
 I pin to the paper the first letter I ever received 
 from Maurice. 
 
 REVEREND AND DEAR SIR, 
 
 Una is settled to my heart's content, 
 with the prettiest old lady you can imagine, grave 
 in her manners, and good you need not doubt, 
 when I tell you that father Mansfield says he 
 knows none better. If I did not already owe all 
 the thanks a heart can entertain, I ought to add a 
 thousand for your letter to father Mansfield, which 
 has made every thing pleasant in this great town, 
 where otherwise we should have been sadly per- 
 plexed or worse. Lady McCartney seemed very 
 much surprised at Una, and would not at first be- 
 lieve, that she could have been brought up in so 
 low a station ; and asked me seriously, if she was 
 
24 
 
 not of greater rank than I represented her. This 
 was very flattering to Una ; but I told her she 
 might depend on my speaking the truth, as I hope 
 indeed that nothing would make me tell a lie. 
 But when I saw that she laid so much stress on 
 good birth, I went for the ancient pedigree, which 
 you desired me to show to her, and explained to her 
 our direct descent from Shane, the eldest son of 
 the great O'Neal, which son was imprisoned by 
 the bastard Hugh, commonly called earl of Ti- 
 rone, who usurped his kingdom which he after- 
 wards lost, with the ruin of his whole sept, in the 
 war he waged with Queen Elizabeth, but I forget 
 that I speak to you who know all this already. 
 Lady M'Cartney said that she had given up much 
 of her time to the study of heraldry, and examin- 
 ed our pedigree with great attention she asked 
 me to leave it with her, which I of course did ; 
 the next time she saw me, these were her very 
 words. " After looking over this interesting docu- 
 ment, which leaves no doubt that your sister ex- 
 ceeds my own family (not a new one), and most 
 of the noblest in this country, in nobility and anti- 
 quity, I blush to retain her without a stipend in a 
 dependant situation ; and if you can point out a 
 way, in which I can place her in one more becom- 
 ing her merit, I will gladly embrace it." I repli- 
 ed " that the providence of God arranged the dif- 
 ferent ranks of men, and when by such long ad- 
 versity he had so clearly condemned the race of 
 O'Neal to a subordinate state, it would be an irre- 
 ligious, as well as a foolish pride, to think one de- 
 served any thing better. That one good quality 
 of its former rank our family had still retained, in 
 not being mercenary ; and that both Una and I 
 would infinitely prefer her remaiaing without any 
 emolument, with a lady every way so respectable. 
 
 
to being placed in greater affluence where her 
 manners or principles might be tarnished." 
 Lady M'Cartney was pleased to seem much 
 gratified with this answer ; and she treats Una 
 as her daughter. On Una's part, she admires 
 every word and every motion of Lady M'Cart- 
 ney, and we should be quite happy, were we 
 not so soon to separate. 
 
 You desired me to tell you what I thought of 
 England, and as I have so short an opportunity 
 of seeing it, I have kept my eyes awake the 
 whole day. 
 
 In one respect, chance favoured me ; when 
 Una went to Lady McCartney's I took a cheap 
 lodging, a little way out of town, with a widow 
 woman ; here a young fanner named Head- 
 croft, whom she had nursed, came to see her 
 twice ; the first time hearing I was an Irishman, 
 he seemed averse to speak to me, for I am sor- 
 ry to find, dearest sir, that our countrymen, with 
 their love of drinking, their quarrels, and the 
 shameful way they conduct themselves on Sun- 
 day, are held in such disrepute here, that no 
 decent people will speak to them. However I 
 suppose, the widow said something in my favour, 
 for the second time, the young man seemed in- 
 -clined to converse with me, and asked me seve- 
 ral questions respecting myself. You would 
 have laughed to see his natural Stare, when I 
 told him I was a common Irish labourer; he 
 would not believe it, my clothes he said, (for I 
 had bought new ones not to disgrace Una,) I 
 might buy or borrow, but" my language and car- 
 riage were quite those of the gentlefolks, and 
 3 
 
26 
 
 where could I have got them, unless indeed I 
 had been in service in some great family. It 
 was no wonder he was surprised, for he him- 
 self, though neatly dressed, spoke in a loud 
 rough voice, and in such a dialect, that I could 
 scarcely understand him, though I understood 
 every word that lady McCartney said, at last I 
 convinced him by offering to thresh or dig a 
 ditch with him ; I would venture nothing else, 
 for I had already observed how much better 
 they do all other kind of work here than with us. 
 He asked me if I could shear; and when he 
 found I could, invited me to his father's sheep- 
 shearing, which I gladly accepted, and he said 
 he would drive over in his father's little cover- 
 ed cart to bring me. Notwithstanding th<* 
 homeliness and roughness of his manners, there 
 was an honesty, good sense, and friendliness in 
 my new acquaintance, which made me esteem 
 him. But guess my surprise, when on his de- 
 parture the widow told me his father was worth 
 two thousand a year ! Why with us a man who 
 is worth only two hundred a year sets up for an 
 idle gentleman. 
 
 I began to feel quite ashamed at the con- 
 viction that I was better bred, and spoke better, 
 till I recollected that it arose from the instruc- 
 tions I had received from your bounty. Yet 
 certainly this wealthy rusticity is more respect- 
 able than our tawdry indigence, which always 
 neglects substance, and strives at appearance. 
 
 I was glad to leave London, for as Lady M'- 
 Cartney had said nothing to me on the subject, 
 I did not know whether she approved of my 
 
27 
 
 calling at her house, and Una would have been 
 miserable, knowing me so near and not seeing 
 rue. When my young friend, for so I may now 
 call him, came for me next day, I asked him to 
 go with me there, partly to tell Una of my in- 
 tention, and partly that he might see that I was 
 connected with something in England, Una 
 came down to us, and when she heard my pur- 
 pose, she gave one look, and would not con* 
 descend to give another, at my companion, 
 whose eyes settled on Una in one unceasing 
 stare, from the time she entered till we depart- 
 ed. She gave me an animated account of her 
 happiness with Lady M'Cartney, and ended by 
 bursting into tears at the thoughts of my de- 
 parture, and ran away, without even a curtsey 
 to Mr. Headcroft. But he, recovering from 
 his stare when the object was flown, began again 
 accusing me of falsehood, saying that I must be 
 a gentleman, if that glorious girl, as he called 
 her, was my sister. I laughed "at his doubts, 
 and assured him that Una could milk a cow, or 
 churn, as well as his father's dairy maid, though 
 she looked slight and genteel ; and that her 
 present situation, in point of gain, was inferior 
 to that of a lady's maid. However, as we 
 drove along, I explained to him the former 
 greatness of the O'Neal family, and by what 
 means it had sunk into extreme poverty ; yet 
 still its indigent descendants, knowing their 
 ancient greatness, were ambitious to attain to 
 education and good manners, though tkey des- 
 paired of retrieving the prosperity of their 
 house. This a little relieved his perplexity, 
 and he began to drop something of the suspicion 
 ivith which he- still seemed to regard me. And 
 
 - 
 
28 
 
 oh what a sight to me was an English farm-house 
 and farm ! every thing within so clean, light- 
 some, airy, and orderly ; all the yards so neatly 
 swept ; the garden and shrubbery so trim * the 
 men so decent, the maids so tidy ; the ground 
 so well laboured, not a weed no scutch ; gates 
 to every field, hedges too, and all clipped ; and 
 such waggons and carts, and in such profusion, 
 with houses for all, to save them from sun and 
 weather. But oh, the horses ! the horses ! never 
 shall I forget the first time I saw a waggon and 
 the eight noble animals that drew it, I could 
 have fallen down on my knees to them, as they 
 went by ; and indeed, though while I was on 
 foot about the farm, seeing and admiring every 
 thing, I was as gay as the blaze of the sun ; yet 
 when we came home in the evening, and there 
 was no conversation like yours, my dear sir, to 
 call one out of oneself, I thought of our mise- 
 rable cats of garrons, and logs of cars, the naked 
 fields, and all the desolation of the headland of 
 Bengore, I became so sad, that when I w r as left 
 alone with young John Headcroft, the tears 
 came so fast from my eyes that I could not hide 
 them. He stared at me, but thinking it was 
 because I felt strange among new acquaintance, 
 told me he was like an old acquaintance with 
 me already, and his father and all the rest would 
 be in a day or two. I said that his farm was a 
 darling spot of ground, and I was quite obliged 
 to him for bringing me to it ; but when I made 
 him understand what it was that had come 
 across my mind, " Cheer up, my lad," said he, 
 " if that is all, I will bring father's waggons and 
 team over to you, and set all things to rights," 
 and he was ^uite in earnest ; but I who knew 
 
23 
 
 iiow all our self-sufficient boobies would set 
 their heads against any thing new, shook my 
 head, and could not help telling him of our Sir 
 Phelimy French, who brought over an English 
 waggon and horses, but forgot to bring a driver, 
 and when he ordered it out, it came round with 
 eight drivers, one to every horse, and the horses 
 not knowing what was meant by hup and hough, 
 and the drivers as little understanding what they 
 called the humours of the waggon, it was over- 
 turned into the ha-ha, pronounced a folly, and 
 left to rot, no office being large enough to hold 
 it. Young Headcroft roared with laughter at 
 this account, but said he would bring the waggon 
 and team notwithstanding, and put on his smock 
 frock and drive it himself. 
 
 The next day I was very busy, getting 
 my companion to acquaint me with all their 
 methods ; what bunglers we are, and idle, care- 
 less bunglers too, compared with them ! There 
 is a part of an English farming man's life which 
 an Irishman does not live ; that is between four 
 and six o'clock in the morning. Every body 
 here rises before four in winter : in Ireland no 
 one gets up till half past five in summer, nor till 
 half past seven in winter ; partly from the 
 laziness that sticks to their bones, partly that 
 they think candlelight too expensive, not Jknow- 
 ing that light and labour make the two halves 
 of a farmer's fortune. An English labouring 
 horse is rubbed down and fed twice in a winter 
 morning ; before seven o'clock the ploughmen 
 and carters have all got their hot breakfasts, and 
 are ready to start by the first sparkle of light ; 
 once out, they never return till the work is 
 3* 
 
30 
 
 finished, and only stop for ten minutes about nine, 
 while the men eat a morsel of bread and cheese 
 and the horses a lock of hay. They come home at 
 two o'clock, having done twice the work we do, 
 in one hour's less time ; and there is the whole 
 evening, with a good portion of daylight, to feed 
 and dress their noble animals as they deserve. 
 While with us eight o'clock is an early hour to 
 get to the field in winter, where the horses go 
 without their oats ; at nine or half past they are 
 to be unyoked, and brought back to the stable 
 to be fed ; the men have no time to tend them, 
 for they must get their breakfasts, and in half 
 an hour all hurry to the field again. 
 
 The same operations are repeated, with the 
 same neglect of horses, at one, when all return 
 to dinner. Away they hurry again in an hour, 
 10 get some work done before dark, and when 
 night approaches, they return home full trot ; 
 the horses are turned to drink, which from this 
 constant habit of heats and chills they are able 
 to do without being destroyed ; there is no 
 candlelight, and the men, cold, comfortless, and 
 often wet, hurry over dressing the horses, cram 
 their racks with hay, and all care is over. 
 
 I have known horses in Ireland go a mile in 
 winter to plough, which they must go full trot, 
 or there would be little time left to work ; so 
 that they have to trot six miles in addition to 
 their work, where in England they would only 
 have walked two. Time with us is spent in 
 
 f'"")ing to do things, rather than in doing them, 
 ou know my fondness for horses, which has 
 led me so far, that I must omit mentioning many 
 
other differences that I have observed, and all, 
 I must confess, to the advantage of the people 
 here ; they have even a variety of tools that we 
 have no notion of. We have no such thing as 
 a yoke to carry milk pails ; though we burn so 
 much land, we have no breast-plough for a man 
 to cut sods ; we have not even such things as 
 fencing gloves, but with us, when a man wants 
 to cut a hedge, he puts his left hand into his hat, 
 as the best means of handling the thorns. 
 
 With us labour is called slavery ; here they 
 have a pride in it, and young Headcroft told 
 me, that he should not be able to hold up his 
 head, if he was not able to mow, reap, thrash, 
 drive a Waggon, and do every tlting else better 
 than the other lads. At first I own I neither 
 liked young Headcroft, nor any of his family, 
 they seemed so little agreeable ; but they im- 
 proved every day, and when I began to reflect 
 on all the vicious and pernicious qualities of 
 our " hail fellow, well met, and lively boys," I 
 was obliged to give the preference to the home- 
 ly English. What will Merritt M ; Cormick 
 think of the young fellows here, when he hears 
 that they do not know how to dance ? and yet, 
 when I saw them in their clean white smock 
 frocks, sitting quietly in the farm kitchen on 
 Sunday, and listening to old Mr. Headcroft 
 reading the Bible, or reading some religious 
 book themselves, I wished that I could be sure 
 that Merritt was at the same time as well em- 
 ployed. Yet there certainly are great faults in 
 the character of this people, for they were 
 striking in all of them. They are always think- 
 ing of themselves, and eat up with conceit and 
 
32 
 
 selfishness. They either pride themselves in a 
 coarse unfeelingness, or fall into an affectation 
 of humanity, which equally proves them desti- 
 tute of ail heart and nature. I heard of and 
 observed instances of extreme obdurity between 
 the nearest connexions, which were shocking. 
 Even aunt M'Cormick, beast as she is, would 
 share her last meal with a cousin, and would 
 never say an uncivil word to a stranger. They 
 are also great vaunters, and when they do talk, 
 - every thing they say is with an air, but clumsi- 
 ly concealed, of exalting themselves, or some- 
 thing belonging to them. The same selfishness 
 makes them gluttons both in meat and drink ; 
 all their farming merits and virtues, which are 
 without end, se*em to have no other object but 
 the gratification of this gross sensuality. And 
 the only unpleasing object you see about the 
 farm is the possessor, who, at a middle age, is 
 literally crammed with ale and meat; and is 
 swollen into an enormous disproportion of flesh, 
 to which I never saw any thing similar in Ire- 
 land. It is the strangest shape ! a pig, when he 
 gets fat, fattens at all points, and still keeps a 
 certain symmetry ; but an English farmer flat- 
 tens down as he gets bloated, and if it was not 
 for the immense number of these shapes that 
 you see, who keep each other in countenance, 
 I should think that they would be ashamed to 
 appear abroad. These people too have no 
 look, language, or manner, that expresses affec- 
 tion, but they are great critics of proprieties ; 
 and I found from young Headcroft, that the un- 
 guardedness of my Irish manners had led me 
 into a great many offences against what they 
 considered good breeding. All their conversa* 
 
33 
 
 tion too consists in commonplace observations, 
 which extreme inanity seems to arise as much 
 from the coldness of their hearts as from the 
 poverty of their imaginations. Yet notwith- 
 standing these great deficiencies in manners and 
 character, in point of conduct, and the virtues 
 of their station, they far exceed us. I was sur- 
 prised at the difference between an English and 
 an Irish fair : at the latter, every species of the 
 grossest fraud is practised; and a man can 
 scarcely do business to any extent, from the 
 perpetual wrangles he is engaged in to avoid im- 
 position : but in an English fair, words are bind- 
 ing oaths, and business passes on quietly and 
 speedily. Another great and pure feature they 
 possess, which it grieves my heart to know how 
 sadly we want, their women never drink. 
 Almost every vice of our character I could con- 
 fess here, but I should have died with shame to 
 have allowed this. As I found that to work 
 well was the only thing that gave a man credit 
 here, I set out with the mowers, as you know 
 that I am reckoned a first rate hand among our- 
 selves ; but I soon found that I had need of all 
 my Irish indifference to success, to keep me in 
 countenance ; for though I made twice the 
 efforts of my companions, I could but just keep 
 up with them ; and while they cut close, and 
 even without distressing themselves, my mowing, 
 with all my exertions, was execrable ; being 
 used to our straight handled scythes, I stooped 
 too low, and did not understand the set of mine ; 
 so that I was the derision of the whole field. 
 At last one of them, better natured than the 
 rest, said, " Lord love thee, lad, thou wilt kill 
 thyself, and break thy back at this fashion 5 what 
 
34 
 
 queer sort of a tool hast thou been used to cut 
 with ? n So, desiring me to stand more upright, 
 and setting my scythe not quite so flat, I found 
 that I could mow with much more ease than 
 ever I had done before, and before I left the 
 field, they all pronounced that I promised well. 
 
 In the evening I had my revenge ; for while 
 the men were boasting after their fashion of 
 their feats of activity and strength, I took up a 
 half hundred weight, and challenged them to 
 try who would throw it the farthest. I threw it 
 a few steps ; all the men tried again and again, 
 but could not throw so far. Young Headcroft 
 strained with all his might, but fell far short : and 
 after several attempts, each being less successful 
 than the first, he grew peevish and angry. , I 
 again took the weight, and exerting myself for the 
 honour of my country, if honour it can be called, 
 with that peculiar spring of the whole body from 
 the ground, which you, dear sir, have seen on 
 many a market day, I flung the weight three 
 times as far as I had done at first. They all 
 seemed astonished, and would try no more : but 
 young Headcroft said it was all a trick, he was 
 sure. " No trick at all," I replied, "but only 
 practice : what made you mow better than I this 
 morning makes me fling a weight better than you 
 this evening." However, he was so much put out 
 of his way by being outdone, even in so trifling a 
 matter, that it was not till I had put myself 
 under his tuition again, and he had an opportu- 
 nity of showing his superiority in many ways, 
 that he recovered his temper. Indeed it was 
 impossible to see him so adroit, athletic, and 
 active in the field, without admiration ; while 
 
3d 
 
 the care, order, and method, with which he- 
 caused every thing to be done, showed that his 
 mental were equal to his bodily powers. His 
 father was justly proud of him, and while he 
 passed most o his time drinking ale, smoking 
 before his door, or riding on a fat easy pad tQ 
 fa.rs and markets, he left all the labour of the 
 farm to his son. 
 
 I had often wished for a friend of my own 
 age, and sometimes thought I could have found 
 such a one in young Headcroft, for the sincerity 
 and bluntness of his English manners appeared 
 to me something new and admirable ; but his 
 eternal attention to maintain his superiority in 
 frivolous matters gave him a cold and captious 
 manner ; and though he was obliging enough to 
 me, he was overbearing to his inferiors, and 
 often violent and unjust. 
 
 A few days after my arrival, while we were 
 washing the sheep, Headcroft was teazing a 
 young fellow something older with common- 
 place wit, and practical jokes, and I think was 
 making an opportunity of showing me his prow- 
 ess in boxing : for the young fellow seemed to 
 suspect his intention, for, losing his patience 
 " I tell you what, young master," he said, " if 
 your blood is so hot to day that it wants cooling, 
 I am your man :" and began to strip off his 
 smock-frock and shirt. From this challenge 
 Headcroft had neither the power nor inclination 
 to withdraw. A ring, was made with much glee 
 and vociferation, and the combat began. 
 
 Though these boxing matches in fact often 
 exhibit more generous courage than our mod- 
 
36 
 
 ern campaigns, yet undoubtedly it is very inhu- 
 man to take delight in looking at them ; and 
 this same savage temper, which Christianity put 
 an end to at Rome, has been renewed in Eng- 
 land, by that sickening affectation of honest 
 coarseness and brutality, which is mistaken for 
 manliness in this country. For my part, know- 
 ing it in vain to interfere, where so much sport 
 would be lost to the spectators by a reconcilia- 
 tion, and having no desire to see any one, much 
 less a person I was inclined to call my friend 
 in such a plight, I staid to mind the sheep, and 
 thought on the different ways in which quarrels 
 were managed here and in Ireland : and in this 
 instance I cannot but allow, that the English show 
 themselves as generous as we are base, coward- 
 ly, and savage. For in England a man always 
 depends upon his own courage, he never tries 
 to raise a party or faction to join him in fight- 
 ing; whereas it is only backed by a mob of 
 friends that an Irishman will fight.- In England 
 too it would be reckoned a monstrous shame 
 and scandal for two men to fall upon one, or to 
 strike a man when on the ground ; but in Ire- 
 land, twenty men will basely fall upon one, and 
 it is when they have him down on the ground, 
 that all their savage revenge gluts itself, by try- 
 ing to beat him to death. In England too a 
 man disdains to use any other weapon but those 
 that nature has given him his clenched fists : 
 but an Irish combatant never thinks himself fit 
 for action without a stick, generally loaded with 
 lead ; or will seize a knife, to have his revenge. 
 
 The combat ended as I expected, in favour 
 of young Headcroft ; who returned home in tri- 
 
iiinph to wash the blood off his face, accompa- 
 nied by all the workmen, applauding his prow- 
 ess. The other young fellow, like all people 
 wanting success, was deserted. Some of his 
 companions helped him on with his clothes, and 
 then followed the rest. I found him very much 
 hurt and bruised, and in such pain from a blow 
 he had received in the loins, that he never 
 would have reached his home that day without 
 my help, 
 
 I was well rewarded for my trouble, by see- 
 ing a perfect pattern of a comfortable English 
 cottage : but at first I had not leisure to exa- 
 mine it, for the young man, whose name was 
 John Mapleton, retched violently, and grew so 
 ill, that finding there was no apothecary near, 
 I made his father and mother put him to bed, 
 and bled him myself ; but he still continued in 
 great pain, till I caused his side to be stuped, 
 which gave him relief. His mother was alarm- 
 ed at his situation, and was unwilling to let me 
 go : she pressed me much to stay there that 
 night, and I was so ill pleased with John Head- 
 croft's treatment of this young man, that I felt 
 inclined to comply ; but then reflecting that he 
 had been kind and hospitable to myself, I did 
 not think it right to do any thing that would 
 give him offence, so returned before night. 
 
 I found that John Headcroft had been unea- 
 sy at my staying away, and cleared up at my 
 return, when we were alone, and he asked me 
 why I staid so late : I told him honestly, that I 
 thought so ill of his demeaning himself in the 
 manner he had done, and putting himself even 
 4 
 
38 
 
 below one of his father's workmen, that I had 
 thoughts of not returning again. He heard me 
 with more patience than I expected ; and when 
 I told him that Mapleton was seriously hurt, he 
 turned quite pale ; and spoke with so much re- 
 gard for the young man, and so much sorrow for 
 the provocation he had given him, that I became 
 quite reconciled to him. Indeed, he said, it 
 was partly owing to my casting the weight so 
 much farther than he, which put him upon 
 showing me some proof of his strength, and he 
 only fixed upon John Mapleton, because he 
 knew that he was the stoutest and most cour- 
 ageous lad among the men. I said something of 
 the folly of caring so much for this kind of su- 
 periority, and then let it drop, for 1 found him 
 really generous at heart, and afflicted at what 
 he had done. 
 
 The next morning I went again to see John 
 Mapleton, and found him still confined to his 
 bed ; his Bible lay by his side, which he had 
 been attempting to read, but could not raise 
 himself sufficiently to read with ease. I offer- 
 ed to read to him, which he thankfully accept- 
 ed : and when I laid by the book, and naturally 
 fell into discourse on holy subjects, he spoke 
 with a warmth and earnestness, which surprised 
 me in an Englishman ; and 1 stood convicted to 
 myself of having much the colder heart of the 
 two in the most material point. Why is it, my 
 dear sir, that when my spirits kindle, when 
 touched by excellence of any kind, here alone, 
 where every excellence of character and pre- 
 cept is displayed, my soul is languid arid inert. 
 
39 
 
 and every idle thought has power to divert me 
 from this sublime and heart-moving book ? 
 
 I found the family of the Headcrofts, with 
 the exception of their son, now less agreeable 
 to me, as they seemed to consider my going to 
 the Mapletons as taking a part against their son 
 but it must have been a much weightier rea- 
 son that would have prevented my going I 
 therefore did not return till late in the evening, 
 when the father and mother were gone to bed, 
 and I sat up an hour or two with John Head- 
 croft, before we went to ours. I principally 
 tried to dissuade him from a habit he was be- 
 ginning, of drinking a vast quantity of ale and 
 some spirits ;, but he saw me held in such 
 derision by the rest of the family, for drinking 
 no strong liquors, that 1 found, to my sorrow, for 
 I began to have a real regard for him, that I only 
 beat a rock and gathered foam. I returned 
 with increasing pleasure to the more homely 
 and sober fare at the Mapletons' cottage, which, 
 with the exception of strong beer and spirits, 
 was equally abundant and comfortable as at far- 
 mer Headcroft's, with the adv antage of a pious, 
 grateful, and friendly disposition, which marked 
 every member of the family ; there was his sis- 
 ter, whom, though I never heard her speak but 
 once, I could have looked at for hours, to 
 fix in my mind the exact model of how one 
 would wish a good girl to be fashioned in man- 
 ner, feature, and dress. His mother was a 
 spare, small woman, with high, stiff stays, look- 
 ing at least ten years older than she was ; yet 
 to see the quantity of work she got through in a 
 day, besides settling, polishing, and cleaning 
 
40 
 
 every thing in the house, and about the house, 
 would amaze one of our clever girls, as they are 
 called, who wear out clay floors by dancing jigs, 
 and have long trains to their gowns. 
 
 The father walked stiff, and had a great stoop 
 from using their short handled spade and shov- 
 el. After he returned from his day's work, he 
 used to take a turn at his own garden, and in 
 three hours in the evening, did more and better 
 work, than an Irish labourer would do in a 
 whole day. It was all from the short handled 
 spade : their spade is all spade, and will lift 
 twice as much as our broadest shovel ; our fac 
 is all handle, it lifts but little, and half of that 
 falls off, as we do not lift with our arms, but by 
 sticking one knee under the long handled fac, 
 a thing which no Englishman would compre- 
 hend. When I return, I will make my fortune 
 by cutting three feet off the handle of my fac. 
 
 I have been several days without adding any 
 thing to this long letter, but as I shall have no 
 opportunity of sending it, till a friend of Mr. 
 Mansfield's goes to Ireland, I still can indulge 
 myself in that greatest pleasure, seeming to 
 hold converse with you. Dear sir, how often 
 do I think of you, and never without affection 
 and gratitude. 
 
 I wish I could scratch out all I have said 
 against the English, for this family of the Ma- 
 pletons convinces me, that we have nothing 
 half so good in Ireland, and I believe there are 
 many, many such in England ; but quiet, virtu- 
 ous people are little noticed. Here good peo- 
 
41 
 
 pie seem contented to be known only to God ; 
 but in Ireland the best must converse, and walk 
 about, and smoke tobacco. I wish, dear sir, 
 you could see this cottage, where every thing 
 is so still arid clean ; every room has two large 
 windows, that are brightened and cleaned every 
 day ; the house is surrounded with a flower gar- 
 den, that has twenty flowers that I never saw 
 the path up to the door is paved, with a board- 
 ed railing on each side ; the floor of the house 
 is three steps high, and paved with brick, so 
 that it is quite dry ; and as it is swept every day, 
 and covered with sand, there is not a trace of 
 mud to be seen ; the walls are covered with 
 roses, but what surprised me most, was the 
 quantity and value of the furniture ; there is a 
 complete set of kitchen furniture and pewter, 
 two mahogany tables, and a mahogany chest of 
 drawers, an excellent eight day clock, a book- 
 case and very good books, a dozen of excellent 
 oak chairs, a set of china, a great chest full of 
 linen, and thirty flowerpots of beautiful green- 
 house plants, in the kitchen only ; there are two 
 sitting rooms small, but completely furnished, as 
 are all the bed rooms with excellent feather 
 beds, and in the out offices there is nothing 
 wanting a labouring man could wish for. And 
 yet, I do not find that they ever earned more 
 than a labouring man and his family could do in 
 Ireland, if they worked well. 
 
 Old Mr. Mapleton told me, that he and his 
 wife had saved seventy pounds before they mar- 
 ried, so that they were able to furnish their cot- 
 tage decently, and he added, that though his was 
 something larger, almost every labourer's cot* 
 4* 
 
tage was as well provided. He could scarcely 
 believe me, when I told him that our labourers in 
 Ireland married without having any furniture pro- 
 vided, and often without a house over their heads. 
 One thing I particularly admired, which was, 
 that neither hen, nor pig, was allowed to come 
 near the house the pigs were shut up in a stye, 
 and the hens had their wings clipped, and a little 
 ladder was set for them to climb to their roost. 
 A pig that goes about a house, as with us, certain- 
 ly destroys more than he is worth, besides mak- 
 ing every thing dirty and unwholesome ; and he 
 behaves well, if in the end he does not breed a 
 fever. The first destruction of an Irish cabin 
 commences with the hen, which flies up on the 
 thatch, and scratches for an odd grain of corn ; 
 no one regards her, or the hole she makes; 
 here the rain penetrates the thatch, not indeed 
 so much at first as to enter the house, so it is lit- 
 tle thought of, but it lodges on the mud wall, soft- 
 ens it more and more, till a sharp winter's frost 
 bursts the wall ; and the cold weather, or the 
 villain that worked the mud, bears the blame. 
 
 One thing makes me very proud, which is to 
 find how much like an English body my darling 
 Una managed our poor cabin. She had all these 
 sort of tidynesses, and careful thoughts* But I do 
 a great wrong to this choice family, to talk so 
 long about what is mere outside, the cleanliness, 
 purity, and propriety, which is seen here, arises 
 from the same qualities in their minds, and you 
 will think still more highly of them, when you 
 know that they all spring from religion. 
 
 Praising Mrs. Mapleton* for the cleanliness of 
 her house, she replied ; " I should think myself 
 
43 
 
 a bad Christian if it were otherwise ; if I were 
 to get a gift from a friend, the least I could do, 
 would be to keep it neat^nd clean ; and are not 
 all the things I have gifts of God ? The very flow- 
 ers in our garden He gives for our pleasure ; and 
 would it not be a sin, to let them be soiled, or 
 overrun with weeds ? How much more then, if 
 I had let my children, who when young were as 
 pretty as spring flowers, grow up in dirt and 
 slovenliness ? I often think of our blessed Sa- 
 viour's washing his twelve disciples' feet, that 
 it was intended to instruct us to be cleanly, as 
 well as humble. And sinners as we are, yet 
 temples of the Holy Ghost, we ought therefore 
 to keep our body as free from stain as possible, 
 that it may be so far worthy of its heavenly in- 
 habitant. But even if cleanliness were not a 
 Christian duty, it merits favour on its own ac- 
 count. I am certain it saves a world of apothe- 
 caries' stuff, at least we have never had occasion 
 for any in our house, and it is my belief, that if 
 children are kept quite clean, they will seldom 
 be sick ; besides, it makes them comfortable in 
 themselves, and good humoured, with a more 
 loving feeling towards their parents, and more 
 amenable, so that I look on it, that for children 
 to be quite clean is at least half way to their 
 being good." 
 
 I have put by themselves the remaining odd 
 sheets of the dear child's letters, because he 
 spoke of me therein better than 1 merited. I got 
 his letter, the matter of a month before he return- 
 ed himself, for he travelled back on foot, that 
 he might leave every copper he had to spare 
 with his sister, except a Virgilius cum notis va- 
 
44 
 
 riorum, which he complimented me with. The 
 Headcrofts wished him good bye at parting, 
 that was all, not one of them gave him a shake 
 of the hand, which is inconceivable to me, only 
 young Headcroft, he said, " looked disconcert- 
 ed." But when he returned to Ireland, he said, 
 he recollected a great deal more good in them, 
 than he had noticed while he was with them 
 but he was mightily taken with the good Maple- 
 tons ; the young man followed him to town, 
 with a present of a large cheese of his mothers 
 making. 
 
 He too, though he lingered and lingered, 
 would have parted with a leaden good bye, but 
 Maurice knowing his nature, shook both his 
 hands, then he wept out, and if it had not been 
 for duty to his parents, would have followed 
 Maurice to Ireland. As it was, he begged Mau- 
 rice to give him some kind of direction to find 
 him, for that he would find him out if he did not 
 die, and if he did, he would remember his kind- 
 ness to him to the last. 
 
 " And how," said I to Maurice, after he had 
 been telling me of the wonders of wealth he 
 saw in England, " how will you feel yourself in 
 your mud cabin now ?" 
 
 " Nothing worse," says he, " in truth, father, 
 though I often admired, I seldom envied the 
 English ; they pamper themselves too much ; 
 they are poisoned with roses. And more is the 
 pity, for they are the cleanest, cleverest, and 
 most industrious people you could cut out, if you 
 had the making of them with a pair of scissars ; 
 
45 
 
 and I trust I shall profit all my life long by hav- 
 ing been amongst them." 
 
 Profit he did, and that forthwith. He had 
 lived well while in England, and was in full 
 strength and health. He immediately looked 
 out for a job of task work, and as it was well 
 known, that he would finish his work to perfec- 
 tion, equally as well by task as by days' work, 
 he had his choice. His earnings were large, 
 and his expense little, for he drank nothing but 
 milk or water, and ate cold meat and bread. 
 He lived alone, like a hermit, getting a neigh- 
 bour's wife to buy his meat and boil it for him ; 
 still as he earned his money, he laid it out in 
 getting tools made after the English fashion. 
 He soon had a short handled spade and a broad 
 shovel, and was secretly getting a plough, har- 
 rows, and a set of draining tools made, as he 
 began to speculate on taking his Ian 4 into his 
 own hands, and managing it, as John Headcroft 
 had taught him. He waited impatiently till 
 the mowing began, which was late in the coun- 
 try round about. Good mowers were as usual 
 scarce, and the price enormous, five shillings an 
 acre. Maurice contracted to mow so much, 
 that every one supposed he meant to engage 
 undermen to assist him ; he set to work with a 
 good scythe and a bent handle, so that he had 
 no longer to mow with his chin almost on his 
 knees, as his neighbours did. 
 
 Then, instead of working through the day as 
 was the fashion of the country, under the hot 
 sun, when the grass got dry and cut harsh and 
 difficult, he began to mow with the first foot-fall 
 
46 
 
 of the morning, or, as was said, the middle of 
 the night, in the middle of the day he lay down 
 in the shade and slept, and began again in the 
 cool of the evening, for he had learnt in Eng- 
 land, not only what every man's sense would 
 tell him, that. he could work harder and pleas- 
 anter in the cool than in the heat ; but that the 
 grass cut twice as easy while sappy and wet with 
 the dew. By this means Maurice did twice as 
 much as the country mowers, with less fatigue 
 than they had ; but the humour was, that when 
 the passers-by saw such an unusual quantity 
 mown every day, and yet Maurice scarcely ever 
 seen at work, they gave out that the fairies mow- 
 ed for him, which was quite unusual ; though for 
 fairies to make hay was not, as I myself and ma- 
 ny others have often seen on a calm summer's 
 day, when there was not a sigh in the air, the 
 hay is suddenly lifted up, and scattered all over 
 the sky, in a thousand whirls and frolics. 
 
 To mowing succeeded a job of reaping and 
 thrashing, and then a heavy piece of ditching, 
 which turned out unusually profitable to him, from 
 the use of his broad short handled spade. In 
 truth, if Maurice did the work of four men, the 
 spade did the work of two, for it dug and threw 
 up the clay at once ; whereas a shoveller is 
 always forced to attend the narrow fac to lift up 
 all it drops, which is half what it digs, then the 
 shovel being worn and narrow, drops again half 
 what it attempts to lift, and both fac-man and 
 shovel-man, repugning to bend their backs, the 
 day's work has very little to show for itself when 
 it is ended. 
 
47 
 
 Thus earning much, and spending little, Mau- 
 rice again grew rich, so much so, that he found 
 leisure to while away the Christmas holidays 
 under my thatch. Yet idle he was not, nor ever 
 could be. His mornings he employed in bring- 
 ing my garden into regularity, and refitting my 
 mansion ; which having been built by the bless- 
 ed Tuathal, son of Feradah, Abbot of Rahery 
 and Darmagh, was more sacred than sound ; 
 and though it had space and accommodation, 
 and had an up-stairs and down-stairs, yet it was . 
 but a ragged edifice. During the evenings he 
 studied the French tongue, foreseeing that Una 
 would reside in that country. He had a mar- 
 vellous ear for what is noble and pure in diction, 
 though this in not uncommon neither in Ireland 
 among the poorest, seldom using a vulgar or in- 
 elegant phrase, he at once perceived the differ- 
 ence between my colloquial style in English and 
 in French. " It comes from this," said I, ex- 
 plaining it, " that I picked up my English at a 
 hedge school, and the professors of our religion, 
 being excluded from polished society in Ire- 
 land, communicate too much with vulgar and 
 illiterate men, and catch the inelegant turns of 
 their diction: but in France and Spain, where my 
 profession is held in respect, I mixed familiarly 
 with nobles and princesses, and acquired the lan- 
 guage of the court." 
 
 About this time Maurice began to be much 
 aggrieved by his cousin Merritt M'Cormick, 
 who, thinking himself the prettier fellow of the 
 two, began early to show an envy of Maurice's 
 success, especially of the favour he was in with 
 me ; though he himself valued it so little, that 
 
48 
 
 he set his actions up in defiance of me ; and 
 though he would not treat me with any disre- 
 spect, yet he braved my censure with his jokes. 
 I met him reeling drunk, poor lad, not twenty- 
 one years old ; and instead of avoiding me, he 
 came bluffly staggering by. " And are you not 
 ashamed," cried I, " to make a beast of your- 
 self." " And tell me now, Father," says he, 
 4i what virtue would there be in a glass of 
 whiskey, if it did not make an alteration in a 
 man." He was the most audacious liar I ever 
 knew ; for his whole face lied as well as his 
 tongue, he could throw into it such an assurance 
 of simplicity and veracity. I asked him why 
 he preferred telling a lie, even though there 
 seemed no advantage in it. " From pure cau- 
 tion, father," says he, " and forethought : you 
 may unsay a lie if you find it distressing, but you 
 cannot unsay the truth, if it is ever so inconve- 
 nient : lies are like snail's horns, you throw out 
 one or two just to feel your way, and if all's safe, 
 then come out of your shell and welcome." 
 Now he would say all these hellish aphorisms 
 in the most natural and self-complacent manner ; 
 so that one could have laughed, if there had 
 not been a soul in jeopardy. Wherever there 
 was a crowd, there was he ; at fair, patron, 
 wake, christening, wedding, funeral, all was one ; 
 he would raise a debate among the crowd out- 
 side the chapel door, and skirmish with all the 
 wits, till they had not a word left to say for 
 themselves ; and the gapers were bursting with 
 laughing. I would send out to know what 
 was the sense of the uproar ; and was sure to 
 find that it was Merritt M'Cormick funning. 
 Yet though he had not one good principle, he 
 
49 . 
 
 liad imbibed, I suppose from his mother's milk, 
 a strong tincture of superstition. He would 
 not even drink milk on a fast day, and took 
 great merit to himself in attending every funeral 
 within the Island ; and he was so observant of 
 this ceremony, that he nearly lost his life by 
 persisting in attending one, when it rained 
 cataracts, and he was but badly recovered from 
 an ague by one of his mother's charms. Now 
 since Maurice came to the Island, he could 
 never pass him but he had a stone in his sleeve 
 to fling at him, some jesting taunt, that had less 
 wit, and more bitterness, than was his custom ; 
 particularly against his English novelties, which 
 gave him most offence, and, in allusion to his 
 short handled implements, succeeded in fasten- 
 ing on him the nickname of the king of spades. 
 But Maurice, having little conceit, took little 
 offence, and parried all with a kind gravity ; 
 and though he never esteemed his cousin, (now 
 Una was out of the way) he did not shun his 
 society, but took every opportunity of trying to 
 lenefit him, It was attempting this, that in the 
 end made Merritt his resolved enemy. For 
 about this time, Merritt married miserably ; and 
 Maurice did his best to dissuade him, which the 
 wife never could forgive ; and though she was a 
 slob of a girl, she had cunning enough to turn 
 her husband's bad passions to her own gratifica- 
 tion. 
 
 Some dozen of Merritt's companions, whom 
 the sheer love of confederation led into every 
 kind of turbulence and wickedness, having no 
 treason on the anvil, gave out that a big two- 
 handed wench, with a blowzy face, who had 
 5 
 
50 
 
 got the name of a fine girl from tramping jigs at 
 night dances, was to be hurled for. Her name 
 was Katty Conghar : on the appointed morning, 
 the riot and rout surrounded her father's house ; 
 and though he and her mother made some show 
 of resistance, the girl was little loth, as her red 
 ribbons proclaimed ; and being hoisted on men's 
 shoulders, was carried to the field, to be the prize 
 of the victor. Then the dashers, and the slashers, 
 and the wits, and the devil-may-care boys, were 
 all in their shirt sleeves tied with ribbands, and the 
 hurling began : and in truth, the games in Ho- 
 mer and Virgil are not to be compared to it, if 
 it could be turned to any laudable account' 
 Merritt M'Cormick was dominant throughout, 
 and being an active, clean limbed lad, after a 
 hard contest of three hours, he put the ball 
 through the sticks, and goaled the girl. Then 
 all in a blaze of glory, and inflamed with suc- 
 cess, he kisses the girl, though he did not care a 
 rush for her, and off they are borne to be mar- 
 ried, amidst shouts and huzzas. But a busy 
 body having run off to tell Mrs. M'Cormick, 
 the mother, soon you might hear her shrieking 
 and cursing the stars, and luck, good, bad, and 
 indifferent ; for she had laid out the best match 
 in the Island for her son, and having her share 
 of mother's wit, was nigh to bring it to bear : 
 and this Katty Conghar was of a redshank breed, 
 pennyless to boot; and Mrs. M'Cormick was 
 indeed of the Milesian race, though with a few 
 blots in it. She tore off her cap, she tore her 
 hair, she tore her cheeks, and ran out in her 
 stocking feet ; and was lunatic in a trice. But 
 she had still sense enough, and humbled she 
 was, or she would not have done it, to call 
 
to advise with Maurice. He borrowed a cap 
 and pair of shoes of the maid for her, and put- 
 ting her behind him on a horse, rode off for the 
 bride's father's house, where I soon received a 
 summons to marry them. I delayed as long as 
 I decently could do, but it was in vain. The 
 company raised such a shout as soon as Mrs. 
 i\rCormick appeared, that she could not even 
 make herself heard ; arid Merritt had grown 
 so fractious from long indulgence, that he little 
 heeded her ; and those who knew her best, 
 plied her so with drink, that finding opposition 
 vain, she soon blubbered out a consent, and sat 
 down to table with them all. But Maurice 
 would not so easily be put off: there was a 
 decency in his manners and looks, that when he 
 was in earnest mastered even Merritt, and he 
 prevailed on him to hear him apart. He had 
 the right so much with him, that several time* 
 Merritt was staggered, but at last he declared, 
 that he never could show his face again, if he 
 did so ungallant a thing ; and so with all his wit 
 he was tied to a slut, a slattern, and a sot, for 
 such she proved. 
 
 . I had a dear friend, the friend of my prime 
 rime, a. real prince, Hi Sullivan Bere : he was 
 directly descended from the great Hi Sullivan 
 Bere, who fell with the fall of his country. His 
 descendant in the reign of Carolus sectmdus 
 recovered a good share of the property, from 
 the negligence of the undertakers, who resided 
 abroad in England, and the family lived in great 
 splendour and hospitality, with every knee bent 
 to them in the castle, on the rocks of Bere- 
 haven,. This. Hi Sullivan Bere was mv foster 
 
52. 
 
 brother ; and this tie, esteemed so binding m 
 Ireland, neither age, nor absence, would entirely 
 break, but regularly every new year's day, we 
 exchanged letter of inquiry and kind wishes. In 
 all his letters he spoke to me of his son, and I 
 in return boasted of mine, for so now I called 
 and felt that Maurice was. It was sufficient for 
 him to know, that Maurice was the head of the 
 house of O'Neal, to respect and wish to see 
 him ; his being a day labourer only appeared an 
 accident in the eyes of one always talking with 
 old times, he did not the less esteem him a high 
 born Milesian prince. I determined to send 
 Maurice there, because I knew he was secure 
 of the respect of the old chieftain, and I thought 
 he could not fail of the friendship of the young 
 one 5 and so in the event it was. 
 
 One of my smuggling captains, the better to 
 quiet his conscience, presented me with a 
 superb horse he had brought from Spain ; 
 Maurice had broken him in, and taught him to 
 follow him, to kneel down, and to capriole. In 
 the month of May, after Maurice had sown 
 his land, for he had now taken it into his own 
 hands, and he could best be spared, I desired 
 the neighbours to keep his house and land safe 
 from harm, and giving him the colt, sent him 
 with a letter to the castle of Berehaven. 
 
 The night before he departed, Maurice con- 
 fided to me ^ that he loved. 
 
 " And whom ?" said I. 
 
 " Berghetta Tual," said he* 
 
" God be thanked, you have chosen wellj 
 but she is quite a child." 
 
 " She will not be, by the time we marry," 
 said Maurice, smiling, "for I mean, that she 
 should have as good a house over her head, and 
 as well furnished too, as my friend Mrs. Maple- 
 ton, before I ask your blessing father. I am 
 afraid," said he, " it may be more months than 
 a year; it is a long time, but I will work hard,* 
 or it may be longer but into a mud cabin, I 
 will never ask a wife to enter; nor will I ever 
 rear up children in rags.? 5 
 
 " But how came you acquainted ?" said I r 
 :i for she never sees any one in her mother's 
 house, nor ever leaves it but to go to chapel,, 
 and then she draws her cloak over her face, 
 and speaks to no man." 
 
 " Ah, father, when I first saw that pale and 
 heavenly face, which was never uncovered but 
 at her devotions, so gentle, so sweet, so pure ! 
 many ways I tried to accost her, but she heeded 
 me not, but chance favoured me ; as she was 
 passing by a house, some dogs run out and 
 barked at her; and she has such an extreme 
 terror of these cabin curs, that she screamed 
 and began to run. I was never far from her on 
 her return from chapel, and flew to her assist- 
 ance. I dealt one of the do^s *a blow with my 
 stick, with such good will, that I lajd him dead. 
 I then overtook Berghetta, who was so terri- 
 fied, that she could scarcely stand, and was 
 obliged to lean on my arm, and let me accom- 
 pany her home. Yet in all other respects, she 
 5 * 
 
54 
 
 is a hale, active girl ; and who milks a cow, or 
 tends her dairy better ? If you were to see her 
 strength, when she raises her poor crippled 
 mother, and carries her across the room like a 
 child, you would wonder that she should run 
 away from a little dog. Her mother smiled on 
 me when I brought her home, and I saw that 
 my fortune was made, and yet I ought not to 
 say so, for to this moment I cannot say, and 
 scarcely believe, that Berghetta loves me." 
 
 " So much the better, so much the better," 
 replied I ; " a girl that is in love loses a good 
 deal of the tenderness and all the usefulness of 
 her sex. She begins not to care about her bird, 
 or her pet lamb, or her old mother, the cakes 
 may burn on the griddle, and she does not no- 
 tice them, a cobweb may hang from the ceiling 
 to the floor, and she does not perceive it. She 
 has only two ideas in her head, herself and him, 
 and these are not much to the purpose. No, 
 no, these tindery young ladies always abound 
 in sparks. I'll engage Berghetta never speaks 
 to any young fellow but yourself," 
 
 " Just so," said Maurice. 
 
 a Be content then ; she will love you when 
 it is her duty to do so, respect her piety and 
 wisdom, which prevent her from overstepping 
 the bounds that delicacy prescribes to her sex." 
 
 And well I might tell him to be content, for 
 every thought of that innocent mind had been 
 laid open to me with a scrupulous and self- 
 accusing candour without parallel. It is a deli- 
 
cate thing to speajc of confessions, even of those 
 who are dead ; yet this much I will say, that 
 my experience has shown me, that self-sufficient 
 people, and those bold spirits, who say it would 
 be hypocrisy to accuse themselves of sin, when 
 they are conscious of none, are always without 
 capacity for virtuous feeling, and gross in the 
 grain of their hearts ; it is not that their lives 
 are pure, but that their perceptions are coarse, 
 and their consciences seared. But the inno- 
 cent, they whose consciences are fresh and ten- 
 der, will feel sullied, even by the susceptibility 
 of temptation ; and who has not been tempted. 
 
 I wrote by a poor scholar that was returning 
 to Kerry, to prepare Hi Sullivan Bere for my 
 son's coming. And now he shall speak again 
 for himself. 
 
 " My head is turned, dear father, but not by 
 the magnificence of this place, though that is 
 sufficiently amazing. The castle itself, with 
 its woods and mountains, and the great sea 
 breaking on its rocks, is awful indeed. As 
 soon as I appeared in sight a horn sounded from 
 the castle ; would you credit it, that the great 
 Hi Sullivan Bere should receive a day-labourer 
 thus ? I was led through a double row of fol- 
 lowers, that extended from the entrance to the 
 hall, where Hi Sullivan Bere himself was, who, as 
 soon as he law me, rose and embraced me, and 
 kissed my forehead. It was no wonder that I 
 stood abashed before him. The grandeur of 
 the hall, the crowd that gazed on me, the mag- 
 nificence of his dress, which seemed covered 
 with jewels, but still more his gigantic figure 
 
and commanding air, confused me ; nor did the 
 great attenti 
 restore me. 
 
 great attention with which he treated me much 
 
 "O'Neal," said he, "I should call you prince,, 
 king, but that no title, not even that of an em- 
 peror, can add honour to the name of O'Neal. 
 You are the O'Neal, the last honoured repre- 
 sentative of a race of kings and warriors, whose 
 origin is lost only in the clouds of time. On 
 this spot your forefathers and my forefathers 
 fought together, and the marble pavement of 
 the chapel is still discoloured with the blood of. 
 the O'Neals and Sullivans." 
 
 He showed me all the state rooms of the cas- 
 tle, which were hung with the finest tapestry 
 . and velvet, though rather decayed ; paintings 
 of his ancestors, and curious suits of burnished 
 armour. He gave me the history of each hero 
 to whom they belonged, to which I listened with 
 a pleasure I had never known before. 
 
 At dinner (he dined early) there were gen- 
 tlemen, his near relations, and some neighbour- 
 ing gentlemen, every one of whom dined stand- 
 ing in his presence, and I alone was seated at 
 his table * After dinner the harper entered, and 
 played and sung a song to the glory of the O'- 
 Neals, and to their misfortunes. I could not 
 but blush at the beginning, but the conclusion 
 was so pathetic, and the music so moving, that, 
 struggle as I would, I could not prevent the 
 tears rolling from my eyes. 
 
 Yet all this distinction did not for a moment 
 make me forget myself, I knew my real station 
 
57 
 
 too well ; but that is not the case now, nor will 
 you be surprised when 1 tell you the pains, that 
 the young Tanist, James Hi Sullivan Bere, has 
 taken to turn my head. I was soon beginning 
 to tire of the castle, for I was no company for 
 the prince, who, though the best natured and 
 most eloquent man alive, took no pleasure in 
 books, or in improvements, or in any thing else 
 that I could perceive, except stalking. He loves 
 nothing but antique Irish customs, which seem 
 to me to be the brood of folly and idleness, and 
 he is rather too, partial to tobacco and whiskey : 
 but among his followers it was worse ; they did 
 nothing but lean along the walls on a wet day, 
 or bask in the sun on a dry day, and when they 
 gathered at meals, or at night, their conversa- 
 tion, though always witty, was seldom better 
 than gross. Then outside the castle the whole 
 country was sad. All the clan despised industry ; 
 there were no fences or corn fields, but the 
 whole country overrun with goats, old horses, 
 starved milch-cows, and mangy sheep. Here 
 too one could never be alone, for all the herds 
 clustered round you, from miles around, to see 
 who you were, and ask the news. I had no 
 refuge but the sea shore, where an O'Sullivan 
 was never found, for they looked on the sea as 
 an element fit only for Englishmen and smug- 
 glers, and they even disdained to catch the fine 
 fish that frequented their coast. I was walking 
 on the fourth evening, and wondering that they 
 did not gather the sea weed for manure, when 
 I saw the bare-footed boy from the castle run- 
 ning past. 
 
 " And where are you and the wind going, 
 Rorv ?" 
 
68 
 
 i4 To take the skiff and fetch the young Ta~ 
 iiist from on board, don't you see the yellow 
 flag on that ship's head. That's he just return- 
 ed from France, after leaving the old gentle- 
 man, his tutor, safe at home." 
 
 " Then you had better take me with you, 
 Rory, for I know my way over the waves bet- 
 ter than you." 
 
 " Like enough," replied the lad, " for they 
 only send me for want.pf a better, and you will 
 not be too many, since the Tanist, God bles& 
 him, disdains to touch a rope, even if he knew 
 how." 
 
 I helped the boy to set the sail, and left him 
 to steer, which he did pretty well till we came 
 near the ship, when, if I had not taken the 
 helm from him, he might have staved the boat 
 against the ship's side. The young Prince stood 
 at the ship's side, watching our coming, he was 
 easily known from the rest, who were only 
 common sea-faring people. He wore a large 
 cocked hat, and was wrapped in a capota. His 
 face was very like to some of your Spanish 
 pictures, of a dark olive colour ; he had black 
 eyes and hair, and a look of gravity, if not 
 of pride. 
 
 I went to the head of the boat and sat behind 
 the sail. He nodded to Rory as he sat down 
 in the boat, then throwing the corner of his ca- 
 pota over his shoulder, he seemed lost in 
 thought, and Rory being too much under awe 
 to speak, we sailed silently back. The wind 
 
69 
 
 \\;>> against us. Rory, in attempting to tack, 
 showed that he was no sailor, and cat across the 
 bay in all manner of directions, so that it began 
 to grow dark hefore we neared the coast. 
 However, it seemed indifferent to Hi Sullivan, 
 and Rory did not ask, and I did not offer, my 
 help. 
 
 It would have been wiser if I had, for though 
 I saw the waves breaking as if over a rock 
 ahead, and Rory steering in the direction, yet I 
 could not think that he and the young Tanist 
 could be so ignorant of the coast; there was 
 not much time for reflection, for in a minute 
 the skiff struck, upset, and we were all in the 
 water. The first thing I did was to strip off my 
 coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and then look for the 
 boy, who fortunately rose near me, and I caught 
 him by the hair. As soon as he had got the 
 water out of his mouth, he began to cry out, 
 " let me alone, can't you, let me go the bot- 
 tom ; why don't you help the Tanist ? or he 
 will be drowned, and ruin come over us." 
 
 " Why surely he can swim," I replied. 
 
 Swim ! not he, nor never a soul in the cas- 
 tle, Oh ! he will be certainly drowned, can't you 
 let me go, and do what I tell you ;" and he ac- 
 tually struggled to get loose. The Tanist, how- 
 ever, whose large cloak kept him afloat, had 
 caught hold of the boat, which lay on her side, 
 with the mast and sail in the water ; and as he 
 was in no immediate danger, I told the boy so 9 
 who being able to swim a little, I brought him 
 to shore without much difficulty. I desired him 
 
60 
 
 to run to the castle for help, and then swam 
 back to the wreck ; but though I am reckoned 
 a good swimmer even at Kahery, yet swimming 
 as I now did, against the tide, tired me so much, 
 that I thought it better to hold to the hoat and 
 wait for assistance, than attempt to bring O'Sul- 
 livan to shore. 
 
 He seemed surprised at my returning to him : 
 and yet his first exclamation on hearing my ac- 
 cent was, " How shall 1 ever bear to be so deep- 
 ly indebted to an Englishman !" Surely, dear 
 sir, and father, this animosity is carried to an 
 unchristian excess, both in the prince and his 
 son, for the prince could never bear to hear me 
 speak favourably of any thing in England, or even 
 to mention the country. However, I assured 
 him I was no Englishman, but had been in 
 England, and had always wished for an Eng- 
 lish accent. 
 
 " I cannot blame you for that," said he, 
 (speaking as unconcernedly as if he had been 
 sitting in the castle,) " for the Irish accent is 
 detestable ; but it is a pity you have not learnt 
 the foreign or French accent, (he himself spoke 
 with it,) instead of the English. However, you 
 have not a strong English accent. But will you 
 not come more on the boat, and rest yourself, 
 for I cannot swim, so you can be of no use to 
 me, and then you may return to shore." 
 
 I told him I had no thoughts of leaving him, 
 as my skill in swimming might be of use in 
 keeping the boat steady, though I feared I was 
 not strong enough to take him on shore. 
 
01 
 
 "Good Heaven !" he cried suddenly, -what 
 can equal my stupidity ! you must be Maurice 
 O'Neal, my father, before I went, talked of 
 vour coming. Thus it has always been the 
 O'Neals and O'Sullivans never meet but to die 
 together ; for I now know it will be in vain to 
 desire you to return on shore," 
 
 " But why talk of dying ?" I replied, " the 
 boy will soon alarm the people of the castle. 
 The wind is not very high, and though that 
 drives us from the shore, the tide is in our 
 favour." 
 
 " Oh, I know those people of the castle right 
 well ; my poor father will lose his head ; the 
 rest will all take to shrieking, the first thing they 
 will think of will be preparing for our wake, and 
 the last thing they will recollect, is that the 
 smuggler's boat lies at Chink Well." 
 
 " But I bid Rory remember the boat, for I 
 passed it to day." 
 
 " Well, there is life in that, and Rory must be 
 no better than a firbolg, if he lacks wit in com- 
 ing to your help." 
 
 " But may I ask how he came to have so 
 little wit as to run the skiff against the rock ?" 
 
 " It was no rock ;" 
 
 1 It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 
 * Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.* 
 6 
 
62 
 
 " It is an English frigate, that was wrecked 
 there three years ago, and every thing English 
 is fatal to our race." 
 
 As he spoke, a breaker made the boat roll, 
 and he lost his hold and sunk ; but I caught him 
 as he rose, and was able to regain the boat ; 
 and having found a rope, I fastened it round his 
 body, so that he could not again be separated 
 from the boat. 
 
 " You are too good," he said to me, " but in- 
 deed you had better return on shore, and leave 
 me to my fate, I know that English vessel must 
 be my destruction." 
 
 The night was now getting dark, and the sea 
 more rough, and I began to despair of help from 
 the castle. I had rested, leaning on the boat, 
 and my confidence in my swimming began to 
 return. I told O'Sullivan that if he had pres- 
 ence of mind enough to hold my body with one 
 arm, leaving my arms quite free, I had no doubt 
 that I could take him on shore safe. But he 
 replied, that though he was not afraid of death, 
 he was of the water, and could not bring him- 
 self to quit the boat. Indeed, he seemed to 
 have so little fear, that he began to talk about 
 the most indifferent matters in the world ; but 
 I begged him to stop, for as I knew the tide, 
 our best hope, was changing, our danger became 
 evident, and it seemed time to say my last 
 prayer for you and Berghetta, and to recom- 
 mend my soul to its Maker; this I did aloud* 
 When I stopped, O'Sullivan again urged me to 
 swim to shore ; but this I could not do, after I 
 
63 
 
 had seen how necessary I was to him ; and 
 even if it was not my duty, it would have been 
 better to die, than live with the reproach of hav- 
 ing deserted him always in my breast. But I 
 begged him in return not to speak, for I wished 
 to think no more even of you or Berghetta, but 
 to give my thoughts entirely to resignation to 
 God's will. And yet why do I tell you all this, 
 but that it may reach Berghetta's ears, for I 
 know she will tremble for me, and that is next 
 to loving me. 
 
 We were saved, as you may guess, by Rory's 
 diligence ; lights along the shore revived our 
 hopes, and the prince, taking a small horn from 
 his breast, sounded it that they might know the 
 direction in which we floated. We soon heard 
 the oars of the boat, and Rory, in his exulta- 
 tion at having saved us, forgot that we owed our 
 wetting to his blunder, for he knew very well 
 the wreck was there, but was thinking of some- 
 thing else. But he was soon downcast enough, 
 for when James Hi Sullivan found that he had 
 forgotten to bring clothes for me, he poured a 
 tempest of wrath on his head, and as the bit- 
 terest thing he could say, told him that he had 
 an English heart to forget the man that carried 
 him safe through the waves ; and from that 
 moment to this, his whole thought seems to be 
 how he can show me every possible kindness. 
 As my own clothes were gone, he makes me 
 wear the very best of his ; he takes me from 
 his father's table to his, and we stand together 
 at meals, and you may conceive that I willingly 
 forego the greater honour of sitting with the Hi 
 Sullivan. 
 
64 
 
 Here his letter ended, which was brought 
 to me, with a note from Hi Sullivan Bere, say- 
 ing that Maurice had been taken ill of a pleu- 
 risy, and though then out of danger, was too 
 weak to return home for another fortnight. He 
 caught cold the night of his mischance, return- 
 ing to the castle, having nothing to cover him- 
 self with but James O'Sullivan's wet capota. 
 
 But he was well tended ; for though the old 
 chieftain had taken offence from his happily let- 
 ting fall that the best young man he ever knew 
 (meaning John Mapleton) was an Englishman; 
 yet he was too noble-minded himself not to glo- 
 rify Maurice for his conduct towards his son ; 
 and that son, having a fiery poetical mind, had 
 a capacity to apprehend Maurice's worth, though 
 of a more demure and homely texture than his 
 own, and to prize him for his own sake. Mau- 
 rice had the most grateful of hearts, and return- 
 ed the old chieftain's kindness with the duty of 
 a son, while for the young man he conceived 
 a friendship, which made him blind to all his 
 faults, and ended only with his life. 
 
 However, no pageantry could turn his heart 
 from its duties and honest affections ; and as 
 soon as his strength returned, he did not lose a 
 day in preparing to return to that industry, by 
 which he hoped to obtain Berghetta Tual for 
 his wife. 
 
 Before he came away, by my previous desire, 
 he presented the Spanish colt to James Hi Sul- 
 livan. Riding, as it was an ancient Irish, was 
 esteemed a prime accomplishment at the castle 
 
65 
 
 of Berehaven. But as the O'Sullivans cared 
 little to comb their own glibs, and had a mighty 
 aversion to bend either their backs or their 
 arms, they made sorry grooms ; even the jade 
 that James O'Sullivan rode, owed his eminence 
 to the superbness of his garniture ; and then 
 their only idea of fine riding was like the wild 
 Arabs, to put the horse into full gallop, and then 
 by a sudden check throw him on his haunches, 
 at the great risk of both tumbling in the dirt. 
 Now Maurice fed and dressed the Spanish colt 
 himself, so that his coat was as sleek and shin- 
 ning as a lady's mantle. He had excited the 
 wonder, if not the contempt, of the stable gos- 
 soons at the castle, by rising at four o'clock for 
 that purpose ; however, when he found him- 
 self ill, he begged Rory not to neglect the 
 horse ; and Rory discharged the trust loyally. 
 
 The day before he departed, he presented 
 the horse to James Hi Sullivan, and asked the 
 prince to descend into the court, to see it per- 
 form its exercise. Immediately all the castle 
 swarmed to the spot, and Maurice, who had 
 perfected himself in the art from an old French 
 book on the manege that I had lent him, made 
 the colt perform terre a terre, passades, ballo- 
 tades, croupades, courbettes, caprioles sur les 
 voltes, to the astonishment and delight of the 
 assembly, whose admiration was equally divid- 
 ed between the rider and the horse. He then 
 alighted, and held the stirrup for the young Ta- 
 nist to mount, who was charmed when he found 
 how simple and easy this graceful exercise 
 was. 
 
66 
 
 James Hi Sullivan, who scattered his money 
 like sunbeams in handfuls, pressed upon Maurice 
 in return, that he should accept from him a sum 
 sufficient to make.him comfortable for life : but 
 Maurice, who had acquired in England a great 
 respect for industry, replied, that nothing would 
 make him give up the pleasure of labouring for 
 Berghetta's comfort, and the accomplishment of 
 their marriage ; though this once having taken 
 place, he would gladly accept an offer by which 
 he was so much honoured ; but he asked Hi 
 Sullivan for a book of poems he had read to 
 him while he lay ill, and he took from the chief- 
 tain a big boney horse, which, when put into 
 condition, would be adapted to agricultural pur- 
 suits. He also asked and obtained the place of 
 keeper of the lodge gate, which happened to be 
 vacant, for Merritt M'Cormick, who confessed 
 to him before he came away, that he owed money 
 at every public house within twenty miles ; that 
 he had spent all that could be got from his 
 mother ; and that he was so fretted by his wife 
 and her followers, that he had not heart to earn 
 a penny even if he had inclination, arid that he 
 saw nothing for it but to enlist. 
 
 But imagine Maurice's joy and surprise, when 
 he found that it was settled that James Hi Sul- 
 livan should come and pay father O'Brien a 
 visit. The visit was placed to my account, but 
 happily would never have been thought of, but 
 for the great liking that James Hi Sullivan had 
 taken for Maurice ; neither was this friendship 
 surprising, for Maurice was far more lettered 
 and refined than any one that was likely to be 
 met at the castle of Berehaven ; and indepen- 
 
67 
 
 dent of his excellent nature, he had the man- 
 ners, voice, and personality of a gentleman, nay, 
 placed side by side with James O'Sullivan him- 
 self, he had an air of more assured nobleness. 
 The other was tinctured with pride, and some- 
 thing of an appetite for praise ; which Maurice 
 knew not. 
 
 However, my delight at receiving the son of 
 my old friend gave me new life ; and I took 
 care that every deference I could pay should be 
 paid to his rank. Indeed, one could not behold 
 him without a kind of devotion, when one 
 thought of the long regal descent of his great 
 ancestors, saw him beautiful and majestic in 
 person, noble and large in all his thoughts and 
 actions, just what one would imagine a poten- 
 tate to be. And as he was still immensely rich, 
 the connexion between what he was, and what 
 he had a right to be, was more striking than in 
 the instance of Maurice, though his claim to all 
 the potentiality of the dynasty of Hi Nial was 
 equally incontestable. 
 
 And here was the great contrast between 
 these young men : for while James Hi Sullivan, 
 with great reasons for being contented, nourish- 
 ed the keenest regret for his lost family honours, 
 and the bitterest rancour against his spoliators, 
 the English, no thought of the kind seemed ever 
 to occur to Maurice ; he was the only Irish 
 catholic I ever knew, who was perfectly free 
 from that festering discontent, which seems to 
 me the greatest evil that results from the iniqui- 
 tous laws, that separate us from our fellow-coun- 
 trymen, and worry us out of the good feelings 
 
68 . 
 
 of our nature. Whether it was his residence 
 in England, the effect of religion, constant in- 
 dustry, or the natural kindliness of his disposi- 
 tion, which seemed not to know how to hate, I 
 cannot say ; but great as the ascendancy was, 
 which James Hi Sullivan gained over him, he 
 never could infuse into him any tincture of this 
 fretfulness. 
 
 T could make a pretty scene of what past be- 
 tween these friends and lovers (for I persuaded 
 Berghetta's mother to bring her to my house ;) 
 but it is not pleasant to dwell on pleasant scenes, 
 that have ended in sorrow. So -I hasten on, 
 only stopping here and there, to extract what 
 may be useful for example. 
 
 When ! asked James Hi Sullivan how he 
 liked Berghetta ? 
 
 1 to 1 
 
 " Like her !" he replied, " I never dreamt 
 of liking her ; she is as divine and as awful as 
 Heaven, and I wonder where Maurice got the 
 presumption to love her." 
 
 I should have had a good opinion of his judg- 
 ment, but that he liked Merritt M'Cormick, and 
 was much taken with his drollery. 
 
 When Maurice told Merritt of the place he 
 had asked for him, instead of thanking him he 
 replied, 
 
 " What, you would make me a gate keeper, 
 that I might open to your honour, I suppose ? 
 by saint Peter, and his holy keys, you might 
 
69 
 
 stand long enough at Heaven's gate, before I 
 would be your porter.' 5 
 
 " Then this is all the thanks I get," said 
 Maurice, " for asking a favour for you, that 
 almost choked me ? But I will not bear base 
 usage; this is the last time I will meddle with 
 your affairs." 
 
 " How high you rear your feathers ! come, 
 come, I only spoke of!' hand, without deciding at 
 all. The prince, as "they call him, is an elegant 
 fellow, and it would crown a young man to be 
 under him ; besides, one of the women can 
 look after the gate, while I shake hands with 
 the sun-beams on the mountains ; and Rory O 
 says there is grouse and plenty thereon, so I am 
 content to keep the gate." 
 
 " And will Mrs. M'Cormick be content to 
 
 go?" 
 
 " Meaning my bad luck, or my bad doings ?" 
 " Is this to say, your mother and wife ?" 
 
 u Why, my mother I could not help having, 
 but marrying that damsel with the yellow clay 
 sticking to the soles of her feet was a sore sin. 
 And you are going to get that nice, clean skin- 
 ned girl, Berritt Tual, sprung too from the 
 right O'Tuals, in the county of Wicklow, by 
 the same token that her father is buried in the 
 Re-feast*, at the seven churches. Oh, as to 
 
 * King's sepulchre. 
 
70 
 
 the women's going, be at ease, one might as 
 soon expect to get quit of one's misfortunes as 
 of them." 
 
 James Hi Sullivan staid but a short and, 
 winged fortnight with us,but promised to return 
 and be present at Maurice's wedding, for Ber- 
 ghetta had showed so much emotion at the re- 
 cital of Maurice's danger, that I thought it as 
 well, that she should be contracted to him at 
 once. And this lessened his sorrow at parting 
 with James Hi Sullivan, that he might give 
 himself up entirely to the industry, by which he 
 hoped to place Berghetta in comfort. 
 
 Merritt M'Cormick departed soon after, at 
 which I rejoiced, for I had reason to know, that 
 he bore a most horrid hatred to Maurice, from 
 nothing else but envy, but which I was afraid 
 might end in some violence. I called on him 
 to give him some useless exhortation before he 
 departed. Never did I see such a compleat 
 Irish business as his house, outside and inside, 
 or such dirt and misery, though he himself had 
 the pride of king Cophetua, and appeared to 
 the last in a suit of superfine on high-days and 
 holy days. 
 
 There was no fence before the door, w r here 
 the constant treading of the pigs, and a green 
 spring that rose thereabout, had worked all the 
 soil into mire : to remedy this, there were step- 
 ping stories, laid at uneven distances, to pick 
 your way ; but the day 1 arrived, being windy, 
 Katty had taken one of these to put upon the 
 thatch of the house, which had begun to strip, 
 and having to wait till it was replaced, I had 
 
71 
 
 leisure to view the premises. There was no 
 shelter to this mud domicile. The only thing 
 like a tree was a thorn bush cut flat by the 
 wind, on which Katty hung her muslin to dry, 
 and this accounted for the many rents which 
 generally appeared in her finery. There was 
 a fine growth of oats in patches on the roof of 
 the house, where wangles of new straw had 
 been thrust in to repair old breaches in the 
 thatch ; but this not having been done in time, 
 the mud wall had taken the wet and burst out : 
 to remedy this, a great buttress of mason work 
 had been built, to support the wall, which must 
 have cost more than building a new wall would 
 have done : however, it served to lean against. 
 The house originally boasted of two windows, 
 each consisting of four panes of glass of the 
 kind called bull's-eyes ; one eye at present only 
 was left, the seven other vacancies were stop- 
 ped with two old crowns of hats, the remains of 
 a scarlet petticoat, and straw : so that there was 
 little light but what came through the door, and 
 this had to contend for entrance with a cloud 
 of smoke which issued from within. The dung- 
 hill, or rather the muckhole, was at the side of 
 the door ; and Merritt persisted in gathering it 
 there, because it had been a dunghill site since 
 the wars of Ireland : but he knew it would be 
 no use moving it, for his wife would not pass 
 beyond the threshold of the door to empty her 
 slops, or dispose of the litter of the house. In- 
 side the house was not much worse than its 
 neighbours; there was no light, but plenty of 
 smoke. The clay floor trod into holes covered 
 every thing with dust, and made sweeping vain : 
 which saved Katty a world of trouble ; as the 
 
72 
 
 rats, which had made a burrow in the thatch, 
 continued their operations unmolested day and 
 night, and showered down dirt and straws ; and 
 Katty's heart might have been broke contend- 
 ing with them. 
 
 As I was preparing to enter, I heard Katty 
 screeching, " Hutchaw ! oolaghan !" and out 
 rushed a sow and her pigs : I made way for 
 them, and to these succeeded a flight of hens 
 and turkies, a flock of geese, three cur dogs, 
 and a lame gander. 
 
 " Now I believe I may come in, Mrs. M'Cor- 
 mick," said I, still cautious. 
 
 " Yes, and welcome, your Reverence," says 
 she, " its a sorry cabin to ask the likes of you 
 to enter ; and better would my luck have been, 
 if I had never entered it ; but young girls think 
 it is only to marry, and their fortune's made : 
 but then it is their slavery begins ; nothing but 
 drudgery and trouble with a drunken husband 
 and cross children to fret one's heart ; but run," 
 said she, turning to a slob of a girl, that seemed 
 to have stole her tatters from the shoulders of a 
 scarecrow, " run, Judy, and fetch the child that 
 I left without in the spout. Ah, this is a sad 
 ree-raw house we keep," continued she, " and 
 no refreshment to offer your Reverence, but a 
 mug of cold water, for Merritt drinks all his 
 liquor from home, and the mother is on a visit 
 before we take our departure." 
 
 " Any how," said I, " I am glad to see, Mrs. 
 M'Cormick, that you do not give in to that un- 
 feminine practice of tasting spirits." 
 
73 
 
 k - Truth, and I often sigh for it," said *!u-. 
 " for there is nothing comforts the heart like it." 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders, and knowing that 
 she was already past cure, 1 asked Tor Merritt. 
 She whispered me, " He is hiding from you : 
 he came back from Rosinallis fair this morning, 
 with the life beat out of him." 
 
 " Come out, Merritt," said I, " you, that put 
 a bold face on sins, need not be ashamed of 
 
 scars." 
 
 He came out with a bloody handkerchief tied 
 round his head, and one arm in a sling. For 
 some time past he had been losing all appear- 
 ance of health and youth ; and though he still 
 attempted to brave it out, his spirits were quite 
 gone, and he was fast subsiding into the natural 
 decay of all buckeens, dirt, stupidity, and 
 peevishness. He seemed to have lost all fore- 
 thought, and to care for no comfort : yet his 
 envy at Maurice was unabated ; and he rejoiced 
 at the idea of quitting the island, and ceasing to 
 be a witness of his prosperity. I endeavoured 
 to awaken him to more Christian feelings, but 
 it was in vain ; for he did not perceive any de- 
 ficiency in himself, and because he was rigorous 
 in the observance of a whole legend of pagan 
 superstitions, his conscience was quite at ease. 
 
 Yet be allowed Maurice to become security 
 for the debts he left behind, which of course 
 Maurice had to pay; and well would it have 
 been, if he had been so quit of him. 
 7 
 
74 
 
 Merritt, however, and his, left the Island, and 
 no one sorrowed after them. 
 
 Maurice's crops, though not over abundant, 
 yielded good profit this year from being well 
 saved. The corn had been sown eariy, and 
 when ripe he was diligent in getting it harvest- 
 ed and lodged safe home. But the country at 
 large had forgot themselves, as usual in seed 
 time ; some were at fairs, where they had little 
 business ; some at wakes and funerals ; some 
 waiting for a lucky day ; some had not bought 
 seed-corn in time, and when they got it, the 
 weather became too wet ; some had not their 
 land ploughed ; and some had to look for a 
 plough. Yet they did not wonder the less, that 
 the corn was so late in ripening. 
 
 But Maurice considered his great advantage 
 in having harvested his crops so early, to con- 
 sist in being able to undertake a large contract 
 of task work at reaping. It was to his day- 
 labour that he always looked for his certain 
 profit. This, he said, while God gave him 
 health, could not fail him ; but farming might 
 pick a pocket as well as fill it. " Often," added 
 he, " have I seen a little farm, of a few acres, , 
 serve only as an excuse for idleness ; where, 
 while the owner lost the profits of his day's 
 work, he did not make as much by his land, as 
 he would have done if he had set it." 
 
 In troth, it was a multitude of work that he 
 did this year, for every Saturday he put his 
 earnings into Berghetta's hands ; while she still, 
 with a gentle apprehensive look, would say, 
 a Lfear, Maurice, that you work too hard." 
 
75 
 
 They blessed my threshold again at Christ- 
 mas, and James Hi Sullivan elevated us with 
 the hopes of his coming, hut at the time he was 
 detained by a claim set up by the heir of the 
 original undertaker to the whole of his father's 
 estate. He treated the matter proudly and 
 lightly in his letter, but from the moment I 
 heard of it, my heart died away, for I knew my 
 old friend could not bear up under the crush of 
 fortune. 
 
 Maurice fain would have gone to visit his 
 dear friend, when fortune bent her brows, but 
 I was taken ill, so very ill, that the attendance 
 of these beloved children became indispensable 
 to me. Month after month found me in the 
 same state : the winter passed, and the spring 
 was nearly fled, before I was able to enjoy the 
 sweetness of the outer air. During all this time 
 Berghetta was a slave to her mother and my- 
 self. As I knew that her mother lived but in 
 her presence, I exhorted her to attend to me 
 less ; but she imagined somewhat of a religious 
 duty in tending a servant of the Church, and 
 this was always sufficient to outweigh her incli- 
 nations, however praiseworthy and strong. 
 
 Maurice could only be with us for any time 
 together occasionally ; but every Saturday night 
 he crossed the sea from Bengore to Rahery in 
 his boat. Heaven favoured him, for he never 
 was in any real danger 5 but Berghetta would 
 start and turn pale, when she heard the door of 
 the hall clap to. Yet though one could tell by 
 her absent words that her thoughts were upon 
 him and his little boat, never once did she quit 
 her mother and me to go to the rocks above 
 
76 
 
 the house to watch his coming : such sense of 
 right conduct had this admirable girl ! But this 
 restraint upon her wishes obtained for Maurice 
 a more frank and tender reception, than he 
 would probably have had otherwise : and he 
 was cunning enough to perceive his advantage, 
 and I could fancy was always glad to embark in 
 his boat when the wind was high. But her 
 mother and I began to take alarm, lest some 
 evening he should actually set out in a tempest ; 
 and this was sufficient reason with Berghetta 
 not to ask for any delay, when we told her that 
 Maurice had requested from us their immediate 
 union. 
 
 Maurice was now rich enough in all con- 
 science ; besides the stock of cattle and im- 
 plements on his farm, which had multiplied 
 unawares to a considerable amount, his corn 
 crops had proved beyond his expectation, and 
 had sold for very little short of fifty pounds. 
 
 Though I always discouraged young people 
 from marrying idly ; poor things, they little 
 know how matrimony galis and pinches, when 
 the wedding begins with an empty purse ; yet 
 I had no fears for Maurice and Berghetta, for 
 besides their own means, their prudent and 
 pains-taking habits would help them over many 
 rubs, and 1 myself had wherewithal to assist 
 them. 
 
 Though my income was not excessive, my 
 expenses amounted to nothing : a suit, that I 
 had purchased in Spain, of their fine silky wool, 
 had such substance in it, that after five and 
 
77 
 
 twenty years wear it still was respectable on 
 Sundays, and my every day dress was made of 
 the common homespun of the Island. My 
 duteous flock would let me want no viands that 
 belong to country fare ; and if I had not fre- 
 quently invited them to partake of their own 
 presents, my house would have been over- 
 stocked with fish, poultry, and game. But 
 during my early residence in Rahery, where 
 from my excluded situation I was free from 
 molestation, I felt it. my duty to contribute all 
 the money, that remained to me at the end of 
 the year, to my suffering brethren, who for 
 several years were driven from one hiding 
 place to another, and thrown into prison or 
 banished when discovered, so that the narrative 
 of their miseries, which I received at intervals 
 from my communication with Dublin, made my 
 heart bleed. 
 
 But since I had adopted Maurice, I felt it a 
 duty to lay by, though a trifle, for him annu- 
 ally ; and I was able the better to do so, as a 
 severe pestilence, which visited the country, 
 turned the governing powers' mind from perse- 
 cution, and the Roman Catholic clergy were 
 allowed to expose their lives in peace, assisting 
 the sick and dying. 
 
 We were all then intent on coming happi- 
 ness ; (frail is the happiness that comes to 
 man !) when some travelling medicants brought 
 the news to Bengore, whence it soon passed to 
 us, that Hi Sullivan Bere (ever remembered 
 and honoured be his name !) was driven from 
 his castle and possessions, and had expired no 
 
long time after at a tenant's house. We griev- 
 ed as if nothing worse could happen ; and 
 Maurice, though on the eve of his marriage, 
 prepared to set off, to see if he could render 
 any assistance to James Hi Sullivan. We all 
 agreed in his departure, and he would not have 
 waited a .day, hut that he knew of a vessel 
 bound to Cork, and he judged it more expedi- 
 tious to take his passage in her. 
 
 Thus sorrowing, twilight found us in the 
 evening, when a gentle tap at the door, at a 
 time when strangers so seldom passed, made us 
 all start from our seats. The door opened, and 
 James Hi Sullivan in 1 deep mourning entered ; 
 Maurice sprang forward, and threw himself into 
 his arms, holding him in a straight embrace. 
 
 " I see," said O'Sullivan, with tears on his 
 cheeks, yet smiling, " you know all, my sweet 
 and worthy friend, for you never gave the 
 prince in his high fortune so kind a reception." 
 
 " More honoured, more revered, but not 
 more loved than ever ;" said Maurice, " how 
 ought we to worship you for turning to us in 
 your misfortunes !" 
 
 I stretched out my hands to give the prince 
 my blessing. The widow Tual, unable to rise,, 
 prayed aloud that he might receive heavenly 
 blessings in lieu of those of which he was be- 
 reft, and Berrett did not hesitate to present her 
 cheek to his salute. Our first inquiries were 
 for my ancient friend now with God ; and our 
 first consolation was to hear, that he had borne 
 
79 
 
 the reverse of his fortunes like the heroes of his 
 honoured race, and, attaching himself to God, 
 heeded not as the world passed from him. He 
 was old, and his health broken, and his death 
 was caused by a severe cold, caught by being 
 necessitated to move in winter into a raw house 
 with little accommodation, rather than from 
 any distress of mind. This had happened some 
 months ago, but James Hi Sullivan was unwil- 
 ling, that any one but himself should be the 
 bearer of the afflicting tidings. We asked no 
 more questions the rest of the evening, but ex- 
 erted ourselves to cheer Hi Sullivan's spirits by 
 every mark of respect and affection, and as he 
 was naturally of an intrepid mind, he soon re- 
 vived, and no sign of humour appeared in him 
 except once, when Berrett happened to say, 
 that Maurice was to have sailed in two days for 
 Cork in an English vessel At the word Eng- 
 glish, he almost rose from his seat and cried, 
 " how could you, Maurice, think of going in an 
 English ship ? that detestable nation !" but the 
 next moment he seemed to recollect the Eng- 
 lish frigate, and immediately softened, " yet," 
 he added, " there was one English ship 1 can 
 forgive." 
 
 Maurice did not reply, but spoke of other 
 things, and then set himself to do all the offices 
 of a servant for Hi Sullivan, which, notwith- 
 standing the other's opposition, he persisted to 
 do while he staid with us, and in this respect he 
 was no loser, for Maurice was tidiness itself. 
 
 Next day Hi Sullivan confided to us the state 
 of his affairs, he had literally nothing, the law- 
 
80 
 
 suit had swallowed all the money that his fa- 
 ther had, and the personalities were seized to 
 satisfy the claims of the spurious owner of the 
 estate. All that he had saved was the golden 
 crown, and the jewels of his family : these had 
 been reported to be worth I know not what, 
 many, and tens of thousands, probably exagger- 
 ated, but any how his father before his death 
 had exacted a promise from him not to sell 
 them, and he had brought them with him to 
 leave in Maurice's care. 
 
 He had written to a half uncle, who was a 
 general in the French service, but poor withal ; 
 and he had replied, that if he could raise one 
 hundred pounds he could get him a commission 
 in the French service : " and there is a pros- 
 pect of war too with England," said he, his eyes 
 glistening ; " and yet to raise a hundred pounds 
 is out of the question, so I am come to Maurice 
 to teach me to labour and save money." 
 
 Maurice was the next day more downcast 
 than his friend, yet though I guessed pretty 
 nearly what was passing in his mind, I left him 
 to himself In the evening, however, he came 
 to me with his eyes laughing as usual, and cri- 
 ed, " O Father, you do not know what a griev- 
 ous perplexity I have been in to day, and all 
 because I doubted that Berghetta was perfect. 
 
 " Was it not natural, the instant I heard that 
 our dear friend wanted a hundred pounds, that 
 I should destine my savings for him ? what de- 
 light I felt at the idea of being able to assist 
 him ! and he so little expecting that I was able 
 
81 
 
 
 
 to do so : but then, this was to sacrifice Ber- 
 ghetta, and bring her destitute into all the cares 
 of a growing family, a thing I had determined 
 never to do. I considered this over and over 
 again, till my head ached ; at last I thought of 
 doing what I ought to have done at first, con- 
 sulting with Berghetta. Hear her angel-reply. 
 
 ' How can you hesitate for a moment, Mau- 
 rice, even though our wedding is delayed, or 
 should never take place ? we are placed here 
 to perform our duties ; when does God ever 
 tell us to consult our wishes ? how nrserable 
 shall we be, if we set our hearts only on happi- 
 ness ? Misfortunes will certainly come, and 
 then we should not have a good conscience to 
 support us. But do not,' continued she, 'let 
 the sacrifice be made to your friend, but to 
 God,' and kneeling down, she drew me to her 
 side, and uttered aloud an innocent prayer, 
 4 that God would give me every day fresh reso- 
 lution to abandon the allurements of the world, 
 and to draw me nearer to Heaven.' 
 
 " What are the attractions of all other girls," 
 exclaimed Maurice, " compared to this spotless 
 and tender piety, this rigid adherence to duty, 
 this regardlessness of herself!" 
 
 The widow Tual, who was sitting by, wept at 
 these praises of her daughter ; her only terror 
 was, that Maurice would not sufficiently love 
 and cherish her daughter, who had been from 
 her childhood fed on a mother's tenderness ; 
 and whose nature was so gentle, susceptible, 
 and affectionate, that the least unkindness 
 would cut her to the heart. 
 
, 82 
 
 " Do not, dear Maurice," said the widow, 
 " fret about Berrett's comforts, only do you con- 
 tinue always your love, and she will be happy." 
 She then desired him to give her a little oak 
 box and opening it ; " here," she continued, 
 " is the profit of my spinning and lace making, 
 it is the toil of many days, and many sleepless 
 nights, that passed pleasantly, while I thought I 
 was working for Berrett. It is no great matter, 
 but Berrett's work has always supported us, and 
 will keep your house, for she makes lace, and 
 spins admirably, and sleeps little ; so that this 
 will be all to the good." 
 
 " Madam," I rejoined, u you have done like 
 a true mother by your daughter, and 1 also have 
 a portion for my son ; and though both togeth- 
 er they do not amount to his hundred pounds, 
 as I must keep something too for the prince, yet 
 it will be enough to make our dear children 
 comfortable." 
 
 " Then who," cried Maurice, in the pride of 
 his heart, "is so blest as I ?" 
 
 " Give the praise to God, child," said I, " lest 
 he finds occasion to chasten you." 
 
 What I said was only common-place, and by 
 rote, but my words were nevertheless prophe- 
 tic. 
 
 In truth, Maurice's head, to use his own ex- 
 pression, was a little turned ; even the misfor- 
 tunes of his friend, now he was able to admin- 
 ister to them, did not sober him. But Berrett, 
 
83 
 
 though she loved every thing he did and said, 
 for siie now loved him entirely, did not partake 
 of liis intoxication, hut walked with a suhdued 
 heart, and a steady eye fixed upon her duties 
 and upon heaven. * 
 
 She came in with the prince, for he had tak- 
 en a great fancy to her sober and innocent con- 
 versation, and as our first object now was to 
 cheer him, we had sent her to walk with him. 
 We communicated our arrangements to him, and 
 his heart overflowed at his eyes, " my dearest 
 friends," he cried, " why should I think of my 
 past misfortunes ? I have none now, but the one 
 that exceeds them all, that I must part from 
 you; and you, my dearest Maurice, my friend, 
 my particular friend, my brother, my soul's own, 
 in justice to your noble nature, I accept of the 
 hard earnings of your long toil ; I love you so 
 much, that every change and chance makes 
 me love you more ; had you been obliged to 
 me, I should have loved you better ; now that 
 I am all obliged to you, I love you better still." 
 
 Indeed my poor roof now covered a happy 
 set of mortals, richly blest in the only real bles- 
 sing of life, domestic affection. When we drew 
 round the fire at night, we began to question 
 James Hi Sullivan again ; particularly respec- 
 ting Merritt M'Cormick, and his. 
 
 " In all my misfortunes," he replied, " there 
 was nothing mortified me so much as the con- 
 duct of Merritt H'Cormick. 1 had favoured 
 him on Maurice's account ; but I arn ashamed 
 to confess, that I had been taken by his flattery. 
 
84 
 
 and the pleasantry of his jests ; would you be- 
 lieve it ! he was the very first person to desert 
 us, and to cringe to the English interloper that 
 ejected us. The last time I passed the gate, 
 and for the 'last time, he turned away his head, 
 and pretended not to notice me ; I felt so en- 
 raged, though unworthily, that 1 could not for- 
 bear from giving him a cut with my horse-whip, 
 which brought him on his knees ; where I left 
 him. But you will be glad, Maurice, to hear 
 how different was the conduct of your friend, 
 Rory, oge, O'Sullivan ; whom I had always con- 
 sidered as half a simpleton ; he adhered to us 
 when we were outcast, he tended my poor 
 father, and his honest affection supplied many 
 wants of our distressed situation. When I bade 
 him farewell, and presented him a small remu- 
 neration from my scanty means, he would not 
 accept it ; but earnestly begged, that I would 
 let him have what he called the glory of attend- 
 ing me, which it should be his pride and plea- 
 sure to do, without fee or reward." 
 
 " My dear Rory," I replied, " for we had 
 grown familiar, by my poor father's sick bed, ' I 
 know not how to maintain myself, and should 
 certainly not be abje to support you : while you 
 stay here, you have friends and acquaintance, 
 that will not let you want ; I think that my recom- 
 mendation will still avail, to procure you a good 
 situation ; and you shall have my word for being 
 the most faithful, diligent, and loving lad a poor 
 master ever met with.' 
 
 " Here I had to wait till a shower of tears, 
 called forth by my praise, past away, when 
 Rory again took up the argument. 
 
An to the matter of maintenance,' he repli- 
 v d, 4 if the worst comes to the worst, I can live 
 upon Christian charity, though it be hard fare, 
 provided) ou go into no heathen countries ; and 
 { shall he happier with one meal a day, and that 
 a scanty one, as your follower, than 1 ever was 
 in the pride of the darling castle, that they have 
 ejected us from ; glory be to God !' 
 
 " It was in vain I urged, that, if it was possi- 
 ble, there was nothing 1 should have wished so 
 much as to keep him with me. 
 
 " Who,' he continued, ' will you have to take 
 care of your horse ? and if he is left to the 
 gossoons at the inns, he will soon be out oi con- 
 dition, which would be a murder.' 
 
 " How can you imagine, Rory, that I intend 
 to keep a horse 1 I mean to sell him at Cork.' 
 
 " Sell your horse ! sell master Maurice's colt ! 
 then is black distress indeed come on us.' And 
 Rory hung his head discomfited. 
 
 " I felt quite unmanned ; for I always fore- 
 saw, that the parting with this horse would be 
 the completion of my distress. 
 
 " I saw no more of Rory, and guessed that 
 he could not bear, and was unwilling to give me 
 the pain of parting, but was gone to hide his 
 sorrow where he could be alone and unnoticed. 
 I never had felt so wretched, and should have 
 been quite desperate, but that my heart fore- 
 told me, that I should be repaid for all my 
 sufferings in this happy meeting, 
 a 
 
86 
 
 ; The next morning, a lad that Rory had sub- 
 stituted brought me my horse : and with him I 
 left a letter to one of the most respectable of 
 our tenants, who had done us many kind offices, 
 requesting that he would provide for Rory. 
 
 " And now I had to undergo the last torture 
 of my heart : for the whole clan had assembled 
 to bid me farewell. Patiently I had to endure 
 the importunity, that was intended kindly ; to 
 thank all for their loyalty and affection ; to 
 speak to and embrace as many as pressed on 
 me for this purpose, while cries of rage and 
 desperation resounded from the distant multi- 
 tude : but when I set my horse forward in a 
 gallop, and waved my hand in token of a last 
 adieu, a burst of grief broke forth, such as 
 wrung me to the soul. Noble, generous, affec- 
 tionate people ! whatever distance divides us, 
 no distance shall sever you from my heart. 
 
 " Poor Don felt in the spurs my impatience 
 to quit the scene of my fallen fortunes. I did 
 not relax my speed, till the rocks, and castle, 
 and every known object about Berehaven were 
 out of sight. The ignominy my father had en- 
 dured pressed down my spirits, and I could not 
 even think of my friends at Rahery. 
 
 " I reached Cork before the evening became 
 dark, and could scarcely think that my eyes did 
 not deceive me, when Rory and his long coat, 
 in all their well known lineaments, met my 
 view, in the first street I entered. I could not 
 be angry, and yet T felt provoked, for I had 
 resolved to imitate Maurice, and by avoiding 
 
87 
 
 every expense, and applying to some kind of 
 labour, endeavoured to raise the sum necessary 
 to purchase the commission my uncle offered. 
 To support any thing like a servant, was quite 
 inconsistent with this plan ; and besides, I was 
 not well pleased to have a witness of the very 
 low state to which I was prepared to descend. 
 
 " Rory studied my looks a while before he 
 spoke, and then said, 
 
 ' Be not angry, master dear, that I have 
 stolen a march on you. but I feared you would 
 be but an innocent among all the devouring 
 gang of a big town ; and poor Don too would 
 be filched out of both hay and oats, let alone 
 water, which he would be let go without from 
 unconcern. Nay, now, do not utter a word 
 about sending me back: if Don could speak, 
 God bless him, he would say " don't." Here 
 have I provided hay, oats, and litter to boot, 
 with a warm stall, and all in abundance, and 
 shall not cost you a copper, if you stay here till 
 doom's-day ; all in an honest way too, so don't 
 object that, 9 continued he, seeing me about to 
 speak, and determined I should not, while there 
 was any chance of my not assenting. ' I was 
 here by times, for I borrowed a wild colt half 
 the way, that, being blind, travelled as well by 
 night as by day ; and as soon as I arrived here, 
 I went in my own mind to scheme about the 
 inn. Presently up came a lumbering gay coach 
 and six, out gets the quality, and then the world 
 was turned upside down ; not a hand would 
 coachman or postillions lay on a horse. " Clean 
 them well, you ragamuffin," said the state 
 coachman to the hostler, " and you shall be 
 
38 
 
 well paid.' 5 " Holy St. Patrick," cried the 
 hostler, " how shall I divide myself now ? there 
 is the big butter merchant screeching for a 
 chaise this hour past, and the hacks in the field, 
 and the harness wants stiching, and then to ask 
 a sinner like myself to clean six horses !" 
 
 " Quiet on your conscience now and for ever, 
 Mr. Hostler," cried I, edging in ; " do you tend 
 the hacks and harness, and leave the six cour- 
 sers to me, and if in half an hour you do not 
 see your merry face in their coats, don't you 
 give me keep gratis for the prince of prancers, 
 this lovely night, which is all I ask in return, 
 and you shall have my willirg service from 
 dawn to twilight to grace the bargain." Sure 
 did not I know,' continued Rory, ; that if once 
 Don and I made a lodgment, twenty big wigs 
 could not eject us ? I was irresistible, master 
 dear, and kept my word, for I put the horses 
 out of hand in such shining trim (sure did not 
 I learn the art from Master Maurice), that 
 coachman and postillions gave their applause, 
 not to me but the hostler, and paid him accord- 
 ingly. The hostler too is an undeniable man, 
 and will keep his word with me and Don ; but 
 where will you lodge, master ? the inn is an ele- 
 gant inn, if it were washed ; but my mind mis- 
 gives me, that it is wickedly dear.' 
 
 " He stopped at last, for he perceived that 
 all my vexation had fled before his faithful zeal. 
 
 " Since you have provided so well for Don ? 
 Rory, I want nothing but shelter ; and the 
 poorest house, owned by an Q'Sullivan. will 
 
89 
 
 suit my fortunes best. Take my horse to the 
 inn, and when you return, you will find me 
 walking in this street." 
 
 " I laboured under that depression, that 
 would put up with every inconvenience rather 
 than make an exertion ; and inquiring among 
 the miserable cabins where ' dry lodgings were 
 let,' I found but one kept by a woman of the 
 name of O' Sullivan, and that the poorest, and 
 there I entered. 
 
 " The blessing of the Saints light on you, 
 mother !' She perceived I was a Catholic, and 
 drew me in with a look of terror, and shut the 
 door. < There is no fear,' I continued, ' I am 
 in distress only, not in danger, and if you can 
 give me shelter for the night, I would willingly 
 leave my mite with an O' Sullivan ;' and I put 
 a shilling into her hand. Conceive the strange- 
 ness of my feelings, to give a shilling, only a 
 shilling, and expect a return ! But I had only 
 twenty in my pocket ; my poor father's ex- 
 penses a number of poor people that I could 
 not leave behind wholly destitute, and some 
 unforeseen charges, had reduced my means so 
 low, and I had a long way to travel before I could 
 expect to reach you. Having made this ar- 
 rangement, I went into the street to wait for 
 Rory. This indefatigable fellow was not long 
 in feeding and cleaning Don, and rejoining me. 
 
 " I was fortunate in hearing, on my first in- 
 quiry, of a ship that was to sail in the evening 
 for Belfast. My only difficulty now was .to 
 escape from Rory 5 but he guessed my inten- 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 tion, and watched all my motions ; and when 1 
 absolutely forbid him from going with me in the 
 boat, he said it was of no consequence, that he 
 would throw himself into the sea, and ride on 
 the back of a white wave to the ship. I saw 
 that he was so intent on carrying his point, that 
 he would risk drowning himself: I therefore 
 asked it as a favour, that he would remain be- 
 hind, to try and sell Don to the best advantage, 
 giving him leave afterwards to join me here, 
 and I have no doubt but he will soon arrive j 
 one advantage of my commission will be en- 
 abling ine to keep a servant without expense, 
 and I shall be greatly happy to provide for this 
 kind and faithful creature. Hitherto he has 
 provided for me ; for on coming on board I 
 found a large basket of provisions containing 
 choice pies and pastry, as well as cold meats, 
 which he had placed in my cabin with my 
 small portmanteau." 
 
 We all joined in Rory's praise, but Merritt 
 M'Cormick's name never passed our lips again. 
 We were now busy preparing for Maurice's 
 wedding, which it was settled should take place 
 before O'Sullivan's departure. 
 
 O'Sullivan recovered his spirits, Maurice 
 'trod on air, even Jterrett's needle was idle ; the 
 widow Tual alon plied her work till past the 
 midhour of night,* for she worked for Berrett, 
 while I, poor old fool, promised myself and 
 them many days of happiness* 
 
 Maurice*s wedding was again delayed for 
 some seven weeks, by the illness of the widow 
 
01 
 
 Tual, vvho I thought would have died; and 
 Gerrett was in such poignant distress, that 
 Maurice did not venture even to talk to her of 
 himself or herself. 
 
 During this time we heard frequently of Una, 
 not that we had ever lost sight of her, but 
 hitherto she had lived a retired and peaceful 
 life with good lady McCartney, secure from all 
 dangers and temptations, and happy and con- 
 tented in her humble situation. She saw no 
 one but a few female friends of Lady M'Cart- 
 ney, whose conversation was refined and pious, 
 and who had noticed Una with much kindness. 
 
 But the scene was now changed, they were 
 gone to Paris, where Lady McCartney lived at 
 court. I wrote for intelligence to my friend, 
 Madame's confessor, to whose superintendance 
 I recommended Una 5- he was a man of the 
 world, and knew the world, and his judgment 
 I could depend on. He said that nothing was 
 ever seen so charming and beautiful as Una; 
 but though every one extolled her, her depen- 
 dant situation prevented any one from much 
 noticing her ; she was not sufficiently free from 
 vanity, to bear patiently and goodhumouredly 
 the being at once an object of admiration and 
 neglect, but showed more signs of pride and 
 fretfulness than he could approve. 
 
 I did not mention this to Maurice, but wrote 
 to Una, setting forth the great value of humili- 
 ty, and earnestly recommending her to submit 
 her conduct to the guidance of the father Du- 
 pre. 
 
92 
 
 In the mean time the widow Tual resumed 
 her ordinary state of health, and Maurice's wed- 
 ding was again in preparation, and that nothing 
 might be wanting, Rory oge O'Sullivan made 
 his appearance. 
 
 It was late in the evening, when we heard a 
 voice outside the door cry, " God bless this 
 house, if it be father O'Brien's, and a happy 
 death to those therein." 
 
 " It is Rory," cried O'Sullivan, starting up r 
 and running to the door. 
 
 It was Rory indeed ; O'Sullivan and Mau- 
 rice each seized one of his hands, and gave him 
 a hearty welcome 5 but the next moment could 
 not refrain from a fit of laughter at his strange 
 equipment. He w r as dressed in a compleatsuit 
 of black velvet, with not less than twenty yards 
 of black crape round his hat, and at least a 
 dozen of linen weepers hanging from his shoul- 
 der. 
 
 " In the name of Dis and Proserpine, and all 
 the infernal deities, fates, and furies to boot, 
 what is the meaning of this metamorphose ?" 
 said O'Sullivan 5 " but come, get father O'Bri- 
 en's blessing, and then sit down by the fire and 
 tell us your whole history, for 1 do not yet 
 know where you got all the pastry, that you 
 put on board with me." 
 
 " Your blessing, father, and long may you 
 reign-," said Rory, wiping his eyes and whim- 
 pering not a little. Then the next moment 
 
93 
 
 catching a smile from O'Neal and O'Sullivan ; 
 : - I did not intend," he said, " to have come 
 in on you so unawares, for fear my weeper 
 might have scared the ladies ; but when I found 
 myself at the door, and heard your voices with- 
 in, I could not refrain. The pastry, master 
 dear ! sure you did not think I would let you 
 go to be starved at sea, while I had wit to beg 
 or borrow, and more pride than valued a re- 
 pulse from those low born city people ? If you 
 must know, I overtook in the street an old tat- 
 tered thing, without cap or stocking, and her 
 back breaking under a basket of meat, ' mo- 
 ther,' said 1, 4 rest your old bones, set down 
 that mountain of victuals, and Pll carry it for 
 you to the world's end, if you are bound so far.' 
 6 You are a gracious lad' replied the old crone, 
 4 and well found, for my hips are killed out- 
 right, and I'd be dead before I brought that load 
 home, though it is only to alderman Shew's in 
 the next street. Take it up, and I'll not fear 
 that you will run away with it.' She helped me 
 up with it ; and when she let it go, I thought I 
 had got Knocksheegowna* on my back. How- 
 ever I went bravely on with it, but blessed my 
 stars that the alderman's was so nigh. 
 
 " Here,' said she, when we entered the kitch- 
 en, 'here, MIJS. Cook, is your meat, and you 
 might have waited a good while for it, for I was 
 nigh spent, but that I met with this good lad, 
 that took it off my shoulders, and well he de- 
 serves, for the load is too great for any but a 
 beast of burden, or the likes of me.' 
 
 *Tbe bill of the fairy Una, 
 
94 
 
 ;i Thanks to him, and cut him a collop of the 
 meat,' said this empress of cooks, c for I was in 
 a taking, lest the meat would be too late for the 
 soups and gravies. 5 ' And are you a going to 
 make soups and gravies ?' said I, ' Lo and be- 
 hold ye, you might search from Bantry to Bere- 
 haven, and you would not find such a hand at 
 soups and gravies, let alone fricandeaus, farcies, 
 bouillies as myself, though it is not I that should 
 say it ; sure was not I head kitchen boy five 
 years under Monsieur Pafoi (and he was a pro- 
 per cook), at the ancient and glorious castle of 
 Berchaven, where prince Hi Sullivan Bere held 
 his state, O never to be named by me but with 
 gushing tears ?' (and I wept a turn.) ' But try 
 me, madam, and you'll find that I make no dish- 
 wash, or curdled cream, and call them soups : 
 I'll not mix up flour and butter and cream, and 
 palm it off for cullis.' 
 
 " The cook looked gracious, and without 
 more ado I stripped, and soon showed her the 
 difference between French and Cork cooking ; 
 and as she was a woman of good judgment, she 
 gave me due praise, and the relics of the pastry 
 at parting, and the alderman and his company 
 were so enchanted with their fare, that the 
 kitchen was ever at my service ; indeed I part- 
 ed from the cook, Mrs. Sweetman, with great 
 wo ; for though she was somewhat bleareyed 
 from the fire, she was a gentle thing, and had 
 much discretion. / 
 
 " But then -to the main business, to dispose of 
 Don. Since we must sunder, said I, you shall 
 not go for less than forty pounds, and 1 if I was 
 
95 
 
 not in haste, you are well worth a hundred. 
 The hostler put his soul into the business, and 
 I took Don to every one, gentle and simple, in 
 the town, that wanted a horse. But oh, the 
 noble beast ! resolved was he, that none but a 
 prince, or friend, should mount his back ; and 
 though he would pace as gently as a lamb, when 
 I got on his back, yet he fairly flung every one 
 of the Cork squires, that ventured to mount 
 him. 
 
 " Thus was I thrown all on a heap, till the 
 hostler, at a last lift, gave me a commendation to 
 the state upholsterer of the town, who, by the 
 mercies of the Saints, happened at the moment 
 to want both a horse and a coachman ; and a 
 great funeral pressing to be performed. It 
 wrung my heart to part with Don for twenty 
 guineas, but I was resolute to stick to Mr. Fan- 
 chase, the funeral-man, till I realized the other 
 twenty. Both Don and I were to his taste ; 
 and the second day did not pass, till he was 
 made sensible, that he had got a proper lad for 
 his trade. The defunct was a lady of quality, 
 and her husband a bit of a Milesian, that had 
 some notion of w r hat was proper at a funeral ; 
 and he would have it recited afore, that it 
 might be all to his mind. But when he heard 
 the old women screech, that were to be the 
 mourners, he was besides himself, for they had 
 degenerated so much from the true Coronach, 
 that they made a yell that could not but be un- 
 palatable to Christian ears. Then it was I that 
 set all to rights ; and by given out the true 
 notes myself, and keeping them practising till 
 you would have thought the world at an end, I. 
 
96 
 
 got them all In tune. Then I showed how the 
 grandfather's corpse went in procession, and in- 
 stead of letting the riders go all in a lump, put 
 them two and two with foot mourners between, 
 so that the train looked truly grand, and the 
 gentleman was in raptures thereat. And had 
 you seen how princely Don looked, with his 
 head nodding with black feathers, and only a 
 snail's pace to go for the most part, with plenty 
 of oats to make him look comely, you would 
 be well satisfied with the disposition I made of 
 him. Then it was I that got the credit, and 
 from that day out, the upholsterer scarcely ven- 
 tured to say his soul was his own, so much he 
 deferred to me. 
 
 " He was a soft man, and a good liver : and 
 who had a better right ? for he made his money 
 easily, and was no neger. Sorry he was to part 
 with me, and offered me high wages to stay, but 
 my heart was with you here, and I told him it 
 was time to be gone. At parting, he compli- 
 mented me with a score of weepers w r hich will 
 make good shirts, and a cast pall of velvet, that 
 I got cut up into suits. " So, dear master, here 
 is proof enough, that you may let me serve you, 
 without fearing an incumbrance." 
 
 " My kind, affectionate fellow," said Hi Sul- 
 livan, "you shall only change your black for 
 red, and we part no more." 
 
 " Blessed hour!" cried Rory. 
 
 We then acquainted Rory with the state 01 
 affairs, and he allowed, " that if it was not for a 
 

 lew thoughts about the old castle, we had rea- 
 son to be right joyous." 
 
 We now prepared for Maurice's wedding, and 
 Rory proved himself ambidexter, shining equal- 
 ly at funeral and wedding : and when we sat 
 down to the wedding dinner, all bore witness, 
 that he had not spoken with undue praise of 
 his skill in cookery, for he superintended the 
 whole. Maurice seemed exalted above all hu- 
 mankind; even James Hi Sullivan for the mo- 
 ment seemed quite eclipsed ; and if ever Mau- 
 rice felt conscious of royal blood in his veins, 
 it was now, when the possession of Berghetta 
 seemed to place him in a prosperity above 
 kings. Our jest was now to convict Rory of a 
 surpassing admiration of Berritt ; his eyes were 
 scarcely ever off her, and whenever she spoke, 
 he listened with his lips wide apart, and when 
 she ceased, he would recover himself with a 
 deep drawn sigh. He had never seen any thing 
 like her in female kind ; the gentleness and dis- 
 tinctness of her utterance, the sweetness of her 
 voice, and the simple wisdom of all she said, 
 captivated his regards ; but when he became 
 acquainted with the piety, which was dominant 
 over all her feelings, he regarded her as a saint. 
 Then she would sing for him the old Irish songs 
 her father had brought from the Wicklow 
 mountains, which tallied with many that Rory 
 had learnt in Connaught, about the exploits of 
 Fin the son of Comhal, or, as they call him. 
 Fin M'Coul. He was quite beside himself, and 
 would chafe and leave us when Maurice pre- 
 tended to be jealous, and sometimes raised a 
 blush on Berrett's cheek. 
 
 
Oh happy days ! how shortly did you abide ! 
 
 Hi Sullivan lingered with us, and no wonder ; 
 but I thought it best at last, that he should no 
 longer neglect his uncle's offer, and having in- 
 quired and heard of a ship bound to Bourdeaux, 
 he fixed to leave us. 
 
 Tears were shed at parting, but not bitter 
 tears, for hope was then still bright. 
 
 Hi Sullivan told me, that the first absence 
 he could procure from his regiment he would 
 employ in seeking Una; and I prognosticated 
 the attachment, that would take place between 
 them. 
 
 Maurice returned to his home, which he had 
 made quite elegant for the reception of Berrett 
 and her mother. The kitchen was flagged, and 
 the best rooms boarded, so that there was no 
 dirt a foot ; and every room was ceiled, so that 
 no dust or hangings dropped from above ; size- 
 able windows, that opened, made the house 
 cheerful and healthy ; and there was such a 
 plenty of furniture and flowers, that he might be 
 counted to have made good his pledge of bring- 
 ing his wife to as good a house as- that of the 
 Mapletons. 
 
 Still, however, he set all his land, except one 
 field he kept for a cow, and stuck to his daily 
 task work ; so that beside the rent, he was sure 
 of a large in-coming of wages at the end of the 
 year ; and as Berrett was about to bring him a 
 family, he never wasted a moment in idleness. 
 
99 
 
 ,uid never spent a penny out of his house. Yet 
 his dress and every thing about him were in a 
 superior style to any thing in the neighbour- 
 hood, which proceeded from his care in allow- 
 ing nothing to be damaged by his neglect. So 
 great now was the opinion entertained of his 
 being a judicious } r oung man, that, if the price 
 of any thing, of crops, or cattle, or measure- 
 ment, was to be left to a valuation, it was al- 
 ways referred to him ; and as it was known, 
 that he had a, conscience, no one ever demur- 
 red to his saying. In like manner with all dif- 
 ferences and disputes; and though they took 
 up much of his time, he never grudged it, as he 
 counted it a duty owing to his neighbours. 
 
 Berrett never was seen out of her house, 
 except for prayers, or when another woman 
 was in sickness or sorrow, or when children 
 ailed. Then she would make her way through 
 all weathers, and had still some little assistance 
 of medicine or clothing to give ; or, when this 
 was ineffectual or not wanted, she would read a 
 chapter of the Bible, judiciously selected, by 
 the bedside of the sufferer. On the fine sum- 
 mer's evenings too she would collect the chil- 
 dren of the neighbouring cabins, and teach 
 them more in an hour, than schools teach in a 
 day. Every moment that she could spare from 
 her husband, her mother, and her work, she 
 spent at her devotions, and the perusal of the 
 Testament. The only tears she ever shed 
 were, when Maurice seemed jealous of her stay- 
 ing too long from him, and complained that she 
 was too good. There never Was so blest a 
 couple; and that nothing might bo wanting, to 
 
100 
 
 their happiness, Berrett in the first live years of 
 their marriage became the mother of three 
 children, two boys and a girl, who from their 
 infancy were the most lovely creatures eyes 
 ever beheld. Berrett was now obliged to attend 
 entirely to these, and could earn little by her 
 work ; but it did not matter, as Maurice had 
 been sufficiently provident, and \vas now grown 
 quite wealthy, so that Berrett enjoyed every 
 comfort, and had the satisfaction of seeing her 
 children always neat and clean. 
 
 Besides, the widow Tual seemed to recover 
 her youth and strength, in her daughter's hap- 
 piness ; and her lace, which was an uncommon 
 fabric in this part of the country, sold for no 
 inconsiderable sum. 
 
 They always rejoiced me with a visit, at least 
 twice in the year, at the Easter and Christmas 
 holydays, and many an odd day I made some 
 excuse for spending my time with them. Shall 
 1 ever forget the delight of Berrett's counte- 
 nance, when I gave my blessing to her darl- 
 ing children ? 
 
 We heard, though of course not often, as the 
 communication was difficult, from Hi Sullivan. 
 He was frequently in action, and acquired re- 
 nown ; but complained of the uncultivated man- 
 ners of the officers, so different from those of 
 Maurice ; and mentioned the very slow increase 
 of his little pay, which had prevented him from 
 refunding Maurice's money as he had intended. 
 Rory, he said, was a great comfort, though he 
 never ceased to sigh for Ireland, and sorrow for 
 
lOi 
 
 the castle of Berehaven. LeV me 'be' quick 
 now, for it does me no good at my time of life, 
 to dwell upon misfortunes, and upon what can- 
 not be bettered. 
 
 The widow Tual died suddenly, while sitting 
 in her chair by the fire-side : faintings, and a 
 temporary loss of reason, succeeded on Ber- 
 ghetta's part; she had often said to me, thai 
 she could not survive the loss of either her 
 mother, her husband, or children ; and though 
 I imagined, that with years she had acquired 
 more endurance, she best knew the fragility of 
 the thread on which her life depended. Alarm- 
 ed at her situation, I proposed to Maurice, that 
 he should bury her mother with her husband, 
 at the Refeast, at the Seven Churches, in the 
 county of Wicklow, as I divined that Berrett 
 would exert herself for the performance of this 
 pious duty: and so far, I was not deceived: 
 the necessity of exertion brought Berrett to 
 herielf. I agreed to accompany her, and Mau- 
 rice would not separate her from the children. 
 but took them with him. It was summer, and 
 the weather fine ; the journey, though long, 
 was not inconvenient ; and Maurice's tender- 
 ness, and the sweet society of her children, 
 seemed gradually to restore Berrett, but though 
 she smikd as usual, she spoke little. 
 
 Arrived at the Seven Churches, we were 
 hospitably entertained by one of the clan of the 
 Tuals ; few of them were left in the country, 
 but this had prospered, having a good lease of 
 the archbishop's lands, and a large herd of cat- 
 tle, and an infinitude of sheep, so that his house 
 was quite pastoral and patriarchal. 
 9* 
 
;id was performed, I took 
 great delight in viewing the -olemn arid nia_ 
 ricent scene-TV, in which th ancient Irish 
 
 university was placed. What can be. more 
 superb than the slight yet stupendous round 
 tower, that, rising from the border of the lake, 
 overlook the mountain tops ? I paced 
 with melancholy feelings the pavement of the 
 ancient streets, and meditated in the ancient 
 churches, where the quicken had planted 
 roots in the fissures of the stone roofs. How 
 gloomy would he the thought of the unrecorded 
 dead, but that religioi iem an interest in 
 
 our memories and anticipations. Darling Ber- 
 ghetta seemed soothed by the quiet of the place, 
 but she had not yet recovered her natural 
 It was the third morning after we had 
 buried her mother, that she whispered to me. 
 that she would be glad if I would walk with 
 her to the Refeast. as Maurice was going on the 
 mountains to see the sheep flock, and -h- 
 to speak to me alone. 
 
 I met her as she desired, but she said noth- 
 ing but what was common, as we walked along 
 the brink of the lake, and the wild path, that 
 led to the Refeast. This building was entirely 
 darkened by large thorns, quickens, and ash 
 trees, that hung over it. Berrett entered it. 
 .-at down upon a slab that covered the tomb ol 
 king O Tual, and made me sit beside her. 
 
 I wish, father." said she. to tell you what 
 happened to me here last night. I was res- 
 in bed. and seeing the moon shining bright 
 through the window. I felt a desire I could not 
 get the better of. to visit my mother's grave. 
 
103 
 
 Maurice was fast asleep, so I dressed m\ ! 
 and leaving the house quietly. I did not stop till 
 I came to this spot. On entering, it was ^ 
 dark, but I perceived in that corner rather a 
 light appearance, that kept my eyes fixed on 
 the spot ; then I heard a low voice which 1 
 could not mistake, it was my mothers, that said. 
 do not be afraid, Berghetta." 
 
 \ v fears that I had immediately ceased, 
 and presently I could perceive, though dimlv. 
 the very form and countenance of my mother. 
 Think of my transport. What is it, dear 
 mother/ I cried. * thut you would say /* for I 
 did not venture to move from the spot, lest the 
 appearance should vanish. 
 
 " ; You will die. Berghetta,' I heard her say. 
 1 but do not fear ; neither grieve for Maurice 
 nor your children ; they will come to us ; give 
 \ ourself up to God, who cares for all his crea- 
 tures.' 
 
 I then seemed to hear sweet music, and 
 the vision disappeared, not at once, but gradual- 
 ly getting fainter and fainter." 
 
 I could not doubt Berrett's veracity, and if 
 ever a mortal deserved a communication from 
 Heaven, it was herself. She seemed pleased 
 at my not calling the wonderful account in 
 question, and now seemed so exalted above all 
 the cares of life, that grief had no longer hold 
 on her, only that by the avoiding any mention 
 
 Maurice and her children, I could perc 
 she did not feel strength enough to dwell on 
 the idea of parting from them. 
 
104 
 
 She now conversed as usual, and even with 
 increased cheerfulness, so that Maurice was 
 quite delighted, and willingly prolonged his stay 
 on the invitation of our worthy host. But Ber- 
 rett did not miss any unstrained opportunity of 
 pressing the ideas of God and a future world 
 upon Maurice's mind, and this he thought but 
 natural after her late loss. She would sit too 
 motionless, gazing with delight on her children 
 for a long time ; but this she had been accus- 
 tomed to, and used often to reproach herself 
 with it as an idleness ; so that there was noth- 
 ing to prepare Maurice for the blow that fell on 
 him. I had advised her not to mention what 
 had occurred to her at the Refeast, for if noth- 
 ing followed, Maurice would only have been 
 the more inclined to check her propensity to 
 religious thoughts, and he had already shown 
 that he was inclined to do so. 
 
 We were sitting at breakfast, it might be ten 
 days after her mother's funeral, and .Maurice 
 was hastening us, that we might go to Saint 
 Kevin's cave, when Berrett said, smiling, " if it 
 was not for shame of being thought lazy, I had 
 much rather lie down and go to sleep." 
 
 " Lean your head then on my breast," said 
 Maurice, still in jest. 
 
 She did so ; and closed her eyes. I, who 
 watched her, saw her face become pale as she 
 sunk gradually in Maurice's lap. 
 
 " Take care," said I, " she is not well." 
 Alas ! while I spoke she was past all our care. 
 
105 
 
 her spirit, perfect in holiness, had passed with- 
 out a struggle to its immortal destination. Poor 
 Maurice ! spoiled by unceasing prosperity > ha- 
 bituated to tind success attend on all his endea- 
 vours, unknown to himself he had become pre- 
 sumptuous and selfconfident. He received the 
 stroke as if it had been dealt by a secret enemy, 
 he seemed overwhelmed equally by astonish- 
 ment and desperation, arid, when his tears 
 ceased to flow, appeared impatient, bewildered, 
 and farouche. 
 
 I refrained from admonition, for I knew his 
 nature and sense, and waited patiently till the 
 mists that obscured his mind dispersed. 
 
 At length, when a few days had passed, he 
 came to me, and after indulging in tears for an 
 instant; "Father," he said, "I have thought 
 more and to better purpose these last four days, 
 than I have done all the rest of my life ; and 
 the first evidence of it is, that I now plainly 
 perceive my own amazing folly and imbecility, 
 when I thought myself wise, and safe in this 
 world's prosperity. But my eyes are opened, 
 and I do not now regret, though my tears still 
 fall, and he stopped awhile and wept ; I do not 
 now regret our separation. J need not grieve for 
 her ; and tell me, am I not right in concluding, 
 that it is true wisdom to think little about one- 
 self, when the pursuit of one's own happiness 
 must in this world end in disappointment ?" 
 
 " You are right, my son," I replied, " the 
 less we think of ourselves, the happier we are 
 even here. The people who shine and prosper, 
 
106 
 
 even if they meet no fatal reverses, such a5y 
 yours, wither under the natural change of life. 
 Scarcely do we reach five and thirty, but a few 
 gray hairs, a few wrinkles, are able to make the 
 vainest and proudest aghast ; put the best appear- 
 ance on it they can, they are conscious that the 
 enjoyment of life is worth nothing. It is this 
 early decay, (and wisely was it intended,) which 
 brings religion home to the heart, and will 
 establish it there as long as mankind lasts, in 
 spite of all the subtilty of the infidel. But do 
 not let your worldly ruin chill your heart. On 
 the contrary, knowing what it is to suffer, exert 
 yourself to diminish the evil, that besets the 
 children of men. This is God's purpose in 
 all his wonderful efforts ; aspire to be an auxi- 
 liary under his command ; need I say, warm 
 your children's hearts to assist those who suffer, 
 fortify their minds to bear what sufferings may 
 befal themselves, arid protect them from all the 
 ills you are able," 
 
 " Protect them !" replied Maurice ; " oh, 
 father, I live only to make this atonement to 
 their angel mother. Might I but die for them, 
 perhaps I might meet her again without shame. 
 JDo you not remember, when all the people 
 said I was such a good husband, she thought me 
 so too, and so did I myself; what a cloud is 
 removed from my judgment ! how clearly I see 
 now, that to that tender, gentle, and feeling 
 spirit, all my usage was rude and unkind, and 
 every word I uttered almost a wrong !" 
 
 I did my best to support Maurice, though 1 
 was heartstricken myself; for Berghetta's na 
 
107 
 
 lure seemed so much to invite affection, and 
 having no vanity or selfishness that ever repell- 
 ed one, no one knew her but loved her, and 
 there was no death ever occasioned so much 
 sincere regret in my parish. 
 
 Our journey had been melancholy coming, it 
 was wretched returning. Poor Maurice had 
 still to return to his lonely home, but after hav- 
 ing surmounted the great blow, he had too 
 vigorous a mind to be overcome by localities. 
 The duties of my parish, so long neglected, call- 
 ed me away from him ; but when I was able 
 to go to see him, for he could not stir on ac- 
 count of the children, I was well satisfied with 
 him. 
 
 As far as he himself was concerned, he seem- 
 ed to have forgotten that a world existed, looking 
 only to Heaven ; and this gave him a greater 
 air of quiet and contentment than I had ever 
 seen him wear before. Whenever opportunity 
 occurred, he exerted himself to lighten other 
 people's ills, but they no longer surprised him ; 
 he looked confidently to God, certain that in 
 the end all evil would be overcome. His great 
 difficulty now was, that he had no female rela- 
 tive to take care of his children ; he was loth 
 to recal Una from a genteel station to his 
 melancholy cabin, nor could he bear to place 
 them where they might acquire low or vicious 
 habits. He felt a pleasure in the trouble they 
 gave him, and a kind of acquittance to Berghet- 
 ta's memory, and determined to rear them him- 
 self. But to do this, he was obliged to abandon 
 all his industry, and to live entirely upon his 
 "ormer earnings. 
 
108 
 
 I found he had entirely altered his mode of 
 living, his diet being only potatoes, a little salt, 
 and water. 
 
 I remonstrated with him on this, but he said 
 now that he did no work, there was no occa- 
 sion for his living better ; that it would be four 
 or five years before his children could go out 
 with him, and during that time he must depend 
 upon his little fund of savings, and yet stint his 
 children in nothing. He was right, for the late 
 sad mishaps had made away with much of his 
 money, and he thought best to sell the interest 
 in his farm till his son came of age, that he 
 might be certain to have all things convenient 
 for his children. 
 
 In this kind of repose, where hope at last is 
 patient, time flies quickly. Maurice's children, 
 endowed by nature with their mother's excel- 
 lent judgment and soft heart, seemed only to re- 
 quire time to unfold every good quality ; put 
 them out of question, and there was but one 
 event, that could powerfully stir Maurice's soul, 
 and that was the arrival of James Hi Sullivan. 
 The kindness he had received from him, when 
 he was so much his inferior, never ceased to fill 
 his eyes with tears, when any chance brought 
 it strongly to his mind ; and he would dwell 
 with delight on all his noble qualities. 
 
 Yet years passed away, and O'Sullivan could 
 get no opportunity to leave his regiment for 
 sufficient length of time to come to .Ireland; 
 though he had been able to go several times to 
 Paris, where he had introduced himself to Una. 
 
109 
 
 and, as might easily have been foreseen, they 
 were taken with each Bother. Yet Maurice 
 was not rejoiced at this, he saw no likelihood 
 of their marrying, without involving Hi Sullivan 
 in want ; and he thought that he perceived in 
 O'Sullivan's letters something too romanesque 
 in their attachment. " Look," said he to me, 
 " does not this seem as if it were the moist and 
 fickle impression of eyesight ? alas ! I cannot be 
 mistaken in the signs of that faithful love, which 
 is built upon worthiness, and which neither 
 time nor death can weaken or extinguish." 
 
 Maurice spoke as he felt ; for though religion, 
 like the clear Heaven, is without clouds, still 
 nature shows the devastation of the storm that 
 has passed by ; and though his purified spirit 
 had shaken off a load of earthly care, like the 
 palm-tree striving most upwards the more it is 
 burdened, yet, even though years were past, 
 his days were spent in thought, and in sadness 
 his nights. 
 
 Maurice would not say so, but I guessed he 
 imagined, that Una might be more captivating, 
 than humbly pious. Father Dupre had indeed 
 complained of a tendency he had observed in 
 her to coquetry, but the sincerity of her love 
 for Hi Sullivan had entirely cured her of this 
 fault. 
 
 Another year sped on, it was the fifth since 
 Berghetta's death, when Maurice came to pay 
 me a visit, bringing his darling children. I 
 felicitated him on recovering his robustness and 
 hale looks. He told me, that he had now 
 10 
 
110 
 
 resumed his labour, as one of his sons was able 
 to accompany him, while the other remained 
 at home with his sister 5 " and they are so intel- 
 ligent," he said, "and thoughtful, that I can 
 trust them by themselves with perfect security ; 
 they never leave the house, or open the door, 
 till I return, but employ themselves in many 
 little works, and learning their lessons for the 
 evening. You cannot imagine what good la- 
 bourers the boys are, and my little girl is very 
 ingenious. I have long promised them, as the 
 greatest reward I could give for their being so 
 good, that they should come and help to set 
 your nouse and garden to rights ; it is gone 
 sadly to ruin, and we must not have any thing 
 look melancholy against our dearest O'Suilivan 
 and Una return." 
 
 He had received a letter from O'Sullivan, 
 telling him of his wish, which we considered 
 the same as an intention of quitting the army, 
 and returning to Ireland, as Una had consented 
 to do so, and leading the same life as Maurice 
 had done. " Can I follow a better example ?" 
 concluded O'Sullivan, " and have not I legs 
 and arms as you have ?" 
 
 Maurice showed me his answer. It began, 
 " I joy in your friendship, but I joy more in 
 your good ;" and earnestly dissuaded him from 
 coming. He argued, that early habits of labour 
 were necessary to make a life of labour palat- 
 able, and that the severe exertion, in which he 
 found a pleasure, would be intolerable and dis- 
 gusting to O'Sullivan. 
 
Ill 
 
 i: But," he continued, " I am certain he will 
 come, for his will has hecome self-indulgent, 
 from the deference so long paid to him by all, 
 and he does not yet know how to stoop to the 
 little necessities of life. 
 
 " He now meets abroad Irishmen of nearly 
 his own rank, who have been driven from this 
 country, and are like circumstanced with him- 
 self; and by his own account his rank is ac- 
 knowledged by all the foreign courts : this alone 
 must be very grateful, and he has as good a 
 chance as the many other Irishmen, that have 
 risen to the first military situations in France 
 and Germany. Even if he could be contented 
 himself, he will not be able to endure to see 
 Una a mere cottage housewife ; and I am cer- 
 tain she would, in time, regret her situation." 
 
 I commended Maurice's counsel, and indeed 
 it was so discernible, that O'Sullivan's best 
 hope of a fortunate marriage with Una was by 
 attaching himself to his regiment, that I trusted 
 it would prevail. 
 
 " What makes me more anxious about Una," 
 said Maurice, after meditating a while, " is, that 
 I have now no means of assisting her or my 
 friend, if they should need it. These children 
 revive in my breast again the wish to make a 
 competency ; for to be in want leads, I think, 
 to every evil, and I would willingly shield them 
 from the risks I have run myself. Would you 
 believe it, and it is with astonishment I feel it 
 myself, that I am often very happy ? These 
 sweet companions of mine never give me a 
 
112 
 
 mfcrneiit's trouble, and are so soothing and 
 caressing, that I sometimes think not many are 
 more" blessed." 
 
 In truth these children were quite extraor* 
 dinary ; for their talk, though innocent, was 
 quite serious and reflective ; while not a sign of 
 impatience, envy, or humour, ever appeared in 
 their dispositions ; and all three were so entirely 
 gentle in their voices, looks, and manners, that 
 they seemed to bring a sweet stillness even 
 where care and sorrow abided. 
 
 It was th most charming sight, to see the 
 comportment of the lads to their sister ; when 
 she w r as not by, they were always hand in hand, 
 and seemed to grow together ; but when she 
 was present, they seemed to forget each other, 
 and to have no wish or business but to attend 
 to her all their play and employment was 
 about her, and this, with the excessive anxious- 
 ness of her father about her, would have spoiled 
 any other little head ; but she early proved 
 herself her mother's child, for her heart was 
 always too full of nature and affection, to leave 
 any space for vanity. 
 
 Maurice was preparing to return, when one 
 evening we perceived a vessel Rearing the 
 island, and when she approached, she lay too, 
 and fired a shot. Maurice divined, that Hi 
 Sullivan was on board, and running down the 
 rock, put oif in a small boat, and setting a sail, 
 made for the ship. It was as he guessed. In 
 half an hour he returned with James Hi Sulli- 
 van, Una, and Rory. Poor Maurice looked. 
 
113 
 
 pale and aghast, for the idea of what he had 
 suffered since they parted mastered all the 
 pleasure he received from the return of his dear 
 friend ; but he hung over Una with tenderness, 
 while Rory wept aloud, as he clasped the three 
 children in his arms. 
 
 The next morning we met in better spirits. 
 Hi Sullivan and Maurice had been early abroad, 
 to impart the several vicissitudes that had hap- 
 pened to each since they were separated ; I, 
 meanwhile, questioned Rory : breakfast was 
 ready by the time they returned, but Una had 
 not come down, as the children detained her, 
 with whom she was quite captivated. 
 
 When she appeared, Maurice and I exchang- 
 ed looks of admiration ; we had thought her 
 beautiful the evening before, though then she 
 was fatigued and in a muffled and disordered 
 dress. But now she appeared in all the beau- 
 ty of dress, colour, and feature ; uniting the 
 dark hair, eyes, and brow of the continent, 
 with the pure complexion of her native coun- 
 try ; while her manners and gesture had the 
 ease and polish of the French court. She led 
 her little niece, Geraldine, in her hand, whose 
 flaxen hair, blue eyes, and scarcely tinged 
 cheeks, were in perfect contrast. " Dear bro- 
 ther," said Una, u I have been trying to seduce 
 my pretty niece to leave you, and live with me ; 
 but she has a constant little heart, and though 
 she owns she loves me very much, she says she 
 will not leave you for a day." 
 
 I was much pleased with Una for the affec- 
 
114 
 
 lion she already showed the children, and for 
 the constant deference arid respect she paid her 
 brother. Nor could one be surprised, that Hi 
 Sullivan was imprudent with such temptation, 
 though he was really more so than we even 
 imagined. 
 
 When the first delight of meeting had sub- 
 sided, I perceived a constraint in Hi Sullivan's 
 manner. He and Una separated themselves, 
 as it were, from us, which Maurice did not ob- 
 serve, as it was natural ; but I thought I per- 
 ceived something at the bottom more than 
 mutual love, there was a sudden silence if inter- 
 rupted, and an anxiety lest they should be over- 
 heard, that told me there was some mystery in 
 the ca&e. T thought I should be informed in 
 the usual course of their religious duties, but 
 what shocked me much was, that they avoided 
 every occasion of opening their minds to me in 
 Christian conlidence. 
 
 I at length imparted my doubts to Maurice, 
 but he made light of them, saying he had such 
 confidence in the nobleness and openness of Hi 
 Sullivan, that either there was nothing to be 
 known, or he should be made acquainted with 
 it before many days past. 
 
 It was not many days before Maurice came 
 to me in the deepest sorrow : " I know this 
 fatal secret," be said, " Hi Sullivan began to 
 sound me on the subject ; and a word was 
 enough to discover to rne what was passing : be 
 ceuld not evade my questions ; and I know it 
 all; and O! I foresee too plainly where it will 
 
J15 
 
 end." He clasped his hands in extreme dis- 
 tress. 
 
 " It seems," he continued, " that peace has 
 taken place, and in consequence a number of 
 regiments have been disbanded, and a great 
 many Irish officers, but not Hi Sullivan, were 
 discharged. These, from idleness, and des- 
 perate fortune, have formed a plan to excite 
 the low people here, and put themselves at the 
 head of them. I, who know this people, how 
 easy it is to inflame them, but how difficult to 
 direct them, or keep them steady to any pur- 
 pose, can see the danger and desperation of the 
 enterprise ; but it has charms for Hi Sullivan, 
 that inflame all the noble yet unreflecting pas- 
 sions of his soul. Already he has left an hon- 
 ourable profession ; already he has embarked 
 Una in this enterprise of peril. She left Lady 
 McCartney, and left her in displeasure : surely 
 this was being too headstrong. Though she 
 might trust herself to Hi Sullivan's protection 
 as safely as to mine, yet, when Lady M'Cart- 
 ney objected as she did, Una ought not to have 
 accompanied him. Una too is impatient, when 
 she perceives 1 do not approve of the step she 
 has taken ; and already this evil has taken 
 place, that our mutual confidence is diminished. 
 
 " Hi Sullivan has pressed me to join in their 
 projects, and has offered me titles and com- 
 mands. I have told him, that where he is 
 implicated, it is not possible but I must be 
 drawn in : but that I never will conceal my 
 conviction, that the whole enterprise is wild 
 and impracticable. I urge iii vain to him, that 
 
 
116 
 
 he had a clear and honourable destiny to fulfil, 
 sufficient for his interest, his happiness, and 
 glory : and his reply to me is, that the sea of 
 glory has no hanks : s.o that we are cast upon 
 an uncertain and dark project, that must end in 
 failure, and perhaps ruin." 
 
 " This is a sad narrative," I replied, " but 
 has not Una any influence, to stay this from 
 going farther ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, Una is equally exalted ; she has 
 suffered from the pride of the great, and, over- 
 weening herself, she gives her whole soul to 
 rise above them, or pull them down." 
 
 " And has he told you all their plans ?" 
 
 " All ; and none of them have any show of 
 consistency, or of means equal to their aim." 
 
 As I deemed there was nothing like matter 
 of fact to effect the cure of these fantasies, I 
 did not lend mjself much to oppose Hi Sulli- 
 van ; and Maurice, from a dread of appearing 
 to separate himself in the least degree from his 
 interests and affection, when once he had given 
 his opinion, said no more, but seemed to yield 
 himself to Hi Sullivan's guidance. And Hi 
 Sullivan, seeing things near appear under a dif- 
 ferent aspect from what they did at a distance, 
 might have abandoned the design, but for the 
 engagements he had assented to on the conti- 
 nent. One of these, arid indeed the most fea- 
 sible part of the scheme, was, for Hi Sullivan to 
 go to Berehaven, and try in what force the clan 
 of the Sullivans could be gathered. 
 
117 
 
 On Sunday, Hi Sullivan appeared in his dress 
 uniform, all glitter, all in gold ; and he looked 
 so princely and gorgeous, that while Maurice 
 looked on him with delight, he said to me, 
 " How can we wonder, or hlame him for aspir- 
 ing high, when he seems formed for rank and 
 station ? there is nothing left but to share his 
 danger, and guard him from it if possible." 
 
 The time of this ill-fated expedition arrived. 
 Hi SulSivan was in such buoyant spirits, that he 
 seemed to charm away foresight and apprehen- 
 sion : and on his promising, that, if 1 would ac- 
 company him, just to perform a mass for his 
 father's repose, he would engage in no enter- 
 prise of danger, I trusted that for the present 
 there was none. Nothing could be more out 
 of season for Maurice, particularly as Una was 
 resolute to accompany Hi Sullivan. Maurice 
 had to part from his children for the first time ; 
 and he could do no better than leave them un- 
 der Rory's care, who had become so much 
 attached to them, that he readily consented to 
 stay behind to tend them ; particularly as he 
 said he could not now abide the sight of the old 
 castle of Berehaven. 
 
 Hi Sullivan could not be happy unless Mau- 
 rice confederated with him ; and he relied up- 
 on the influence he had over him, to lead him 
 by degrees to join hand and heart with him, 
 wilfully assured, that he should exalt his friend 
 as well as himself. 
 
 What money O'Sullivan had saved he devot- 
 ed to making a handsome appearance on his 
 
118 
 
 return to his ancient possessions ; rightly judg- 
 ing, that his influence over his sept, would he 
 increased by a prosperous appearance. He 
 likewise determined to sell part of his regalia, 
 a broach studded with emeralds ; saying that 
 for such a purpose he well knew his father 
 would have wished him to part with it. All 
 this was negotiated in Dublin, and with good 
 success, and Hi Sullivan provided himself an 
 equipage, that was sufficiently costly. 
 
 We proceeded without any interruption to 
 Cork; and Maurice found out the good-na- 
 tured undertaker, who readily consented, when 
 he found he was an acquaintance of Rory's, to 
 lend him Don for some days, that he might go 
 on before, and prepare accommodation for Hi 
 Sullivan and Una at one of the tenants 5 houses. 
 
 When he arrived at Berehaven, and it be- 
 came known, that Hi Sullivan was returning, 
 distinguished by glory gained in foreign service, 
 the whole sept was in commotion. There was 
 an end to all work and business. They col- 
 lected in groupes, every one asking questions, 
 and living upon surmises and expectations. 
 Happy were they who could get near to Maurice, 
 and make him repeat over and over again the 
 tidings of their beloved chieftain. 
 
 Last among the rest came Merritt M'Cor- 
 mick ; but he asked no questions, but waited 
 sullenly, as if to see what reception Maurice 
 would give him. Maurice never could harbour 
 ill will, and grief had exceedingly softened his 
 disposition ; so that he accosted Merritt with 
 
119 
 
 his early wish to be of service to him. He was 
 shocked to see him at so early an age already 
 decrepit, and though it was natural he should 
 have taken some pains with his appearance, he 
 was dirty and ragged. 
 
 Maurice inquired of him how he had thriven 
 under the new owners of the castle. 
 
 " Thrive !" said Merritt, " why as that 
 witch-elm does under the west wind nothing 
 thrives under them ; they are negers, they have 
 racked the tenants, and they have brought a 
 mildew and murrain with them, that have con- 
 sumed what they have left." 
 
 "And how is your wife ?" 
 
 " Dead. She let the two children burn 
 themselves, and she had nature enough to pine 
 after them ; she got a stitch one night the rain 
 come in on her bed, and died of it." 
 
 " And is your mother yet alive ?" 
 
 " O yes, her stomach is burnt up with whis- 
 key, and I don't believe one of her own poison- 
 ous stews would touch it." 
 
 The day that Hi Sullivan left Cork for Bere- 
 haven, the whole sept poured out upon the road, 
 and we were met by the multitude long before 
 we arrived. The press stopped us entirely, 
 nor would they allow us to proceed, till Hi 
 Sullivan showed himself. He was dressed in 
 full uniform, and never in his proudest days had 
 
120 
 
 looked more resplendent. Admiration and de- 
 voted love held them for a while in silence and 
 tears ; and then a universal shout rent the air. 
 Every fresh groupe detained us in the same 
 manner, and those who had been followers at 
 the castle would not be easy, till they had 
 kissed Hi Sullivan's hand. Una's eyes beamed 
 delight, to see Hi Sullivan still so great in the 
 affection of his people ; and she herself rosy and 
 radiant soon divided their admiration with him. 
 But all this made us very late in arriving, though 
 Maurice's care had made every thing comforta- 
 ble, and nothing was wanting on the part of the 
 honoured O' Sullivan, in whose house the prince 
 had fixed to abide. 
 
 Hi Sullivan's mind was feverish, as it were ; 
 sometimes depressed by the scene of his alter- 
 ed fortunes, sometimes elevated by the tri- 
 umphs of the day. Maurice sat lost in thought ; 
 till Hi Sullivan, observing it, asked him if any 
 thing disagreeable had happened. 
 
 " No," said Maurice, " on the contrary every 
 thing favours your enterprise beyond all proba- 
 bility ; look out of the window, and you can 
 see, even by the light of the moon, the multitudes 
 that move restless backwards and forwards, 
 drawn from all parts to the spot where you are. 
 I am convinced, that to-morrow you might be 
 at the head of ten thousand men, but what are 
 they worth without arms, discipline, or confi- 
 dence ? No, I was thinking of Merritt M'Cor- 
 mick, and the longer I think, the more certain 
 I am, that he has obtained intelligence of your 
 plans. He hinted, nay even proposed it all to 
 
me, with such assurance of approbation, that I 
 saw at once that he was advised of it. I look- 
 ed him steadily in the face, and he coloured 
 and hung down his head. I am certain he 
 knows it, but how could he possibly come by 
 that knowledge. O, let me implore you not to 
 slight my conjectures ; there is but one way, it 
 has been told to too many confederates in 
 France ; some of them have been indiscreet, 
 government has obtained intelligence of your 
 designs from its foreign agents, and Merritt is 
 employed as a spy to watch your coming. There 
 are soldiers, though not many, quartered at Ban- 
 try, some of them have come as far as this, 
 and Merritt is acquainted with at least one of 
 them." 
 
 Hi Sullivan laughed at Maurice's conjec- 
 tures ; " is there any thing so wonderful," he 
 said, " in this coincidence, when Merritt only 
 blurted out what is uppermost in every Irish- 
 man's head ; and as for knowing a soldier, does 
 he not know all the world, at least all the idle 
 world ? I like the fellow for it, and will forgive 
 him, call him up, I dare say he is not far off, and 
 we will cross examine him." 
 
 Maurice went out, and soon found him among 
 the crowd : when he came up, it was astonish- 
 ing with what impudence, by seeming to take 
 it for granted that everything was forgot, he en- 
 sured that nothing should be remembered. To 
 Hi Sullivan's inquiries about the castle he an- 
 swered with such bitter and violent invectives 
 against its present inhabitants, that he quite 
 gained on Hi Sullivan ; and before he left the 
 11 
 
room he had almost taken him into favour again, 
 Maurice mean while from a distance scrutinised 
 him attentively ; arid when he had left the room, 
 and Hi Sullivan asked Maurice if he was not 
 now convinced, that in this instance he wrong- 
 ed Merritt ; he replied, " by no means, I see 
 that he hates them, but I am not convinced that 
 he does not hate you, You forget that I am 
 used to his ways from childhood, pray then do 
 not slight my opinion of him, but -be on your 
 guard, trust him in nothing, and persevere in the 
 assurance you have given father O'Brien, that 
 you will do nothing rashly." 
 
 Maurice was right to a tittle, and it shows 
 how great his penetration was. The Irish offi- 
 cers, who had urged Hi Sullivan on, feeling 
 perfectly secure in Paris, thought little of his 
 danger in Ireland, and indulged in venting their 
 resentments, and pampering their self conceit 
 by indiscreet confidences of their projects, and 
 anticipations of their success. These reached 
 the ears of English agents, who were too much 
 interested not to exert themselves to fathom the 
 whole plot ; they had notice of Hi Sullivan's 
 departure for Ireland, and his intention of go- 
 ing to Berehaven. The Irish government, in- 
 structed of this, sent down an officer without, 
 who employed a trusty soldier to procure a na- 
 tive of the country to give him notice of Hi Sul- 
 livan's coming,, and the soldier, meeting Merritt 
 at a public house, soon discovered that he was 
 the person he wanted. 
 
 Merritt had not a feeling about country, or 
 who ruled and reigned ; but he had gone from 
 
bad to worse, under the English comers, and he 
 hated them with all the narrow bigotry of spite, 
 because they were strangers and English, and 
 earnestly prayed their ruin ; but he hated Hi 
 Sullivan still more, never forgiving or forget- 
 ting the lash he had received from him. And 
 we shall see how this miserable instrument was 
 able to effect the ruin of both, by the impru- 
 dence of Hi Sullivan. 
 
 Finding himself tolerated, he was now inde- 
 fatigable in throwing himself in Hi Sullivan's 
 way ; he bettered his dress, he whetted his 
 gibes and jokes, yet never lost an opportunity 
 of inflaming Hi Sullivan with some parable 
 against the Dales, the present possessors of the 
 castle. When Hi Sullivan heard of his poor 
 tenantry being fleeced and flayed, his generous 
 indiscretion led him into denunciations and im- 
 precations against them ; not one of which did 
 Merritt let fall to earth, but repeated them with 
 exacerbations of his own through all the sept, so 
 that these poor people, who might have been 
 startled at seeking revenge for their own inju- 
 ries, were seduced with the show of duty, mag- 
 nanimity, and self devotion, in revenging the 
 wrongs of their adored chieftain. 
 
 IJ 6 
 
 Merritt's manoeuvres did not entirely escape 
 Maurice's observation ; and again he entreated 
 Hi Sullivan not to confide in him ; " from the 
 appearance of your favour, he takes upon him- 
 self with the people more than is to your hon- 
 our. I say nothing of his trying to render me 
 suspected with them, as that may be from old 
 dislike, as well as from knowing how I am bound 
 to you." 
 
124 
 
 Una was inclined to take Merritt's part ; she 
 remembered him only when he was a rosy play- 
 ful boy, and she could not believe him so old in 
 villainy. 
 
 " I should praise your good nature," replied 
 Maurice, " if 1 was not certain, that Hi Sulli- 
 van's dearest interests are at stake. Ask father 
 O'Brien, and he, I am sure, will not think my 
 suspicions of Merritt unreasonable," 
 
 Indeed I did not, but still, with that idle con- 
 fidence which is founded on no reason, I trus- 
 ted that no evil would happen. 
 
 But Maurice, restless and perturbed on O' 
 Sullivan's account, resolved to go to Bantry, and 
 endeavour to discover if his conjectures were 
 right or not. 
 
 He borrowed a good plain suit of Hi Sulli- 
 van, which, as they were both of a size, fitted 
 him well, and putting powder into his hair, look- 
 ed perfectly genteel. 
 
 " These walls have ears," he said to Hi Sul- 
 livan with a smile, yet a little reproachfully, 
 " or else you say things to Merritt better left 
 alone, so that I will not tell you where I am go- 
 ing to day, nor yet to morrow ; but to day I 
 shall be back by dinner time, to morrow I shall 
 be more uncertain, and may not see you for 
 some days." 
 
 " You are not only a zealous friend, but a 
 wise one," aid Hi Sullivan, " so we will trust 
 
125 
 
 you implicitly. But indeed I hope on all ac- 
 counts, you will find you deem too severely of 
 Merritt, who seems more his own enemy than 
 any one's else." 
 
 Maurice shook his head, and departed ; and 
 we saw no more of him till the dinner hour was 
 some time past. He then made his appear- 
 ance, and by his countenance we saw that he 
 was pleased. " I am just come from the castle," 
 he said, a you all look surprised ; but it struck 
 me, that the commonalty always make worse of 
 every thing than it really is, and I thought it 
 well to see the new owner of the castle my- 
 self, to know if he was bad, or better than re- 
 presented." 
 
 " I found him an elderly little man, timid, in- 
 dolent, and enervated, and so careful of his per- 
 sonal ease and comforts, that he dreaded the 
 least trouble. It was with some difficulty 1 
 gained admittance, for they had heard of your 
 arrival, and were alarmed at it, and I found the 
 gate carefully barred. The servant told me, a& 
 he led me along, that Mr. Dale had married 
 late in life a young ignorant woman, whom he 
 seldom allowed to go out of the castle. They 
 had one son, a sickly lad. But Mr. Dale, though 
 an odd man, was a good master. 
 
 " He received me with great courtesy, and 
 without much preface I began to plead for your 
 interests, and those of the tenants. He heard 
 me with patience, arid then with an open direct 
 manner, that you would have liked, said, that 
 provided you assigned to him all your title in the 
 estates, he would give you live thousand pounds*." 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 " What, sell my right, my birth right, and lor 
 such a paltry sum ?" interrupted Hi Sullivan, 
 "never !" 
 
 " Never, 1 hope," rejoined Una. 
 
 "But hear me out," said Maurice; "he ad- 
 ded also, and it is a generous offer, that he 
 would make a long lease to each of the tenants 
 at the present rents, and would forgive all ar- 
 rears ; but seeing by my manner, how anxious 
 we were for the tenant's interests, he added, 
 with the cunning of a timid mind (for he evident- 
 ly has be^n terrified by your arrival,) that he 
 would do this only upon condition that you 
 agreed to his former proposal, otherwise he 
 should keep the tenants as dependant as possi- 
 ble, as the best security for his personal safety. 
 And now pray consider, that your rights will 
 become, like so many of those of our unfortun- 
 ate countrymen, in a few years a mere legend ; 
 yet even so, if you think it in the least dishon- 
 ourable, I would riot ask you to accept his offer ; 
 but if you sacrifice to this vision of rights the 
 welfare and happiness of your faithful and affec- 
 tionate followers, 1 should be forced to say, yet 
 1 should be sorry to say, (for I dread the chance 
 of your thinking that I am averse to your plans 
 from selfish feelings,) that you are wrong." 
 
 " Dear generous Maurice," said Hi SullivaB, 
 " you have conquered, as indeed you always de- 
 serve to do. I see, that I have been a little be- 
 wildered by phantasies, but your good sense 
 brings me back to the sincere and unaustenta- 
 tious pursuit of what is right. If this Mr. Dale 
 
127 
 
 performs his promise to the sept, I will accept 
 his offer, and confirm his title; and with 5,000," 
 he added smiling, " I helieve I can purchase the 
 whole Isle of Rahery, and lord it again." 
 
 " Then I am once more happy," said Mau- 
 rice. u There is now no obstacle to your wed- 
 ding, you will have all that is necessary for 
 real happiness, and may easily do without the 
 vanity of show." 
 
 " But," said Una, " is there 'not poverty of 
 spirit in taking this pittance as a favour, where 
 the whole belongs of right ? You yourself, 
 Maurice, said, that there were 10,000 men 
 ready to join their chieftain." 
 
 Maurice frowned. " There are," he replied, 
 " 10,000 and more, and yet twenty soldiers 
 would drive this multitude before them. You 
 know that I am right," continued he, turning to 
 Hi Sullivan ; u discipline them, give them good 
 officers, and make them feel themselves soldiers, 
 and they prove themselves the best soldiers 
 in the world. But here they are mere helots, 
 without self-confidence or self-opinion, and 
 would fly before the appearance of the autho- 
 rity they are used to obey. No, dearest Hi 
 Sullivan, you will not retract, for your generosi- 
 ty will have more power over you, than your in- 
 terests or ambition." 
 
 I seconded Maurice's exhortations with all 
 my might and main ; Una was silent and did not 
 resist, and it was settled, that as soon as the ne- 
 cessary arrangements were made with Mr. 
 
Dale, we should return again to Rahery. It 
 was not without a bitter struggle, that Hi Sulli- 
 van could agree to resign rights he had long 
 been taught to hold sacred ; but as Maurice 
 foresaw, when Hi Sullivan felt that he was 
 clearly acting for his poor followers, every hour 
 his repugnance lessened. 
 
 Maurice set off again, betimes in the morn- 
 ing, for Bantry, in a small skiff, and did not re- 
 turn till past the middle of the night, so that all 
 were retired to rest except myself and Hi Sulli- 
 van, who had conceived some fear on his 
 account, as the wind had suddenly freshened. 
 When he made his appearance, he spoke short,, 
 and was hurried. 
 
 " I found," he said, " the troops, indeed at 
 Bantry, and I easily became acquainted with the 
 officers, as they took me for an Englishman ; 
 and had no reserve. It is all true. Merritt is 
 a traitor, and the smallest imprudence on your 
 part will cause your arrest. They only heard 
 of your arrival last night, for it was not till 
 then, that Merritt was able to get to them unob- 
 served." 
 
 " It is no new thing," said Hi Sullivan, " for 
 me to owe my life to you, Maurice, but I shall 
 never forgive myself, my stupidity, and having 
 so nearly involved all my friends in ruin ; but 
 now guide me as you choose, I should be in- 
 deed a fool to have any other opinion than 
 yours." 
 
 Maurice had walked to the window, from 
 
which he looked attentively : suddenly he start- 
 ed, and cried to us, " look here ! See if there 
 is not a fire at the castle. I saw an unusual 
 light, there as 1 came along, and my mind mis- 
 gave me." 
 
 It was, indeed, too evidently the castle in 
 flames. " Oh, now," said Maurice, " dear Hi 
 Sullivan, be guided by me. This is Merritt'g 
 work, and the least error may be your ruin. 
 Stir not from this, or you may be thought to 
 have been the instigation. Depend upon me 
 to do all that can be done to save this wretched 
 family." 
 
 Maurice sprang away, and, taking a horse 
 from the stable, rode full speed to the castle. 
 Hi Sullivan at once perceiving all the fatal con- 
 sequences, that might follow from his imprudent 
 confidence in Merritt, fell into extreme agita- 
 tion, at one time ready to follow Maurice, at 
 another determined in all things to abide by his 
 advice, and remain. 
 
 When I had persuaded him fully, that Mau- 
 rice's temper was best calculated to meet the 
 emergency, I walked towards the castle myself. 
 It was plain now, that the massive timbers of the 
 castle had caught fire, for the whole sky was il- 
 lumined with the blaze. Presently the flames 
 might be seen bursting out from each window, 
 and in this manner the castle continued for a 
 length of time pouring out fire, while the wind 
 drove along the flames and a black, heavy cloud 
 of smoke. 
 
 As I approached the whole roof sunk in, and 
 
130 
 
 a shout, which it was horrid to hear, evinced 
 that the whole clan surrounded the castle.- 
 
 Maurice, with all his speed, had arrived too 
 late ; Merritt was there, 'the fury that led the or- 
 gies : he had easily incited the char-woman to 
 lay fire to different parts of the castle, and hav- 
 ing given the clan notice, and well inflamed their 
 minds with the rage of vengeance, they had 
 gathered round the castle, and barricaded the 
 gate and every exit of the castle, with stones 
 and heavy pieces of timber. The worst had 
 already happened, the unfortunate inhabitants 
 of the castle seemed to have perished ; but 
 Maurice's attention was instantly caught by the 
 appearance of a woman and a boy at the win- 
 dow of a tower. To save them was all that he 
 could do, and the ivy that covered the walls 
 made it just possible. . He attempted to climb 
 the angle made by the tower with the wall. He 
 placed his back [irmly against the tower, and 
 making his footing sure either in the ivy or cre- 
 vices of the wall, he slowly ascended. The 
 crowd, who had been hitherto intent only on de- 
 struction, was taken with the magnanimity of 
 the enterprise ; every one now rushed forward 
 to assist him, and raised poles to give him a 
 firmer rest. He asked for a rope ; one was 
 handed to him ; and well used to scaling his 
 native rocks, he soon reached the top of the 
 wall. He guessed that from the parapet there 
 was a door to the tower, nor was he disappoint- 
 ed ; but a cloud of smoke, that proceeded from 
 it, might have deterred any one else from en- 
 tering. He ascended the narrow stairs in haste, 
 and opened the door at the head. Here he 
 
131 
 
 found a female in a state of distraction, holding 
 in her arms a boy, who was stu pitied with ter- 
 ror. Maurice Jost not an instant, but fastening 
 the rope to a heavy bedstead, took the boy on 
 his back, and urging him to keep fast hold, de- 
 scended from the window by the rope, and 
 brought him safe to the ground ; a general 
 shout accompanied his success, and now seve- 
 ral young men darted forward, and struggled to 
 sei/.e the rope to save the woman ; but ail gave 
 way when Maurice prepared to renew his en- 
 terprise. But he had not ascended twenty feet, 
 when lire and smoke burst from the window, 
 and a female scream, most horrid for men to 
 hear, told the fate of the unhappy woman : at 
 the same time the rope snapped, and Maurice 
 fell to the ground severely bruised, and the short 
 bone of his left arm broken. 
 
 He was raised from the ground, and all the 
 crowd gathered round him, expressing by tears 
 an*d vociferations their anxiety for his safety. 
 But he, regardless of his hurt, cried out, " O 
 my friends ! each of you whose heart is in 
 its right place, who felt for the woman, this 
 boy, and myself, what devil has incited you to 
 this deed of murder, this midnight, cowardly, 
 base murder ? O unworthy of the name of 
 O'Sullivans, of those great men who met their 
 mortal foes face to face, and would have felled 
 the man who had proposed to them to massacre 
 old men, women, and boys. No, it was not an 
 O'Sullivan who devised this detestable conspira- 
 cy ; tell me that it was not, or Hi Sullivan will 
 not survive the grief and shame of this atro- 
 cious night." 
 
c It was Merritt M'Cormick," cried several 
 voices ; " he set us on ; he told us, that Hi Sul- 
 livan approved the business, but did not like to 
 appear in it ; he himself was the original of the 
 whole. He told us, that we would all be put 
 out, and that there was nothing else for it." 
 
 " Oh Liar ! Murderer ! Cowardly Felon," 
 cried Maurice to Merritt, who had advanced to 
 listen, " and yet you know not half his villai- 
 ny," (addressing himself again to the crowd.) 
 " He is a traitor too to your noble Prince, who 
 befriended him and his. Judas like, he has 
 sold him, and would have delivered him up to 
 the officers at Bantry to morrow ; and that you 
 may understand to what ruin he has led you, 
 know that this unhappy stranger, whose destruc- 
 tion he has accomplished, had agreed to give 
 each of you his land, and to forgive all debt 
 and arrears under which you lay." 
 
 As soon as they heard this, dismay and com- 
 punction seized all hearts, and execrations arose 
 on all sides against Merritt and, but that they 
 had already too much cause to repent the haste 
 of their violence, his life would scarcely have 
 been safe. 
 
 Every one was now anxious to repair as 
 much of the mischief as possible, but it was too 
 late. Though the barricades were removed, 
 the fire prevented all access to the interior of the 
 castle, and, as it turned out, the work of de- 
 struction was complete. 
 
 The poor boy clung to Maurice, observing 
 with terror the strange faces around him, yet 
 
133 
 
 watching every thing that was said. As soon as 'I 
 arrived, I exhorted them all to return to their 
 homes, forbearing reproaches, as 1 saw they were 
 now quite aghast. I procured a car to carry 
 home the boy and Maurice, whose arm I suc- 
 ceeded in setting : he was also much bruised ; 
 but the horror and agony of his mind seemed 
 to make him insensible to pain of body. 
 
 When we returned, we found Hi Sullivan de- 
 solate, and Una, who had risen, not much less 
 moved : Maurice did not even attempt to nar- 
 rate these atrocities, but sitting down, leaned 
 his face on the table, sighing heavily. But 
 Hi Sullivan was most to be compassionated : 
 tortured with suspense, he w asurgent to hear 
 every particular, which each was reluctant to 
 tell him : and when he knew the whole, he 
 gunk under the remorse and shame of his name 
 having, even unintentionally, incited such bar- 
 barities, or its being possibly supposed, that he 
 had countenanced them. Then the situation 
 of Maurice smote him to the heart ; and anon 
 the wretched boy, being now freed from terror, 
 gave way to cries and tears for the nurse he 
 had loved, and the parents he depended on. 
 Hi Sullivan became quite frantic, imploring 
 death, and declaring that he could never know 
 a happy moment unless in tearing Merritt limb 
 from limb. 
 
 This aroused Maurice, who first soothed Hi 
 Sullivan, and then added, that when the horror 
 of this night had subsided, they ought to rejoice, 
 that they had been guiltless of being confede- 
 rate in any such atrocity ; whereas, if they had 
 12 
 
134 
 
 gone on as Hi Sullivan at first purposed, it was 
 almost impossible, that they should have escap- 
 ed sooner or later having been the direct means 
 of like atrocities. Let us thank God. that we 
 are thus far innocent, submit our future destinies 
 to his guidance, and lay aside this terrible impa- 
 tience under our lowly yet peaceful state. 
 
 Maurice in the morning was unwell, and all 
 unhappy about him, but most so Hi Sullivan : 
 even the poor lad, who had reason to curse us 
 all, attached himself to him, and did not leave 
 his side. We were all gloomy and silent, for 
 no one could trust himself to speak on the sad 
 subject, that was uppermost in every body's, 
 thoughts. 
 
 Two sad days passed in this manner ; but on 
 the third, early in the morning, the house was 
 surrounded by the military, and an officer of a 
 hard aspect entered the house, and summoned 
 all the inmates before him. How shall I write ? 
 let me, at least, briefly speak the tissue of 
 horrors I have to relate. 
 
 It was misery to see Hi Sullivan's superb na- 
 ture degraded by the suspicion of such crimin- 
 ality ; yet upon him the suspicion of course fell ; 
 his arrival being too recent, not to appear con- 
 nected with the firing of the castle. Yet it was 
 but suspicion ; and the pride and indignation of 
 his manner forced a conviction of his inno- 
 cence, even upon those who were set against 
 him. Maurice was cleared by the testimony of 
 the boy, and they could not but esteem him for 
 his conduct. 
 
135 
 
 The commanding officer finding from the lad, 
 that he had seen, and could recognise some of 
 the criminals, took him with him, while they 
 proceeded to search other houses ; and with 
 the sagacity of a person versed in the character 
 of the lower orders, he surmised at once, that 
 Merritt, the spy, was implicated. He proceed- 
 ed directly to his house, and young Dale at 
 once identified him as the principal actor, and 
 the person whom every one had said to be the 
 mover of the whole atrocity. 
 
 The commandant immediately ordered him 
 into arrest; while the wretch, base as cruel, 
 threw himself on his knees, and shrieked for 
 mercy. " Mercy you shall have," said the 
 officer, p.yping him with contempt 5 " you shall 
 not remain long trembling, for you will be hung 
 the day after to morrow. So says the new 
 white-boy act." 
 
 Merritt reiterated his screams. 
 
 " Peace," cried the officer, " and speak to 
 the purpose, was this your own act, did no su- 
 perior move you too it. Do you know nothing 
 of the designs of this Prince, as they call him, 
 that is so lately come amongst you. Do not 
 be afraid to speak the truth, I will protect you 
 from the vengeance of the clan, and will not 
 see you a sufferer. Less would have been 
 sufficient to decide Merritt to the villainy. The 
 monster resumed all his natural cunning and 
 plausibility, and immediately invented a story of 
 Hi Sullivan's having threatened his life, unless 
 
 
130 
 
 lie went to all the sept, and brought them out 
 to burn the castle, and all alive in it. 
 
 " I thought this would come out at last, r 
 cried the officer " back to the house, before 
 this hero makes off. But bring that fellow 
 along with you." 
 
 Thence followed the arrest of Hi Sullivan. 
 
 He was guarded that night to a small town, 
 and notice was given, that he would be tried a 
 week hence by a court martial at the same 
 place he was then removed to Bantry, and all 
 access denied to him and M'Cormick, who also 
 was kept for safety in the prison. Maurice and 
 I were courageous in the knowledge of Hi Sul- 
 livan's innocence, but Una sank under her ter- 
 
 rors. 
 
 At last this week of anxi^sness was passed, 
 and we had again the pleasure of beholding Hi 
 Sullivan bearing himself bravely ; the mock- 
 ery of a trial began. Many magistrates attend- 
 ed, some had known Hi Sullivan in his hetter 
 days, but these turned from him like one infect- 
 ed. 
 
 Merritt's evidence was received, and gained 
 colour, from what was now divulged by the 
 commandant, of the intelligence government 
 had received of the conspiracy in France. We 
 now pressed forward to prove an alibi, and stat- 
 ed in the clearest manner every particular: 
 but our sacred oaths were disregarded ; and an 
 old magistrate, whose opinion? seemed to 
 
 
137 
 
 the 'rest, derided us to our faces ; this was all, 
 said he, that was wanting to confirm the cer- 
 tainty of his guilt, I never knew one of these 
 O's and Mac's, that did not run his head into 
 a halter with an alibi. 
 
 The iniquitous and barbarous sentence wais* 
 pronounced* 
 
 Hi Sullivan looked calmly round to Maurice, 
 and said in Irish, " was I not right ! ought an 
 Irishman to bow to the oppression of these Fir- 
 bolgs ? 
 
 But Maurice heard him not ; the colour left 
 his face, a cold sweat stood on his forehead, 
 and the next instant he sunk senseless on the 
 ground. 
 
 The shriek that rent the air, when the news 
 was heard outside, was lamentable to hear 
 those of the clan that were at a distance under- 
 stood it well, and repeated it, and so it was car- 
 ried on, till it reached the ears of poor Una. 
 
 One hope still remained to mock us. As 
 soon as Merritt M'Cormick's mother heard of 
 her son's conduct, the good that was in her rose 
 up against it ; she watched an opportunity to 
 speak to him, but could get none till the trial 
 was over. Then throwing herself before his 
 way as he passed in the street with the soldiers ; 
 she cried, " are you then an informer ! oh Mer- 
 ritt, that I should live to hear it. I heard two 
 men who were passing by me say, ' that M'Cor- 
 mick will destroy the country, he is a perm> 
 12* 
 
138 
 
 cious informer.' I was stunned. Did you ever 
 hear or know of any of your family to in- 
 form before yourself? Why did you not act 
 like uncle Brophy? why did you not do like 
 those white boys, that died honourably at Kil- 
 mallock ? Was it to save your life ? did you 
 ever know an informer let long to live ? you 
 have brought to shame your children, and their 
 great grand children; how are they to show 
 their face in fair, market, or assembly ? if a 
 man be a thief or robber, none can blame him 
 but his own friends, but an informer leaves an 
 aching heart to hundreds. If any child sees 
 Dick Burney passing by, they immediately say 
 * ha ! ha ! there goes Burney the cursed infor- 
 mer, bad luck betide him !' They will say the 
 same of you forty years hence, if you perish not 
 first. You have destroyed me too, I can show 
 my face no more ; you have disgraced my mo- 
 ther's bones in the ground. Oh, die, Merritt, 
 dear, rather than dishonour us so ; die, and 
 take my blessing." 
 
 " What is it you would have," said Merritt, 
 sullenly, yet staggered, " is it my blood you 
 want." 
 
 " Oh no ! but to wipe the blood off your soul. 
 It is unbearable to hear by day and by night 
 the cry of innocent blood." 
 
 " Why don't you go on," said Merritt, more 
 and more confounded, to the soldiers, " she is 
 drunk, or raving." 
 
 " Are you going," cried she, raising her voice. 
 
 
139 
 
 " then go !" she fell on her knees, and shaking 
 her withered arms above her head ; " the ven- 
 geance of my motherly curse light on you !" 
 
 " Oh, stop her," cried Merritt, beside him- 
 self, " will none of you stop her ! run some of 
 you to the court, before it is too late, tell the 
 gentlemen, that Hi Sullivan is innocent of all 
 act and part in this business, and I, since I must 
 die, the sole contriver." 
 
 Numbers rushed forward instantly to court, 
 and the cry on all sides was heard, " Hi Sulli- 
 van is innocent, the informer has recanted." 
 A gleam of joy broke among us, but quickly 
 passed. 
 
 " If we could make the sentence more se- 
 vere," cried the commanding officer, " we 
 would punish this double villainy. Here they 
 have got about the informer, and terrified the 
 poor fellow out of his wits, so that he believes 
 he has no way to save his life, but to perjure 
 himself. I have been too long conversant with 
 the^e gentlemen white boys, to be the dupe of 
 their tricks." All the other officers and magis- 
 trates said the same and Hi Sullivan was sent 
 to the guardhouse under a double guard of sol- 
 diers, and orders given to secure and protect 
 Merritt M'Cormick. 
 
 The evening before that on which he was to 
 die, by his own desire, I married him to Una. 
 She was cold and pale, but with more than a 
 woman's fortitude suppressed every expression 
 of loud grief. It was only on receiving his last 
 
140 
 
 embrace, that her strength failed her, and she 
 was obliged to be carried from the prison. 
 M'Cormick's mother assisted, for she waited 
 there on Hi Sullivan, as if to do all in her 
 power to recompense him for the ill done by 
 her son. 
 
 This night, Maurice collected twenty of the 
 stoutest young men of the clan, whose courage 
 he could depend on, and were well armed and 
 mounted, with these he entered the town in the 
 dead of the night. He fixed a hand grenado to 
 the door of the guardhouse, where Hi Sullivan 
 was imprisoned, and burst it open. He called 
 Hi Sullivan loudly, who, hearing his voice, 
 started up ; some opposition was made by the 
 soldiers, and Maurice received a wound in the 
 side from a thrust of a sword, but he struck his 
 assailant down, and his companions acquitted 
 themselves manfully. Hi Sullivan was speedily 
 at liberty, and mounted on a fleet horse Mau- 
 rice had brought for him ; the town was speed- 
 ily in consternation, but the small troop left it 
 at full speed. 
 
 , " Push on," said Maurice, " dearest Hi Sulli- 
 van, wait for none of us, you will find a stout 
 boat and two trusty sailors, take this purse of 
 money, and sail for France, the wind is feir." 
 
 " Maurice," said Hi Sullivan, " I value life so 
 little, that I would not, to save it, lose the plea- 
 sure of riding with you ; I go your pace, cost 
 what it will." 
 
 He had scarcely spoke, before they fell in 
 
141 
 
 with a large body of men, who endeavoured lo 
 get out of their way, but were so thronged it 
 was impossible. It turned out to be a large 
 body of the clan, who were soon recognised by 
 their friends with Maurice, and as soon as they 
 found their chieftain was safe and amongst 
 them, they shouted with joy, and pressed about 
 him. Maurice was impatient of the delay, but 
 thinking that they had come with the intent of 
 doing what he had done, he would not show it ; 
 however, he soon found that the possibility of 
 attacking the soldiers had never entered their 
 heads, they were merely going to seize Mer- 
 ritt. The maid of the house, where he was 
 placed, was sister to one of the clan, and had 
 promised to open the door. 
 
 They urged Hi Sullivan to turn and go with 
 them. " We are at least five hundred strong, 
 they said, and if you go with us we will take 
 the whole town." Hi Sullivan, burning for 
 revenge, readily assented ; but Maurice urged 
 him to pursue his flight, and strongly represent- 
 ed the folly of his running any risk of being ta- 
 ken, for such a worthless object as seizing on 
 Merritt. 
 
 " But after all, is not this the safest way," 
 said Hi Sullivan, " if I dismiss these brave fel- 
 lows I may yet be caught ; but if we return and 
 take the town, officers and soldiers, the country 
 is our own, and we may retire at leisure. Do 
 not ask me to give up such a glorious occasion, 
 Maurice, I cannot even for you." 
 
 " I can say no more," said Maurice, " when 
 it is a .question of danger, at all events where 
 
142 
 
 you go I follow, till you are safe. But remem- 
 ber the claim Una has on you." 
 
 They now returned on their steps, and Hi 
 Sullivan directed, that, while a small party went 
 to seize Merritt, the remainder should follow 
 him to the attack of * small stone house, where 
 the officers and about thirty soldiers were quar- 
 tered. They found the soldiers, as they ex- 
 pected, prepared by what had happened wait- 
 ing for day light to pursue Hi Sullivan, as their 
 numbers were too small to allow of their dis- 
 persing at night. As soon as the officers per- 
 ceived the approach of Hi Sullivan's followers, 
 they ranged their soldiers along the wall, and 
 awaited the attack. 
 
 " Lead them on, without stopping," said 
 
 Maurice. 
 
 " No," said Hi Sullivan, " stay till we send 
 a party to the rear to prevent any escape." 
 
 The party halted, and began to fire at ran- 
 dom at the soldiers, but with little effect ; the 
 soldiers returned the fire, several of the clan 
 fell, and symptoms of confusion appeared among 
 the rest. 
 
 " Come on," cried Maurice, and he rushed 
 forward with Hi Sullivan ; but no one followed 
 them. The commandant ordered his soldiers 
 to charge, which they did valorously, and none 
 were left to encounter them but Hi Sullivan 
 and Maurice, the rest turned their backs, and 
 dastardly fled ; and in the event Hi Sullivan 
 
143 
 
 was wounded and retaken, and Maurice knock- 
 ed down by a blow from a but-end of a musket, 
 left for dead in the street. 
 
 I had staid till late, endeavouring to pour 
 consolation into Una's unheeding ear, and then 
 hurried off, that I might part no more from Hi 
 Sullivan till the fatal moment. How great was 
 my joy, when I heard of his evasion ! only to 
 be exceeded by my bitter disappointment, when 
 I saw him dragged back by the enraged soldiers, 
 few of whom but had received a wound, either 
 from him or Maurice, so desperate had been 
 their resistance. They put heavy irons upon 
 his hands and legs, while he, disdaining to ex- 
 postulate or to show to them the wounds of his 
 heart, stood gazing on me with a wild and for- 
 lorn countenance. 
 
 When his irons were fixed, " Now, gentle* 
 men," he said, " I believe you need not be 
 afraid to leave me a few minutes with this rev- 
 erend priest ; if you will withdraw to the door, 
 as my time is short, I will be grateful to you." 
 The soldiers left us, and then for the first time 
 he burst into tears. 
 
 I endeavoured to sooth him, I told him that 
 Una's fortitude was great. 
 
 "Thank God! for that," he cried; "But, 
 oh! my father, what an age of bitterness do 
 these few hours I have to live appear, for I 
 have been the cause of Maurice's death !" 
 
 " Oh miserable old man that I am !" I could 
 not avoid crying. 
 
144 
 
 " Curse me not, father," he continued, " my 
 heart already speaks every reproach you could 
 make ; why did I tyrannise over Maurice's 
 strong affection, and force him from his secure 
 and peaceful home ? why did I ever refuse to 
 be guided by his better reason ? Even at the 
 last, if I had been persuaded by him, we should 
 have conquered. Oh, it is intolerable ! but go, 
 father he fell opposite to the guard house ; I 
 have no hope, I will have none ; but do not 
 leave his body in the street." He threw him- 
 self along the floor, and I hastened to see if any 
 assistance might yet be afforded to Maurice. 
 
 I found him lying senseless in the middle of 
 the street, and hearing steps near me, I asked 
 in Irish, knowing that, if it was no soldier, it 
 would produce confidence, who was there. I 
 was answered by a female ; it was the sister of 
 the young man before mentioned, and it was 
 she that betrayed Merritt, for it appeared, that 
 he had been successfully carried off. Hearing 
 that there had been a fight, she was anxious 
 about her brother, and had come abroad to ask 
 news. With her assistance I carried Maurice 
 to the house of an old woman, who was a well 
 wisher to the O'Sullivans. Here we succeed- 
 ed in bringing Maurice to himself; yet he was 
 now in a dreadful state, being wounded in sev- 
 eral places, but most severely in the head. I 
 did my best, with dressings and bandages ; but 
 as soon as he heard that Hi Sullivan was re- 
 taken, he prayed to die. He seemed insen- 
 sible to his own state, and wished to have gone 
 immediately to Hi Sullivan ; but I entreated 
 him to leave me with Hi Sullivan the night. 
 
145 
 
 and I hastened back to tell him that Maurice 
 was alive. 
 
 This intelligence restored him to himself. 
 " I have now," said he, " reconciled myself to 
 my fate, except one particular, the opprobrious 
 mamter of my death. I have requested in vain 
 an officer's prerogative to be shot." 
 
 Fain would I blot the remembrance of the 
 coming day from memory, and if only ordinary 
 horror attended it, I would leave it to my rea- 
 der's imagination. 
 
 I wrapped Maurice in my cloak, passing him 
 for my nephew, and an ecclesiastic, that he 
 might be conveyed with us, for he was unable 
 to sit on horseback. Hi Sullivan, as we went^ 
 held one of his hands between his, and seemed 
 to feel more for his situation than his own. 
 
 When we arrived at the place, which was 
 the burnt castle, he surveyed the gibbet with 
 little change of countenance ; but not so, when, 
 as we approached, and the crowd opened, we 
 saw Una dressed in black, kneeling at the foot 
 of the gibbet, and embracing it with her arms. 
 
 " This is death, indeed," cried Hi Sullivan, 
 his face changing to pale ; " and I must make 
 one more effort with these barbarians." Then, 
 when the commandant approached to lead him 
 to execution, he pointed to Una, and again urged 
 his entreaty, that the soldiers might dispatch 
 him ; but this inexorable man contemptuously 
 refused. 
 
 13 
 
146 
 
 "God forgive me, then," said Hi Sullivan, 
 " for having abased myself to these oppressors 
 of my country. Farewell, dearest Maurice," 
 he added, leaning his face to his, " love my 
 memory." Then lightly springing up, before 
 any one was aware, or could prevent him, he 
 carried a phial of poison to his lips, and drank 
 it. His death was instant ; but the command- 
 ant disappointed, as it were, of his prey, grew 
 furious, and ordered the soldiers to hang him 
 up. 
 
 " Father of mercies !" I cried, " he is still 
 convulsed, respect him as his soul passes to 
 eternity." I spoke to the tempest and the 
 
 rock. 
 
 Hi Sullivan, as I afterwards learnt, when he 
 found that he could not obtain to die the death 
 of a soldier, sent for Mrs. M'Cormick, ar-d, 
 having heard of her skill in drugs, entreated 
 her if she wished to compensate him for the ill 
 her son had done him, to furnish him with a 
 potent poison. She divining in her wicked 
 mind, that it was intended for his enemies, did 
 not hesitate, but boiled water hemlock and lau- 
 rel to a strong decoction, and gave it to him, 
 assuring him, that a few drops would kill more 
 suddenly than a knife through the heart. 
 
 I now endeavoured to remove Maurice and 
 Una from these horrors. The former was ea- 
 sily done, for he had hitherto struggled with his 
 debility b) the strong working of his mind, but 
 the event being now accomplished, he sunk mo- 
 tionless, though not deprived of sense, and was 
 borne away. 
 
147 
 
 But Una had prepared herself with wonder- 
 ful firmness, and disdaining to show before the 
 vulgar any emotion of agony or love, threw her 
 black veil over the body of her husband, and 
 turning to some of the clan, who pressed roundj 
 bid them bear it thence. 
 
 ^ 
 
 But the English commandant, addressing him- 
 self to the magistrates, said that the Irish were 
 not to be worked on by the fear of death ; the 
 only way to make them dread it was to give 
 their bodies to the surgeon. At this the sur- 
 rounding crowd, who had hitherto been stunned, 
 as it were, by grief and amazement, uttered a 
 loud scream, and the soldiers, whose numbers 
 had been considerably increased, mounted their 
 
 At this Una, quitting the body, over which 
 she hung, and vehemently agitated, cried out, 
 " Oh, noble Hi Sullivan, not even to preserve 
 these precious remains will your wife stoop be- 
 fore your murderers. I see them not, I speak 
 not to them ; but Thou, O righteous Heaven, 55 
 and she knelt down, " save us at length from 
 this horrible nation, whose thirst for our blood 
 so many years of carnage cannot quench." 
 
 The commandant was not to be moved, and 
 turning to the surgeon of the regiment, told him 
 to see his intentions executed, as he valued his 
 place. 
 
 The soldiers carried off the body, but I, re- 
 garding the surgeon, though a man of an iron 
 aspect, observed tears fall dpwn bis cheeks. 
 
148 
 
 1 approached him, when the soldiers had moved 
 away, and prayed him to allow the wife of Hi 
 Sullivan to have his body. 
 
 " You heard the orders given me," he said, 
 in a rough voice, " I can do nothing ; hut can- 
 not some of his people, who are so successful 
 in breaking doors, break mine, and take it away 
 to night ? 
 
 I took the hint, and having noted where he 
 lived, the same night, accompanied by Maurice, 
 and Una, for though the one was exhausted by 
 his wounds, and the other by grief and horror, 
 yet neither would abide behind, we called on 
 some of the clan to accompany us, sufficient to 
 give an appearance of force, and proceeded to 
 the surgeon's house. We found him ready to 
 receive us. He delivered to us Hi Sullivan's 
 corpse ; and when he found Una was there, 
 made her take some cordial ; then, directing us 
 to break the casement, that he might be justi- 
 fied by the appearance of violence, he exhorted 
 us to move irom the country, if possible, the 
 same night. 
 
 For this Maurice had already prepared ; and 
 he now told me, that he should be obliged to 
 take Merritt with us, as it had been with great 
 difficulty that he had been able to save his life, 
 for they had determined to hang him on the 
 gibbet, destined for Hi Sullivan, and if he was. 
 left behind, he certainly would be killed. Mer- 
 ritt was kept concealed in the chapel in the Isl- 
 and of the Dorsies ; and thither Maurice directed 
 the body of Hi Sullivan to be conveyed, t9 baft 
 
149 
 
 fle any search that might be made after it. 
 Maurice again sunk exhausted, for his wounds 
 bled afresh from the exertions he had made, 
 and his arm, which I was obliged to set again, 
 gave him an agony ; yet he urged our depar- 
 ture, and Una being equally impatient of delay, 
 I prepared a litter, while I obliged him to lie 
 down on the bed and try to sleep. Una too 
 fell into a broken slumber ; but when I came to 
 them a few hours after, they could no longer 
 support themselves, and were obliged to yield 
 to my instances, to repose themselves at least 
 till the following morning. 
 
 Yet even this short alleviation was denied, 
 for a messenger was dispatched to me from the 
 surgeon, to say that the abduction of the body 
 was known, and a search for it ordered. So 
 that placing Maurice on the litter, which was 
 nothing better than a bed placed upon a door, 
 I directed him to be carried to the Island of 
 the Dorsies, whence we purposed to sail with 
 as little delay as possible. The young lad Dale 
 would not remain behind : terrified at the 
 scenes he had passed through, his mind never 
 was free from alarm, except when he was by 
 Maurice's side. The kind hearted tenantry 
 lent us every assistance in their power but we 
 would allow only a few to accompany us to the 
 island, for their grief and despondency was 
 equalled only by their rage against Merritt. 
 How harrowing to our hearts were those cries, 
 which were uttered by the parties that came to 
 take a last look at the wife of their beloved 
 chieftain ! but when we put from the shore 
 stillness pervaded the whole multitude, most 
 knelt down in tears and silent prayers. 
 
150 
 
 Arrived at the island, our host, who had cou- 
 veyed the body thither, came to tell me a new 
 event. When he arrived in the night, the 
 men, to whom Maurice had entrusted the care 
 and protection of Merritt, eager to punish him 
 in any way short of his death placed the body 
 of Hi Sullivan in the little cell of the chapel in 
 which Merritt was confined. The wretch, as 
 well he might, was struck with horror, and ut- 
 tered a loud scream, when he saw by the light 
 which they bore the deadly features of Hi Sul- 
 livan ; but they, deaf to his cries and supplica- 
 tions, left him in the dark, and closed the 
 entrance. His screams continued during the 
 night, and w r ere louder and wilder when they 
 came to bring him his food in the morning, but 
 when they spoke to him, they found him a 
 maniac. Soon, indeed, he became quiet ; but 
 his senses were gone, and his countenance was 
 frightful with terror. I went to see him, but to 
 my questions he would make no answer, pre- 
 serving a sullen and suspicious look. We wait- 
 ed till the approach of night, that we might 
 pass to sea without observation. I would fain 
 have waited another day on Maurice's account, 
 but he would run no risk by delay ; we em- 
 barked therefore, and surely we were right 
 patterns of wretches. Una alone, like majesty 
 triumphing over misery, seemed superior to her 
 fate. She would gaze awhile on the beloved 
 countenance of Hi Sullivan, which seemed pla- 
 cid even in death, and then cover her face with 
 her veil, turning back within herself, that her im- 
 agination might engrave it the more exactly on 
 her memory. 
 
151 
 
 Maurice, unable now to support himself, was 
 laid along the bottom of the boat, while the 
 affectionate boy supported his head in his lap. 
 Merritt.was tractable and motionless, hiding his 
 face with his hands, which rested on his knees, 
 and muttering indistinctly to himself. 
 
 The darkness was propitious to us, and while 
 the gloomy shades of that sad and sable night 
 served to hide our miseries from ourselves, they 
 sheltered us from pursuit. 
 
 We doubled Cape Missen in the morning, 
 and were driven rapidly along by a high wind. 
 Had we been less wretched, we should have 
 suffered more from the inclemency of our situa- 
 tion, for we were drenched with rain, and the 
 waves breaking over our boat, for three nights 
 and two days, at the end of which time we 
 were in sight of the port of Arklow, where I 
 determined to put in. I landed first myself, 
 and went to the priest of the town, and requir- 
 ed his assistance, which was readily and kindly 
 given, and I had soon the satisfaction of seeing 
 Una and Maurice placed in bed, and provided 
 with every comfort they stood in need of. They 
 were both so feeble they could not stand, and 
 iMaurice's thoughts wandered, from the effect 
 of fever, that had now seized on him. 
 
 The next morning I provided for the decent in- 
 terment of the noble Hi Sullivan. He, the last of 
 a mighty race, was borne to his burial unaccom- 
 panied by any kindred. We laid him in Kil- 
 bride cemetery, the most ancient and sacred 
 burying ground in the neighbourhood. " Fare- 
 well," I cried, "dear and generous Hi Sullivan! 
 
J52 
 
 thy faults and thy misfortunes arose alike from 
 thy being born in this country devoted to evil. 
 We need not mourn for thee here laid to rest ; 
 earth is thy bed, and not thy grave." 
 
 Hither the young should come to learn how 
 quickly falls the star of human glory. And 
 many a one I have since sent a pilgrim to Kil- 
 bride churchyard. Even though my eyes were 
 dimmed with tears, I could not but be struck with 
 the gorgeous prospect from the spot where I 
 stood. The river Ovoca, dark between its 
 mountain banks that were covered to the sky 
 with eternal oaks, here poured its flood into the 
 glittering sea. To the right, Shelton Abbey, 
 with its long line of towers, gave sanctity to the 
 beauty of the scenery, proclaiming God in the 
 most superb retreat of nature. Thither I bent 
 my steps, solacing my mind with the reflection, 
 that, frail as all good and beauty were here be- 
 low, they were sufficient to be a pledge, that a 
 great power was at work to make happiness 
 perfect hereafter. It was now long since the 
 Abbey had resounded with the solemn offices, 
 but the owners, though belonging to our sepa- 
 rated brethren, respected its destination, and 
 preserved it in repair. An ancient man, who 
 had the care of it, pointed out to me a white 
 flag of the marble pavement of the Hall, which 
 was stained. He said, that, when King James 
 fled from Ireland, this was the last house he 
 slept in. As he was going out, a few drops of 
 blood fell from his nose, which stained the mar- 
 ble, and had never been washed out since. We 
 naturally sorrow for the unfortunate, yet no one 
 deserves our pity less than James. He was a 
 
153 
 
 tyrant and a bigot, and the main cause of all 
 that our religion has endured. Religion and 
 liberty perish each alike when sundered ; 
 neither the one nor the other can elevate its 
 star-girt forehead, unless when their hands are 
 joined, and seldom has this jubilee appeared on 
 earth. 
 
 On my inquiring, the old man told me, that 
 on the opposite side of the river I could procure 
 lodgings at a decent and rural cottage in the 
 valley of Glenart, as I wished to move Una and 
 Maurice from the town. He provided me a 
 horse to cross the ford, and by a narrow path, 
 which led through the woods, I soon reached 
 the spot ; it was deeply sequestered, umbrage- 
 ous and silent, except a little mountain brook* 
 that glittered as it broke over the rocks at a 
 distance, and skirted the foot of a patch of lawn 
 before the cottage, It was a scene sanative to 
 a pained mind, and with the assistance of the 
 worthy priest I lost no time in removing Una 
 and Maurice thither* 
 
 In a fortnight's time they were able to depart 
 but no amendment appeared in Merritt, he 
 kept himself huddled up together, repeating to 
 
 himself without let or stop " Wo is me ! 
 
 Wo is me !" 
 
 Una had announced to us her intention of 
 going to Spain, and no argument or entreaties of 
 mine and Maurice^s could prevail on her to 
 alter it. When strongly urged, she would reply 
 with bitterness, " none but slaves would live in 
 this horrid country. I will go where I may 
 
154' 
 
 never hear more the sound of the English lan- 
 guage." 
 
 I could not but respect the poignancy of feel- 
 ing, which clouded her judgment, though she 
 was wrong to separate herself from Maurice. 
 
 Maurice walked to Dublin, that he might visit 
 Berghetta's tomb at the Seven Churches. We 
 dismissed our faithful sailors, and hiring a stout 
 sloop, I conveyed the rest of our melancholy 
 company by sea, 
 
 We arrived safe, but such was Una's impa- 
 tience to leave Ireland, that it was with difficul- 
 ty he could persuade her to stay till he went 
 to Rahery, and sent Rory to accompany her. 
 
 Poor Rory went wild when he heard of his 
 loved master's death ; and it broke his heart 
 too, to part from Maurice's children ; but he 
 did not hesitate a moment to accompany Una^ 
 proud to be of service to her. 
 
 Maurice sent to Una by Rory all the money 
 he had, or could raise on credit ; and I was able 
 to borrow a trifle too from my reverend friends 
 in Dublin. Hi Sullivan's jewels and regalia also 
 I delivered to Rory, earnestly recommending 
 him to be diligent in Una's service ; for she 
 heeded nothing, seeming to have no heart or 
 thought for herself or for any one, but taken up 
 with the one idea of getting out of Ireland. 
 
 Rory was so wasted, he did not seem likely to 
 be of much service he l^id himself to weep 
 
155 
 
 and wail, and when he had spent every other 
 topic of grief, he would cry anew, because he 
 had not been at his lord's funeral. But all 
 yielded to his rage when he tirst saw Merritt, 
 nor could the pitiful condition of the wretch ap- 
 pease him : he hurried to me to know why T 
 did not put him out of sight, in a dungeon 
 where straw and the bare earth would be usage 
 too good for him. 
 
 " I will tell you the reason, Rory," I replied, 
 wishing to teach him to put some control on his 
 feelings. " Maurice is a Christian, and feels 
 for this miserable cause of all our suffering more 
 than pity and forgiveness ; he intends to take 
 him home, and take care of him himself." Ro- 
 ry shook his head, as it he could not brook that 
 Merritt should be so well used, but made no 
 answer ; however the very license with which 
 he resigned himself to his grief brought its own 
 cure. 
 
 He slept in the room over me, and I was 
 startled at night by the noise of something heavy 
 failing on the floor. I had not gone to bed, but 
 was composing my spirits by the perusal of the 
 Testament. 1 took my light, and mounted to 
 Rory's room when I entered, 1 found him fal- 
 len out of bed, and tying in a fit on the floor. I 
 raised him up, and chafing his temples, in a lit- 
 tle time be began to recover, his senses were 
 awhile composed, but when he came to himself, 
 he gave me the following account. 
 
 He said, that since he had heard of Hi Sulli- 
 vau's death, he had had no rest in his mind, but 
 
156 
 
 was in a state of unhappiriess and despair, and 
 that he passed whole hours praying to God thai 
 he might die. His whole mind was taken up 
 with the wish to see his dear master again. He 
 added, that after he went to bed he still contin- 
 ued weeping, and wishing he might die ; when 
 on a sudden there was a great light in his room, 
 and Hi Sullivan stood hy his bedside. " Are 
 you come ?" he cried, and flung himself out of 
 bed to embrace him, and that was all he re- 
 membered. 
 
 Rory considered this as a visitation to warn 
 him of the wickedness of putting up so desper- 
 ate a prayer to God, and from this time restrain- 
 ed his grief, and busied himself in the prepara- 
 tions for the voyage. 
 
 But Una's mind did not take a softer tone, 
 and I was grieved to see her depart with a 
 sternness and insensibility to every feeling but 
 her own wo, which made reason and even reli- 
 gion unavailing. 
 
 With no other companion but the wretch 
 Merritt, I returned home. As the event turn- 
 ed out, the death of Hi Sullivan had fixed a more 
 lasting pang in Maurice's heart, than in either 
 Una's or Rory's. His attempt at suicide, his 
 total neglect of the offices of religion, filled 
 Maurice's mind with the dreadful idea, that he 
 might have passed into perdition, and they 
 might be separated forever. He raved of this 
 when he was ill, and when he was able to con- 
 verse, he opened all his apprehension to me. 
 W hat comfort I dared give, I gave, and in some 
 
157 
 
 uc^ree succeeded in soothing Maurice ; but to 
 his question, whether the prayers and penance 
 of a poor sinner like himself could now have 
 any influence on the salvation of his beloved 
 friend, I could only answer " the prayer of the 
 righteous man availeth much." This was suffi- 
 cient for Maurice ; and as the most painful act 
 to himself that might be agreeable to God, he 
 resolved to take Merrittto his house, and to pro- 
 vide for him in his present helpless state. VThis 
 he continued to do till his death, though to the 
 last he always shuddered when he first entered 
 his room in the morning. Maurice too prac- 
 tised the most rigid abstinence and severe pe- 
 nances, not for the value of the observances 
 themselves, but that, he said, he felt most hap- 
 py when he had mastered every consideration 
 of himself, and could offer a pure prayer to God 
 for his friend. 
 
 Yet it was a long time before he recovered 
 apparent tranquillity, and when his rustic friends 
 would wonder, that he sunk more now, than 
 when Berghetta died, he said, " Heaven and 
 hope were with me, even the day that Berrett 
 died ; but here are Hell and fear, and I cannot 
 shake them from off my soul." 
 
 Still he had two sureties of comfort his 
 children who warmed his heart and his labour 
 that deadened thought. He had now the world 
 to begin again, and with an enfeebled frame ; 
 for the late disasters, and furnishing the means 
 to Una of going to Spain, had left both Maurice 
 and me bare and in debt. But his children now 
 began to help him, for his boys were strong and 
 14 
 
158 
 
 active, and his girl capable of every ingenious 
 work ; and under Maurice's direction their lit- 
 tle labours were turned to the best account. 
 Merritt was a great burden to him, for though 
 he would do whatever Maurice bid hirn, yet he 
 never understood work ; and whenever Maurice 
 was away, he would steal to the chimney corner, 
 and sit huddled up, shivering, and muttering, 
 " wo is me, wo is me." If he had been Mau- 
 rice's friend and brother, he could not have 
 treated him with more tenderness. The chil- 
 dren were kept very much from him, one of the 
 boys particularly, who was called after Hi Sulli- 
 van, and who already showed a strong likeness 
 to him, so much so, that Merritt would cover his 
 eyes whenever he saw him. 
 
 The poor lad young Dale also lived with 
 Maurice, and if he had his will would never 
 have left him ; but Maurice gathered from him, 
 that his father had relations in London, and 
 Maurice settled, that, when he had saved a lit- 
 tle money, he would take him to England, and 
 endeavour to find them out. The boy from the 
 fright he got, when the castle was burnt, was 
 subject to fits. 
 
 Maurice now found himself obliged to sell 
 his little patrimony out and out, which he did 
 with great regret, reserving only the house. 
 As it was wonderfully well improved, it sold 
 well, and Maurice paid all his debts, and had a 
 small sum to reserve for any great necessity, 
 which he deposited in my hands. He was not 
 now able to work as he had been ; for the first 
 time he perceived, that his health failed him 
 
159 
 
 his diet therefore was of the most sparing kind, 
 eating nothing but potatoes and a little salt ; for 
 he would say, when I cannot work, I am not 
 worth feeding ; yet he would have pampered 
 his children, yet they early showed the genero- 
 sity of their nature, for they refused to take any 
 other diet than their father did ;* in every other 
 respect he was alike sparing, endeavouring to 
 meet his diminished earnings with diminished ex- 
 penses. He had received more injury than he 
 was aware at Berehaven, for he was now trou- 
 bled with shortness of breath, and a pain at the 
 heart. Yet he was not a person that would long 
 remain poor. During the few hours he had 
 spent in Cork, he had employed one of them in 
 observing some basket makers at work, and he 
 kept the whole method in his head : he now 
 made some trials, and with very little difficulty, 
 after unravelling a few baskets he bought for the 
 purpose, he made himself master of the business 
 This rejoiced him much, for he could work at 
 it when he felt his strength fail, or after dark; 
 his children too could assist him without much 
 labour, and it was a pretty employment for them 
 to accompany him to cut the black sallow rods, 
 with which the country abounded, till he could 
 plant an osiery in the garden he had reserved 
 with his house. His baskets sold well in the 
 neighbourhood, but in time the hucksters that 
 travelled the country came to buy from him, 
 and took as many as he could get ready Ger- 
 aldine too executed some small neat work, 
 which she dyed of different colours with cork- 
 rane, and buemore, and ragwort. 
 
 His dear children gradually soothed his mind, 
 though he never again became himself ; when 
 
160 
 
 / 
 
 years had past, it was easy to see, that any lit- 
 tle effort of mirth was a forced state that wea- 
 ried him. and that he was most at ease in his 
 usual habit, which was now grave but tender. 
 His health however became much better, he 
 was able again to resume his wonted labour, 
 and his affairs -prospered. He was now most 
 content to live an humble and lowly life, and 
 endeavoured to banish from his children's 
 minds any vanity or aspiring wish, that might 
 disgust them with a life of labour. 
 
 They early showed what it was to be well 
 tended ; you never heard them violent or quar- 
 relsome ; they were fond of employment, cared 
 little for play, and had no notion of happiness 
 but in loviiig each other. They were all some- 
 what too tender in their nature, and were too 
 alive to the natural sufferings of the animal 
 kind, crying with broken hearts for the death of 
 a pet robin ; their father tried to give fortitude 
 to their sentiments, and to change it to a wise 
 humanity, endeavouring to assuage every kind 
 of evil but not despairing when evil, was found 
 unavoidable. When he thought that he had so 
 nerved their minds, (unwilling that they should 
 hear it from any one else) he told them the sto- 
 ry of Hi Sullivan. They began at first to ask 
 many questions, till wonder kept them silent ; 
 but at the first word that gave a hint of the"*a- 
 tastrophe, their quick imaginations suggested it 
 11, and a burst of tears succeeded, with sobs of 
 such acute anguish, that Maurice was forced to 
 suspend his tale. When Maurice afterwards 
 reverted to the subject, his son, James Hi Nial, 
 though the tears again streamed down hifc 
 
161 
 
 cheeks, spoke out with such anger and passion, 
 that the likeness of Hi Sullivan struck both 
 Maurice and me ; we exchanged looks of sur- 
 prise, and Maurice, while he chid his impetuosi- 
 ty, folded the dear boy in his arms* 
 
 The three children petted young Dale, who 
 was extremely tender and sickly, and he grew 
 so attached to them, that he could not abide 
 the thoughts of being parted from them. But 
 Maurice being sensible, that no time should be 
 lost in the lad's appearing to claim his great 
 property, leaving his children to my care, took 
 him to England. By making an application to 
 the chancery court, and telling what had hap- 
 pened, he easily made out his friends, who were 
 glad to have the care of so wealthy a ward. 
 They reimbursed Maurice handsomely for his 
 trouble and expense, but the poor lad would 
 willingly have given up his whole estate, to 
 have been allowed to return and live with Mau- 
 rice. 
 
 Maurice did not neglect the opportunity of 
 going to see Headcroft and Mapleton. He 
 found the former, though little past forty years, 
 with bad health, and a bloated figure, already 
 afflicted with gout. He was rejoiced to see 
 Maurice, and made him tell all that had hap- 
 pened to him, which he did not hear without 
 some goodnatured tears. But he said, that he 
 was more to be pitied himself: he never met 
 any one that ever loved him; he was obliged 
 to live alone, as every one complained of his 
 temper, which was bad enough when in the 
 gout; he had no one about him except ser- 
 
162 
 
 vants, who thought of nothing except eating 
 and drinking; and then what signified all his 
 money ? Maurice urged him to greater temper- 
 ance, and to lead a more active life ; but Head- 
 croft listened with despondency, for he did not 
 feel the resolution in him. He said, if ever he 
 were to make another exertion, it would be to 
 pay Maurice a visit ; " and depend upon it if 
 you do," said Maurice, smiling, " and will take 
 to our potatoe diet, and help me to work as I 
 once did you, you will soon get rid of your 
 gout." 
 
 Maurice staid with him some days, for the 
 memory of his former kindness stiil endeared 
 him ; and when he came away, Headcroft 
 would not be denied, but made him accept a 
 hundred pounds. 
 
 Maurice then called at Mapleton's, and found 
 him prospering as a good man ought ; he had 
 not risen above his situation, was still a day la- 
 bourer, in the prime of health and life, was 
 married to a clever active woman, and had 
 every thing comfortable about him. He had 
 buried his father and mother, but not till they 
 had given theiif blessing to his four children. 
 He wept with joy when he saw Maurice, he 
 took it so kindly his coming to see him ; he laid 
 by his work, dressed himself in his best, and 
 did the honours of his cottage with true noble- 
 ness of spirit. Maurice always said, that for 
 sense and disposition he was the most perfect 
 person he ever met, having great feeling, yet 
 all subdued with piety. Maurice had again to 
 tell his sad story, but was now much soothed 
 
163 
 
 by the sincere but manly condolement of 
 Mapleton, who also offered him such assistance 
 as he could give. But Maurice told him of 
 Headcroft's gift, which he said was much more 
 than he had any occasion for, and he succeeded 
 in making Mrs. Mapleton accept ten pounds for 
 each of her children. 
 
 Mapleton showed mucii surprise, when Mau- 
 rice told him how long he had been at Head- 
 croft's. He said that he was so tyrannical and 
 humoursome, that no one could stay two days 
 with him. " I go to see him once or twice a 
 year, and he always talks of you ; indeed he 
 was always in the habit of keeping down the 
 pride of his workmen, by telling them that the 
 best of them were puny fellows compared to 
 you ; and yet he always added, " he was as 
 true a prince, man, and manners, as the king of 
 England himself." 
 
 Maurice returned speedily to Ireland, he 
 was ill at ease while absent from his children ; 
 but his mind was now greatly eased, by having 
 the means of giving them the comforts and in- 
 dulgences suited to their age. 
 
 He himself became perfectly tranquil, inca- 
 pable of being agitated by any thing on earth, 
 and only anxious to make his children good 
 and pious. 
 
 So passed three years, while Maurice's chil- 
 dren grew up perfect in feature and disposi- 
 tion ; and all this time we heard nothing of 
 Una. Yet we did not fear for her safety, for 
 
164 
 
 she never said she would write, but imagined 
 that she wished to remove every thing connect- 
 ed with Ireland from her rnind ; and, cut as she 
 had been to the core, we could not blame her. 
 
 I have now to relate my last misfortune, and 
 the heaviest, though there was nothing here to 
 shock or terrify, and Maurice was prepared for 
 it by first seeing his children placed in afflu- 
 ence ; for though he was no worshipper of rich- 
 es, he had a dread of poverty, and the crimes 
 that often follow from hard necessity. 
 
 Three years, as I said, it might be after Mau- 
 rice went to England, when we were pleasantly 
 surprised by the arrival of John Mapleton, who, 
 with a kind zeal, had measured the long jour- 
 ney on foot 5 but we were much more surpris- 
 ed by the news he came to communicate, that 
 Headcroft had died of the gout, and had left 
 all his large fortune to Maurice, giving as a 
 reason, that Maurice was the only person he 
 had ever met, who cared a rush for him in 
 reality. 
 
 " My dear Mapleton," said Maurice, " I am 
 sure you will understand me, and believe me, 
 when I say that for my own part, provided I 
 have the means of keeping every thing neat 
 and comfortable, I never would aspire above 
 this cottage (for I will not call it a cabin, since 
 I have made it as like yours as 1 possibly could) ; 
 but since it is God's pleasure, that these dear 
 children should be restored to the rank their 
 forefathers held, I will allow myself to rejoice." 
 
165 
 
 ' They are the most lovely young things 1 
 ever saw," replied Mapleton, "and the very 
 sight of them proves they were born for high 
 station. They are not the least like the peo- 
 ple one is used to see in England, and they 
 don't seem of the same nature with the poor 
 people I have met since I came to this 
 country." 
 
 Maurice smiled in the pride of a father's 
 heart. " However," added he, " you must not 
 form so mean an opinion of the people of this 
 country, I think I am a fair judge, and I will 
 venture to say what I think. You will soon 
 allow, that in point of propriety of manners, 
 and conversation, and cleverness, I don't mean 
 cleverness of the hands, but of the head, they 
 are far superior to the same rank of people in 
 England." 
 
 Maurice now, to honour his guest, indulged 
 in a hospitable disposition that was natural to 
 him, and invited his neighbours by turns, who 
 were pretty many, as ten miles were reckoned 
 no distance to come and return at night. 
 
 Mapleton acknowledged himself surprised at 
 their quickness, gentility, and pleasantness, all 
 dressed in their best, no awkwardness or re- 
 serve, no prosing or boasting, but every one 
 making little of himself, and only trying to be 
 polite and amusing. 
 
 Mapleton staid a month with Maurice, and 
 then prepared to depart, but Maurice first gave 
 bim a proper authority to act for him in every 
 
166 
 
 respeet in England ; at the same time making 
 him a present of one thousand pounds, direct- 
 ing him, if he discovered any relations of Head- 
 croft's, to provide for them handsomely, and to 
 convert every thing into money, that it might 
 be the more readily applied to the use of his 
 children. 
 
 He then accompanied Mapleton to Dublin, 
 and took him on to see that glory and pride of 
 nature, the county of Wicklow, that he might 
 leave the country with' a favourable impression 
 of it. Especially he took him to the Seven 
 Churches, whither the genius of the country 
 seems to have retired in solitude, in sorrow, and 
 magnificence. 
 
 Mapleton was astonished at seeing every thing 
 so unlike and so surpassing what he had ever 
 seen before ; " but how comes it," said he to 
 Maurice, " that in so glorious a country you 
 see such wretched people, and such horrid 
 houses ?" 
 
 "I once," replied Maurice, "did not mind 
 these things, but of late years I have thought a 
 good deal about them, and if you will have my 
 opinion, it is because the persons, who govern 
 the country, keep down the spirit and activity of 
 the persons, instead of calling them out, and 
 making them feel themselves somebody. My 
 dear friend used to tell me, that abroad the 
 Irish throve more than any other people, their 
 faculties being generally superior, and their 
 opportunities equal to those of the men they 
 fell amongst." 
 
167 
 
 Mapleton fully justified what Maurice tKbught 
 of his skill and honesty, managing all his affairs 
 as well as he could have done himself, and 
 turning every thing to the best account; he 
 wrote to Maurice, that he had discovered some 
 very poor and very distant relations of Head- 
 croft's, who expected nothing from him, as he 
 had never noticed them, and were as much 
 amazed as rejoiced at Maurice's bounty to 
 them. 
 
 Maurice changed his style of living in nothing 
 but what regarded the convenience and instruc- 
 tion of his children. To me he gave an annui- 
 ty of 150 a year, and would, if 1 had let him, 
 have made it thrice as much. But as he still 
 continued fond of work, nothing would satisfy 
 him but coming over to me, arid making quite 
 a palace of my shed. His younger son, Cor- 
 mac, had just the same turn, the pretty pave- 
 ment of black and white pebbles, diamond 
 fashion, round the house, was his work. 
 
 Travellers when they come to this country 
 do not perceive, that the misery of the people 
 arises from the errors of the government but 
 who that ever perceives a flock of miserable 
 starved mangy sheep, doubts, that it is the fault 
 of the farmer that owns them ? 
 
 When Maurice returned home, one night he 
 was awakened by a noise at the door, and some 
 one begging for admittance He could not be 
 mistaken in the voice, it was Mrs. M 4 Connick's. 
 Maurice trembled with horror and aversion at 
 the old beldame and unwillingly arose to let 
 
168 
 
 her in. But what could he do ? the night wa 
 tempestuous, and he could not at such an hour 
 turn her from his door. He let her in, and 
 . begged her to speak low, lest her son might 
 hear her. 
 
 " And is he alive ?" said she, " and I shall see 
 him once more ; well, there is joy in that ; and 
 will he know me, think you ? is he sensible 
 again ?" 
 
 Maurice told her his senses were quite gone, 
 and if he recollected her. it might only make 
 him rave. 
 
 " Then cannot I see him while he sleeps ? 
 only one look, and I will never ask to see him 
 again ; it is only one look before I die, for that 
 was what brought me here, to lay my bones in 
 my mother's grave." 
 
 Maurice show r ed her the room where he slept, 
 and gave her a light ; she went in, but returned 
 almost instantly, her haggard face marked with 
 horror " Let me never see him again," she 
 said, " it has killed me he has the face of an 
 old man dug up ; I shall never get it out of my 
 eyes yet how elegant you have every 4hing 
 about him ! oh, it is you indeed that deserve 
 the blessing of the saints, while fire and brim- 
 stone are too good for me and mine." 
 
 " Yet for the effort you made to save poor 
 Hi Sullivan, I will always bless you. But only 
 answer me one question, I have only one to 
 ask, did you know of Merritt's treason ? and if 
 
169 
 
 you did, why did you not attempt to turn him 
 from it sooner ?" 
 
 " And didn^t I ? didn't I try to melt him ? but 
 he had no nature ever in him, you might as 
 well try to draw tears from cast iron I begged 
 him to have nothing to do with it, not to de- 
 mean himself by leaguing with the Sassenahs. 
 What could I do more ? did I not go down on 
 my knees and weep salt tears ? oh, trust me, 
 my heart was ever loyal, there I am not afraid 
 to be touched." 
 
 " That is enough," said Maurice, " and I 
 thought no worse of you. But will you not 
 now go to bed ?" 
 
 " What to do ?" said she, " I never sleep ; 
 let me go to your kitchen hearth, and sit over 
 the ashes ; and to-morrow I will ask only for 
 an outhouse, where I may be in peace with my 
 filth and rags, and so die. Die she did, but, 
 ever bringing evil fortune with her, she was the 
 cause of Maurice's death. Herding mostly with 
 vagrant beggars, as she travelled along, her 
 clothes were full of infection. The humani- 
 ty of the children, particularly of Geraldine, 
 brought them about her, and a few days after 
 her death Geraldine became sick and faint, and 
 the symptoms of the cabin fever appeared on 
 her. Maurice sent her brothers to me, while 
 he himself tended Geraldine ; and though it 
 was a long period of suspense, yet at the end 
 of three weeks she recovered. But Maurice 
 in his turn received the infection, it was a 
 severe struggle, and though he at last shook off 
 15 
 
170 
 
 the complaint, it left behind a disorder of his 
 chest, which ended in a decline. Death, how- 
 ever, approached on him so visibly, yet so 
 gradually, that the pain of separation was soft- 
 ened every day he talked to his children of 
 his death as of a familiar arid desirable event. 
 He spoke of his reunion with their mother, and 
 of the short time they themselves had to live, 
 till he should meet them again. He arranged 
 every thing for his death, and gave them coun- 
 sel for the future management of their lives, 
 exhorting them notwithstanding their wealth, to 
 practise as plain and simple a mode of life as 
 consisted with whatever station befel them, to 
 maintain their affection for each other, and to 
 be cautious in forming any romanesque attach- 
 ments that might diminish it. 
 
 He spoke to me of the particular happiness 
 of his death. " I die," he said, " without any 
 anxiety about my children's fortune, which is 
 more than I could have expected ; and I have 
 time to accustom their minds, and to fortify 
 their gentle natures, to meet this their first and 
 perhaps heaviest calamity. I have every as- 
 surance that they will be good ; and this is all 
 that is of any real importance. 1 shall meet 
 Berrett again, and Hi Sullivan; my fears on 
 his account have ceased to torment me, for God 
 is his judge." 
 
 Beibre he died, he had the satisfaction to 
 hear the best tidings from Una, which gave him 
 great contentment. He wrote to her, and gave 
 her his instructions about his children. His 
 wish was, that they should be sent to Spain : 
 
171 
 
 he said, that nothing appeared to him to cast 
 such a blight on the character, as living under 
 an habitual consciousness of being despised, and 
 he preferred that his children should quit their 
 native country, rather than live in it as indivi- 
 duals of a degraded sect ; he had thought much 
 on this head, since Hi Sullivan's death, and he 
 could by no means bear, that his eldest son, 
 who already showed all Hi Sullivan's spirit and 
 altitude of mind, should run the risk of encoun- 
 tering a like fate from like qualities ; in Spain, 
 he added he will be honoured and his heart 
 will be at ease, here it might only be perpetual- 
 ly rankled, since he will have a fortune above 
 any station in society that he can attain." 
 
 As his death drew near, his poor children 
 were struck with a sudden alarm, which even 
 his calmness did not overcome ; they clung ten- 
 derly round him closer and closer as their loss 
 approached. They could not now support to 
 hear him talk of his death, so that it was to me 
 only that he indulged the natural bent of his 
 thoughts. I should have thought it impossible, 55 
 he said, " to have parted with objects so dear 
 with so little regret, but I see now, that every 
 state of life has its alleviations. A desire of 
 repose deadens all the keenness of my sensa- 
 tions, and these dear children pain me in call- 
 ing me back to a wish for life. I incline to 
 death, as a weary person does to sleep ; and I 
 already feel a consciousness, that I am passing 
 into a happy state of existence. 55 
 
 The morning before his death he told me, that 
 he had dreamt he had met Berghetta in Paradise, 
 
172 
 
 and that all the appearances he had seemed to 
 see were still so vivid on his senses, that he 
 was in the greatest delight An hour after, sup- 
 ported on Geraldine's arm, he breathed his last 
 He had raised himself with an effort to kiss 
 her then turned his face, and died without a 
 groan. 
 
 Now I was truly laid in the dust, and taught 
 to know how little strength human nature has, 
 though always confident in itself; hut who cares 
 to hear of the sorrows and follies of an old 
 priest ? 1 had not seen the approach of Mau- 
 rice's death with the same alarm the dear chil- 
 dren had 5 but when he died, and the love I bore 
 him bled at every vein, I lost all self command, 
 and disgraced myself by an extravagant grief 
 that unsettled my reason. 
 
 Poor dear children, how were their gentle 
 hearts tried, when, instead of finding support, 
 they were called to give it to an irrational old 
 man ! but they had a support in the love they 
 bore each other, and would dry each other's 
 tears with such kind affection, that their grief 
 became lovely. 
 
 However, the first offices of religion I per- 
 formed calmed the disturbance of my mind ; and 
 a neighbouring priest, who was sent for to bury 
 Maurice, while I was incapable, succeeded by 
 his mild remonstrances in restoring me to com- 
 posure. 
 
 I took Merritt to live with me, as I had pro- 
 mised Maurice that I would do ; and the dear 
 
173 
 
 children accompanied me home. They took 
 with them little relics, that reminded them of 
 their father, his hair, their mother's wedding 
 ring, and these they would kiss and cry over 
 every day. Nor did grief pass away with them, 
 as is generally the case with the young, but all 
 three, particularly Geraldine, retained a gentle 
 gravity of look and demeanour, that partook of 
 melancholy. 
 
 I wrote to Una, to tell her of Maurice's death, 
 and to beg her to send Rory, that he might ac- 
 company the children to Spain. 
 
 I pin on here the letter Maurice received 
 from her, and which gave him so much content- 
 ment. 
 
 " My dearest Maurice, 
 
 " I would readily make all the humiliating 
 confessions, which are necessary to account for 
 my long silence 5 none could excuse it, but I 
 know that the leniency and kindness of your 
 nature will riot require them. Upon this head 
 then I will be brief. When I left Ireland, in the 
 first paroxysm of despair, the irritation of my 
 grief, its concentred selfishness, joined with 
 wounded pride, gave me a distaste to intercourse 
 or communication, even with you. It was not 
 till I arrived at Lisbon, and was beset with all 
 the embarrassments of the land journey thence 
 to Madrid, that my attention could be turned to 
 any subject, but the one sad wound that lacerat- 
 ed my heart. 
 
 "I must have sunk under the fatigue of the 
 15* 
 
174 
 
 journey from Lisbon to Madrid, so intense was 
 the heat, and our progress over the sandy roads 
 so slow, but that, though weakened, I was still 
 supported by the hardy habits of my youth. 
 Excessive weariness at length deadened the in- 
 tolerable pain of my mind, and before I reach- 
 ed Madrid I had experienced some intervals of 
 sound sleep. This was of the greatest service 
 to me, as I was able, on my arrival at Madrid, 
 to take such steps as were necessary in my deso- 
 late and unprotected situation. 
 
 " I wrote a note to the Conde d'O'Donnel^ 
 the most noble of the Irish, who, being driven 
 from their own country, had retained their hon- 
 ours, and risen to wealth and fame, in Spain. 1 
 briefly mentioned my misfortunes, arid claimed 
 his protection. His age, for he is past seventy, 
 rendered this step unobjectionable. 
 
 " He waited on me immediately, and though 
 he had even forgoten his native language, and 
 
 . . o o ' 
 
 spoke to me in French, his heart was warmly 
 Irish. He knew the history of every Irish fam- 
 ily, that had been driven into exile, and was 
 well acquainted with the genealogy of those 
 that remained. He had even met Hi Sullivan's 
 father, in early youth, and desired me, without 
 delay, to assume the title of princess, as his tes- 
 timony to my claim was all that would be re- 
 quired by the Spanish court ; and he advised 
 me to write to you to forward a copy of the 
 pedigree of Hi Nial, which I had mentioned to 
 him. He insisted upon my removing instantly 
 to his palace, and desired me to consider him in 
 the light of a father. A few days proved the 
 
175 
 
 sincerity of his professions, for he obtained from 
 the court of Spain a recognition of my title, 
 and a pension for me of two hundred crowns a 
 month. 
 
 " For some months I secluded myself entire- 
 ly, saddening my melancholy hours with bitter 
 remembrances, and only leaving my room when 
 the conde d'O'Donnel suffered from illness, and 
 my attentions were useful to a person never ac- 
 customed to be alone, and habituated to the ac- 
 tivity of the great world. But at length the 
 conde mentioned to me, that it was quite neces- 
 sary, that I should appear at court ; nor could 
 this small attention in return for so many bene- 
 fits be refused. He had spoken in praise of my 
 beauty ; and at court, where satiety so soon 
 follows amusement, every new object is ardent- 
 ly desired. The queen had expressed a wish 
 to see me. 
 
 " Unwillingly I prepared to comply ; yet not 
 unmindful of the rank of Hi Sullivan, I dressed 
 myself in a rich French habit, and put on those 
 family jewels, than which there is scarcely any 
 thing finer in the most splendid courts. 
 
 " I had suffered too much for trifling feelings 
 of embarrassment to occupy me, and leaning on 
 the Conde's arm, I walked through a crowd of 
 courtiers, whose attention was naturally caught 
 by the novelty of my foreign dress, scarcely 
 sensible of their presence, and indifferent to the 
 impression I might make. But when we 
 reached the circle where the queen sat, and 
 the conde advanced to present me, I could not 
 
176 
 
 avoid being penetrated with admiration at the 
 sis^ht of this young beauty. I made a slender 
 courtsey, preserving myself from that mean as- 
 siduousness, which characterises courtiers both 
 male and female. She said, in Spanish, ' we 
 are obliged to the princess Hi Sullivan for the 
 honour she does our court,' and seemed as if she 
 would have said more, but was restrained by 
 the forms of this most formal court ; but these 
 few words were accompanied by a smile of great 
 sweetness. 
 
 " A few days after, the conde told me, that I 
 had formed the conversation of the whole court, 
 and that my beauty, and the ease and dignity 
 of my manner, were the admiration of all : this 
 interested me very little, but not so when he 
 proceeded to say, that the queen was charmed 
 with me, said openly that there was no lady in 
 the Spanish or French court to be compared 
 with me, and had desired the conde to request, 
 that I would pay her a morning visit. 
 
 " Though sensibly flattered, I begged to be 
 excused for the present, pleading the sad im- 
 pression of my recent grief, and my wish to 
 remain in solitude, till I could mix in society 
 without repugnance. 
 
 '" The conde said I should be under no con- 
 straint, and in the mean time he gave me a 
 short history of this lovely princess, who was 
 only in her eighteenth year. 
 
 " Alas, that a young princess, bred up in the 
 most refined court in the world, should be forced 
 
177 
 
 to pass her life in the formality of the court of 
 Madrid ! In France she had always been used to 
 eat in public, she danced, she rode on horseback, 
 she knew and esteemed her companions, and 
 they adored her. But one day past the day of 
 her marriage, and she found herself on a sudden 
 among persons whom she knew not, and could 
 not appear amiable enough to divert her grief; 
 she understood so very little of their language, 
 that she could not return an answer without 
 trouble. The manner in which they served 
 her appeared so strange, and carried so small a 
 resemblance to that of France, that she was 
 not a little discomposed at it ; all was ceremony, 
 restraint, and affectation. From the very first 
 day she appeared amongst them, the Spaniards 
 expected that she should know all their forms, 
 which she was to observe religiously the rest of 
 her life ; they made allowance for nothing, they 
 dispensed with nothing. 
 
 " Yet as the young king passionately loved 
 her, and as the natural sweetness of the queen's 
 temper, and her prudence, made her receive 
 all these things that fatigued and displeased her, 
 with great patience, she might yet have been 
 happy, but for the rigid temper of her camere- 
 ra mayor, the duchess de Terra Nova. 
 
 " This office is of considerable power, as the 
 camerera mayor regulates all the ceremonial of 
 the queen's court, which enters into the minut- 
 est actions, and she in reality keeps the queen 
 and all her ladies in a state of severe constraint 
 and imprisonment. 
 
178 
 
 bi The duchess inherited a great fortune, that 
 descended to her from Fernando Cortez, for 
 her mother bore the name of that famous 
 captain ; among the rest, a small kingdom in 
 Spanish America. She is extremely rich, of a 
 fierce imperious humour to persons above her, 
 insupportable to her equals, hut kind and oblig- 
 ing to her inferiors. She has a great deal of 
 talent, is fixed in her resolutions, her temper 
 cold and serious, still preserving her Spanish 
 gravity, and never steps a foot backward or 
 forward without consideration. She pronoun- 
 ces her ' I will,' or 4 1 will not,' in a tone that 
 makes one tremble. She is a meagre, pale 
 woman, of a long and wrinkled visage, yet not 
 inelegant in her carriage. 
 
 " One would have thought, that, out of mere 
 policy, the duchess would have endeavoured to 
 win upon the queen's sweet disposition, and 
 establish an interest in her regard before an 
 opportunity was given to other competitors. 
 She had considerable enemies at court, and the 
 prince Don Juan, who had advanced her to 
 the post, was dead. But she took different 
 measures from what any body would have sup- 
 posed ; she sought a dominion over the queen's 
 mind by the influence of fear, and she endeav- 
 oured to rule the king by awakening his jeal- 
 ousy, and then seeming to devote herself to 
 administer to its interests. She represented 
 to him the ill consequences of that liberty, 
 which women are allow r ed in France ; that it 
 was absolutely necessary for the queen to live 
 after the retired manner that the sex observes 
 at Madrid 5 that she was young, lively, and of 
 
179 
 
 a brilliant spirit, and accustomed to French 
 fashions ; and that what was innocent in one 
 place may become criminal in another; but if 
 he would be pleased to contide in her. she 
 would, hy her great diligCLce, prevent the pos- 
 sibility of ill. 
 
 " The king, whose education had impressed, 
 on him the conviction of all Spaniards, that 
 there is no dependance on a lady's virtue, un- 
 less all opportunities of transgressing are re- 
 moved, gave the duchess sufficient assurances of 
 his confidence. 
 
 " By this means she governed the queen like 
 a child, confining her to a solitary and formal 
 life, where there was no liberty or conversa- 
 tion^ but all w as grandeur and ceremony, reve- 
 rence and state. 
 
 " All the queen's French attendants had been 
 dismissed, not without tears on both sides ; and 
 as she passionately loved her country, it was 
 natural that she should look upon me, who had 
 resided there so long, with some interest. 
 
 " Upon her expressing a second time a wish 
 to see me, 1 prepared to go, and the conde ac- 
 companied me to the door of her private apart- 
 ments. 1 found her in her closet, which w r as 
 painted and gilded, and set out with great look- 
 ing glasses fastened to the ceiling. She sat 
 upon a little square stool near the window, 
 making gold network mingled with blue silk : 
 her hair was parted in the middle of her head, 
 which was bare ; only one knot of her hair was 
 
180 
 
 curled, plaited with great pearls, and reached 
 down to her waist. She had a velvet robe on. 
 of a rose colour, embroidered with silver, and 
 had pendants in her ears that nearly touched her 
 shoulders, and so heavy, that she gave herself 
 the trouble to take out one of them, that I 
 might pass my judgment on it. She then desir- 
 ed, that the next time 1 came I would bring 
 my suit of Irish emeralds, as she had never seen 
 any thing of the kind so fine. She spoke very 
 little French to me, affecting to talk Spanish 
 before the duchess, who never left her. She 
 ordered me to send her any letters I received 
 from France, that had any news in them. I 
 answered, that the news that was sent to me 
 did not deserve her attention. ' Ah !' she cri- 
 ed, lifting up her eyes with a charming air, 1 1 
 shall never esteem any thing that comes from a 
 country so dear to me an object of indiffer- 
 ence.' ' This affection then,' I ventured to say, 
 4 which your majesty preserves for your native 
 country, will make me think myself less insig- 
 nificant, as my residence there was so early and 
 so long, I feel myself half a French woman.' 
 
 " She answered me with her usual goodness, 
 and whispered me in French, that she would 
 rather see me apparelled after the French fash- 
 ion than that of Spain. 
 
 " ' Madam,' I replied, 4 it is a sacrifice which 
 I have made to the respect I have for your 
 majesty.' 
 
 " ' Say rather,' continued she, smiling, ' that 
 you have heard of the rigid temper of the duch- 
 ess, and this* has frightened you.' She appear- 
 
Itfi 
 
 ed Lo me so very charming that day, that I could 
 not forbear to love her, for in spite of her me- 
 lancholy she was plump, and preserved her 
 complexion, and this contributed to make her 
 still more beautiful and agreeable. 
 
 " The consequence of this visit was that the 
 queen grew fond of my society, particularly as 
 I often received letters from France, which she 
 took great pleasure in reading, particularly one 
 giving an account of the marriage of Mademoi- 
 selle de Blois with Monsieur the prince de Con- 
 ti. This by degrees led me into much company, 
 for when the court perceived that I was favour- 
 ed by the queen, I was importuned with invi- 
 tations, and many corning from the conde 
 d'O'DonnePs intimate friends, I could scarcely 
 refuse them without giving him offence. 
 
 " Before I was aware, I was plunged into a 
 degree of levity very ill suited to my situation ; 
 and though I had not force enough to disengage 
 myself, I was so sensibly ashamed of my con- 
 duct, that I did not dare to write to you ; I 
 contented myself with forwarding to you a trifle 
 saved from my allowance from court ; but this 
 I discovered afterwards you never received, 
 owing to the infidelity of the agent that I em- 
 ployed. 
 
 " Two years passed away in this manner, 
 when I must still blush to own I formed an 
 attachment for a person younger than myself; 
 but when I at last discovered, that his charac- 
 ter was light and worthless, my conduct appear- 
 ed to me in its true colours ; I became sensi- 
 
182 
 
 ble of my own intolerable pride and presump- 
 tion, and humbling myself to that Power, who 
 can alone subdue and tranquillize the human 
 heart, I determined to trust myself no more, but 
 to retire to a convent and take the veil. 
 
 " The queen was so good as to oppose my 
 intention, though, when she found it fixed, she 
 did not abandon me, but frequently came to see 
 me in my retirement; and finally, when my 
 conduct and my exactness in performing all the 
 duties of devotion allowed her to do it with 
 propriety, on the death of the abbess de Santo 
 Domingo el Real, she placed me at the head 
 of the establishment. 
 
 " This is my present situation ; and here I 
 have at last found in devotion, and works of 
 benevolence, that peace which so many have 
 proved, besides myself, is not to be found in 
 the commerce of the world. God, indeed, has 
 been too good to me, in restoring me to happi- 
 ness. The patronage of the queen, and the 
 rank I enjoy at court, secure to me the defer- 
 ence of our religious community, and I have 
 now nothing left to wish for, but to hear of 'your 
 happiness, and that of your dearest children. 
 Forgive me, my dear Maurice, and believe me, 
 that I am now not entirely unworthy of your 
 affection, though I do not conceal from myself, 
 that pride and vanity have left a trace of cold- 
 ness in my disposition, but I have suffered 
 much. 
 
 " I have made up a little fortune for my pret- 
 ty niece, and hope you will entrust her to my 
 
183 
 
 care. Rory (poor Rory is grown as grave as 
 the gravest of our religious,) shall go to con- 
 duct her hither. Indeed she will not be well 
 in Ireland ; she will there suffer, as I have done, 
 from an equivocal situation*. Were she merely 
 a labourer's daughter, she might be happy; but 
 with pretentions of a superior rank, her feelings 
 will always be fretted by the inconsistencies of 
 her situation. Here her rank will be acknowl- 
 edged, her fortune respectable, and she will be 
 at ease in society. I know what it will cost 
 you to part with her, but if I can guess a parent's 
 heart, you would yourself suffer any thing for 
 her good. 
 
 " The merchant, who takes this, does not go 
 for another day, so as I know you will be inter- 
 ested in my beloved patroness, the queen. I 
 will relate to you how she at length liberated 
 herself from the tyranny of the duchess de 
 Terra Nova. 
 
 " The queen had two parrots, which she lov- 
 ed extremely, as she had brought them with her 
 from France. The duchess, who had already 
 made the king jealous of every thing connected 
 with France, thought she should do a work 
 very agreeable to him by killing them, because 
 the words they spoke were French. 
 
 " One day, when the queen went to walk, 
 the duchess, to avoid going with her, and in 
 order to put her design into execution, feigned 
 indisposition. She demanded the parrots of the 
 woman that looked after them, and as soon as 
 she had got them in her hands, wrung off their 
 
184 
 
 necks, in spite of all the prayers and entreaties 
 that were used to prevent her from killing them. 
 This was a great affliction to the poor French 
 woman, who waited on the queen; who, when 
 she came back to her apartment, commanded 
 them to bring her parrots and dogs, as was her 
 custom when the king was not present, for he 
 could not endure any of these little creatures, 
 because they came from France, and whenever 
 he saw them he cried. ' Fuera, fuera, perros 
 Frances! 5 that is c get out, French dogs!' All 
 the queen's women, instead of going, looked 
 upon one another, and continued immoveable, 
 afraid to speak. At last, when desired to go 
 again, one of them gave an account of the exe- 
 cution, which the camerera had made of them. 
 She would not let her women observe her con- 
 cern, and dismissed them ; but as soon as the 
 duchess entered, and according to custom came 
 to kiss her hand, the queen, without speaking a 
 syllable to her, and before she was aware, gave 
 her two smart boxes on the ear with her hand. 
 
 " Never was any created thing in such rage 
 and amazement as the duchess ; for she was the 
 most haughty and imperious woman living, pos- 
 sessed, as I said before, of a kingdom in Mexico', 
 and carried as much state and grandeur as a 
 queen. And now to be buffetted by a young 
 person, whom she had hitherto treated like a 
 child, was insupportable. She flew out of the 
 room, saying all the impertinent things that 
 anger suggested ; and assembled together her 
 relations and friends, and above four hundred 
 ladies. With a numerous train of coaches, she 
 came to the palace to dernand justice of the 
 
king for the affront. She made so great a cla- 
 mour, and shed so many tears, that he sent for 
 the queen to come to him ; and as he began to 
 represent to her the impropriety of her con- 
 duct, and the high rank the camerera mayor 
 held in the world, the queen interrupted him, 
 and said calmly, ' Senor, esto es uno antojo.' 
 
 " These few unexpected words instantly 
 changed the face of affairs. The king embrac- 
 ed her with a thousand testimonies of joy, ad- 
 ding, that she had done very prudently, and that 
 if two blows did not satisfy her, he consented 
 that she should give the duchess two dozen 
 more. 
 
 " Now ' antojo 1 signifies, in Spanish, the 
 longing of a pregnant woman ; and they are, it 
 seems, convinced by the course of experience, 
 that if women pregnant in this country have not 
 what they desire, they are delivered before 
 their time of a dead infant. The king was de- 
 lighted, and though he had a great kindness for 
 the duchess, he entirely approved of the queen's 
 action. The queen had the address not to take 
 the least notice of the death of her parrots, so 
 that she gave the king no reason to imagine, 
 that her ' antojo' for boxing the duchess pro- 
 ceeded from her own resentment ; but the 
 duchess, who knew very well the truth, finding 
 she could get no redress, and incapable of bear- 
 ing the affront, retired from court, and was suc- 
 ceeded by the duchess d' Albuquerque. 
 
 " I have written by the same person, who 
 carries this, to father O'Brien. He wiJJ rejoice 
 
186 
 
 to hear of my present situation, and I yet hope 
 that I may have the great satisfaction of seeing 
 him and you, my dear brother, in this country. 
 If I could accomplish the possession of your 
 little girl, I should have great hopes, arid I 
 almost feel convinced, that you will let me have 
 her. Once more, God bless you all, and fare- 
 well. Often and often the tears fall from my 
 eyes, when I think on the cottage where we 
 passed so many innocent days, and I find it 
 impossible to tear from my heart the sad re- 
 membrance of our ill-fated country. I confess 
 this, even when 1 reserve my last request, to 
 entreat you and father O'Brien to remove to 
 this country ; I am not sanguine of success, but 
 surely you might come to pay me a visit, and 
 need not depend upon my representation ; and 
 if you did, I think you would stay with me ; for 
 yourself, perhaps, it might not be pleasant, but 
 for your children it would be most desirable. 
 
 " Once more farewell, from your evermore 
 affectionate, loving sister, 
 
 UNA, 
 
 Princess Hi Sullivan Bere, 
 born Hi Nial." 
 
 This is the letter, which had given my belov- 
 ed Maurice so much satisfaction, and had fixed 
 his mind to commit his children to his sister's 
 care. I note not Una's letter to myself, as it 
 related to her most inmost thoughts, and was to 
 be held sacred ; but I may say, that it showed 
 a noble, and generous, and affectionate mind, 
 after a short aberration, restored to the upright 
 rectitude of feeling, which nature, and the God 
 
187 
 
 of nature, had implanted in it. Neither will } 
 insert the letter I received from Una, when 
 I sent her an account of her brother's death ; I 
 am eased of a weight in having no more sor- 
 rows to rehearse. Una dispatched Rory with- 
 out delay, and I was rejoiced in having the 
 faithful creature once more under my roof. 
 He cried like a child the first day, but the sight 
 of the children soon revived him ; and they 
 were equally taken with him, for he had a gen- 
 tle, soft, coaxing voice, and though he was 
 grown grave and staid in appearance, he was 
 very much of a child at bottom. He was par- 
 ticularly delighted with Geraldine, and soon 
 bestowed on her all the affection he had borne 
 her mother. " Blessed hour !" he would say 
 to me, " who could have dreamt to have found 
 that baby like, that I left, grown a fine woman, 
 and such as all the court of Madrid cannot 
 liken ? certain and sure I am, that the princess 
 will go out of her wits when she beholds her." 
 Then he would walk to the rocks with the 
 children, and, sitting down, entertain them for 
 whole hours with accounts of what their father 
 and Hi Sullivan did when they were young ; 
 and such was the strength of his memory, which 
 was quite that of a Seannachie, that he would 
 repeat whole conversations without appearing 
 to miss a word. The children were quite fas- 
 cinated with him, and I encouraged their fond- 
 ness, as 1 knew Rory's perfect worth, and it 
 made their traject to Spain so much more 
 agreeable. Only Geraldine complained to me, 
 that Mr. Rory was so cross to poor Merritt ; 
 indeed Merritt never came near him but he 
 sent him away with, "get out from that, can't/ 
 
188 
 
 ye !" as if he were speaking to an intruding 
 animal. 
 
 At length the day of their departure arrived. 
 I had hired a ship purposely to convey them, 
 with suitable domestics for Geraldine, and every 
 thing else befitting the rank they would have to 
 resume in Spain. Great was Rory's delight to 
 see the splendid change, and complete would 
 have been his triumph, but for the pain which 
 would cross his heart, when a thought occurred 
 of the castle of Berehaven, and generous Hi 
 Sullivan. 
 
 Rory, I knew, would not leave Ireland with- 
 out visiting Hi Sullivan's grave ; and as I wished 
 the children, before they abandoned their coun- 
 try, should visit that of their mother, I deter- 
 mined to accompany them as far as Arklow, 
 and put in there for a few days, sending my 
 horse by land to meet me. 
 
 We had a pleasant sail, as the children, well 
 used to be on ihe sea at Rahery, were not sea- 
 sick. They had been brought up to adore the 
 memory of their mother, and were themselves 
 much afflicted, when they beheld the spot 
 where she was buried ; and Rory burst forth 
 into all the wild vociferations of Irish grief, as 
 he threw himself on the sod, that covered the 
 grave of Hi Sullivan ; yet I doubt not but a 
 more dolorous pain cut my heart, as these 
 scenes brought before me the dear friends that 
 I had lost. 
 
 Our parting was sad enough, but as I had de- 
 
189 
 
 termined to visit them and Spain the ensuing 
 year, there was the less bitterness. Dear 
 children, I still see them on their knees, asking 
 my blessing, I still see Geraldine fainting in her 
 brother's arms, as my boat moved from the 
 ship. O may the blessing of a sorrowing old 
 man be prevalent ! and ye shall be truly blest, 
 darlings of my heart ! 
 
 I now returned to 'my deserted home, but still 
 every evening I cheered my thoughts with the 
 prospect of visiting Spain, and reckoned the 
 time when I might hope to receive a letter. I 
 busied myself in settling all their affairs with 
 Mr. Mapleton, who, after converting the whole 
 property into money, according to Maurice's 
 desire, had raised near one hundred thousand 
 pounds : this I desired him to lodge in the 
 hands of the Spanish ambassador in London, to 
 be remitted to Una, on the children's accounts, 
 which w r as all faithfully and punctually per- 
 formed. 
 
 In two months time, I had the satisfaction 
 of hearing from Una of the safe arrival of my 
 dear children ; she was enchanted with them, 
 and could not finds words to tell the love and 
 admiration she felt for Geraldine. I heard 
 from her again, giving an account of the bril- 
 liant fate, that had awaited them. To this per- 
 haps the knowledge of the magnitude of their 
 fortune did not a little contribute. The boys, 
 in right of their father, had the title of Prince 
 acknowledged, and the rank of Grandees of 
 Spain superadded. And they and Geraldine 
 received much courtesy from the Spanish Court, 
 
190 
 
 But their minds were too temperate and domes- 
 tic, to be allured by gewgaws ; and finding a 
 pleasant retreat in a valley, watered by a clear 
 stream, and fragrant with orange trees, they 
 purchased there an estate, and occupied them- 
 selves in its improvement. I did not reach 
 Spain so soon as I had intended ; some parish af- 
 fairs, and the disappointment in meeting a ship, 
 detaining me till more than a year was past, but 
 the following letter, which I received from 
 Una, at length made me set off in haste. 
 
 " My dear and reverend friend, 
 
 " You must not delay a day, but do not turn 
 to the end of my letter, to know why, but take 
 the account in due order. 
 
 " I told you of the impression that our chil- 
 dren made at court. Geraldine has grown ever 
 since more and more a favourite with the 
 queen ; but Geraldine returns the affection but 
 coldly. She is content to stay in the queen's 
 private apartment, and as she speaks French so 
 fluently, the queen takes great delight in conver- 
 sing with her ; but nothing can overcome her 
 repugnance to the public court, and her heart 
 is always with her brothers at Villambrosa, for 
 they have retired almost entirely from court, 
 and as soon as she can get the queen's permis- 
 sion and mine, she speeds away to *them. I do 
 not complain, for she prefers me and my con- 
 vent to the queen and her court. The queen 
 perceives ft too, for she said one day to me 
 laughing, ' I wish I had been born an Irish shep- 
 herdess, and then your beautiful niece might 
 have loved me.' The queen told me, that though 
 
 .' 
 
191 
 
 Geraldine rarely appeared at court, yet all the 
 young lords were competitors for her hand, and 
 she herself had been solicited on all sides by 
 their relations to interfere in their favour. The 
 rank that Geraldine bore at court, and her 
 large fortune, would alone have been sufficient 
 to produce this effect ; but her uncommon beau- 
 ty, the uncommon softness of that beauty, and, 
 above all, the gentleness and modesty of her 
 demeanour, had inflamed the passion of these 
 young courtiers to an enthusiasm amounting to 
 madness ; ' and I must soon, (added the queen,) 
 call on Geraldine, to make her choice, or this 
 rivalry may have painful consequences. But I 
 do not know how Geraldine is to make a choice, 
 for 1 am certain she has never looked one of 
 them in the face yet, nor ever voluntarily ex- 
 changed a sentence beyond what politeness ex- 
 acted. When I send her from, me, she takes 
 refuse under the duchess D' Albuquerque's 
 wing, where she knows they dare not come ; 
 she casts her eyes on the ground, and either 
 her memory is very bad, or she attends to these 
 things very ill, but I cannot find, that she learns 
 any of their names ; and when I question her 
 about them, she makes all kinds of ludicrous 
 mistakes. However, you must prepare her soon 
 to make a choice, nor ought she to complain. 
 I had no choice, and was obliged to quit for 
 ever dearest and ever lamented France.' 
 
 " I replied,*that c Geraldine knew her duty 
 too well, to have any repugnance to conduct 
 herself according to the wishes of her friends ;' 
 and the queen departed, saying, that nothing 
 would give her more pleasure, than to see Ger- 
 aldine married equal to her merit. 
 
192 
 
 " It was now time to speak to Geraldine ou 
 the subject ; she heard me at first with tears 
 and alarm ; but when I had convinced her, that 
 the queen's wishes were reasonable, in unison 
 with mine, and accordant with the duties of her 
 station, she composed herself, and declared her 
 willingness to comply. I asked her, if she had 
 any preference ; she said, that she had not no- 
 ticed particularly any of the young lords she 
 had seen ; but there was one whom she had not 
 seen, at least not his face, whom she should 
 choose, if she was called on so early in life to 
 make a choice. 
 
 " And now I will tell you the only piece of 
 romance, that has occured in Geraldine's histo- 
 ry. Whenever she has been at Madrid, she 
 has been in the habit of attending the hospital 
 of Santo Domingo ; it was a duty that accord- 
 ed with her benevolent and pious disposition, 
 and as people of rank visited there occasional- 
 ly masked, 1 saw no impropriety in her attending 
 daily, while she was with me. She always went 
 veiled, and Rory accompanied her. Among the 
 patients whom she attended, there was a poor 
 woman, who fixed her attention by her uncom- 
 mon resignation under a painful disease ; and 
 when Geraldine asked her, if she could do any 
 thing for her to mitigate her sufferings, the poor 
 woman looked wistfully, and after a pause said, 
 * You have been so good to me, I will say, that 
 I should have no want or wish, if you would 
 read to me, only for ten minutes, a book of pray- 
 ers, or the word of God.' 
 
 You, who are acquainted with Geraldine, will 
 know how readily she complied ; and every 
 
193 
 
 day for an hour, or three hours, as she found 
 leisure, would she sit by the poor woman's bed- 
 side, and read to her the Scriptures. She nev- 
 er imagined she was observed, as she sat in an 
 obscure corner of the room, and it was common 
 for different pious persons to attend the sick 
 like herself in disguise. And that there might 
 be less chance of her being noticed, she wore 
 the same dress as the attendants, when she vis- 
 ited the hospital. 
 
 " One day, the windows having been closed 
 to exclude the light, which was painful to some 
 of the patients, she borrowed a taper, and as she 
 read with her head leaning down, her veil 
 caught fire, and she might have been much 
 burnt, but that a gentleman in a mask, who had 
 also been attending the sick, had stopped to ob- 
 serve her, and instantly as he saw the blaze tore 
 the veil from her. Geraldine stood affrighted 
 and ashamed ; but the cavalier, when he found 
 her unhurt, withdrew with great delicacy, and 
 returned with a veil, which he had borrowed 
 from one of the attendants, and threw it over 
 her head. Geraldine departed in some confu- 
 sion, forgetting to bring away her Bible, and 
 was so much disconcerted at the accident, that 
 she was some days before she could resolve to 
 go again ; at last, feeling for the loss the poor 
 woman would have of her now customary gra- 
 tification, she determined to go again, disguising 
 herself more carefully. When she arrived, she 
 said to her patient, ' I am afraid you have been 
 at a loss these three days for the comfort this 
 good book affords, and I blame myself for not 
 having come sooner.' The woman replied, that 
 17 
 
she should have missed her more, but that the 
 good signor. who had prevented her from being 
 burnt, had come every morning to read to her. 
 and said, that he came early, that 1 might have 
 the benefit of your reading too. 
 
 Geraldine felt the delicacy of this conduct ; 
 but as she has that excellent upright sense, 
 which never imposes on itself, she at once saw 
 the necessity of returning no more to the hos- 
 pital ; as the cavalier did not only come occa- 
 sionally, but made a practice of coming ; and 
 as the woman was now advancing to recovery, 
 she could do this with less regret. She there- 
 fore left some money with her, and told her 
 when she was recovered to inquire for me at 
 the convent, and she would give her further as- 
 sistance. She then took up the Bible and re- 
 turned. When she came to the convent, and laid 
 the book on the table, it struck her that it was 
 not her own. She examined it, and looking to 
 the blank leaf, corresponding to the one where 
 her name was written, found it was not ; and 
 also sufficient evidence, that hers had been ta- 
 ken, and this left in its place designedly : for 
 corresponding to where her name had been 
 written, was written the name of the duke D'- 
 Uuzeda ; where her age, his age ; where the 
 place of her birth, and the names of her pa- 
 rents, the same of his ; with an affectation of 
 similarity in the position of the lines : and as 
 she had written a couple of French verses, ad- 
 dressed to her mother to guard and guide her, 
 he had composed a similar one, with a slight va- 
 riation of the sentiment. This confirmed Ger- 
 aldine in her resolution of not going again to the 
 
195 
 
 hospital, She mentioned the circumstance to. 
 me ; and I approved of her conduct, and per- 
 ceiving that the accident had made no impres- 
 sion on her imagination, which had no tincture 
 of romance, I did not even inquire about the 
 duke D'Uuzeda. However, as Geraldine now 
 said, that if the queen called on her to decide, 
 with no better opportunities of judging than 
 what she had, and as I told her the duke was 
 unmarried, she said she certainly would givq 
 him a preference. 
 
 " I determined to inquire the next day res- 
 pecting his circumstances. However the queen 
 did not give us time ; with that impetuosity in 
 urging on whatever they desire, and that re- 
 gardlessness of other people's feelings, which 
 marks the most amiable of princes, when their 
 own wishes are to be gratified, she summoned 
 Geraldine to court the next day. and sent her 
 carriages, and the duchess d' Albuquerque to 
 conduct her. 
 
 " When Geraldine appeared, the queen with 
 little ceremony announced her intentions ; and 
 telling Geraldine, with many compliments, that 
 there was not a single young lord of the court 
 but what aspired to obtain her hand, bid her 
 choose whomever she would prefer for a hus- 
 band ; ' Here is a list of their names,' said her 
 majesty smiling, 'but as I believe you have 
 scarcely deigned to know them by name, I have 
 assembled them all here, in case you know their 
 faces better.' 
 
 " Geraldine replied without raising her eyes 
 
196 
 
 from the ground ; ' your majesty's commands 
 are sufficient to excuse in me what otherwise 
 would be deemed unusual presumption. In obe- 
 dience to these I name the duke D'Uuzeda, if 
 his grace will condescend to accept the poor 
 offer of my duty.' 
 
 Here Geraldine's limbs nearly failed her ; but 
 the queen herself supported her, and cried to 
 the duke, who rushed forward ; ' stop. D'Uuze- 
 da, perhaps here is some mistake, and I do not 
 mean that the princess Hi Nial should be a vic- 
 tim to her obedience.' 
 
 " ' Do you know,' continued she to Geral- 
 dine, ' that the duke is absolutely without for- 
 tune, and therefore never pretended to your 
 hand ?' 
 
 " 4 No, Madam, I did not know that circum- 
 stance.' 
 
 " c Have you ever seen the duke's face ?' 
 " ' No, Madam.' 
 
 " * How came you then to know any thing 
 about him.' 
 
 " ' I saw, said Geraldine, after some hesita- 
 tion, and sinking in the queen's arms, ; 1 saw 
 his name in a book, 5 
 
 " At this reply the queen burst into an uncon- 
 trollable fit of laughter, while in an instant 
 prostrate at Geraldine's feet, knelt the most 
 
197 
 
 handsome, the most accomplished, and the 
 most virtuous nobleman of the Spanish court. 
 
 " It was not long before I was summoned t<5 
 attend her majesty ; she received me in her pri- 
 vate apartment, told me what had happened, 
 and hoped that the duke's poverty would not 
 prevent my giving my consent to my niece's 
 marriage with him. 
 
 " I replied, certainly not, Geraldine's fortune 
 making the duke's circumstances very imma- 
 terial, if his character was good, and if Geral- 
 dine conceived no aversion to him. 
 
 " ' Then this is the most charming event that 
 ever happened,' replied the queen, delighted. 
 ' There is no one at court to be at all compar- 
 ed with D'Uuzeda in talents, accomplishments, 
 and piety ; and he is the exact person I should 
 have fixed on for Geraldine, but I thought his 
 poverty an insuperable bar he, it seemSj 
 thought so too, for when Geraldine first appear- 
 ed, he gazed and gazed on her till he became 
 passionately enamoured ; but despairing of suc- 
 cess, he determined to conquer his passion, and 
 abstained wholly from appearing at court and 
 this was what surprised me, when Geraldine 
 named him, for I was convinced that she had 
 never even seen him. You may imagine his 
 surprise, when he snatched off the burning veil 
 at the hospital, to find that the pious girl, whom 
 he had often stopped to remark as he passed 
 by, was the lovely object of his affection. Yet 
 he had honour and resolution enough to abstain 
 from taking any advantage of this incident, and 
 17* 
 
198 
 
 he contented himself with taking possession of 
 the Bible she had left, and substituting one of 
 his own in its place. Can you have a better 
 warrant for his character? and as for any aver- 
 sion Geraldine may have for him, step this way,' 
 continued the queen, and she opened a folding 
 door, and presented to view Geraldine sitting 
 quite composedly by the side of the duke 
 D'Uuzeda on a low sopha, with her hand lock- 
 ed in both of his. 
 
 " Come then, dearest Sir, for Geraldine 
 absolutely refuses to be married by any one but 
 yourself, not a Cardinal or Archbishop will con- 
 tent her, and on this point neither queen, nor 
 aunt, nor lover, have any power to move her. 
 But I enclose a short note from her, which I 
 dare say will have more effect with you, than 
 my long epistle. 
 
 Ever your asssured friend, 
 
 UNA, 
 
 Princess Hi Sullivan Bere. 
 born Hi Nial." 
 
 Geraldine^s Mote. 
 
 " Dearest, most beloved Father, 
 
 '' I did not think that I could have made 
 so many people happy, and if you approVe my 
 conduct, I shall have nothing to desire. The 
 charming queen thanks me, as if I had really 
 sacrificed my inclinations to her wishes ; my 
 aunt is more tender and affectionate than ever, 
 my brothers dote on the duke d'Uuzeda, and he 
 is in raptures with them. They have already 
 undertaken to bring his estate into cultivation. 
 
199 
 
 you know what excellent farmers they are; 
 even Rory has recovered his youth and spirits, 
 and is beyond all measure proud, because the 
 Duke will allow no one else to attend about his 
 person. And yet I am often obliged to leave 
 them, and go to my closet and weep, when I 
 think, that, had it pleased God, my father might 
 have witnessed the happiness of his poor girl ; 
 but he does witness it, and I will indulge this 
 weakness no more. 
 
 " My aunt has showed me her letter, and I 
 wish nothing altered in it, but an expression 
 that implies, that I can love any one much bet- 
 ter than herself; indeed it is not the case, every 
 one adores her, much more the unprotected 
 girl, who has found in her the tenderest of 
 friends, and the most anxious of mothers ; come 
 then, my dear Sir, for nothing but your presence 
 is wanting to complete our happiness. 
 
 Your lovingly attached 
 
 GERALDIXE." 
 
 You may imagine, that after these letters the 
 wind did not blow long between me and Spain. 
 I left Merrill to the care of a trusty domestic, 
 and travelling to Cork, soon found a vessel about 
 to sail for Spain. We had a speedy and favour- 
 able voyage. We landed at Corunna, and I 
 was no great time in reaching Madrid. It \vas 
 almost too much for me to hold again in my 
 arms my loving and beloved children. When 
 Una and I retired, we both wept over the days 
 that were departed, but she was soothed by the 
 warm approbation I bestowed upon her conduct. 
 
^00 
 
 She was still in all the pride of her beauty, 
 looking blooming and young ; but it was plain 
 that she had ceased to value it, and was vain 
 only for Geraldine. I was anxious to see the 
 Duke d'Uuzeda, for I could not be satisfied 
 that he was worthy of Geraldine, but the first 
 sight of him won my heart. He had the frank 
 affectionate manner of Maurice, with an air of 
 ease and self-forgetfulness, that captivated at 
 once. 
 
 Three days after my arrival, I married them 
 in the presence of the king, and queen, and 
 court. We all departed the same day for Vil- 
 lambrosa, where Rory had prepared a rural 
 fete. The trees blazed with lights, music re- 
 sounded with the fall of the water, groups were 
 seen dancing, but every one rushed forward to 
 meet the bride and bridegroom, and the maid- 
 ens showered flowers before them ; but above 
 all joy was Rory's joy, who moved from place 
 to place, and from room to room, heeding no 
 one, but exclaiming, " Oh blessed hour ! blessed 
 hour!" 
 
 When I told of dismal scenes, I tried to be 
 short, but could not, misery is so full of circum- 
 stance ; but happiness is fled almost before it 
 can be described, and I have now little left to 
 
 say. 
 
 I remained for three months in Spain, a wit- 
 ness of the most perfect contentment, which 
 virtue and piety can give. My sons and the 
 duke loved each other entirely ; and they had 
 the satisfaction, by conducting the water by 
 many skilful contrivances over his estate, to 
 
201 
 
 make fruitful what was before arid and barren. 
 They taught him too, what a Spanish noble- 
 man seldom understands, how to lay out money 
 to advantage on his estate, so that before many 
 years passed, from being one of the poorest, it 
 became one of the most thriving properties in 
 Spain. And the duke, with the addition of 
 Geraldine's fortune, one of its richest noblemen. 
 
 The duke, under Geraldine's tuition, made 
 rapid progress in English, so that he could 
 speak it passably well before I came away ; this 
 sad moment arrived but too soon. Una and all 
 endeavoured to make me take up my abode in 
 Spain, but I could not part from Ireland : like 
 the doating love of a parent for a sickly child, 
 the more this hapless country grieved my heart, 
 the more I was attached to it, and besides it 
 would have ill become me to abandon the du- 
 ties of my poor parish, now that life was grown 
 too short with me, to enable me to begin the 
 care of a new set of souls with any chance of 
 success. 
 
 Not but that the temptation was strong ; for, 
 added to the yearnings of natural affection, am- 
 bition laid its toils, as the duke proposed me to 
 the queen for her confessor, and she assented, 
 as I was conversant with France ; for the king 
 would not allow her to retain a French confes- 
 sor, but he would have admitted me as an Irish- 
 man, to whom he and indeed all Spaniards are 
 partial. But, as I said before, I refused, though 
 with sad pain ; which, however, was somewhat 
 diminished, when I found that darling Geral- 
 dine had stipulated with the duke, before her 
 marriage, that he would take her to Ireland, 
 
202 
 
 that she might once more visit me and her pa- 
 rents' graves. 
 
 This was a wonderful comfort to me when I 
 departed, for whether it was the heat of the 
 climate, or probably the natural progress of old 
 age, I became latterly so debilitated, that I felt 
 I should make no second journey to Spain. 
 I parted, therefore, from Una, as never to 
 meet again, but as blessed spirits ; but I was 
 satisfied to find that piety, and resignation, and 
 peace, had taken full possession of her heart. 
 
 Once more I returned to my home, and the 
 poor creature, Merritt, seemed to feel joy at- 
 seeing me again. 
 
 I now devoted myself with zeal to my reli- 
 gious duties, which I found a great alleviation 
 to my mind, and I read again and again the 
 sacred gospels and epistles, the only comfort 
 there is for old age. Yet childishly I marked 
 down all the days of the year, at the end of 
 which I expected my beloved friends, and 
 scored off a day every evening ; yet they came 
 not, though I heard of their welfare and happi- 
 ness, and I began to reckon another year. It 
 was at the end of this that I at last saw, on a 
 fine summer's evening, a ship approach the 
 island, with a yellow flag at her head, the con- 
 certed signal that she brought my treasures. 
 The tears still gush from my eyes, when I think 
 of the joy of that moment. 
 
 The children wept with delight at once more 
 seeing their native country ; Rory too was full 
 
<>i approbation at all the improvements that had 
 taken place since his absence, and the duke 
 enjoyed the pleasure with which all seemed 
 affected ; but they did not lose a moment in 
 hastening to their father's grave, where the. tears 
 they shed flowed without bitterness. When 
 they entered my house (now not a despicable 
 one) Merritt, whom I had in my hurry of spirits 
 forgot to have put out of the way, happened to 
 cross them, and the moment he fixed his eyes 
 upon James Hi Nial, he began to shake and be 
 convulsed, staring as if he had seen a spectre ; 
 and when I hurried them away, for they were 
 all indiscribably shocked, he screamed to a de- 
 gree that was terrifying. Even Rory was mov- 
 ed with pity, and came to help to appease him, 
 and we were forced ever after to keep him 
 remote, which was not difficult ; for as long as 
 they staid, he seemed afraid to move from the 
 chimney corner where he sat. The strong 
 likeness of James to Hi Sullivan had increased 
 with manhood, and his complexion, having been 
 embrowned by the Spanish sun, made the re- 
 semblance still more remarkable. 
 
 This was the only incident that troubled our 
 entire tranquillity. My sons employed them- 
 selves indefatigably in assisting all our poor 
 neighbours ; urging them to better modes of 
 culture, and liberally assisting them with the 
 means. They set all the smiths and carpenters 
 to work to make better implements ; they pur- 
 chased and gave the better farmers a finer 
 breed of cattle and horses ; they laid out drains, 
 where the country was wet ; and led streams 
 on levels to fertilize the grass ground ; in short 
 
204 
 
 the golden age seemed restored in Rahery, and 
 the poor people who had loved their parents, 
 and sympathised in all the extraordinary fate of 
 this renowned family, idolized them like some- 
 thing above earth. Nor was Geraldine less 
 indefatigable ; wonderfully skilled in medicine 
 from her constant attendance on the hospital of 
 Madrid ; wherever sickness was, there she paid 
 her angel visits, and not only administered me- 
 dicines, but every alleviation that money or 
 kind counsel could give ; and every morning of 
 the Sundays she would read the Testament to 
 such of the infirm, as could not attend service ; 
 and in the evening she collected the children 
 of the district, and taught them to read and 
 write. Yet their stay was always out of the 
 question. Even my sons, though they doated 
 on their native country, loved the duke more ; 
 and their father's wishes was a law to them on 
 this subject. All they attempted was to make 
 rne return and live in Spain with them ; for this 
 the duke was pressingly urgent, and Geraldine's 
 wistful looks, though she said nothing, moved 
 still more ; for they saw I was growing too- 
 infirm to go again to Spain with a view of re- 
 turning to Ireland. But I had now, at last, de- 
 tached me from all considerations of myself, my 
 duty was so clear, to stay with my flock, that I 
 was resolute in my refusal. 
 
 Geraldine was pregnant ; the duke anxious to 
 get her back in good time to Spain, as he would 
 not have a son born other than a Spaniard. I 
 could not help mourning over the loss of another 
 native family to Ireland. Alas ! when will 
 England permit the Irish native to be respecta- 
 
205 
 
 ble at home ? When will she do justice to the 
 merit of that national character, which of all 
 others least deserves to be treated with distrust, 
 severity and harshness ? I know this people 
 well, and 1 can testify, that there is no race, 
 even to the lowest, less infected with the sel- 
 fishness of depravity ; even the excesses they 
 have been driven to commit, and God knows 
 that they are pitiable ones, spring from some 
 wild and perverted principle, in which their own 
 particular interest forms no consideration. And 
 ah, how generous, how full of kind considera- 
 tion, how intelligent are they in their peaceful 
 and happy hours ! and in the sharp day of 
 adversity, how full of patience, integrity, and 
 honour, and faith preserved unspotted unto 
 death ! 
 
 I saw the day of separation approach with 
 alarm, and even wished it past, if it had been 
 possible to wish to part. Geraldine now 
 scarcely ever left me, nor could her love for 
 her husband keep her long absent from my side. 
 One day, the duke came into my room, where 
 she was sitting, but without taking off his hat, 
 seeming inclined to sit down. "It is a fine 
 day," he said, " my father." 
 
 " It is a gaudy day, my son." 
 
 " The princes, my brothers, are tired of me, 
 because I cannot be melancholy at going back 
 to Spain, and I have been looking for the person 
 with a broken bone, or a sickness, to tempt 
 Geraldine to walk, but they are all cured." 
 
 18 
 
, 206 
 
 " Truth, Geraldine, my heart's own, the duke 
 had some reason to complain, that we treat him 
 in Ireland more like a friend than a stranger. 
 This is mighty wrong ; for a friend, is a friend 
 for our own sake, but a stranger is a friend for 
 God's sake, and ought to be more respected. 
 So, my love, think that you are here in your 
 native country, and give the duke more of the 
 time, which you lavish on a worthless old 
 man." 
 
 " But you, will soon be to me, as if you were 
 not," said Geraldine, rising and wiping away a 
 tear, yet presenting her hand with a smile to 
 her husband. 
 
 " No, no, sit down, Geraldine. I know her 
 too well. If I did not let her give all herself 
 to you now ; she would make the ship turn 
 back, when we were half way to Spain, because 
 her conscience would give her no rest, for not 
 having been sufficiently attentive to you, and she 
 would ask for another week, to make amends." 
 
 " Her very angel mother ! my sainted Berghet- 
 ta !" I exclaimed. " Oh may that tenderness of 
 conscience be manifest in all her race, which, 
 while it reproaches itself for the least aberration, 
 is secure from mortal sin, and humble withal." 
 
 The duke pressed Geraldine to his breast. 
 She, the while, all covered with blushes of real 
 lowness of heart, turned to me, and said, "Ah, 
 father, surely, surely, you would not say any 
 thing to spoil me. Praise from other people, 
 even from my dear husband, only appeared to 
 
6 idle fondling, tor they never nicely exam- 
 me themselves or others $ but you, my confessor, 
 the confessor of so many hearts, approbation 
 from you ought not to be lightly given." 
 
 " Daughter," said I, rising, and lifting my 
 hands to Heaven, and placing them on her head, 
 the peace of God, which passeth all under- 
 standing, possess and fill thy heart ; for he, who 
 early purified thy mother's, has sanctified it to 
 himself; doubt it not." 
 
 Geraldine crossed her hands on her breast, 
 and raised her eyes, shining with a holy joy, 
 and we were silent for some time. The duke 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 " Did I not tell you, loveliest, a multitude of 
 times, that you were the best of girls ? you see 
 I was right, and I hope will put belief in me 
 another time. But," continued he, taking off 
 his hat, " I will not ask you to walk, I know 
 what will give you more delight ; yes, I certain- 
 ly do, though you pretend to look as if noth- 
 ing would give you so much pleasure as walk" 
 ing with me. 
 
 " She has often quarrelled with me, father, 
 for being a hard hearted Christian towards 
 heretics ; and says that you could set me right 
 on this subject, for that you have more wisdom, 
 than all the doctors of Madrid." 
 
 " Say not wisdom, son ! but zeal, good will, 
 earnest desire, and solicitude, to establish Chris- 
 tian love amongst all Christians divided by 
 
208 
 
 names. In this I will not yield to any doctor 
 of them all, Madrid, Salamanca, or the Sor- 
 bonne." 
 
 Geraldine looked delighted, and drawing her 
 husband to her side, made him sit down. 
 
 " You have been early taught, my son," I 
 began, " to regard what is called the Reforma- 
 tion as Satan's work ; to look upon our separa- 
 ted brethren as wilful and unpardonable heretics. 
 But our ecclesiastics state too absolutely, that 
 the Reformation was purely evil. It was God's 
 work* It was a separation to be deplored, as it 
 affected our Protestant brethren ; but it was a 
 reformation to be hailed with joy, as it affected 
 our own Church. It was the reformation of 
 Catholics, as well as of Protestants. Was not 
 reformation wanting, when political pride and 
 aggrandisement infected the bosoms of our pon- 
 tiffs and cardinals ? When the most holy privi- 
 leges of religion were set up for sale, to sup- 
 ply means to their depravity, when a *Pope was 
 heard to say, ' quantas divitias nobis attulit vetus 
 ista fabula Chris ti !' was there not need for a 
 reformation ? Did not God in his mercy divide 
 us among ourselves, and place in Protestants 
 watchful and clear-sighted censors upon our 
 Church ? Consider the characters of our pon- 
 tiffs, cardinals, and ecclesiastics, before and 
 since the Reformation, and acknowledge the 
 wisdom of God in dividing to save. 
 
 " And after all, is not this value which we set 
 upon unity and conformity exaggerated ? Does 
 
 *LeoX. 
 
ft not spring rather from an attachment to our 
 Church than for our religion ? What is the na- 
 tural effect of passive assent and uniformity ? 
 What but indifference ? It looks well, it has a 
 fine appearance, and does to boast of ; but it is 
 spiritless, heartless, lifeless. Look at Spain and 
 Italy, where you have most of it, and see infamy 
 of crime top orthodoxy with its head. We re- 
 proach the Protestants with their sects, though 
 even the worst of them are faithful Christains ; 
 but we do not notice those great sects of Athe- 
 ists and Deists, which preserve the name of our 
 religion, because they care for none, and which 
 perhaps might not have rushed into such fright- 
 ful extremes, if some division of religious opin- 
 ion had been allowed. No, my son, I do not 
 call our separated brethren heretics; praise be 
 to God I can see much good in the diversity of 
 sects, though I cannot approve their opinions. 
 It shows, at least, that religion is the business of 
 such men's bosoms, and that they differ because 
 they are in earnest. Any thing is to be prefer- 
 red to coldness and indifference. I have in Eng- 
 land seen a little chapel raised by Socinians, and 
 consoled myself by thinking, that a great fer- 
 mentation must have taken place, before that 
 subtle scum was thrown up. No, my son, I do 
 not hate heretics: I consider them as instru- 
 ments in the hands of Providence, to shame us 
 when we are corrupted, and to spur us on to ex- 
 ertion when we become lethargic ; and I hum- 
 bly hope, that, if they act up to the light which 
 God has granted them, we shall meet them in 
 that Heaven, where doubts and disputes will be 
 no more." 
 
 IS* 
 
210 
 
 I spoke with warmth, for I had been afflicted 
 with the demoniac exhibition of an auto de fe 
 in Spain, and I feared lest the duke might have 
 been infected with something of the spirit of 
 persecution ; but Geraldine had already much 
 humanized his opinions. 
 
 " I find very little difficulty," he said to me, af- 
 ter obligingly thanking me, " in thinking as Ge- 
 raldine does ; but if 1 did, what you say with so 
 much truth, would convince me, for indeed most 
 of our Spanish Christians are no Christians -at 
 all, and will intrigue, and poignard, and break 
 all faith, and think themselves no worse." 
 
 " In this country," continued I, " we have no 
 of sects to animate our faith ; persecu- 
 tion has the same effect ; and thus it is, that 
 God knows how to produce the best ends, even 
 by the most unpalatable means." 
 
 " My father," observed Geraldine, " said 
 he could love a Protestant as much as a Catho- 
 lic." 
 
 The duke some days after urged me with 
 every persuasion he could use, to go and settle 
 with them in Spain. It was all that was want- 
 ed to make Geraldine happy. I saw that he 
 was preparing to depart, but my mind had been 
 long made up. To them I knew the loss could 
 not be lasting or great, and my own lot I was 
 prepared to bear. 
 
 The tide answered in the morning, the tide 
 that was to bear my all, all that I loved on earth. 
 
211 
 
 away. They arose by day light, that they might 
 receive the offices of religion, as they would 
 necessarily be so long without them on their 
 voyage. While 1 prepared their souls for Hea- 
 ven, it seemed little to me to be separated from 
 them on earth. But when I came to give them 
 my benediction, my parting benediction, my 
 foolish old eyes streamed down with tears. They 
 knelt round me. Sense of jny duty restored me 
 my voice. Just as I had finished, the sailors 
 appeared at the door, to say all was ready. 
 " They come," said I, " now children of my 
 heart, God's blessing be with you." I embrac- 
 ed them one by one, and speedily, Geraldine 
 last. My sons, the princes, wrung my hands, 
 and Geraldine sobbed on my bosom. The 
 duke looked again to intreat me to go with 
 him. 
 
 " Be of good cheer, my sons," I said. " Ge- 
 raldine, darling, do not weep so." I shook my 
 head to the duke. We may weep to part, but 
 Christians should never part in despondency. 
 We shall meet next, through the merits of our 
 blessed Saviour, in Heaven. 
 
 I delivered Geraldine to the duke, who gent- 
 ly forced her away. My sons again threw them- 
 selves into my arms, but upon the sailors enter- 
 ing to take up the trunks, they shook the tears 
 from their eyes, and helped the men with their 
 burdens ; and when the door closed, 1 thought I 
 was left in the blackest solitude I had ever 
 known. 
 
 O imbecile nature of ignoble man ! I had the 
 society of God, and the speedy prospect of 
 
death, the gate of Heaven. I betook me to my 
 prayers, and earnestly imploring blessings for 
 my beloved children, the fluctuations of my 
 mind subsided. I had scarcely ended my pray- 
 ers, when the poor old crazy thing came creep- 
 ing softly into the room, looking needfully 
 about. 
 
 " Father!" he said. 
 
 " "What would you, Merritt ?"' 
 
 ;i He is gone !" 
 
 " Yes, gone quite away, in a ship over the 
 sea, to Spain ; he will never come back." 
 
 Then he slunk into the chair he used to sit in. 
 and renewed his mutter of " wo is me ! wo is 
 
 Many hours did not pass me by, before satis- 
 faction and thankfulness rose uppermost in my 
 thoughts ; repinings and sorrow, with other 
 dregs of worldly carefulness, subsided to the bot- 
 tom of my heart, and were still. Towards 
 evening I felt, that I might indulge myself with 
 a last view of the ship. Taking nny staff, I hob- 
 bled up to the top of the rocks. She was still 
 plain to be discerned, bearing away under a 
 fair north wind, and lessening in the evening 
 haze. 
 
 While I looked, my eyes filled joyfully with 
 tears, when I considered the fair lot of these 
 jewels of my affections ; that with them world- 
 
213 
 
 ly prosperity was not incompatible with their 
 eternal welfare, and that the good God might 
 rejoice, that here there was no necessity to af- 
 flict in order to save. 
 
 I continued to look, till my feeble eyes could 
 not even imagine that they saw the ship any 
 longer ; as J rose to go home, and turned away 
 from them for ever in this world, a natural pain 
 again cut my heart ; till I forced my thoughts 
 to pass from the living to the dead to my lov- 
 ed Maurice and Berghetta to the ever honour- 
 ed Hi Sullivans, father and son ; with whom I 
 felt that I had a nearer interest, than with the 
 young beginners in a life, that was closing fast 
 upon me. 
 
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