FARDOROUGHA THE MISER.
 
 Preparing for immediate Publication, in Monthly Parts, 
 
 CHRONICLES OF BALLYMACRUISKEEX. 
 
 Willi the Lives, Deaths, Marriages, anil other Misfortunes of its Inhabitants] 
 
 By William Carleton. 
 
 Lately Published, by the same Author, 
 
 1. Tales of Ireland, with Six Etchings by Brooke, 7s. Gd. 
 
 2. Father Butler and the Lough Derg Pilgrim. Second edition, 3s. '.ii.
 
 
 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; 
 
 OR 
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 
 
 WILLIAM CARLETON, 
 
 Author of " Tales of Ireland," " Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry,* 
 " Father Butler," &c. &c. 
 
 DUBLIN 
 WILLIAM CURRY, JUN. AND COMPANY, 
 
 9, UPPER SACKVILLE-STREET. 
 
 1839.
 
 Dublin: Printed by John S. Folds, 5, Bachelor's-walk.
 
 
 J 
 
 
 «• TO 
 
 JAMES M'CULLAGH, ESQ. F.T.C.D. M.K.I.A. 
 
 AND PROFESSOR OF MATHEMATICS IN THE UNIVERSITY OF DUBLIN. 
 
 «\ 
 
 ^\ 
 \ 
 
 ^ My Dear M ; Cullagh, 
 
 It is with the sincerest satisfaction that I avail 
 myself of the present opportunity, and I only wish the 
 <" occasion were more important, of inscribing to you 
 
 this Volume of the " Convicts of Lisnamona." Indeed I 
 feel great pride in doing so ; and this for many reasons. 
 In the first place, your name is one which confers honour 
 not only on our country, but on science itself, as well 
 as on the University of which you are such an illustrious 
 ornament ; add to this, the gratification I feel in your 
 friendship, to me so warm and disinterested. These 
 motives alone would be sufficient to induce me to place 
 a name so eminent in the front of my book. But 
 when I inform my readers that you and I are natives 
 of the same county, it will be at once admitted that 
 there is something peculiarly fit and appropriate in 
 
 157096
 
 VI DEDICATION. 
 
 dedicating this Volume to you, rather than to any one 
 else. Apart, however, from other considerations, it 
 is no common honour to have associated with a pro- 
 duction so humble as this, the name of the first science 
 scholar and profoundest mathematician that our country 
 has ever produced — the name of a man whose unob- 
 trusive character and modesty are equal to his great 
 and extensive genius. 
 
 Believe me to be, my dear M'Cullagh, 
 
 Most affectionately and faithfully yours, 
 
 W. CARLETON.
 
 PEE FACE. 
 
 In consequence of the very favourable reception 
 which the tale of Fardorougha the Miser met with 
 in the pages of our admirable Irish Periodical, the 
 Dublin University Magazine, I have been induced 
 to submit it in a separate and collected form to a 
 still wider circle of readers. This was rendered 
 the more necessary, as much of the force and con- 
 nection of the story was lost in consequence of its 
 not having appeared with regularity in the con- 
 secutive numbers of the Periodical I have mentioned. 
 
 Most of the dramatis persona of the story are 
 in point of fact drawn from life ; the chief character 
 in it, that of the miser himself, is one to which I 
 have never met any thing similar in books, yet I 
 beg to assure the reader, that I have known and 
 witnessed in real life most of the struggles between
 
 V1U PREFACE. 
 
 avarice and affection which I have attempted to 
 depict in the narrative. I knew the original well ; 
 and many readers in the county of Louth will 
 at once recognize the little withered old man, 
 who always wore his great coat (cothamore) about 
 his shoulders, and kept perpetually sucking in his 
 cheeks while engaged in conversation. It is also 
 true that he was nearly fourteen years married 
 before he became a father ; his wife having borne 
 him but one son, the only issue they ever had. 
 
 It is indeed surprising to think how easy a thing 
 it is to give to truth the appearance and impress of 
 fiction. The miser's conduct at the residence of the 
 County Treasurer who absconded with his money, is 
 so well remembered, that it is now believed by the 
 people that the descendants of that public delin- 
 quent have never prospered since, in consequence of 
 his curses. This will be the more easily under- 
 stood by my readers, when they are informed, that 
 it is the opinion of the lower Irish that a curse, when 
 once uttered, must fall either upon the object of its 
 malignity, or upon something else; and that it will 
 hover seven years in the air, rather than fail in 
 accomplishing some evil purpose analogous to that
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 of him who uttered it — that is, when it cannot fulfil 
 his intention upon the person against whom it was 
 originally directed. 
 
 With respect to his wife, I have only to say, that 
 hy those who know as I do the qualities which 
 prevail among the humble females of my country, 
 her character will immediately be recognised as 
 one which they have frequently witnessed. Honor 
 O' Donovan is no creature of the imagination, but, 
 on the contrary, a likeness faithful and true to the 
 virtues of thousands whose glowing piety, meek 
 endurance, and unexampled fortitude have risen 
 triumphant over some of the severest trials of 
 domestic life. Dear to my heart is the memory 
 of the beloved being whose virtues are but faintly 
 shadowed forth in the portrait of her which I have 
 drawn. Oh, many a portrait of equal piety and 
 purity is to be found under the humble roof of the 
 Irish cottage and the Irish farm-house; for in no 
 country on the earth, or among no class of females, 
 could the eye of an observer discover greater truth, 
 sincerer religion, or firmer principle, than among the 
 wives and daughters of the Irish peasantry. We 
 have indeed a right to be proud of our country-
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 women ; and ungenerous must the heart of any Irish 
 writer he, who will neglect to record virtues that are 
 so worthy of imitation. 
 
 It is now some time since I have been before the 
 public, and I consequently feel much anxiety as to 
 the reception I may experience at its hands. I 
 cannot forget, however, that it has hitherto treated 
 me with great kindness ; and I earnestly hope that 
 it will continue to manifest the same indulgence to 
 one, whose greatest happiness has been that his 
 humble efforts were deemed worthy of its good 
 opinion. 
 
 Dublin, June, 1839.
 
 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; 
 
 OR THE 
 
 CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On a gentle declivity facing the south, and sheltered 
 by a sharp Esker or land-ridge, lay the long, low, 
 whitewashed farm-house of Fardorougha Donovan of 
 Lisnamona. There was little of artificial ornament 
 about the place, but much of the rough, heart-stirring 
 wildness of nature, as it appeared in a strong, 
 vigorous district, well cultivated, but without being 
 tamed down by those finer and more graceful touches, 
 which now-a-days mark the skilful hand of the scien- 
 tific agriculturist. 
 
 To the left waved a beautiful hazel glen, which 
 gradually expanded into the meadows above 
 mentioned. Up behind the house stood an ancient 
 plantation of whitethorn, which, during the month 
 of May, diffused its fragrance, its beauty, and its 
 melody over the whole farm. The plam garden was 
 
 B
 
 I FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 hedged round by the graceful poplar, whilst here 
 and there were studded over the fields either single 
 trees or small groups of mountain-ash, a tree still 
 more beautiful than the former. The small dells 
 about the farm were closely covered with blackthorn 
 and holly, with an occasional oak shooting up from 
 some little cliff, and towering sturdily over its lowly 
 companions. Here grew a thick interwoven mass of 
 dog-tree, and upon a wild hedge-row, leaning like a 
 beautiful wife upon a rugged husband, might be seen 
 supported by clumps of blackthorn, that most fra- 
 grant and exquisite of creepers the delicious honey- 
 suckle. Add to this the neat appearance of the farm 
 itself, with its meadows and corn-fields waving to the 
 soft sunny breeze of summer, and the reader may 
 admit, that without possessing any striking features 
 of pictorial effect, it would, nevertheless, be difficult 
 to find an up-lying farm upon which the eye could 
 rest with greater satisfaction. 
 
 This brief description we deemed it necessary to 
 give of a place which, however humble, will be 
 found the scene of the darkest and tenderest passions 
 of the human heart. 
 
 It was on one of those nights in August, when the 
 moon and stars shine through an atmosphere clear 
 and cloudless with a mildness of lustre almost con- 
 tinental, that a horseman, advancing at a rapid pace, 
 turned off a remote branch of road up a narrow lane, 
 and, dismounting before a neat whitewashed cottage, 
 gave a quick and impatient knock at the door.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 6 
 
 Almost instantly, out of a small window that opened 
 on hinges, was protruded a broad female face, sur- 
 rounded, by way of nightcap, with several folds of 
 flannel, that had originally been white. 
 
 " Is Mary Moan at home ?" said the horseman. 
 
 "For a maricle — ay!" replied the female; "who's 
 dovm in the name o' goodness ?" 
 
 " Why, thin, I'm thinkin' you'll be smilin' whin 
 you hear it," replied the messenger. "The sorra 
 one else than Honor Donovan, that's now marrid 
 upon Fardorougha Donovan to the tune of thirteen 
 year. Bedad, time for her, any how — but, sure 
 it 'ill be good whin it comes, we're thinkin'." 
 
 " Well, betther late than never — the Lord be 
 praised for all his gifts, any how! Put your horse 
 down to the mountin' stone, and I'll be wid you in 
 half a jiffy, acushla." 
 
 She immediately drew in her head, and ere the 
 messenger had well placed his horse at the aforesaid 
 stirrup, or mounting-stone, which is an indispensable 
 adjunct to the midwife's cottage, she issued out, 
 cloaked and bonneted; for, in point of fact, her 
 practice was so extensive, and the demands upon 
 her attendance so incessant, that she seldom, if ever, 
 slept, or went to bed, unless partially dressed. And 
 such was her habit of vigilance, that she ultimately 
 became an illustration of the old Roman proverb, 
 Non donnio omnibus; that is to say, she could sleep 
 as sound as a top to every possible noise except a 
 knock at the door, to which she might be said, during
 
 4 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 the greater part of her professional life, to have been 
 instinctively awake. 
 
 Having ascended the mounting-stone, and placed 
 herself on the crupper, the guide and she, while 
 passing down the narrow and difficult lane, along 
 which they could proceed but slowly and with cau- 
 tion, entered into the following dialogue, she having 
 first turned up the hood of her cloak over her bonnet, 
 and tied a spotted cotton kerchief round her neck. 
 
 "This," said the guide, who was Fardorougha 
 Donovan's servantman, "is a quare enough business,' 
 as some o' the nabours do be sayin' — marrid upon 
 one another beyant thirteen year, an' ne'er a sign of 
 a haporth till now. Why then begad it is quare." 
 
 "Whisht, whisht," replied Molly, with an ex- 
 pression of mysterious and superior knowledge ; 
 " don't be spakin' about what you don't understand — 
 sure, nuttin's impossible to God, avick — don't you 
 know that?" 
 
 " Oh, bedad, sure enough — that we must allow, 
 whether or not; — still"' — 
 
 "Very well; seein' that, what more have we to 
 say, barrin' to hould our tongues. Childre sent late 
 always come either for great good or great sarra to 
 their paarents — an' God grant that this may be for 
 good to the honest people — for indeed honest people 
 they are, by all accounts. But what myself wonders 
 at is, that Honor Donovan never once opened her 
 lips to me about it. However, God's will be done ! 
 The Lord send her safe over all her throubles, poor
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 5 
 
 woman ! And, now that we're out o' this thief of 
 a lane, lay an for the bare life, and never heed me. 
 I'm as good a horseman as yourself; and, indeed, 
 I've a good right, for I'm an ould hand at it." 
 
 " I'm thinkin','' she added, after a short silence, 
 " it's odd I never was much acquainted with the 
 Donovans. I'm tould they're a hard pack, that loves 
 the money, honest as they are." 
 
 " Faix," replied her companion, " let Fardorougha 
 .alone for knowin' the value of a shillin'! — they're 
 not in Europe can hould a harder grip of one." 
 
 His master, in fact, was a hard frugal man, and 
 his mistress a woman of somewhat a similar cha- 
 racter: both were strictly honest, but, like many 
 persons to whom God has denied offspring, their 
 hearts had for a considerable time before been placed 
 upon money as their idol; for, in truth, the affections 
 must be fixed upon something, and we generally find 
 that where children are denied, the world comes in 
 and hardens by its influence the best and tenderest 
 sympathies of humanity. 
 
 After a journey of two miles they came out on a 
 hay-track, that skirted an extensive and level sweep 
 of meadow, along which they proceeded with as 
 much speed as a pillionless midwife was capable of 
 bearing. 
 
 Ere arriving at the house they were met by Fardo- 
 rougha himself, a small man, with dark, but well-set 
 features, which being at no time very placid, ap- 
 peared now to be absolutely gloomy, yet marked by 
 strong and profound anxiety.
 
 6 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Thank God!" he exclaimed on meeting them; 
 " Is this Mary Moan ?" 
 
 " It is — it is," she exclaimed : " how are all 
 within ? — Am I in time ?" 
 
 " Only poorly," he returned; "you are, I hope." 
 
 The midwife, when they reached the door, got 
 herself dismounted in all haste, and was about enter- 
 ing the house, when Fardorougha, laying his hand 
 upon her shoulder, said in a tone of voice tremulous 
 with apprehension — 
 
 " I need say nothing to you : what you can do 
 you will do — but one thing I expect — if you see 
 danger, call in assistance." 
 
 " It's all in the hands o' God, Fardorougha, 
 acushla: be as aisy in your mind as you can: if 
 there's need for more help you'll hear it; so keep the 
 man an' horse both ready." 
 
 She then blessed herself, and entered the house, 
 repeating a short prayer, or charm, which was sup- 
 posed to possess uncommon efficacy in relieving cases 
 of the nature she was theu called upon to attend. 
 
 Fardorougha Donovan was a man of shrewd sense, 
 and of strong, but not obvious or flexible feeling; 
 that is to say, on strong occasions he felt accordingly, 
 and exhibited very remarkable symptoms of the feel- 
 ing that swayed him. In matters of a less important 
 character, he was either deficient in sensibility alto- 
 gether, or it affected him so slightly as not to be 
 perceptible. What his disposition might have been, 
 had his parental affections and domestic sympathies
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 7 
 
 been cultivated by the tender intercourse which sub- 
 sists between a parent and his children, it is not easy 
 to say. On such occasions many a new and delight- 
 ful sensation — many a sweet trait of affection previ- 
 ously unknown — and, oh! many, many a fresh im- 
 pulse of rapturous emotion never before felt, — gushes 
 out of the heart; all of which, were it not for the 
 existence of ties so delightful, might have there lain, 
 sealed up for ever. Where is the man who does not 
 remember the strange impression of tumultuous de- 
 light which he experienced on finding himself a hus- 
 band 1 And who does not recollect that nameless 
 eharm, amounting almost to a new sense, which per- 
 vaded his whole being with tenderness and transport 
 on kissing the rose-bud lips of his first-born babe / 
 It is indeed by the ties of domestic life that the 
 purity and affection and the general character of the 
 human heart are best tried. What is there more 
 beautiful than to see that fountain of tenderness 
 multiplying its affections instead of diminishing them, 
 according as claim after claim arises to make fresh 
 demands upon its love. Love, and especially parental 
 love, like jealousy, increases by what it feeds On. 
 But, oh! from what an unknown world of exquisite 
 enjoyment are they shut out, to whom Providence has 
 not vouchsafed those beloved beings on whom the 
 heart lavishes the whole fulness of its rapture! No 
 wonder, that their own affections should wither in the 
 cold gloom of disappointed hope, or their hearts 
 harden into that moody spirit of worldly-mindedness 
 which adopts for its offspring the miser's idol.
 
 8 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Whether Fardorougha felt the want of children 
 acutely or otherwise, could not be inferred from any 
 visible indication of regret on his part by those who 
 knew him. His own wife, whose facilities of obser- 
 vation were so great and so frequent, was only able 
 to suspect in the affirmative. For himself he neither 
 murmured nor repined, but she could perceive that 
 after a few years had passed, a slight degree of gloom 
 began to settle on him, and an anxiety concerning his 
 crops, and his few cattle, and the produce of his farm. 
 He also began to calculate the amount of what might 
 be saved from the fruits of their united industry. 
 Sometimes, but indeed upon rare occasions, his 
 temper appeared incliniug to be irascible or impa- 
 tient; but in general it was grave, cold, and inflexible, 
 without any outbreaks of passion, or the slightest 
 disposition to mirth. His wife's mind, however, was 
 by no means so cold as his, nor so free from the 
 traces of that secret regret which preyed upon it. 
 She both murmured and repined, and often in terms 
 which drew from Fardorougha a cool rebuke for her 
 want of resignation to the will of God. As years 
 advanced, however, ner disappointment became haras- 
 sing even to herself, and now that hope began to die 
 away, her heart gradually partoook of the cool worldly 
 spirit which had seked upon the disposition of her 
 husband. Though cultivating but a small farm, which 
 they held at a smart rent, yet by the dint of frugality 
 and incessant diligence they were able to add a little 
 each year to the small stock of money which they
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. i> 
 
 had contrived to put together. Still would the 
 unhappy reflection that they were childless steal pain- 
 fully and heavily over them; the wife would some- 
 times murmur, and the husband reprove her, but in 
 a tone so cool and indifferent that she could not avoid 
 concluding that his own want of resignation, though 
 not expressed, was at heart equal to her own. Each 
 also became somewhat religious, and both remarkable 
 for a punctual attendance upon the rites of their 
 church, and that in proportion as the love of temporal 
 things overcame them. In this manner they lived 
 upwards of thirteen years, when Mrs. Donovan 
 declared herself to be in that situation which in due 
 time rendered the services of Mary Moan necessary. 
 From the moment this intimation was given, and 
 its truth confirmed, a faint light, not greater than 
 the dim and trembling lustre of a single star, broke 
 in upon the darkened affections and worldly spirit 
 of Fardorougha Donovan. Had the announcement 
 taken place within any reasonable period after his 
 marriage, before he had become sick of disappoint- 
 ment, or had surrendered his heart from absolute 
 despair to an incipient spirit of avarice, it would no 
 doubt have been hailed with all the eager delight of 
 unblighted hope and vivid affection; but now a new 
 and subtle habit had been superinduced, after the last 
 cherished expectation of the heart had departed; a 
 spirit of foresight and severe calculation descended on 
 him, and had so nearly saturated his whole being, 
 that he could not for some time actually determine
 
 10 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 whether the knowledge of his wife's situation was 
 more agreeable to his affection, or repugnant to the 
 parsimonious disposition which had quickened his 
 heart into an energy incompatible with natural bene- 
 volence, and the perception of those tender ties which 
 spring up from the relations of domestic life. For a 
 considerable time this struggle between the two prin- 
 ciples went on; sometimes a new hope would spring 
 up, attended in the back-ground by a thousand affect- 
 ing circumstances — on the other hand, some gloomy 
 and undefinable dread of exigency, distress, and ruin, 
 would wring his heart and sink his spirits down to 
 positive misery. Notwithstanding this conflict be- 
 tween growing avarice and affection, the star of the 
 father's love had risen, and though, as we have 
 already said, its light was dim and unsteady, yet the 
 moment a single opening occurred in the clouded 
 mind, there it was to be seen serene and pure, a 
 beautiful emblem of undying and solitary affection 
 struggling with the cares and angry passions of life. 
 By degrees the husband's heart became touched by 
 the hopes of his younger years, former associations 
 revived, and remembrances of past tenderness, though 
 blunted in a heart so much changed, came over him 
 like the breath of fragrance that has nearly passed 
 away. He began, therefore, to contemplate the event 
 without foreboding, and by the time the looked for 
 period arrived, if the world and its debasing influences 
 were not utterly overcome, yet nature and the quick- 
 ening tenderness of a father's feelings had made a
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 
 
 considerable progress in a heart from which they had 
 been long banished. 
 
 Far different from all this was the history of his 
 wife since her perception of an event so delightful. 
 In her was no bitter and obstinate principle subversive 
 of affection to be overcome. For although she had 
 in latter years sank into the painful apathy of a hope- 
 less spirit, and given herself somewhat to the world, 
 yet no sooner did the unexpected light dawn upon her, 
 than her whole soul was filled with exultation and 
 rapture. The world and its influence passed away 
 like a dream, and her heart melted into a habit of 
 tenderness at once so novel and exquisite, that she 
 often assured her husband she had never felt true 
 happiness before. 
 
 Such are the respective states of feeling in which 
 our readers find Fardorougha Donovan and his wife, 
 upon an occasion whose consequences run too far into 
 futurity for us to determine at present whether they 
 are to end in happiness or misery. 
 
 For a considerable time that evening before the 
 arrival of Mary Moan, the males of the family had taken 
 up their residence in an inside kiln, where, after having 
 kindled a fire in the draught hole, or what the Scotch 
 call the "logie," they sat and chatted in that kind of 
 festive spirit which such an event uniformly produces 
 among the servants of a family. Fardorougha him- 
 self remained for the most part with them, that is to 
 say, except while ascertaining from time to time the 
 situation of his wife. His presence, however, was
 
 12 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 only a restraint upon their good humour, and his 
 niggardly habits caused some rather uncomplimentary 
 epithets during his short visits of inquiry. It is cus- 
 tomary upon such occasions, as soon as the mistress of 
 the family is taken ill, to ask the servants to drink " an 
 easy bout to the misthress, sir, and a speedy recovery 
 — not forgettin' a safe landin' to the youngsther, 
 and, like a Christmas compliment, many of them to 
 you both! Whoo ! death alive, but that's fine stuff. 
 Oh, be gorra, the misthress can't but thrive wid 
 that in the house. Thank you, sir, an' wishin' her 
 once more safe over her troubles ! — Divil a better mis- 
 thress ever," &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Here, however, there was nothing of the kind. 
 Fardorougha's heart in the first instance was set 
 against the expense, and besides, its present broodings 
 resembled the throes of pain which break out from the 
 stupor that presses so heavily upon the exhausted 
 functions of life in the crisis of a severe fever. He 
 could not, in fact, rest nor remain for any length of 
 time in the same spot. With a slow but troubled 
 step he walked backward and forward, sometimes 
 uttering indistinct ejaculations and broken sentences, 
 such as no one could understand. At length he ap- 
 proached his own servants, and addressed the mes- 
 senger, whose name was Nogher M'Cormick, 
 " Nogher," said he, " I'm throubled." 
 "Throubled! dad, Fardorougha, you ought to be 
 a happy and a thankful man this night, that is, if 
 God sinds the misthress safe over it, as I hope he 
 will, plase goodness."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 13 
 
 I'm poor, Nogher, I'm poor, and here's a family 
 
 comin'." 
 
 " Faith, take care it's not sin you're committin' by 
 spakin' as you're doin'." 
 
 " But you know I'm poor, Nogher." 
 
 " But I know you're not, Fardorougha; but I'm 
 afraid, if God hasn't said it, that your heart's too 
 much fixed upon the world. Be my faiks, it's on your 
 knees you ought to be this same night, thankin' the 
 Almighty for his goodness, an' not grumblin' an' 
 sthreelin' about the place, flyin' in the face of God 
 for sendin' you an' your wife a blessin' — for sure 
 I hear the Scripther says that all childre's a bles- 
 sin' if they're resaved as sich; 'an' vo be to the 
 man', says Scripther, 'dat's born wid a millstone 
 about his neck, esphishally if he's cast into the say.' 
 I know you pray enough, but be me sowl, it hasn't 
 improved your morals, or it's the misthress's health 
 we'd be drinkin' in a good bottle of whiskey at the 
 present time. Faix, myself wouldn't be much sur- 
 prised if she had a hard twist in quensequence ; an' if 
 she does, the fau't 's your own an' not ours, for we're 
 willin' as the flowers of May to drink all sorts o' good 
 luck to her." 
 
 " Nogher," said the other, " it's truth a great dale 
 of what you've said — may be all of it." 
 
 "Faith, I know," returned Nogher, "that about 
 the whiskey it's parfit gospel." 
 
 " In one thing I'll be advised by you, and that is, 
 I'll go to my knees and pray to God to set my heart
 
 14 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 right, if it's wrong — I feel strange — strange, Nogher — 
 happy, an' not happy." 
 
 "You needn't go to your knees at all," replied 
 Nogher, "if you give us the whiskey; or, if you do 
 pray, be in airnest, that your heart may be inclined 
 to give it." 
 
 " You desarve none for them words," said Fardo- 
 rougha, who felt that Nogher' s humour jarred 
 upon the better feelings that were rising within him, 
 — " you desarve none, and you'll get none — for the 
 present at least, an' I'm only a fool for spakin' to 
 you." 
 
 He then retired to the upper part of the kiln, where 
 in a dark corner he knelt with a troubled heart, and 
 prayed to God. 
 
 We doubt not but such readers as possess feeling, 
 will perceive that Fardorougha was not only an object 
 at this particular period of much interest, but also 
 entitled to sincere sympathy. Few men in his cir- 
 cumstances could, or probably would, so earnestly 
 struggle with a predominant passion as he did, 
 though without education, or such a knowledge of 
 the world as might enable him, by any observation of 
 the human heart in others, to understand the work- 
 ings of his own. He had not been ten minutes at 
 prayer when the voice of his female servant was 
 heard in loud and exulting tones, calling out ere she 
 approached the kiln itself — 
 
 '•Fardorougha, ca icoul thu?* THiere's my 
 
 * Where are you ?
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 15 
 
 footing masther ? Where's my arles ? — Come in — 
 come in, you're a wantin' to kiss your son — the mis- 
 thress is dyin' till you kiss your son." 
 
 The last words were uttered as she entered the 
 kiln. 
 
 "Dyin'!" he repeated — " the misthress dyin' — oh, 
 Susy, let a thousand childre go before her — dyin'! 
 did you say dyin' ?" 
 
 '* Ay did I, an' it's truth too, but it's wid joy she's 
 dyin' to see you kiss one of the purtiest young boys 
 in all the barony of Lisnamona — myself s over head 
 and ears in love with him inready." 
 
 He gave a rapid glance upwards, so much so, that 
 it was scarcely perceptible, and immediately accom- 
 panied her into the house. The child in the mean- 
 time had been dressed, and lay on its mother's arm 
 in the bed when its father entered. He approached 
 the bedside and glanced at it — then at the mother 
 who lay smiling beside it — she extended her hand to 
 him whilst the soft tears of delight ran quietly down 
 her cheeks. When he seized her hand he stooped to 
 kiss her, but she put her other hand up and said — 
 
 " No, no, you must kiss him first." 
 
 He instantly stooped over the babe, took it in his 
 arms, looked long and earnestly upon it, put it up 
 near him, again gave it a long intense gaze, after 
 
 * To pay one's footing means in Ireland to give a present to 
 a servant for any agreeable circumstance or event that happens 
 for theirs/ time ; or upon entering any particular place of an 
 humble character in order to testify your approval of what you 
 may see.
 
 16 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 which he raised its little mouth to his own, and then 
 imprinted the father's first kiss upon the fragrant lips 
 of his beloved first-born. Having gently deposited 
 the precious babe upon its mother's breast, he caught 
 her hand, and imprinted upon her lips a kiss; — but 
 to those who understand it we need not describe it — 
 to those who cannot, we could give no adequate 
 notion of that which we are able in no other way to 
 describe than by saying that it would seem as if the 
 condensed enjoyment of a whole life were concentrated 
 into that embrace of the child and mother. 
 
 When this tender scene was over, the midwife com- 
 menced — 
 
 " Well, if ever a man had rason to be thank " 
 
 " Silence, woman," he exclaimed, in a voice which 
 hushed her almost into terror. 
 
 " Let him alone," said the wife, addressing her, 
 "let him alone, I know what he feels." 
 
 " No," he replied, " even you, Honora, don't know 
 it — my heart, my heart went astray, and there, un- 
 dher God and my Saviour, is the being that will be 
 the salvation of his father." 
 
 His wife understood him and was touched ; the 
 tears fell fast from her eyes, and extending her hand 
 to him, she said as he clasped it : 
 
 " Sure, Fardorougha, the world won't be as much 
 in your heart now, nor your temper so dark as it 
 was V 
 
 He made no reply, but placing his other hand 
 over his eyes, he sat in that posture for some minutes.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 17 
 
 On raising his head the tears were running as if 
 involuntarily down his cheeks. 
 
 "Honor," said he, "I'll go out for a little — you 
 can tell Mary Moan where any thing's to be had — 
 let them all be trated so that they don't take too 
 much — an' Mary Moan, you won't be forgotten." 
 
 He then passed out, and did not appear for up- 
 wards of an hour, nor could any one of them tell 
 where he had been. 
 
 "Well," said Honor, after he had left the room, 
 "we're now married near fourteen years; and until 
 this night I never see him shed a tear." 
 
 "But sure, acushla, if any thing can touch a 
 father's heart the sight of his first child will. Now 
 keep yourself aisy, avourneen, and tell me where the 
 whiskey an' any thing else that may be a wantin' is, 
 till I give these crathurs of sarvints a dhrop of some- 
 thing to comfort thim." 
 
 At this time, however, Mrs. Donovan's mother and 
 two sisters, who had for some hours previously been 
 sent for, just arrived, a circumstance which once more 
 touched the newly awakened chords of the mother's 
 heart, and gave her that confidence which the pre- 
 sence of " one's own blood," as the people express it, 
 always communicates upon such occasions. After 
 having kissed and admired the babe, and bedewed its 
 face with the warm tears of affection, they piously 
 knelt down, as is the custom among most Irish fami- 
 lies, and offered up a short but fervent prayer of 
 gratitude as well for an event so happy, as for her
 
 18 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 safe delivery, and the future welfare of the mother 
 and child. When this was performed, they set them- 
 selves to the distribution of the blythe meat or groan- 
 ing malt, a duty which the midwife transferred to 
 them with much pleasure* this being a matter which, 
 except in cases of necessity, she considers beneath the 
 dignity of her profession. The servants were accord- 
 ingly summoned in due time, and headed by Nogher, 
 soon made their appearance. In events of this nature, 
 servants in Ireland, and we believe every where else, 
 are always allowed a considerable stretch of good- 
 humoured license in those observations which they 
 are in the habit of making. Indeed this is not so 
 much an extemporaneous indulgence of wit on their 
 part, as a mere repetition of the set phrases and tra- 
 ditionary apothegms which have been long established 
 among the peasantry, and as they are in general ex- 
 pressive of present satisfaction and good wishes for 
 the future, so would it be looked upon as churlishness, 
 and in some cases a sign of ill-luck to neglect them on 
 the part of the servants. 
 
 "Now," said Honor's mother to the servants of 
 both sexes, "now, childre, that you've aite a trifle, 
 you must taste somethin' in the way of dhriuk. It 
 would be too bad on this night, above all nights we've 
 seen yet, not to have a glass to the little stranger's 
 health, at all evints. Here, Nogher, thry this, avick 
 — you never got a glass wid a warmer heart." 
 
 Nogher took the liquor, his grave face charged 
 with suppressed humour, and first looking upon his
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 19 
 
 fellow-servants with a countenance so droll yet dry 
 that none but themselves understood it, he then 
 directed a very sober glance at the good woman. 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am," he exclaimed; "be goxty, 
 sure enough if our hearts wouldn't get warm now, 
 they'd never warm. A happy night it is for Fardo- 
 rougha and the misthress, at any rate. I'll engage 
 the stranger was worth waitin' for too. I'll hould a 
 thrifle, he's the beauty o' the world this minnit — an' 
 I'll engage it's breeches we'll have to be gettin' for 
 him some o' these days, the darlin'. Well, here's 
 his health, any way; an' may he" 
 
 " Husht, arogorah!" exclaimed the midwife; "stop, 
 I say — the tree afore the fruit, all the world over: 
 don't you know, an' bad win to you, that if the 
 sthranger was to go to-morrow, as good might come 
 after him, while the paarent stocks are to the fore. 
 The mother an' father first, acushla, an' thin the 
 sthranger." 
 
 " Many thanks to you, Mrs. Moan," replied 
 Nogher, " for settin' me right — sure we'll know 
 something ourselves whin it comes our own turn, 
 plase goodness. If the misthress isn't asleep, by 
 goxty, I'd call in to her, that I'm dhrinkin' her 
 health." 
 
 " She's not asleep," said her mother; " an' proud 
 she'll be, poor thing, to hear you, Nogher." 
 
 " Misthress!" he said in a loud voice, " are you 
 asleep, ma'am ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, Nogher," she replied, in a good- 
 humoured tone of voice.
 
 20 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Well, ma'am," said Nogher, still in a loud voice, 
 and scratching his head, "here's your health! an' 
 now that the ice is bruk — be goxty, an' so it is sure," 
 said he in an undertone to the rest — " Peggy, behave 
 yourself," he continued to one of the servant-maids, 
 " mockin's catchin': faix, you dunna what's afore 
 yourself yet — beg pardon — I'm forgettin' myself — 
 and now that the ice is bruk, ma'am," he resumed, 
 " you must be dacent for the futher. Many a bottle, 
 plase goodness, we'll have this way yet. Your health, 
 ma'am, an' a speedy recovery to you — an' a sudden 
 uprise — not forgettin' the masther — long life to him!" 
 
 "What!" said the midwife, "are you forgettin' 
 the sthranger ?" 
 
 Nogher looked her full in the face, and opening 
 his mouth, without saying a word, literally pitched 
 the glass of spirits to the very bottom of his throat. 
 
 " Beggin' your pardon, ma'am," he replied, " is it 
 three healths you'd have me dhrink wid the one glass- 
 ful ? — not myself, indeed; faix, I'd be long sorry to 
 make so little of him — if he was a bit of a girsha* 
 I'd not scruple to give him a corner o' the glass, but, 
 bein' a young man, althers the case intirely — he 
 must have a bumper for himself." 
 
 " A girsha!" said Peggy, his fellow- servant, feel- 
 ing the indignity just offered to her sex — " Why, 
 thin, bad manners to your assurance for that same ! 
 A girsha's as well intitled to a full glass as a gorsoon, 
 any day." 
 
 * Little girl.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 21 
 
 " Husht, a colleen, ' said Nogher good-humouredly, 
 " sure, it's takin' patthern by sich a fine example 
 you ought to be. This, Mrs. Moan, is the purty 
 crature I was mentionin' as we came along, that 
 intinds to get dovetailed wid myself some o' these 
 days — that is, if she can bring me into good humour, 
 the thief." 
 
 " And if it does happen," said Peggy, " you'll 
 have to look sharp afther him, Mrs. Moan. He's 
 pleasant enough now, but I'll be bound no man 'ill 
 know betther how to hang his fiddle behind the 
 door* whin he comes home to us." 
 
 " Well, acushla, sure he may, if he likes, but if 
 he does, he knows what's afore him — not sayin' that 
 he ever will, I hope, for it's a woful case whin it 
 comes to that,-\ ahagur." 
 
 " Faix, it's a happy story for half the poor wives 
 of the parish that gov are in it," said Peggy, " sure, 
 only for" 
 
 "Be dhe husth, Vread, agus glak shogh — hould 
 your tongue, Peggy, and taste this," said the mother 
 of her misthress, handing her a glass : " If you in- 
 tind to go together, in the name o' goodness fear God 
 more than the midwife, if you want to have luck an' 
 grace." 
 
 • To leave his good humour behind him. 
 f This refers to an opinion which was prevalent in Ireland 
 with reference to the old class of midwives, viz : that in cases 
 similar to Honora Donovan's, they possessed the power of trans- 
 ferring the penally of woman's original guilt to the husband, if 
 he chanced to be brutal. The wife merely giving birth to the 
 offspring, the other bearing all the pain. In many parts of 
 Ireland it is yet believed that they possess this power.
 
 22 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Oh, is it all this ?" exclaimed the sly girl ; 
 " faix, it'll make me hearty if I drink so much — 
 bedeed it will. Well, misthress, your health, an' a 
 speedy uprise to you — an' the same to the masther, 
 not forgettin' the sthranger — long life an' good health 
 to him!" 
 
 She then put the glass to her lips, and after several 
 small sips, appearing to be so many unsuccessful 
 attempts at overcoming her reluctance to drink it, 
 she at length took courage, and bolting it down, im- 
 mediately applied her apron to her mouth, making 
 at the same time two or three wry faces, gasping, as 
 if to recover the breath which it did not take away 
 from her. 
 
 The midwife, in the mean time, felt that the ad- 
 vice just given to Nogher and Peggy contained a 
 clause somewhat more detrimental to her importance 
 than was altogether agreeable to her; and to sit 
 calmly under any imputation that involved a diminu- 
 tion of her authority was not within the code of her 
 practice. 
 
 " If they go together," she observed, " it's right 
 to fear God, no doubt; but that's no raison why 
 they shouldn't pay respect to thim that can sane 
 thim or otherwise." 
 
 " Nobody says against that, Mrs. Moan," replied 
 the other; " it's all fair, an' nothing else." 
 
 " A midwife's nuttin' in your eyes, we suppose," 
 rejoined Mrs. Moan; " but maybe there's thim be- 
 longin' to you could tell to the conthrairy."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 23 
 
 " Oblaged to you, we suppose, for your sarvices — 
 an' we're not denying that aither." 
 
 " For me sarvices — maybe thim same sarvices 
 warn't very sweet or treaclesome to some o' thim," 
 she rejoined, with a mysterious and somewhat indig- 
 nant toss of the head. 
 
 " "Well, well," said the other in a friendly tone, 
 " that makes no maxim one way or the other, only 
 dhrink this — sure we're not goin' to quarrel about it, 
 any how." 
 
 ' ' God forbid, Honor More ; but sure it 'ud ill become 
 me to hear my own carrecther — no, no, avourneen," 
 she exclaimed, putting back the glass, " I can't take 
 it this-a-way; it doesn't agree wid me; you must put 
 a grain o' shugar an' a dhrop o' bilin' wather to it. 
 It may do very well hard* for the servants, but I'm 
 not used to that." 
 
 " I herd that myself afore," observed Nogher, 
 " that, she never dhrinks hard whiskey. "Well, myself 
 never tasted punch but wanst, an' be goxty its great 
 dhrink. Death alive, Honora More," he continued, 
 in his most insinuating manner, "make us all a sup. 
 Sure, blood alive, this is not a common night, afther 
 what God has sint us; Fardorougha himself would 
 allow you, if he was here; deed, bedad, he as good 
 as promised me he would; an' you know we have the 
 young customer's health to dhrink yet." 
 
 " Throth, an' you ought," said the midwife; "the 
 boy says nuttin' but the thruth — it's not a common 
 
 • Pure, unmixed.
 
 24 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 night; an' if God has given Fardorougha substance, 
 he shouldn't begridge a little, if it was only to show a 
 grateful heart." 
 
 " Well, well," said Honora More — which means 
 great Honora, in opposition to her daughter, Fardo- 
 rougha's wife; this being an epithet adopted for the 
 purpose of contra-distinguishing the members of a 
 family -when called by the same name — "Well," said 
 she, " I suppose it's as good. My own heart, dear 
 knows, is not in a thrifle, only I have my doubts 
 about Fardorougha. However, what's done can't be 
 undone; so, once we mix it, he'll be too late to spake 
 if he comes in, any way." 
 
 The punch was accordingly mixed, and they were 
 in the act of sitting down to enjoy themselves with 
 more comfort when Fardorougha entered. As before, 
 he was silent and disturbed, neither calm nor stern, 
 but labouring, one would suppose, under strong feel- 
 ings of a decidedly opposite character. On seeing 
 the punch made, his brow gathered into something 
 like severity : he looked quickly at his mother-in-law, 
 and was about to speak, but pausing a moment, he 
 sat down, and after a little time said in a kind 
 voice — 
 
 " It's right, it's right — for his sake, an' on his 
 account, have it; but, Honora, let there be no 
 waste." 
 
 " Sure we had to make it for Mrs. Moan whether 
 or not," said his mother-in-law — " she can't drink it 
 hard, poor woman."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 25 
 
 Mrs. Moan, who had gone to see her patient, 
 having heard his voice again, made her appearance 
 with the child hi her arms, and with all the impor- 
 tance which such a burthen usually bestows upon 
 persons of her calling, 
 
 " Here," said she, presenting him the infant, 
 " take a proper look at this fellow. That I may 
 never, if a finer swaddy ever crossed my hands. 
 Throth if you wor dead to-morrow he'd be mistaken 
 for you — your born image — the sorra thing else — eh, 
 alanna — the Lord love my son — faix you've daddy's 
 nose upon you, any how — an' his chin to a turn. 
 Oh thin, Fardorougha, but there's many a couple 
 rowlin' in wealth that 'ud be proud to have the likes 
 of him; an' that must die and let it all go to strangers, 
 or to them that doesn't care about them, 'ceptin' to 
 get grabbin' at what they have, an' that think every 
 day a year that they're above the sod. What ! 
 manim-cm — kiss your child, man alive. That I may 
 never, but he looks at the darlin' as if it was a sod 
 of turf! Throth you're not worthy of havin' such a 
 bully." 
 
 Fardorougha, during this dialogue, held the child 
 in his arms and looked upon it earnestly as before, 
 but without betraying any visible indication of coun- 
 tenance that could enable a spectator to estimate the 
 nature of what passed within him. At length there 
 appeared in his eye a barely perceptible expression of 
 benignity, which, however, soon passed away, and 
 was replaced by a shadow of gloom and anxiety. 
 
 c
 
 26 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Nevertheless, in compliance with the commands ot 
 the midwife, he kissed its lips, after which the ser- 
 vants all gathered round it, each lavishing upon the 
 little urchin those hyperbolical expressions of flattery, 
 which, after all, most parents are willing to receive as 
 something approximating to Gospel truth. 
 
 "Bedad," said Nogher, "that fellow 'ill be the 
 flower of the Donovans, if God spares him — be goxty, 
 I'll engage he'll give the purty girls many a sore 
 heart yet — he'll play the dickens wid 'em or I'm not 
 here — awough ! do you hear how the young rogue 
 gives tongue at that ; the sorra one o' the shaver but 
 knows what I'm sayin'." 
 
 Nogher always had an eye to his own comfort, no 
 matter under what circumstances he might be placed. 
 Having received the full glass, he grasped his master's 
 hand, and in the usual set phrases, to which, how- 
 ever, was added, much extemjwre matter of his own, 
 he drank the baby's health, congratulating the parents 
 in his own blunt way upon this accession to their 
 happiness. The other servants continued to pour 
 out their praises in terms of delight and astonishment 
 at his accomplishments and beauty, each, in imitation 
 of Nogher, concluding with a toast in nearly the same 
 
 words. 
 
 How sweet from other lips is the praise of those 
 we love ! Fardorougha, who a moment before looked 
 upon his infant's face with an unmoved countenance, 
 felt incapable of withstanding the flattery of his own 
 servants when uttered in favour of the child. His
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 2/ 
 
 eye became complacent, and while Nogher held his 
 hand, a slight pressure in return was proof sufficient 
 that his heart beat in accordance with the hopes they 
 expressed of all that the undeveloped future might 
 bestow upon him. 
 
 "When their little treat was over, the servants with- 
 drew for the night, and Fardorougha himself, still 
 labouring under an excitement so complicated and 
 novel, retired rather to shape his mind to some defi- 
 nite tone of feeling than to seek repose. 
 
 How strange is life, and how mysteriously con- 
 nected is the woe or the weal of a single family with 
 the great mass of human society. We beg the reader 
 to stand with us upon a low, sloping hill, a little to 
 theleft of Fardorougha'shouse, and, after having solem- 
 nized his heart by a glance at the starry gospel of the 
 skies, to cast his eye upon the long whitewashed 
 dwelling, as it shines faintly in the visionary distance 
 of a moonlight night. How full of tranquil beauty is 
 the hour, and how deep the silence, except when it 
 is broken by the loud baying of the watch-dog, as he 
 barks in sullen fierceness at his own echo ; or perhaps 
 there is nothing heard but the sugh of the mountain 
 river, as with booming sound it rises and falls in the 
 distance, filling the ear of midnight with its wild and 
 continuous melody. Look around and observe the 
 spirit of repose which sleeps on the face of nature, 
 think upon the dream of human life, and of fill 
 inexplicable wonders which are read from day to I 
 in that miraculous page — the heart of man. Neither
 
 28 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 your eye nor imagination need pass beyond that hum- 
 ble roof before you, in which it is easy to perceive by 
 the lights passing at this unusual hour across the 
 windows, that there is something added either to their 
 joy or to their sorrow. There is the mother, in 
 whose heart was accumulated the unwasted tenderness 
 of years, forgetting all the past in the first intoxica- 
 ting influence of an unknown ecstasy, and looking to the 
 future with the eager aspirations of affection. There 
 is the husband, too, in whose heart the lank devil 
 of the avaricious — the famine-struck god of the miser, 
 is even now contending with the almost extinguished 
 love which springs up in a father's bosom on the sight 
 of his first-born. 
 
 Reader, who can tell whether the entrancing visions 
 of the happy mother, or the gloomy anticipations of 
 her apprehensive husband, are more prophetic of the 
 destiny which is before their child? Many, indeed, 
 and various are the hopes and fears felt under that 
 roof, and deeply will their lights and shadows be 
 blended in the life of the being whose claims are so 
 strong upon their love. There, — for some time past 
 the lights in the window have appeared less frequently, 
 one by one we presume the inmates have gone to re- 
 pose, not another gleam is visible, the last candle is ex- 
 tinguished, and this humble section of the great family 
 of man is now at rest, with the veil of a dark and fear- 
 ful future unlifted before them.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 29 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 During the few days that intervened between our 
 hero's birth and his christening, Fardorougha's 
 mind was engaged in forming some fixed principle by 
 which to guide his heart in the conflict that still went 
 on between avarice and affection. In this task he 
 imagined that the father predominated over the miser 
 almost without a struggle; whereas, the fact was, that 
 the subtle passion, ever more ingenious than the sim- 
 ple one, changed its external character, and came out 
 in the shape of affectionate forecast and provident 
 regard for the wants and prospects of his child. 
 This gross deception of his own heart he felt as 
 a relief, for, though smitten with the world, it did not 
 escape him that the birth of his little one, all its cir- 
 cumstances considered, ought to have caused him to 
 feel an enjoyment unalloyed by the care and regret 
 which checked his sympathies as a parent. Neither 
 was conscience itself altogether silent, nor the blunt 
 remonstrances of his servants wholly without effect. 
 Nay, so completely was his judgment overreached, 
 that he himself attributed this anomalous state of 
 feeling to a virtuous effort of Christian duty, and 
 looked upon the encroachments which a desire of 
 saving wealth had made on his heart, as a manifest 
 proof of much parental attachment. He consequently 
 loved his wealth through the medium of his son, and 
 laid it down as a fixed principle that every act of par-
 
 30 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 simony on his part was merely one of prudence, and 
 had the love of a father and an affectionate considera- 
 tion for his child's future welfare to justify it. 
 
 The first striking instance of this close and griping 
 spirit appeared upon an occasion which seldom fails 
 to open, in Ireland at least, all the warm and gene- 
 rous impulses of our nature. "When his wife deemed 
 it necessary to make those hospitable preparations for 
 their child's christening which are so usual in the 
 country, he treated her intention of complying with 
 this old custom, as a direct proof of unjustifiable folly 
 and extravagance — nay, his remonstrance with her 
 exhibited such remarkable good sense and prudence, 
 that it was a matter of extreme difficulty to contro- 
 vert it, or to perceive that it originated from any other 
 motive than a strong interest in the true welfare of 
 their child. 
 
 " Will our wastin' meat and money, an' for that 
 matther health and time on his christenin', aither 
 give him more health, or make us love him betther, 
 It's not the first time, Honor, that I've heard your- 
 self make little of some of our nabours for goin' beyant 
 their ability in gittin' up big christenins. Don't be 
 foolish now thin when it comes to your own turn." 
 
 The wife took the babe up, and after having gazed 
 affectionately on its innocent features, replied to him 
 in a voice of tenderness and reproof — 
 
 " God knows, Fardorougha, an' if I do act wid folly, 
 as you call it, in gettin' ready his christenin', surely, 
 surely you oughtn't to blame the mother for that —
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 31 
 
 little I thought, acushla oge, that your own father 
 'ud begrudge you as good a christeniu' as is put over 
 any other nabour's child. I'm afraid, Fardorougha, 
 he's not as much iu your heart as he ought to be." 
 
 " It's a poor proof of love for him, Honor, to put 
 to the bad what may an' would be sarviceable to him 
 hereafter. You only think for the present, but I can't 
 forget that he's to be settled in the world, an' you 
 know yourself what poor means we have of doin' that, 
 an' that if we begin to be extravagant an' wasteful 
 bekase God has sent him, we may beg wid him afore 
 long." 
 
 "There's no danger of us beggin' wid him. No," 
 she continued, the pride of the mother having been 
 touched, " my boy will never beg — no avourneen — 
 you never will — nor shame or disgrace will never come 
 upon him aither. Have you no trust in God, Far- 
 dorougha ?" 
 
 " God never helps them that neglect themselves, 
 Honor." 
 
 "But if it was plasing to his will to remove him 
 from us, would you ever forgive yourself not let tin' 
 him have a christenin' like another child?" rejoined 
 the persevering mother. 
 
 "The priest," replied the good man, "will do as 
 much for the poor child as for the rich — there's but one 
 saycrament for both — any thing else is waste, as I said, 
 an' I won't give in to it. You don't considher that 
 your way of it 'ud spend as much in one day as 'ud 
 clothe him two or three years.''
 
 32 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " May I never sin tliis day, Fardorouglia, but one 
 'ud think you're tired of him already. By not givin' 
 in to what's dacent you know you'll only fret me — a 
 thing that no man wid half a heart 'ud do to any 
 woman supportin' a baby as I am — a fretted nurse 
 makes a child sick, as Molly Moan tould you before 
 she went, so that it's not on my own account I'm 
 spakin', but on his — poor weeny pet — the Lord love 
 him ! Look at his innocent purty little face, an' how 
 can you have the heart, Fardorouglia 1 Come, avour- 
 neen — give way to me this wanst — throth if you do, 
 you'll see how I'll nurse him — an' what a darlin' lump 
 o' sugar I'll have him for you in no time!" 
 
 He paused a little at this delicate and affecting 
 appeal of the mother, but except by a quick glance 
 that passed from her to their child, it was impossible 
 to say whether or not it made any impression on his 
 heart, or in the slightest degree changed his reso- 
 lution. 
 
 "Well, well," said he, "let me alone now — I'll 
 think of it — I'll turn it over an' see what's best to be 
 done; do you the same, Honor, an' maybe your own 
 sinse will bring you to my side of the question at last." 
 
 The next day, his wife renewed the subject with 
 unabated anxiety, but instead of expressing any change 
 in her favour, Fardorouglia declined even to enter 
 into it at all. An evasive reply was all she could extort 
 from him, with an assurance that he would in a day or 
 two communicate the resolution to which he might 
 finally come. She perceived at once, that the case
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 33 
 
 was hopeless, and after one last ineffectual attempt to 
 bring him round, she felt herself forced to abandon 
 it. The child, therefore, much to the mother's mor- 
 tification, was baptized without a christening, unless 
 the mere presence of the godfather and godmother, 
 in addition to Fardorougha's own family, could be said 
 to constitute one. 
 
 Our readers, perhaps, are not aware that a cause of 
 deep anxiety hitherto unnoticed by us, operated with 
 latent power upon Fardorougha's heart. But so strong 
 in Ireland is the beautiful superstition — if it can with 
 truth be termed so — that children are a blessing, only 
 when received as such, that even though supported 
 bv the hardest and most shameless of all vices — 
 avarice, Fardorougha had not nerve to avow this most 
 unnatural source of his distress. The fact, however, 
 was, that to a mind so constituted, the apprehension 
 of a large family, was in itself a consideration which 
 he thought might, at a future period of their lives, 
 reduce both him and his to starvation and death. 
 Our readers mav remember Nogher M'Cormick's 
 rebuke to him, when he heard Fardorougha allude to 
 this; and so accessible was he then to the feeling, that 
 on finding his heart at variance with it, he absolutely 
 admitted his error, and prayed to God that he might 
 be enabled to overcome it. 
 
 It was therefore on the day subsequent to the bap- 
 tism of young Connor, for so had the child been called 
 after his paternal grandfather, that as a justification for 
 his own conduct in the matter of the christening, he 
 
 c 2
 
 34 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 disclosed to his wife witli much reluctance and embar- 
 rassment, this undivulged source of his fears for the 
 future, alleging it as a just argument for his declining 
 to be guided by her opinion. 
 
 The indignant sympathies of the mother abashed, 
 on this occasion, the miserable and calculating im- 
 piety of the husband — her reproaches were open and 
 unshrinking, and her moral sense of his conduct just 
 and beautiful. 
 
 " Fardorougha," said she, " I thought up to this 
 time — to this day, that there was nothing in your 
 heart but too much of the world; but now I'm afeard, 
 if God hasn't sed it, that the devil himself s there. 
 You're frettin' for fraid of a family — but has God sent 
 us any but this one yit 1 No — an' I wouldn't be sur- 
 prised if the Almighty would punish your guilty heart, 
 by making the child he gave you, a curse, instead of 
 a blessin'. I think as it is, he has brought little plea- 
 sure to you for so far, and if your heart hardens as 
 he grows up, it's more unhappy you'll get every day 
 you live." 
 
 "That's very fine talk, Honor; but to people in 
 our condition, I can't see any very great blessin' in a 
 houseful of childre. If we're able to provide for this 
 one, we'll have rason to be thankful without wishin' 
 for more." 
 
 " It's my opinion, Fardorougha, you don't love the 
 child." 
 
 " Change that opinion then, Honor; I do love the 
 child — but there's no needcessity for blowin' it about
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 35 
 
 to every one I meet. If I didn't love him, I wouldn't 
 feel as I do about all the hardships that may be 
 before him. Think of what a bad saison, or a failure 
 of the crops, might bring us all to ! God grant that 
 we mayn't come to the bag and staff before he's set- 
 tled in the world at all, poor thing." 
 
 "Oh, very well, Fardorougha, you may make your- 
 self as unhappy as you like; for me, I'll put my trust 
 in the Saviour of the world for my child. If you 
 can trust in any one better than God, do so." 
 
 "Honor, there's no use in this talk — it 'ill do 
 nothing aither for him or us — besides, I have no 
 more time to discoorse about it." 
 
 He then left her, but as she viewed his dark in- 
 flexible features ere he went, an oppressive sense of 
 something not far removed from affliction weighed 
 her down. The child had been asleep in her arms 
 during the foregoing dialogue, and after his father 
 had departed, she placed him in the cradle, and 
 throwing the comer of her blue apron over her 
 shoulder, she rocked him into a sounder sleep, sway- 
 ing herself at the same time to and fro, with that 
 inward sorrow, of which, among the lower classes of 
 Irish females, this motion is uniformly expressive. 
 
 It is not to be supposed, however, that, as the early 
 graces of childhood gradually expanded (as they did) 
 into more than ordinary beauty, the avarice of the 
 father was not occasionally encountered in its progress 
 by sudden gushes of love for his son. It was impos- 
 sible for any parent, no matter how strongly the
 
 36 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 hideous idol of mammon might sway his heart, to 
 look upon a creature so fair and beautiful, without 
 being frequently touched into something like affec- 
 tion. The fact was, that as the child advanced to- 
 wards youth, the two principles we are describing 
 nearly kept pace one with the other. That the bad 
 and formidable passion made rapid strides, must be 
 admitted; but that it engrossed the whole spirit of the 
 father, is not true. The mild and gentle character 
 of the boy — his affectionate disposition, and the ex- 
 traordinary advantages of his person, could not fail 
 sometimes to surprise his father into sudden bursts 
 of affection. But these, when they occurred, were 
 looked upon by Fardorougha, as so many proofs that 
 he still entertained for the boy love sufficient to jus- 
 tify a more intense desire of accumulating wealth for 
 his sake. Indeed, ere the lad had numbered thirteen 
 summers, Fardorougha's character as a miser had not 
 only gone far abroad through the neighbourhood, but 
 was felt by the members of his own family with 
 almost merciless severity. From habits of honesty, 
 and a decent sense of independence, he was now de- 
 graded to rapacity and meanness ; what had been 
 prudence, by degrees degenerated into cunning; and 
 he who when commencing life, was looked upon only 
 as a saving man, had now become notorious for ex- 
 tortion and usury. 
 
 A character such as this, among a people of gene- 
 rous and lively feeling like the Irish, is in every state 
 of life the object of intense and undisguised abhor-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 37 
 
 rence. It was with difficulty he could succeed in 
 engaging servants, either for domestic or agricultural 
 purposes; and, perhaps, no consideration, except the 
 general kindness which was felt for his wife and son, 
 would have induced any person whatsoever to enter 
 into his employment. Honor and Connor did what 
 in them lay to make the dependents of the family 
 experience as little of Fardorougha's griping tyranny 
 as possible. Yet with all their kind-hearted inge- 
 nuity, and secret bounty, they were scarcely able to 
 render their situation barely tolerable. 
 
 It would be difficult to find any language, no mat- 
 ter what pen might wield it, capable of pourtraying 
 the love which Honor O' Donovan bore to her gentle, 
 her beautiful, and her only son. Ah ! there, in that 
 last epithet, lay the charm which wrapped her soul 
 in him, and in all that related to his welfare. The 
 moment she saw that it was not the will of God 
 to bless them with other offspring, her heart gathered 
 about him with a jealous tenderness, which trembled 
 into agony at the idea of his loss. 
 
 Her love for him, then multiplied itself into many 
 hues, for he was in truth the prism, on which when 
 it fell, all the varied beauty of its colours became 
 visible. Her heart gave not forth the music of a 
 single instrument, but breathed the concord of sweet 
 sounds, as heard from the blended melody of many. 
 Far diiferent from this were the feelings of Far- 
 dorougha, on finding that he was to be the first 
 and the last vouchsafed to their union. A single 
 
 157098
 
 38 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 regret, however, scarcely felt, touched even him, 
 when he reflected that if Connor were to be removed 
 from them, their hearth must become desolate. But 
 then came the fictitious conscience, with its nefarious 
 calculations, to prove that in their present circum- 
 stances, the dispensation which withheld others was 
 a blessing to him that was given. 
 
 " Even Connor himself," argued the miser, "will 
 be the gainer by it, for what would my trifle of money 
 be among so many ?" 
 
 The pleasure, however, that is derived from the 
 violation of natural affection, is never either full or 
 satisfactory. The gratification felt by Fardorougha, 
 upon reflecting that no further addition was to be 
 made to their family, resembled that which a hungry 
 man feels who dreams he is partaking of a luxurious 
 banquet. Avarice, it is true, like fancy, was gratified; 
 but the enjoyment, though rich to that particular pas- 
 sion, left behind it a sense of emptiness, and an un- 
 conscious remorse which gnawed his heart with a slow 
 and heavy pain, that operated like a smothered fire, 
 wasting what it preys upon, in secresy and darkness. 
 In plainer terms, he was not happy, but so absorbed 
 in the ruling passion — the pursuit of wealth, that he 
 felt afraid to analyse his anxiety, or trace to its true 
 source the cause of his own misery. 
 
 In the mean time, his boy grew up the pride and 
 ornament of the parish, idolized by his mother, and 
 beloved by all that knew him. Limited and scanty 
 was the education which his father could be prevailed
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 39 
 
 on to bestow upon him ; but there was nothing that 
 could deprive him of his natural good sense, nor of 
 the affections which his mother's love had drawn out 
 and cultivated. One thing was remarkable in him, 
 which we mention with reluctance, as it places his 
 father's character in a frightful point of view; it is 
 this, that his love for that father, was such as is 
 rarely witnessed, even in the purest and most affec- 
 tionate circles of domestic life. But let not our 
 readers infer either from what we have written, or 
 from any thing we may write, that Fardorougha hated 
 this lovely and delightful boy; on the contrary, earth 
 contained not an object, except his money, which he 
 loved so well. His affection for him, however, was 
 only such as could proceed fruin the dregs of a defiled 
 and perverted heart. This is not saying much, but 
 it is saying all. "What in him was parental attach- 
 ment, would in another man, to such a son, be unfeel- 
 ing and detestable indifference. His heart sank on con- 
 templating even the pittance he allowed for Connor's 
 education; and no remonstrance could prevail on 
 him to clothe the boy with common decency. Pocket- 
 money was out of the question, as were all those con- 
 siderate indulgences to youth, that blunt, when timely 
 afforded, the edge of early anxiety to know those 
 amusements of life, which if not innocently gra- 
 tified before passion gets strong, are apt to produce 
 at a later period that giddy intoxication, which has 
 been the destruction of thousands. When Connor, 
 however, grew up, and began to think for himself, he
 
 40 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 could not help feeling, that from a man so absolutely 
 devoted to wealth as his father was, to receive even 
 the slenderest proof of affection, was in this case no 
 common manifestation of the attachment he bore him. 
 There was still a higher and nobler motive. He 
 could not close his ears to the character which had 
 gone abroad of his father, and from that principle 
 of generosity which induces a man, even when igno- 
 rant of the quarrel, to take the weaker side, he fought 
 his battles, until in the end he began to believe them 
 just. But the most obvious cause of the son's attach- 
 ment we have not mentioned, and it is useless to 
 travel into vain disquisitions for that truth which 
 may be found in the instinctive impulses of nature. 
 He was Connor's father, and though penurious in 
 every thing that regarded even his son's common 
 comfort, he had never uttered a harsh word to him 
 during his life, or denied him any gratification which 
 could be had without money. Nay, a kind word, or 
 a kind glance, from Fardorougha, fired the son's 
 resentment against the world which traduced him ; 
 for how could it be otherwise, when the habitual 
 defence made by him when arraigned for his penury, 
 was an anxiety to provide for the future welfare and 
 independence of his son. 
 
 Many characters in life appear difficult to be 
 understood, but if those who wish to analyse them 
 only consulted human nature, instead of rushing into 
 far-fetched theories, and traced with patience the 
 effect which interest, or habit, or inclination is apt to
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 41 
 
 produce on men of a peculiar temperament, when 
 placed in certain situations, there would be much less 
 difficulty in avoiding those preposterous exhibitions 
 which run into caricature, or outrage the wildest com- 
 binations that can be formed from the common ele- 
 ments of humanity.
 
 42 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 We shall beg our readers to suppose that young 
 Connor is now twenty-two years of age, and request 
 them, besides, to prepare for the gloom which is about 
 to overshadow our story. 
 
 We have already stated that Fardorougha was not 
 only an extortioner but a usurer. Now, as some of 
 our readers may be surprised that a man in his station 
 of life could practise usury, or even extortion, to any 
 considerable extent, we feel it necessary to inform 
 them, that there exists among Irish farmers a class of 
 men who stand, with respect to the surrounding 
 poor and improvident, in a position precisely analo- 
 gous to that which is occupied by a Jew or money- 
 lender among those in the higher classes who borrow 
 and are extravagant upon a larger scale. If, for 
 instance, a struggling small farmer have to do with a 
 needy landlord or an unfeeling agent, who threatens 
 to seize or eject if the rent be not paid up to the day, 
 perhaps this small farmer is forced to borrow from 
 one of those rustic Jews the full amount of the gale; 
 for this he gives him at a valuation dictated by the 
 lender's avarice and his own distress, the oats, or 
 potatoes, or hay, which he is not able to dispose of 
 in sufficient time to meet the demand that is upon 
 him. This property the miser draws home, and 
 stacks, or houses until the markets are high, when 
 he disposes of it at a price which often secures for
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 43 
 
 liim a profit amounting to one-third, and occasionally 
 one-half above the sum lent, upon which, in the 
 mean time, interest is accumulating. For instance, if 
 the accommodation be twenty pounds, property to 
 that amount at a ruinous valuation is brought home 
 by the accommodator. This perhaps sells for thirty, 
 thirty-five, or forty pounds, so that deducting the 
 labour of preparing it for market, there is a gain of 
 fifty, seventy-five, or an hundred per cent., besides, 
 probably, ten per cent, interest, which is altogether 
 distinct from the former. This class of persons will 
 also take a joint promissory note, or, in fact, any 
 collateral security they know to be valid; and if the 
 contract be not fulfilled, they immediately pounce 
 upon the guarantee. They will, in fact, as a mark 
 of their anxiety to assist a neighbour in distress, re- 
 ceive a pig from a widow, or a cow from a struggling 
 small farmer, at thirty or forty per cent, beneath its 
 value, and claim the merit of being a friend into the 
 bargain. Such men are bitter enemies to paper 
 money, especially to notes issued by branch banks, 
 which they never take in payment. It is amusing, if 
 a person could forget the distress which occasions the 
 scene, to observe one of these men producing an old 
 stocking, or a long black leathern purse, or a calf-skin 
 pocket-book with the hair on, and counting down, as 
 if he gave out his heart's blood drop by drop, the 
 specific sum, uttering at the same time a most lugu- 
 bi-ious history of his own poverty, and assuring the 
 poor wretch he is fleecing, that if he (the miser) gives
 
 44 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 way to his good nature, lie must ultimately become 
 the victim of his own benevolence. In no case, how- 
 ever, do they ever put more in the purse or stocking 
 than is just then wanted, and sometimes they will pre- 
 tend to be short a guinea or ten shillings, which they 
 borrow from a neighbour, or remit to the unfortunate 
 dupe in the course of the day. This they do in order 
 to enhance the obligation, and give a distinct proof of 
 their poverty. Let not, therefore, the gentlemen of 
 
 the Minories, nor our P s and our M s nearer 
 
 home, imagine for a moment that they engross the 
 spirit of rapacity and extortion to themselves. To 
 the credit of the class, however, to which they belong, 
 such persons are not so numerous as formerly, and to 
 the still greater honour of the peasantry be it said, the 
 devil himself is not hated with half the detestation 
 which is borne them. In order that the reader may 
 understand our motive for introducing such a descrip- 
 tion as that we have now given, it will be necessary 
 for us to request him to accompany a stout, well-set 
 young man, named Bartle Flanagan, along a green 
 ditch, which, planted with osiers, leads to a small 
 meadow belonging to Fardorougha Donovan. In this 
 meadow his son Connor is now making hay, and on 
 seeing Flanagan approach, he rests upon the top of 
 his rake, and exclaims in a soliloquy: — 
 
 "God help you and yours, Bartle — if it was in huj 
 power, I take God to witness, I'd make up wid a 
 willin' heart for all the hardship and misfortune my 
 father brought upon you all."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 45 
 
 He then resumed his labour, in order that the meet- 
 ing between him and Bartle might take place with less 
 embarrassment, for he saw at once that the former 
 was about to speak to him. 
 
 "Isn't the weather too hot, Connor, to work bare- 
 headed. I think you ought to keep on your hat. 
 
 "Bartle, how are you — off or on, it's the same 
 thing; hat or no hat, it's broilin' weather, the Lord 
 be praised ; what news, Bartle V* 
 
 "Not much, Connor, but what you know — a family 
 that was strugglin' but honest, brought to dissolation. 
 We're broken up ; my father and mother's both livin' 
 in a cabin they took from Billy Nultyj Mary and 
 Ahck's gone to sarvice, an' myself's just on my way 
 to hire wid the last man I ought to go to — your 
 father; that is, supposin' we can agree." 
 
 "As heaven's above me, Bartle, there's not a man 
 in the county this day sorrier for what has happened 
 than myself. But the truth is, that when my father 
 heard of Tom Grehan, that was your security, havin' 
 gone to America, he thought every day a month till 
 the note was due. My mother an' I did all we 
 could, but you know his temper ; 'twas no use. God 
 knows, as I said before, I'm heart sorry for it." 
 
 "Every one knows, Connor, that if your mother 
 an' you had your way an' will, your father wouldn't 
 be sich a screw as he is." 
 
 "In the mean time, don't forget that he is my 
 father, Bartle, an' above all things, remember that I'll 
 allow no man to speak disparagingly of him in my 
 presence."
 
 40 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "I believe you'll allow, Connor, that he was a 
 scourge an' a curse to us, an' that none of us ought 
 to like a bone in his skin." 
 
 "It couldn't be expected you would, Bartle; but 
 you must grant, after all, that he was only recoverin' 
 his own. Still, when you know what ray feeling is upon 
 the business, I don't think it's generous in you to 
 bring it up between us." 
 
 "I could bear his harashin' us out of house an' 
 home," proceeded the other, "only for one thought 
 that still crasses in an me." 
 
 "What is that, Bartle ? — God knows I can't help 
 feelin' for you," he added, smote with the desolation 
 which his father had brought upon the family. 
 
 "He lent us forty pounds," proceeded the young 
 man ; " and when he found that Tom Grehan, our 
 security, went to America, he came down upon us the 
 minute the note was due, canted all we had at half 
 price, and turned us to starve upon the world ; now, 
 I could bear that, but there is one thing " 
 
 "That's twice you spoke about that one thing," 
 said Connor, somewhat sharply, for he felt hurt at 
 the obstinacy of the other, in continuing a subject 
 so distressing to him; "but, "he continued, in a 
 milder tone, "tell me, Bartle, for goodness' sake, 
 what it is, an' let us put an' end to the discoorse. 
 I'm sure it must be unpleasant to both of us." 
 
 "It doesn't signify," replied the young man, in a 
 desponding voice — "she's gone ; it's all over wid me 
 there; I'm a beggar — I'm a beggar."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 47 
 
 " Bartle," said Connor, taking his hand, "you're too 
 much down-hearted; come to us, but first go to my 
 father; I know you'll find it hard to deal with him. 
 Never mind that, whatever he offers you, close with 
 him, an' take my word for it that my mother and I 
 between us, will make you up dacent wages; an' 
 sorry I am that it's come to this with you, poor 
 fellow." 
 
 Bartle's cheek grew pale as ashes; he wrung 
 Connor's hand with all his force, and fixed an un- 
 shrinking eye on him as he replied — 
 
 "Thank you, Connor, noio — but I hope I'll live to 
 thank you better yet, and if I do, you needn't thank 
 me for any return I may make you or yours. I will 
 close wid your father, an' take whatsomever he'll offer 
 me; for Connor," and he wrung his hand again — 
 "Connor O'Donovan, I haven't a house or home this 
 day, nor a place under God's canopy where to lay my 
 head, except upon the damp floor of my father's naked 
 cabin. Think of that, Connor, an' think if I can 
 forget it; still," he added, "you'll see, Connor — 
 Connor, you'll see koto Til forgive it." 
 
 "It's a credit to yourself to spake as you do," 
 replied Connor: "call this way after seein' my father, 
 an' let me know what's done; an' I hope, Bartle, you 
 an' I will have some pleasant days together." 
 
 "Ay, an' pleasant nights too, I hope," replied the 
 other ; " to be sure I'll call ; but if you take my ad- 
 vice, you'd tie a hankerchy about your head: it's mad 
 hot, an' enough to give one a faver, bareheaded."
 
 48 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Having made this last observation, he leaped across 
 a small drain that bounded the meadow, and pro- 
 ceeded up the fields to Fardorougha's house. 
 
 Bartle Flanagan was a young man about five feet 
 six in height, but of a remarkably compact and ath- 
 letic form. His complexion was dark, but his coun- 
 tenance open, and his features well set and regular. 
 Indeed, his whole aspect might be termed bland 
 and prepossessing. If he ever appeared to disadvan- 
 tage, it was whilst under the influence of resentment, 
 during which his face became pale as death, nay, 
 almost livid, and, as his brows were strong and black, 
 the ^contrast between them and his complexion 
 changed the whole expression of his countenance into 
 that of a person whose enmity a prudent man would 
 avoid. He was not quarrelsome, however, nor sub- 
 ject to any impetuous bursts of passion; — his resent- 
 ments, if he retained any, were either dead or silent, 
 or at all events, so well regulated that his acquaint- 
 ances looked upon him as a young fellow of a good- 
 humoured and friendly disposition. It is true, a hint 
 had gone abroad that on one or two occasions he was 
 found deficient in courage; but as the circumstances 
 referred to were rather unimportant, his conduct by 
 many was attributed rather to good sense and a dis- 
 inclination to quarrel on frivolous grounds, than to posi- 
 tive cowardice. Such he was, and such he is, now 
 that he has entered upon the humble drama of 
 our story. 
 
 On arriving at Fardorougha's house, he found that
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 49 
 
 worthy man at dinner, upon potatoes and a cold bone 
 of bacon. He had only a few minutes before returned 
 from the residence of the County Treasurer, with 
 whom he went to lodge, among other sums, that 
 which was so iniquitously wrung from the ruin of the 
 Flanagans. It would be wrong to say that he felt in 
 any degree embarrassed on looking into the face of 
 one whom he had so oppressively injured. The re- 
 covery of his usurious debts, no matter how merciless 
 the process, he considered only as an act of strict 
 justice to himself, for his conscience having long ago 
 outgrown the perception of his own inhumanity, now 
 only felt compunction when death or the occasional 
 insolvency of a security defeated his rapacity. 
 
 When Bartle entered, Fardorougha and he surveyed 
 each other with perfect coolness for nearly half a 
 minute, during which time neither uttered a word. 
 The silence was first broken by Honor, who put for- 
 ward a chair, and asked Flanagan to sit down. 
 
 " Sit down, Bartle," said she, " sit down, boy ; an' 
 how is all the family V 
 
 "'Deed, can't complain," replied Bartle, "as times 
 goes; an' how are you, Fardorougha? although I 
 need'nt ax, you're takin' care of number one, any 
 how, what you always did." 
 
 "I'm middlin', Bartle, middlin'; as well as a man 
 can be that has his heart broke every day in the year, 
 strivin' to come by his own, an' can't do it; but 
 I'm a fool, an' ever was — sarvin' others an' ruinin' 
 myself."
 
 50 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Bartle," said Mrs. Donovan, " are you unwell, 
 dear 1 you look as pale as death. Let me get you a 
 drink of fresh milk." 
 
 " If he's weak," said Fardorougha, " an' he looks 
 weak, a drink of fresh wather 'ud be betther for him , 
 ever an' always a drink of wather for a weak man, or 
 a weak woman aither; it recovers them sooner." 
 
 "Thank you, kindly, Mrs. Donovan, an' I'm 
 oblaged to you, Fardorougha, for the wather ; but 
 I'm not a bit weak; it's only the heat o' the day ails 
 me — for sure enough it's broilin' weather." 
 
 "'Deed it is," replied Honor, " killin' weather to 
 them that has to be out undher it." 
 
 " If it's good for nothin' else, it's good for the hay- 
 makin'," observed Fardorougha. 
 
 "I'm tould, Misther Donovan," said Bartle, "that 
 you want a sarvint man ; now, if you do, I want a 
 place, an' you see I'm comin' to you to look for 
 one." 
 
 " Heaven above, Bartle," exclaimed Honor, " what 
 do you mane 1 is it one of Dan Flanagan's sons goin' 
 to sarvice ?" 
 
 " Not one, but all o' them," replied the other, 
 coolly, " an' his daughters too, Mrs. Donovan ; but 
 it's all the way o' tbe world. If Misther Donovan 'ill 
 hire me, I'll thank him." 
 
 " Don't be Misther in me, Bartle ; Misther them 
 that has manes an' substance," returned Donovan. 
 
 "Oh God forgive you, Fardorougha," exclaimed 
 his honest and humane wife; " God forgive you !
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 51 
 
 Bartle, from my heart, from the core o' my heart I 
 pity you, my poor boy. An' is it to this Fardorougha 
 you've brought them ? — Savour o' the world !" 
 
 She fixed her eyes upon the victim of her husband's 
 extortion, and in an instant they were filled with 
 tears. 
 
 " What did I do," said the latter, "but strive to 
 recover my own ? How could I afford to lose forty 
 pounds ? An' I was tould for sartin that your father 
 knew Grehan was goin' to Ameriky when he got him 
 to go security. Whisht, Honor, you're as foolish a 
 woman as riz this day; havn't you your sins to cry 
 for?" 
 
 " God knows I have, Fardorougha, an' more than 
 my own to cry for." 
 
 " I dar say you did hear as much," said Bartle, 
 quietly replying to the observation of Fardorougha 
 respecting his father; "but you know it's a folly to 
 talk about spilt milk. If you want a sarvint I'll hire; 
 for, as I said a while agone, I want a place, an' except 
 wid you I don't know where to get one." 
 
 "If you come to me," observed the other, "you 
 must go to your duty, an' obsarve the fast days — but 
 not the holidays." 
 
 " Sarvints isn't oblaged to obsarve the fast days," 
 replied Bartle. 
 
 " But I always put it in the bargain," returned the 
 other. 
 
 "As to that," said Bartle, " I don't much mind it. 
 Sure it'll be for the good o' my sowl, any way. Bat, 
 what wages will you be givin' ?"
 
 52 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Thirty shillins every half-year ; — that's three 
 pounds, — sixty shillins a-year. A great deal of 
 money. — I'm sure I dunna where it's to come from." 
 " It's very little for a year's hard labour," replied 
 Bartle; "but little as it is, Fardorougha, owin' to 
 what has happened betwixt us, believe me — an' you 
 may believe me — I'm right glad to take it." 
 
 " Well, but Bartle, you know there's fifteen shillins 
 of the ould account still due, an' you must allow it out 
 o' your wages; if you don't, it's no bargain." 
 
 Bartle's face became livid ; but he was perfectly 
 cool; — indeed so much so that he smiled at this last 
 condition of Fardorougha. It was a smile, however, 
 so ghastly, dark, and frightful, that, by any person 
 capable of tracing the secret workings of some deadly 
 passion on the countenance, its purport could not 
 have been mistaken. 
 
 "God knows, Fardorougha, you might let that 
 pass, — considher that you've been hard enough upon 
 us." 
 
 " God knows I say the same," observed Honor. 
 "Is it the last drop o' the heart's blood you want to 
 squeeze out, Fardorougha ?" 
 
 " The last drop ! What is it but my right ? Am 
 I robbin' him ? Isn't it due ? Will he, or can he 
 deny that ? An' if it's due, isn't it but honest in 
 him to pay it ? They're not livin' can say J ever 
 defrauded them of a penny. I never broke a bargain, 
 an' yet you open on me, Honor, as if I was a rogue ! 
 If I hadn't that boy below to provide for, an' settle
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 53 
 
 in the world, what 'ud I care about money ? It's for 
 his sake I look afther my right." 
 
 "I'll allow the money," said Bartle. " Fardorougha's 
 right ; it's due, an I'll pay him — ay will I, Fardo- 
 rougha, settle wid you to the last farden, or beyant it, 
 if you like." 
 
 " I wouldn't take a farden beyant it, in the shape 
 of debt. Them that's decent enough to make a pre- 
 sent — may, — for that's a horse of another colour." 
 
 "When will I come home ?" inquired Bartle. 
 
 "You may stay at home, now that you're here," 
 said the other. " An' in the mane time, go an' help 
 Connor to put that hay in lap-cocks. Any thing you 
 want to bring here you can bring afther your day's 
 work to-night." 
 
 " Did you ate your dinner, Bartle," said Honor; 
 "bekase if you didn't I'll get you something." 
 
 " It's not to this time o' day he'd be without his 
 dinner, I suppose," observed his new master. 
 
 " You're very right, Fardorougha," rejoined Bartle; 
 "I'm thankful to you, ma'am, I did ate my dinner." 
 
 "Well, you'll get a rake in the barn, Bartle," said 
 his master; " an' now tramp down to Connor, an' I'll 
 see how you'll handle yourselves, both o' you, from 
 this till night." 
 
 Bartle accordingly proceeded towards the meadow, 
 and Fardorougha, as was his custom, throwing his 
 great coat loosely about his shoulders, the arms 
 dangling on each side of him, proceeded to another 
 part of his farm.
 
 54 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Flanagan's step, on his way to join Connor, was 
 slow and meditative. The kindness of the son and 
 mother touched him; for the line between their 
 disposition and Fardorougha's was too strong and 
 clear to allow the slightest suspicion of their partici- 
 pation in the spirit which regulated his life. The 
 father, however, had just declared that his anxiety to 
 accumulate money arose from a wish to settle his son 
 independently in life; and Flanagan was too slightly 
 acquainted with human character to see through this 
 flimsy apology for extortion. He took it for granted 
 that Fardorougha spoke truth, and his resolution re- 
 ceived a bias from the impression, which, however, 
 his better nature determined to subdue. In this un- 
 certain state of mind he turned about almost instinc- 
 tively, to look in the direction which Fardorougha had 
 taken, and as he observed his diminutive figure creep- 
 ing along, with his great coat about him, he felt that 
 the very sight of the man who had broken up their 
 hearth and scattered them on the world, filled his 
 heart with a deep and deadly animosity that occa- 
 sioned him to pause as a person would do who finds 
 himself unexpectedly upon the brink of a precipice. 
 
 Connor, on seeing him enter the meadow with the 
 rake, knew at once that the terms had been concluded 
 between them; and the excellent young man's heart 
 was deeply moved at the destitution which forced 
 Flanagan to seek for service with the very individual 
 who had occasioned it. 
 
 "I see, Bartle," said he, "you have agreed."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 03 
 
 "We have," replied Bartle. "But if there had 
 been any other place to be got in the parish— (an' 
 indeed only for the state I'm in) — I wouldn't have 
 hired myself to him for nothing, or for next to nothing, 
 as I have done." 
 
 " Why, what did he promise ?" 
 
 " Three pounds a year, an' out o' that I'm to pay 
 him fifteen shillins that my father owes him still." 
 
 " Close enough, Bartle, but don't be cast down; I'll 
 undertake that my mother an' I will double it, — an' 
 as for the fifteen shillins I'll pay them out o' my own 
 p 0C k e t — when I get money. I needn't tell you that 
 we're all kept upon the tight crib, and that little cash 
 goes far with us; for all that we'll do what I promise, 
 go as it may." 
 
 " It's more than I ought to expect, Connor ; but 
 yourself and your mother, all the counthry would put 
 their hands undher both your feets." 
 
 "I would give a great dale, Bartle, that my poor father 
 had a little of thefeelin' that's in my mother's heart; 
 but it's his way, Bartle, an' you know he's my father, 
 an' has been kinder to me than to any livin' creature 
 on this earth. I never got a harsh word from him 
 vet. An' if he kept me stinted in many things that 
 I was entitled to as well as other persons like me, 
 still, Bartle, he loves me, an' I can't but feel great 
 affection for him, love the money as he may." 
 
 This was spoken with much seriousness of manner, 
 not unmingled with somewhat of regret, if not of sor- 
 row. Bartle fixed his eye upon the fine face of his
 
 • r >6 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 companion, with a look in which there was a charac- 
 ter of compassion. His countenance, however, while 
 he gazed on him, maintained its natural colour — it 
 was not pale. 
 
 " I am sorry, Connor," said he slowly, " I am sorry 
 that I hired wid your father." 
 
 "An' I'm glad of it," replied the other; "why 
 should you be sorry ?" 
 
 Bartle made no answer for some time, but looked 
 into the ground, as if he had not heard him. 
 
 "Why should you be sony, Bartle 1" 
 
 Nearly a minute elapsed before his abstraction was 
 broken. "What's that?" said he at length: "What 
 were you askin' me ?" 
 
 " You said you were sorry." 
 
 "Oh ay !" returned the other, interrupting him; 
 " but I didn't mind what I was sayin': 'twas thinkin' 
 o' somethin' else I was — of home, Bartle, an' what 
 we're brought to; but the best way's to dhrop all 
 discoorse about that for ever." 
 
 "You'll be my friend if you do," said Connor. 
 
 "I will, then," replied Bartle : "we'll change it. 
 Connor, were you ever in love ?" 
 
 O' Donovan turned quickly about, and, with a keen 
 glance at Bartle, replied, 
 
 "Why, I don't know: I believe I might, once 
 or so." 
 
 " I am," said Flanagan bitterly; "I am, Connor." 
 
 " An' who's the happy crature, will you tell us ?" 
 
 "No," returned the other; " but if there's a wish
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 5/ 
 
 that I'd make against my worst enemy, 'twould be, 
 that he might love a girl above his manes; or if he 
 was her aquil, or even near her aquil, that he might 
 be brought" he paused, but immediately pro- 
 ceeded, " Well, no matter; I am indeed, Connor." 
 
 " An' is the girl fond o' you 1" 
 
 " I don't know; my mind was made up to tell 
 her; but it's past that now; I know she's wealthy 
 and proud both, and so is all her family." 
 
 " How do you know she's proud when you never 
 put the subject to her ?" 
 
 " I'm not sayin' she's proud in one sinse; wid 
 respect to herself, I believe she's humble enough; 
 I mane, she doesn't give herself many airs, but her 
 people's as proud as the very sarra, an' never match 
 below them; still, if I'd opportunities of bein' often 
 in her company, I'd not fear to trust to a sweet 
 tongue for comin' round her." 
 
 " Never despair, Bartle," said Connor; " you 
 know the old proverb, ' a faint heart;' however, 
 settin' the purty crature aside, whoever she is, I 
 think if we divided ourselves — you to that side, and 
 me to this — we'd get this hay lapp'd in half the 
 time; or do you take which side you plase." 
 
 "It's a bargain," said Bartle; "I don't care a 
 trawneen: I'll stay where I am, thin, an' do you go 
 beyant: let us hurry, too, for, if I'm not mistaken, 
 it's too sultry to be long without rain; the sky, too, 
 is gettin' dark." 
 
 d2
 
 58 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " I obsarved as much myself," said Connor; "an' 
 that was what made me spake." 
 
 Both then continued their labour with redoubled 
 energy, nor ceased for a moment until the task was 
 executed, and the business of the day concluded. 
 
 Flanagan's observation was indeed correct, as to 
 the change in the day and the appearance of the sky. 
 From the hour of five o'clock the darkness gradually 
 deepened, until a dead black shadow, fearfully still 
 and solemn, wrapped the whole horizon. The sun 
 had altogether disappeared, and nothing was visible 
 in the sky but one unbroken mass of darkness, unre- 
 lieved even by a single pile of clouds. The animals, 
 where they could, had betaken themselves to shelter; 
 the fowls of the air sought the covert of the hedges, 
 and ceased their songs; the larks fled from the mid 
 heaven; and occasionally might be seen a straggling 
 bee hurrying homewards, careless of the flowers 
 which tempted him in his path, and only anxious to 
 reach his hive before the deluge should overtake him. 
 The stillness indeed was awful, as was the gloomy 
 veil which darkened the face of nature, and filled the 
 mind with that ominous terror which presses upon 
 the heart like a consciousness of guilt. In such a 
 time, and under the aspect of a sky so much resem- 
 bling the pall of death, there is neither mirth nor 
 laughter, but that individuality of apprehension, 
 which, whilst it throws the conscience in upon its 
 own records, and suspends conversation, yet draws 
 man to his fellows, as if mere contiguity were a safe- 
 guard agaLst danger.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 59 
 
 The conversation between the two young men as 
 they returned from their labour, was short but ex- 
 pressive. 
 
 " Bartle," said Connor, " are you afeard of thun- 
 dlier? The rason I ax," he added, " is, becase your 
 face is as white as a sheet." 
 
 " I have it from my mother," replied Flanagan; 
 " but at all evints such an evenin' as this is enough 
 to make the heart of any man quake." 
 
 " I feel my spirits low, by rason of the darkness, 
 but I'm not afraid. It's well for them that have a 
 clear conscience : they say, that a stormy sky is the 
 face of an angry God" 
 
 " An' the thundher his voice," added Bartle: "but 
 why are the brute bastes an' the birds afraid, that 
 commit no sin ?" 
 
 " That's thrue," said his companion; " it must be 
 natural to be afraid, or why would they indeed ? — but 
 some people are naturallymore timersome than others." 
 
 " I intinded to go home for my other clo'es an' 
 linen this evenin'," observed Bartle, " but I won't go 
 out to night." 
 
 "I must thin," said Connor; " an', with the blessin' 
 o' God, will too, come what may." 
 
 " Why, what is there to bring you out, if it's a 
 fair question to ax ?" inquired the other. 
 
 "A promise, for one thing; an' my own inclina- 
 tion — my own heart, that's nearer the truth — for 
 another. It's the first meetin' that I an' her I'm 
 goin' to ever had."
 
 60 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Thighum, Thighwm, I undlier stand," said Flana- 
 gan: "well, I'll stay at home; but, sure it's no harm 
 to wish you success — an' that, Connor, is more than 
 Til ever have where I wish for it most." 
 
 This closed their dialogue, and both entered Far- 
 dorougha's house in silence. 
 
 Up until twilight the darkness of the dull and 
 heavy sky was unbroken; but towards the west there 
 was seen a streak whose colour could not be deter- 
 mined as that of blood or fire. By its angry look, it 
 seemed as if the sky in that quarter were about to 
 burst forth in one awful sweep of conflagration. 
 Connor observed it, and very correctly anticipated 
 the nature and consequence of its appearance; but 
 what will not youthful love dare and overcome / 
 With an undismayed heart he set forward on his 
 journey, which we leave him to pursue, and beg per- 
 mission, meanwhile, to transport the reader to a 
 scene distant about two miles farther towards the 
 inland part of the country.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The dwelling of Bodagh Buie O'Brien, to which 
 Connor is now directing his steps, was a favourable 
 specimen of that better class of farm-houses inha- 
 bited by our more extensive and wealthy agricul- 
 turists. It was a large, whitewashed, ornamentally 
 thatched building, that told by its external aspect of 
 the good living, extensive comfort, and substantial 
 opulence which prevailed within. Stretched before 
 its hall-door was a small lawn, bounded on the left 
 by a wall that separated it from the farm-yard into 
 which the kitchen-door opened. Here were stacks of 
 hay, oats, and wheat, all upon an immense scale, 
 both as to size and number; together with thrashing 
 and winnowing machines, improved ploughs, carts, 
 cars, and all the other modern implements of an ex- 
 tensive farm. Very cheering, indeed, was the din of 
 industry that arose from the clank of machinery, the 
 grunting of hogs, the cackling of geese, the quacking 
 of ducks, and all the various other sounds which 
 proceeded from what at first sight might have ap- 
 peared to be rather a scene of confusion, but which, 
 on closer inspection, would be found a rough yet 
 well-regulated system, in which every person had an 
 allotted duty to perform. 
 
 Here might Bodagh Buie be seen, dressed in a
 
 62 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 grey broad-cloth coat, drab kerseymere breeches, and 
 lamb's wool stockings, moving from place to place 
 with that calm, sedate, and contented air, which be- 
 tokens an easy mind, and a consciousness of possess- 
 ing a more than ordinary share of property and 
 influence. With hands thrust into Ins small-clothes 
 pockets, and a bunch of gold seals suspended from 
 his fob, he issued his orders in a grave and quiet 
 tone, differing very little in his dress from an abso- 
 lute Squireen, save in the fact of his Caroline hat 
 being rather scuffed, and his strong shoes begrimmed 
 with the soil of his fields or farm-yard. Mrs. O'Brien 
 was, out of the sphere of her own family, a person 
 of much greater pretension than the Bodagh her 
 husband; and, though in a different manner, not less 
 so in the discharge of her duty as a wife, a mother, 
 or a mistress. In appearance, she was a large, fat, 
 good-looking woman, eternally in a state of motion 
 and bustle, and as her education had been extremely 
 scanty, her tone and manner, though brimful of 
 authority and consequence, were strongly marked 
 with that ludicrous vulgarity which is produced by 
 the attempt of an ignorant person to accomplish a 
 high style of gentility. She was a kind-hearted, 
 charitable woman, however; but so inveterately con- 
 scious of her station in life, that it became in her 
 opinion a matter of duty to exhibit a refinement and 
 elevation of language suitable to a matron who could 
 drive every Sunday to Mass on her own jaunting-car. 
 When dressed on these occasions in her rich rustling:
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 63 
 
 silks, she had, what is called in Ireland, a comfort- 
 able flaghoola look, but at the same time a carriage 
 so stiff and rustic, as utterly overcame all her at- 
 tempts, dictated as they were by the simplest vanity, 
 at enacting the arduous and awful character of a 
 Squireen's wife. 
 
 Their family consisted of a son and daughter. The 
 former, a young man of a very amiable disposition, 
 was, at the present period of our story, a student in 
 Maynooth College; and the latter, now in her nine- 
 teenth year, a promising pupil in a certain seminary 
 for young ladies, conducted by that notorious Master 
 of Arts, Little Cupid. Oona, or Una O'Brien, was in 
 truth a most fascinating and beautifid brunette ; tall 
 in stature, light and agile in all her motions, cheerful 
 and sweet in temper, but with just as much of tbat 
 winning caprice, as was necessary to give zest and 
 piquancy to her whole character. Though tall and 
 slender, her person was by no means thin; on the 
 contrary, her limbs and figure were very gracefully 
 rounded, and gave promise of that agreeable fulness, 
 beneath or beyond which no perfect model of female 
 proportion can exist. If our readers could get one 
 glance at the hue of her rich cheek, or fall for a 
 moment under the power of her black mellow eye, or 
 witness the beauty of her white teeth, while her face 
 beamed with a profusion of dimples, or saw her while 
 in the act of shaking out her invincible locks, ere she 
 bound them up with her white and delicate hands — 
 then indeed might they understand why no war of
 
 64 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 the elements could prevent Connor O' Donovan from 
 risking life and limb sooner that disappoint her in 
 the promise of this their first meeting. 
 
 Oh, that first meeting of pure and youthful love ! 
 with what a glory is it ever encircled in the memory 
 of the human heart ? No matter how long or how 
 melancholy the lapse of time since its past existence 
 may be, still, still is it remembered by our feel- 
 ings when the recollection of every tie but itself has 
 departed. 
 
 The charm, however, that murmured its many- 
 toned music through the soul of Una O'Brien was 
 not, upon the evening in question, wholly free from 
 a shade of melancholy for which she could not 
 account; and this impression did not result from any 
 previous examination of her love for Connor O'Dono- 
 van, though many such she had. She knew that in 
 this, the utmost opposition from both her parents 
 must be expected; nor was it the consequence of a 
 consciousness on her part, that in promising him a 
 clandestine meeting, she had taken a step which 
 could not be justified. Of this, too, she had been 
 aware before ; but, until the hour of appointment 
 drew near, the heaviness which pressed her down 
 was such as caused her to admit that the sensation, 
 however painful and gloomy, was new to her, and 
 bore a character distinct from any thing that could 
 proceed from the various lights in which she had pre- 
 viously considered her attachment. This was, how- 
 ever, heightened by the boding aspect of the heavens
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 65 
 
 and the dread repose of the evening, so unlike any 
 thing she had ever witnessed before. Notwithstand- 
 ing all this, she was sustained by the eager and im- 
 patient buoyancy of first affection ; which, when her 
 imagination pictured the handsome form of her young 
 and manly lover, predominated for the time over 
 every reflection and feeling that was opposed to itself. 
 Her mind indeed resembled a fair autumn landscape, 
 over which the cloud shadows may be seen sweeping 
 for a moment, while again the sun comes out and 
 turns all into serenity and light. 
 
 The place appointed for their interview, was a 
 small paddock, shaded by alders, behind her father's 
 garden, and thither, with trembling limbs and a pal- 
 pitating heart did the young and graceful daughter 
 of Bodagh Buie proceed. 
 
 For a considerable time, that is to say, for three 
 long years before this delicious appointment, had 
 Connor O' Donovan and Una been wrapped in the 
 Elysium of mutual love. At mass, at fair, and at 
 market, had they often and often met, and as fre- 
 quently did their eyes search each other out, and 
 reveal in long blushing glances the state of their 
 respective hearts. Many a time .did he seek an 
 opportunity to disclose what he felt, and as often 
 with confusion, and fear, and delight, did she afford 
 him what he sought. Thus did one opportunity 
 after another pass away, and as often did he form 
 the towering resolution to reveal his affection if he 
 were ever to be favored with another. Still would
 
 66 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 some disheartening reflection, arising from the mi- 
 common gentleness and extreme modesty of his cha- 
 racter, throw a damp upon his spirits; he questioned 
 his own penetration; perhaps she was in the habit of 
 glancing as much at others as she glanced at him. 
 Could it be possible that the beautiful daughter of 
 Bodagh Buie — he the wealthiest man, and his wife 
 the proudest woman, within a large circle of the 
 country, would love the son of Fardorougha Donovan, 
 whose name had, alas, become so odious and unpo- 
 pular ? But then the blushing face, the dark lucid 
 eyes, and the long earnest glance rose before his 
 imagination, and told him that, let the difference in 
 the character and station of their parents be what it 
 might, the fair dark daughter of O'Brien was not 
 insensible to him, nor to the anxieties he felt. 
 
 The circumstances which produced the first conver- 
 sation they ever had, arose from an incident of a very 
 striking and singular character. About a week before 
 the evening in question, one of Bodagh Buie's bee- 
 hives swarmed, and the young colony, though closely 
 watched and pursued, directed their course to Fardo- 
 rougha' s house, and settled in the mouth of the 
 chimney. Connor, having got a clean sheet, secured 
 them, and was about to commit them to the care of 
 the Bodagh' s servants, when it was suggested that 
 the duty of bringing them home devolved on himself, 
 inasmuch as he was told they would not remain, 
 unless placed in a new hive by the hands of the 
 person on whose property they had settled. While
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMOMA. 67 
 
 on his way to the Bodagh's he was accosted in the 
 following words by one of O'Brien's servants: 
 
 " Connor, there's good luck before you, or the 
 bees wouldn't pick you out among all the rest o' the 
 neighbours — you ought to hould up your head, man, 
 who knows what manin's in it ?"* 
 
 " Why, do you b'lieve that bees settlin' wid one 
 is a sign o' good luck ?" 
 
 " Surely I do; doesn't every one know it to be 
 thrue 1 Connor, you're a good-lookin' fellow, an' I 
 need scarcely tell you that we have a purty girl at 
 home; can you lay that and that together ? Arrah, 
 be my sowl, the richest honey ever the same bees 'ill 
 make, is nothin' but alio ways, f compared wid that 
 purty mouth of her own ! A honey-comb is a fool to it." 
 
 " Why, did you ever thry, Mike ?" 
 
 " Is it me ? Och, och, if I was only high enough 
 in this world, maybe I wouldn't be spakin' sweet to 
 her; no, no, be my word! thry indeed for the likes 
 o' me ! Faith, but I know a sartin young man that 
 she does be often spakin' about." 
 
 Connor's heart was in a state of instant commotion. 
 
 " An' who — who is lie — who is that sartin young 
 man, Mike?" 
 
 " Faith, the son o' one that can run a shillin' far- 
 ther than e'er another man in the county. Do you 
 happen to be acquaint wid one Connor O' Donovan, 
 of Lisnamona ?" 
 
 * The settling of bees upon any house is, in Ireland, con- 
 sidered to be an omen of good fortune, 
 f Aloes.
 
 68 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Connor O' Donovan — that's good, Mike — in the 
 mane time don't be goin' it on us. No, no; — an' 
 even if she did, it isn't to you she'd spake about any 
 one, Michael ahagur ?" 
 
 " No, nor it wasn't to me — sure I didn't say it 
 was — but don't you know my sisther's at sarvice in 
 the Bodagh's family ? Divil the word o' falsity I'm 
 tellin' you — so, if you haven't the heart to spake for 
 yourself, I wouldn't give knots o' straws for you; 
 and now, there's no harm done, I hope — moreover, 
 an' by the same token you needn't go to the throuble 
 o' puttin' up an advertisement to let the parish know 
 ' what I've tould you." 
 
 " Hut, tut, Mike, it's all folly. Una Dhun 
 O'Brien to think o' me! nonsense, man; that cock 
 would never fight." 
 
 " Very well; divil a morsel of us is forcin' you to 
 believe it. I suppose the mother o' you has your 
 wooden spoon to the fore still. I'd kiss the Bravery* 
 you didn't come into the world wid a silver ladle in 
 your mouth, anyhow. In the mane time, we're at 
 the Bodagh's — so have an eye about you afther what 
 you've heard — Nabocklish /" 
 
 This, indeed, was important intelligence to Connor, 
 and it is probable that had he not heard it, another 
 opportunity of disclosing his passion might have been 
 lost. 
 
 Independently of this, however, he was not proof 
 against the popular superstition of the bees, particu- 
 
 * Breviary.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 69 
 
 larly as it appeared to be an augury to which his 
 enamoured heart could cling with all the hope of 
 young and passionate enthusiasm. 
 
 Nor was it long till he had an opportunity of per- 
 ceiving that she whose image had floated in light 
 before his fancy, gave decided manifestations of being 
 struck by the same significant occurrence. On enter- 
 ing the garden, the first person his eye rested on was 
 Una herself, who, as some of the other hives were 
 expected to swarm, had been engaged watching them 
 during the day. His appearance at any time would 
 have created a tumult in her bosom, but, in addition 
 to this, when she heard that the bees which had 
 rested on Connor's house, had swarmed from her own 
 hive, to use the words of Burns — 
 
 " She looked — she reddened like the rose, 
 Syne pale as ony lily;" 
 
 and with a shy but expressive glance at Connor, said, 
 in a low hurried voice: "these belong to me." 
 
 Until the moment we are describing, Connor and 
 she, notwithstanding that they had frequently met 
 in public places, had never yet spoken; nor could the 
 words now uttered by Una be considered as addressed 
 to him, although from the glance that accompanied 
 them it was sufficiently evident that they were de- 
 signed for him alone. It was in vain that he at- 
 tempted to accost her, his confusion, his pleasure, 
 his timidity, seemed to unite in rendering him inca- 
 pable of speaking at all. His lips moved several 
 times, but the thoughts, as they arose, died awav 
 unspoken.
 
 70 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 At this moment, Mike, with waggish good humour, 
 aud in a most laudable fit of industry, reminded the 
 other servants who had been assisting to secure the 
 bees, that as they (the bees) were now safe, no far- 
 ther necessity existed for their presence. 
 
 " Come, boys — death-alive, the day's passin' — 
 only think, Miss Una, that we have all the hay in 
 the Long-shot meadow to get into cocks yet, an' here 
 we're idlin' an' gostherin' away our time like I dunna 
 what. They're schamin', Miss Una — divil a thing 
 else, an' what' 11 the masther say if the same mea- 
 dow's not finished to-night ?" 
 
 " Indeed, Mike," replied Una; "if the meadow 
 is to be finished this night, there's little time to be 
 lost." 
 
 " Come, boys," exclaimed Mike, " you hear what 
 Miss Una says — if it's to be finished to-night there's 
 little time to be lost — turn out — march. Miss Una 
 can watch the bees ^idout our help. Good evenin', 
 Misther Donovan; be my word but you're entitled to 
 a taste o' honey any way, for bringin' back Miss 
 Una's bees to her." 
 
 Mike, after having uttered this significant opinion 
 relative to his sense of justice, drove his fellow- 
 servants out of the garden, and left the lovers toge- 
 ther. There was now a dead silence, during the 
 greater part of which neither dared to look at the 
 other — at length each hazarded a glance, their eyes 
 met, and their embarrassments deepened in a tenfold 
 degree. Una, on withdrawing her gaze, looked with
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 71 
 
 an air of perplexity from one object to another, and 
 at length, with downcast lids, and glowing cheeks, 
 her eyes became fixed on her own white and delicate 
 finder — 
 
 " Who would think," said she, in a voice tremu- 
 lous with agitation, " that the sting of a bee could 
 be so painful ?" 
 
 Connor advanced towards her with a beating heart, 
 " Where have you been stung, Miss O'Brien ?" said 
 he, in a tone shaken out of its fulness by what he felt. 
 
 " In the finger," she replied, and she looked 
 closely into the spot as she uttered the words. 
 
 " Will you let me see it V asked Connor. 
 
 She held her hand towards him without knowing 
 what she did, nor was it till after a strong effort that 
 Connor mastered himself so far as to ask her in which 
 finger she felt the pain. In fact, both saw at once 
 that their minds were engaged upon far different 
 thoughts, and that their anxiety to pour out the full 
 confession of their love was equally deep and mutual. 
 
 As Connor put the foregoing question to her, he 
 took her hand in his. 
 
 " In what finger!" she replied, "I don't — indeed 
 — I — I believe in the — the — but what — what is this? 
 — I am very — very weak." 
 
 " Let me support you to the summer-house, where 
 you can sit," returned Connor, still clasping her soft 
 delicate hand in his; then circling her slender waist 
 with the other, he helped her to a seat under the 
 thick shade of the osiers.
 
 72 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Una's countenance immediately became pale as 
 death, and her whole frame trembled excessively. 
 
 " You are too weak even to sit without support," 
 said Connor, "your head is droopin'. For God's 
 sake lean it over on me. Oh, I'd give ten thousand 
 lives to have it on my breast only for one moment." 
 
 Her paleness still continued; she gazed on him, 
 and as he gently squeezed her hand, a slight pressure 
 was given in return. He then drew her head over 
 upon his shoulder, where it rather fell than leaned; 
 a gush of tears came from her eyes, and the next 
 moment, with sobbing hearts, they were encircled in 
 each other's arms. 
 
 From this first intoxicating draught of youthful 
 love, they were started by the voice of Mrs. O'Brien 
 calling upon her daughter, and, at the same time, to 
 their utter dismay, they observed the portly dame 
 sailing, in her usual state, down towards the arbour, 
 with an immense bunch of keys dangling from her 
 side. 
 
 " Oonagh, Miss — Miss Oonagh — where are you 
 Miss, ma colleen ? — Here's a litther," she pro- 
 ceeded, when Una appeared, "from Mrs. Fogarty, 
 your school-misthress, to yer fadher — statin' that she 
 wants you to finish your Jiggraphy at the dancin', 
 wid a new dancin' -tacher from Dubling. Why — Eah! 
 what ails you, Miss, ma colleen ? What the dickens 
 wor you cryin' for ?" 
 
 " These nasty bees that stung me," returned the 
 girl; " oh, for goodness sake, mother dear, don't come
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 73 
 
 any farther, except you wish to have a whole hive 
 upon you!" 
 
 " Why, sure, they wouldn't sting any one that 
 won't meddle wid them," replied the mother in a 
 kind of alarm. 
 
 " The sorra pin they care, mother — don't come 
 near them ; I'll be in, by an' by — where' s my father ?" 
 
 " He's in the house, an' wants you to answer Mrs. 
 Fogarty, statin' fedher you'll take a month's larnin' 
 on the fiure* or not." 
 
 " Well, I'll see her letter in a minute or two, but 
 you may tell my father he needn't wait — I won't 
 answer it to-night, at all events." 
 
 " You must answer it on the nail," replied her 
 mother, "becase the message r's waitin' in the hitch- 
 ing 'ithin." 
 
 " That alters the case altogether," returned Una, 
 " and I'll follow you immediately." 
 
 The good woman then withdrew, having once more 
 enjoined the daughter to avoid delay, and not detain 
 the messenger. 
 
 " You must go instantly," said she to Connor; 
 " oh, what would happen me if they knew that I 
 
 lov that I — " a short pause ensued, and she 
 
 blushed deeply. 
 
 " Say what you were goin' to say," returned 
 Connor; " oh, say that one word, and all the misfor- 
 tunes that ever happened to man can't make me 
 
 • Dancing.
 
 74 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 unhappy! Oh God! an' is it possible! Say that 
 word — oh! say it — say it!" 
 
 " Well then," she continued, " if they knew that 
 I love the son of Fardorougha Donovan, what would 
 become of me ? Now, go for fear my father may 
 come out." 
 
 " But when will I see you, again ?" 
 
 "Go," said she, anxiously; "go, you can easily 
 see me." 
 
 " But when ? — when ? say on Thursday." 
 
 " Not so soon — not so soon," and she cast an 
 anxious eye towards the garden-gate. 
 
 " When then ? — say this day week." 
 
 " Very well — but go — maybe my father has heard 
 from the servants that you are here." 
 
 " Dusk is the best time." 
 
 " Yes — yes — about dusk; under the alders, in the 
 little green field behind the garden." 
 
 " Show me the wounded finger," said he with a 
 smile, " before I go." 
 
 " There," said she, extending her hand; " but for 
 heaven's sake go." 
 
 " I'll tell you how to cure it," said he, tenderly; 
 "honey is the medicine; put that sweet finger to your 
 own sweeter lip — and, afterwards, I'll carry home 
 the wound." 
 
 " But not the medicine, wow," said she, and 
 snatching her hand from his, with light fearful steps, 
 she fled up the garden and disappeared. 
 
 Such, gentle reader, were the circumstances which
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 75 
 
 brought our young and artless lovers together, in the 
 black twilight of the singularly awful and ominous 
 evening which we have already described. 
 
 Connor, on reaching the appointed spot, sat down; 
 but his impatience soon overcame him; and while hurry- 
 ing to and fro under the alders, he asked himself in what 
 was this wild but rapturous attachment to terminate ? 
 That the proud Bodagh Bute,* and his prouder wife, 
 would never suffer their beautiful daughter, the heiress 
 of all their wealth, to marry the son of Fardorougha the 
 miser, was an axiom, the truth of which pressed upon 
 his heart with a deadly weight. On the other hand, 
 would his father, or rather could he, change his na- 
 ture so far as to establish him in life, provided Una 
 and he were united without the consent of her parents. 
 Alas! he knew his father's parsimony too well; and, 
 on either hand he was met by difficulties that ap- 
 peared to him to be insurmountable. But again, 
 came the delightful and ecstatic consciousness that 
 let their parents act as they might, Una's heart and 
 his were bound to each other by ties, which, only to 
 tbink of, was rapture. In the midst of these reflec- 
 tions, he heard her light foot approach, but with a 
 step more slow and melancholy than he could have 
 expected from the ardour of their love. 
 
 When she approached, the twilight was just suf- 
 ficient to enable him to perceive that her face was 
 pale, and tinged apparently with melancholy, if not 
 with sorrow. After the first salutations were over, 
 
 * Bodagh Buie— literally the " Yellow Churl."
 
 76 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 he was proceeding to inquire into the cause of her 
 depression, when, to his utter surprise, she placed 
 her hands upon her face, and burst into a fit of grief. 
 Those who have loved need not be told that the 
 most delightful office of that delightful passion is to 
 dry the tears of the beloved one who is dear to us 
 beyond all things else that life contains. Connor 
 literally performed this office, and inquired, in a tone 
 so soothing and full of sympathy, why she wept ? 
 that her tears for a while only flowed the faster. At 
 length her grief abated, and she was able to reply to 
 him — 
 
 " You ask me why I am crying," said the fair 
 young creature; " but indeed I cannot tell you. 
 There has been a sinking of the heart upon me during 
 the greater part of this day. When I thought of our 
 meeting I was delighted, but again some heaviness 
 would come over me that I can't account for." 
 
 " I know what it is," replied Connor, " a very 
 simple thing; merely the terrible calm and blackness 
 of the evenin'. I was sunk myself a little." 
 
 " I ought to cry for a better reason," she returned; 
 " in meeting you I have done — an' am doing — what 
 I ought to be sorry for — that is a wrong action that 
 my conscience condemns." 
 
 " There is nobody perfect, my dear Una," said 
 Connor; " an' none without their failin's ; they have 
 little to answer for that have no more than you." 
 
 " Don't flatter me," she replied; " if you love me 
 as vou sav, never flatter me while you live; /will
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 77 
 
 always speak what I feel, and I hope you'll do the 
 same." 
 
 " If I could spake what I feel," said he, " you 
 would still say I flattered you — it's not in the power 
 of any words that ever were spoken, to tell how I love 
 you — how much my heart an' soul's fixed upon you. 
 Little you know, my own dear Una, how unhappy I 
 am this minute, to see you in low spirits — what do 
 you think is the occasion of it? Spake now, as you 
 say you will do, that is, as you feel." 
 
 "Except it be that my heart brought me to meet 
 you to-night contrary to my conscience, I do not 
 know; Connor, Connor^ that heart is so strongly in 
 your favour, that if you were not to be happy neither 
 could its poor owner." 
 
 Connor for a moment looked into the future, but 
 like the face of the sky above him, all was either dark 
 or stormy; his heart sank, but the tenderness ex- 
 pressed in Una's last words filled his whole soul with 
 a vehement and burning passion which he felt must 
 regulate his destiny in life, whether for good 
 or evil. He pulled her to his breast, on which he 
 placed her head; she looked up fondly to him, and 
 perceiving that he wrought under some deep and 
 powerful struggle, said in a low confiding voice, 
 whilst the tears once more ran quietly down her 
 cheeks, 
 
 " Connor, what I said is true." 
 
 "My heart's burnin' — my heart's burnin'," he ex- 
 claimed, " it's not love I feel for you, Una — it's more
 
 78 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 than love ; oh, what is it ? Una, Una, this I know, 
 that I cannot long live without you, or from } t ou ; if 
 I did I'd go wild or mad through the world. For 
 the last three years you have never been out of my 
 mind, I may say, awake or asleep; for I believe a 
 night never passed during that time that I didn't 
 drame of you — of the beautiful young crature; oh ! 
 God in heaven, can it be thrue that she loves me at 
 last. Say them blessed words again, Una; oh say 
 them again; but I'm too happy — I can hardly bear 
 this delight." 
 
 " It is true that I love you, and if our parents could 
 think as we do, Connor, how easy would it be for 
 them to make us happy, but 
 
 " It's too soon, Una; it's too soon to spake < f 
 that. Happy ? don't we love one another ? Isn't 
 that happiness 1 who or what can deprive us of that ? 
 We are happy without them; we can be happy in 
 spite of them; oh, my own fair girl; sweet life of 
 my life, and heart of my heart; heaven — heaven 
 itself would be no heaven to me, if you weren't 
 with me !" 
 
 " Don't say that, Connor dear; it's wrong; let us 
 not forget what is due to religion, if we expect our 
 love to prosper. You may think this strange from 
 one that has acted contrary to religion in coming to 
 meet you against the will and knowledge of her pa- 
 rents; but beyond that, dear Connor, I hope I will 
 never go. But is it true, that you've loved me so 
 long?"
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 79 
 
 " It is," said he, " the second Sunday in May next 
 was three years, I knelt opposite you at Mass. 
 You were on the left-hand side of the althar, I was 
 on the right; my eyes were never off you; indeed you 
 may remember it." 
 
 " I have a good right," said she, blushing and 
 hiding her face on his shoulder. " I ought to be 
 ashamed to acknowledge it, and me so young at the 
 time; little more than sixteen. From that day to 
 this, my story has been just your own. Connor, can 
 you tell me how I found it out, but I knew you loved 
 me?" 
 
 " Many a thing was to tell you that, Una dear; 
 sure my eyes were never off you, whenever you wor 
 near me, an' wherever you were, there was I certain 
 to be too. I never missed any public place if I 
 thought you would be at it, an' that merely for the 
 sake of seein' you; an' now will you tell me why it 
 was that I could 'a sworn you loved me ?" 
 
 "You have answered for us both," she replied; 
 "as for me, if I only chanced to hear your name 
 mentioned, my heart would beat; if the talk was 
 about you I could listen to nothing else, and I often 
 felt the colour come and go on my cheek." 
 
 " Una, I never thought I could be born to such 
 happiness. Now that I know you love me, I 
 can hardly think it was love I felt for you all along; 
 it's wonderful — it's wonderful." 
 
 " What is so wonderful?" she inquired. 
 
 " Why, the change that I feel since knowin' that
 
 80 FARDOROUGHA THE MI.SER; OR, 
 
 you love me; since I had it from your own lips, it 
 has overcome me — I'm a child — I'm any thing, any 
 thing you choose to make me — it was never love — it's 
 only since I found you loved me that my heart's 
 burnin' as it is." 
 
 "I'll make you happy if I can," she replied, "and 
 keep you so, I hope." 
 
 " There's one thing that will make me still happier 
 than I am," said Connor. 
 
 "What is it? if it's proper and right I'll do it." 
 
 "Promise me that if I live, you'll never marry any 
 one else than me." 
 
 " You wish then to have the promise all on one 
 side," she replied with a smile and a blush, each as 
 sweet as ever captivated a human heart. 
 
 " No no, no, my darling Una, acushla, gra gal ma- 
 chree, no; I'll promise the same to you." 
 
 She paused, and a silence of nearly a minute en- 
 sued. 
 
 "I don't know that it's right, Connor; I have 
 taken one wrong step as it is, but, much as I 
 love you, I won't take another; whatever I do I must 
 feel that it's proper. I'm not sure that this is." 
 
 " Don't you say you love me, Una ?" 
 
 "I do; you know I do." 
 
 "I have only another question to ask; could you, 
 or would you, love me as you do, an' marry ano- 
 ther?" 
 
 " I could not, Connor, and would not, and will 
 not. I am ready to promise; I may easily do it;
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 
 
 81 
 
 for God knows the very thought of marrying another, 
 or being deprived of you, is more than I can bear." 
 
 "Well, then," returned her lover, seizing her 
 hand; " I take God to witness that, whilst you are 
 alive an' faithful to me, I will never marry any 
 woman but yourself. Now," he continued, "put 
 your right hand into mine, and say the same words." 
 
 She did so, and was in the act of repeating the 
 
 form, "I take God to witness ," when a vivid 
 
 flash of lightning shot from the darkness above them, 
 and a peal of thunder almost immediately followed 
 with an explosion so loud as nearly to stun both. 
 Una started with terror, and instinctively withdrew 
 her hand from Connor's. 
 
 "God preserve us," she exclaimed, " that's awful. 
 Connor, I feel as if the act I am goin' to do, is not 
 right. Let us put it off, at all events, till another 
 time." 
 
 " Is it because there comes an accidental brattle of 
 thunder?" he returned. " Why the thunder would 
 come if we were never to change a promise. You 
 have mine now, Una dear, an' I'm sure you wouldn't 
 wish me to be bound an' yourself free. Don't be 
 afraid, darling; give me your hand, an' don't tremble 
 so; repeat the words at wanst, and let it be over." 
 
 He again took her hand, when she repeated the 
 form in a distinct, though feeble voice, observing 
 when it was concluded, 
 
 " Now, Connor, I did this to satisfy you, but I 
 still feel like one who has done a wrong action. I 
 
 e 2
 
 82 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 am yours now, but I can't help praying to God that 
 it may end happily for us both." 
 
 " It must, darling Una — it must end happily for 
 us both. How can it be otherwise ? For my part, 
 except to see you my wife, I couldn't be happier than 
 I am this minute; exceptin' that, my heart has all it 
 wished for. Is it possible! Oh! is it possible that 
 this is not a dream, my heart's life — but if it is 
 — if it is — I never more will wish to waken." 
 
 Her young lover was deeply affected as he uttered 
 these words, nor was Una proof against the emotion 
 they produced. 
 
 " I could pray to God this moment, with a purer 
 heart than I ever had before," he proceeded, "for 
 makin' my lot in life so happy. I feel that I am 
 better and freer from sin than I ever was yet. If 
 we're faithful and true to one another, what can the 
 world do to us ?" 
 
 "I couldn't be otherwise than faithful to you," 
 she replied, " without being unhappy myself, and I 
 trust it's no sin to love each other as we do. Now, 
 
 let us God bless me, what a flash; an' here's the 
 
 rain beginning. That thunder's dreadful; heaven 
 preserve us! It's an' awful night! Connor, you 
 must see me as far as the corner of the garden; as 
 for you, I wish you were safe at home." 
 
 "Hasten, dear," said he, "hasten; it's no night 
 for you to be out in, now that the rain's coming; as 
 for me, if it was ten times as dreadful, I won't feel 
 it. There's but one thought — one thought in my
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 83 
 
 mind, and that I wouldn't part with for the wealth 
 of the universe." 
 
 Both then proceeded at a quick pace until they 
 reached the corner of the Bodagh's garden, where, with 
 short but earnest reassurances of unalterable attach- 
 ment, they took a tender and affectionate farewell.
 
 84 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It is not often that the higher ranks can appreciate 
 the moral beauty of love as it is experienced by those 
 humbler classes to whom they deny the power of 
 feeling it in its most refined and exalted character. 
 For our parts we differ so much from them in this, 
 that if we wanted to give an illustration of that 
 passion in its purest and most delicate state, we 
 would not seek for it in the saloon, or the drawing- 
 room, but among the green fields and the smiling 
 landscapes of rural life. The simplicity of humble 
 hearts is more accordant with the unity of affection 
 than any mind can be that is distracted by the com- 
 petition of rival claims upon its gratification. We 
 do not say that the votaries of rank and fashion are 
 insensible to love; because how much soever they 
 may be conversant with the artificial and unreal, still 
 they are human, and must, to a certain extent, be 
 influenced by a principle that acts wherever it can 
 find a heart on which to operate. We say, however, 
 that their love, when contrasted with that which is 
 felt by the humble peasantry, is languid and sicklv; 
 neither so pure, nor so simple, nor so intense. Its 
 associations in high life are unfavourable to the 
 growth of a healthy passion ; for what is the glare of 
 a lamp, a twirl through the insipid mazes of the ball-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 85 
 
 room, or the unnatural distortions of the theatre, 
 when compared to the rising of the summer sun, the 
 singing of birds, the music of the streams, the 
 joyous aspect of the varied landscape, the mountain, 
 the valley, the lake, and a thousand other objects, 
 each of which transmits to the peasant's heart, 
 silently, and imperceptibly that subtle power which at 
 once strengthens and purifies the passion? There is 
 scarcely such a thing as solitude in the upper ranks, 
 nor an opportunity of keeping the feelings unwasted, 
 and the energies of the heart unspent by the many 
 vanities and petty pleasures with which fashion forces 
 a compliance, until the mind falls from its natural 
 dignity, into a habit of coldness and aversion to 
 every thing but the circle of empty trifles in which it 
 moves so giddily. But the enamoured youth who 
 can retire to the beautiful solitude of the still glen to 
 brood over the image of her he lcves, and who, 
 probably, sits under the very tree where his love was 
 avowed and returned; he, we say, exalted with the 
 fulness of his happiness, feels his heart go abroad in 
 gladness upon the delightful objects that surround 
 him, for everything he looks upon is as a friend; his 
 happy heart expands over the whole landscape; his 
 eye glances to the sky; he thinks of the Almighty 
 Being above him, and though without any capacity 
 to analyse his own feelings — love — the love of some 
 humble, plain, but modest girl — kindles by degrees 
 into the sanctity and rapture of religion. 
 
 Let not our readers of rank, then, if any such may
 
 86 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 honour our pages with a perusal, be at all surprised 
 at the expression of Connor 0' Donovan when, under 
 the ecstatic power of a love so pure and artless as 
 that which bound his heart and Una's together, he 
 exclaimed as he did, " Oh, I could pray to God this 
 moment, with a purer heart than I ever had before" 
 Such a state of feeling among the people is neither 
 rare nor anomalous, for, however the great ones and 
 the wise ones of the world may be startled at our 
 assertion, we beg to assure them that love and religion 
 are more nearly related to each other than those 
 who have never felt either in its truth and purity 
 can imagine. 
 
 As Connor performed his journey home, the 
 thunder-tempest pealed fearfully through the sky; 
 and, though the darkness was deep and unbroken by 
 any thing but the red flashes of lightning, yet, so 
 strongly absorbed was his heart by the scene we have 
 just related, that he arrived at his father's house 
 scarcely conscious of the roar of elements which 
 surrounded him. 
 
 The family had retired to bed when he entered, 
 with the exception of his parents, who, having felt 
 uneasy at his disappearance, were anxiously awaiting 
 his return, and entering into fruitless conjectures 
 concerning the cause of an absence so unusual. 
 
 " What," said the alarmed mother, " what in the 
 world wide could keep him so long out, and on sich 
 a tempest as is in it? God protect my boy from all 
 harm and danger this fearful night ! Oh, Fardorougha,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 87 
 
 what 'ud become of us if any thing happened him? As 
 for me — my heart's wrapped up in him; widout our 
 darlin' it 'ud break — break — Fardorougha." 
 
 "Hut, he's gone to some neighbour's, and can't 
 come out till the storm is over; he'll soon be here 
 now, that the tundher and lightnin's past." 
 
 " But did you never think, Fardorougha, what 'ud 
 become of you, what you'd do, or how you'd live, if 
 any thing happened him? wbich the Almighty forbid 
 this night and for ever! Could you live widout him?" 
 The old man gazed upon her like one who felt 
 displeasure at having a contingency so painful forced 
 upon his consideration. Without making any reply, 
 however, he looked thoughtfully into the fire for some 
 time, after which he rose up, and with a querulous 
 and impatient voice, said — 
 
 "What's the use of thinkin' about sich things? 
 Lose him! why would I lose him? — I couldn't lose 
 him — Fd as soon lose my own life — Fd rather be 
 dead at wanst than lose him." 
 
 " God knows your love for him is a quare love, 
 Fardorougha," rejoined the wife; "you wouldn't 
 give him a guinea if it 'ud save his life, or allow him 
 even a few shillins now and then for pocket money, 
 that he might be aquil to other young boys like him." 
 " No use, no use in that, except to bring him into 
 drink, an' other bad habits; a poor way, Honor, of 
 showin' one's love to him. If you had your will, 
 you'd spoil him; I'm keepin' whatsomever little 
 shillins we've scraped together to settle him dacently
 
 88 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 in life; but, indeed, that's time enough yet; he's 
 too young to marry for some years to come, barrin' 
 he got a fortune." 
 
 " Well, one thing, Fardorougha — if ever two people 
 wor blessed in a good son, praised be God, we are 
 that." 
 
 "We are, Honor, we are; there's not his aquil in 
 the parish — achora maehree, that he is. When I'm 
 gone he'll know what I've done for him." 
 
 " Whin you're gone? why Saver of airth, sure you 
 
 wouldn't keep him out of his husth! — here he is, 
 
 God be thankied, poor boy, he's safe ! Oh, thin, 
 vich no Hoiah, Connor jewel, were you out undher 
 this terrible night?" 
 
 " Connor, avich maehree," added the father, 
 "you're lost. My hand to you, if he's worth three 
 hapuns; sthrip an' throw my cothamore about you, 
 an' draw in to the fire; you're fairly lost." 
 
 "I'm worth two lost people yet," said Connor 
 smiling; "mother did you ever see a pleasanter 
 night ?" 
 
 "Pleasant, Connor, darlin'; oh thin it's you may 
 say so, I'm sure !" 
 
 "Father, you're a worthy, — only your cothamore's 
 too scimpit for me. Faith, mother, although you 
 think I'm jokin', the divil a one o' me is; a pleasanter 
 night — a happier night I never spent. Father, you 
 ought to be proud o' me, an' stretch out a bit with 
 the cash; faith, I'm nothin' else than a fine hand- 
 some young fellow."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 89 
 
 "Be my sowl an' he ought to be proud out of you, 
 Connor, whether you're in airnest or not," observed 
 the mother, "an' to stretch out wid the arhighad* 
 too if vou want it." 
 
 "Folly on, Connor, folly on; your mother 'ill back 
 you, I'll go bad, say what you will; but sure you 
 know all I have must be yours yet, acushla." 
 
 Connor now sat down, and his mother stirred up 
 the fire, on which she placed additional fuel. After 
 a little time his manner changed, and a shade of deep 
 gloom fell upon his manly and handsome features. 
 "I don't know," he at length proceeded, "that as 
 we three are here together, I could do betther than 
 ask your advice upon what has happened to me to- 
 night." 
 
 "Why, what has happened you, Connor?" said 
 the mother alarmed; "plase God, no harm, I hope." 
 
 "Who else," added the father, "would you be 
 guided by, if not by your mother an' myself ?" 
 
 " No harm, dear mother," said Connor in reply to 
 her; "harm! oh! mother, mother, if you knew 
 it; an' as for what you say, father, it's right; 
 what advice but my mother's an' yours ought I 
 ask ?" 
 
 "An' God's too," added the mother. 
 
 " An' my heart was never more ris to God than 
 it was, an' is this night," replied their ingenuous 
 boy. 
 
 "Well, but what has happened, Connor?" said his 
 
 * Money.
 
 90 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 father; "if it's any thing where our advice can 
 sarve you, of coorse we'll advise you for the best." 
 
 Connor, then, with a glowing heart, made them 
 acquainted with the affection which subsisted between 
 himself and Una O'Brien, and ended by informing 
 them of the vow of marriage which they had that 
 night solemnly pledged to each other. 
 
 " You both know her by sight," he added, " an' 
 afther what I've sed, can you blame me for sayin' that 
 I found this a pleasant an' a happy night ?" 
 
 The affectionate mother's eyes filled with tears of 
 pride and delight, on hearing that her handsome son 
 was loved by the beautiful daughter of Bodagh Buie, 
 and she could not help exclaiming, in the enthusiasm 
 of the moment, 
 
 "She's a purty girl — the purtiest indeed I ever 
 laid my two livin' eyes upon, and by all accounts as 
 good as she's purty; but I say that face to face, 
 you're as good, agra, ay, an' as handsome, Fardo- 
 rougha, as she is. God bless her, any way, an' 
 mark her to grace and happiness, mo colleen dhas 
 dhun."* 
 
 " He's no match for her," said the father, who 
 had listened with an earnest face, and compressed 
 lips to his son's narrative; "he's no match for her — 
 by two hundre guineas." 
 
 Honor, when he uttered the previous part of his 
 observation, looked upon him with a flash of indig- 
 nant astonishment; but when he had concluded, her 
 
 * My beautiful brown girl.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 91 
 
 countenance fell back into its original expression. It 
 was evident that, while she, with the feelings of 
 a woman and a mother, instituted a parallel between 
 their personal merits alone, the husband viewed their 
 attachment through that calculating spirit which had 
 regulated his whole life. 
 
 " You're thinkin' of her money now," she added; 
 "but remimber, Fardorougha, that it wasn't born 
 wid her. An' I hope, Connor, it's not for her money 
 that you have any yrah* for her ?" 
 
 "You may swear that, mother; I love her little 
 finger betther than all the money in the king's 
 bank." 
 
 "Connor, avich, your mother has made a fool of you, 
 or you wouldn't spake the nonsense you spoke this 
 minute." 
 
 " My word to you, father, I'll take all the money 
 I'll get; but what am I to do 1 Bodagh Buie an' his 
 wife will never consent to allow her to marry me, 
 I can tell you; an' if she marries me without their 
 consent, you both know I have no way of supportin' 
 her, except you, father, assist me." 
 
 "That won't be needful, Connor; you may manage 
 them; they won't see her want; she's an only 
 daughter; they couldat see her want." 
 
 "An' isn't he an only son, Fardorougha?" ex- 
 claimed the wife; "an' my sowl to happiness but I 
 believe you'd see him want." 
 
 " Any way," replied her husband, " I'm not for 
 * Love.
 
 92 
 
 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 matches aginst the consint of paarents ; they're not 
 lucky; or can't you run away widher, an' then refuse 
 marry in' her except they come down with the cash.'.' 
 
 "Oh, father," exclaimed Connor, "father, father, 
 to become a villain ! " 
 
 " Connor," said his mother, rising up in a spirit of 
 calm and mournful solemnity, "never heed; go to 
 bed, achora, go to bed." 
 
 "Of coorse I'll never heed, mother," he replied; 
 "but I can't help say in' that, happy as I was a while 
 agone, my father is sendin' me to bed with a heavy 
 heart. When I asked your advice, father, little I 
 
 thought it would be to do but no matter! I'll 
 
 never be guilty of an act that 'ud disgrace my name." 
 
 "No, avillish," said his mother, " you never will ; 
 God knows it's as much an' more than you an' other 
 people can do, to keep the name we have in dacency." 
 
 " It's fine talk," observed Fardorougha, " but 
 what I advise has been done by hundreds that wor 
 married an' happy afterwards; how-an-iver you needn't 
 get into a passion, either of you; I'm not pressin' 
 you, Connor, to it." 
 
 " Connor, achree," said his mother, " go to bed, 
 an' instead of the advice you got, ax God's; go, 
 avillish!" 
 
 Connor, without making any further observation, 
 sought his sleeping-room, where, having recom- 
 mended himself to God in earnest prayer, he lay 
 revolving all that had occurred that night, until the 
 gentle influence of sleep at length drew him into 
 oblivion.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 93 
 
 " Now," said his mother to Fardorougha, when 
 Connor had gone, " you must sleep by yourself; for 
 as for me, my side I'll not stretch on the same bed 
 wid vou to-night." 
 
 " Very well, I can't help that," said her husband; 
 " all I can say is this, that I'm not able to put sinse 
 or prudence into you or Connor; so since you won't 
 be guided my me, take your own coorse. Bodagh 
 Buie's very well able to provide for them; an' if he 
 won't do so before they marry, why let Connor have 
 nothin' to say to her." 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Fardorougha, God wouldn't 
 be in heaven, or you'll get a cut heart yet, either 
 through your son or your money; an' that it may not 
 be through my darlin' boy, oh, grant sweet Saver o' 
 the airth, this night ! I'm goin' to sleep wid Biddy 
 Nulty, an' you'll find a clane night-cap on the rail o' 
 the bed; an', Fardorougha, afore you put it an, kneel 
 down and pray to God to change your heart — for it 
 wants it — it wants it." 
 
 In Ireland, as in other countries, the first object of 
 a servant-man, after entering the employment of his 
 master, is to put himself upon an amicable footing 
 with his fellow-servants of the other sex. Such a 
 step, besides being natural in itself, is often taken in 
 consequence of the esprit de corps which prevails 
 among persons in that class. Bartle Flanagan, 
 although he could not be said to act from any^habit 
 previously acquired in service, went to work with all 
 the tact and adroitness of a veteran. The next
 
 94 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 morning, after having left the barn where he slept, 
 he contrived to throw himself in the way of Biddy 
 Nulty, a girl, who, though vain and simple, was at 
 the same time conscientious and honest. On passing 
 from the barn to the kitchen, he noticed her return- 
 ing from the well with a pitcher of water in each hand, 
 and as it is considered an act of civil attention for 
 the male servant, if not otherwise employed, to assist 
 the female in small matters of the kind, so did 
 Flanagan in his best manner and kindest voice bid 
 her good-morrow, and offer to carry home the pitchers. 
 
 " It's the least I may do," said he, " now that I'm 
 your fellow-servant : but before you go farther, lay 
 down your burden, an' let us chat a while." 
 
 "Indeed," replied Biddy, "it's little we expected 
 ever to see your father's son goin' to earn his bread 
 undher another man's roof." 
 
 " Pooh ! Biddy ! there's greater wondhers in the 
 world than that, woman alive ! But tell me — pooh 
 — ay is there a thousand quarer things — but I say, 
 Biddy, how do you like to live wid this family ?" 
 
 "Why, troth indeed, only for the withered ould 
 leprechaun himself, divil a dacenter people ever broke 
 bread." 
 
 "Yet, isn't it a wondher that the ould fellow 'is 
 what he is, sich an oppressin' ould miser, an' he so 
 full o' money ?" 
 
 " Troth there's one thing myself wondhers at more 
 than that." 
 
 " What, Biddy ? let us hear it."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 95 
 
 " Why that you could be mane an' shabby enough 
 to come as a servant to ate the bread of the man that 
 ruined yez !" 
 
 " Biddy," replied Flanagan, " I'm glad you've said 
 it; but do you think I've so bad a heart as to keep 
 revinge in against an inimy ? How could I go to my 
 knees at nigbt, if I — no, Biddy, we must be Chris- 
 tians. Well ! let us drop that; so you tell me the 
 mother an' son are kind to you." 
 
 "As good-hearted a pair as ever lived." 
 
 " Connor, of course, can't but be very kind to so 
 good-looking a girl as you are, Biddy," said Bartle, 
 with a knowing smile. 
 
 "Very kind ! good looking ! ay, indeed I'm sure 
 o' that ! Bartle, behave, an' don't be gettin' an wid 
 any o' your palavers. What 'ud make Connor be 
 kind to the likes o' me, that way ?" 
 
 " I don't see why he oughtn't an' mightn't — you're 
 as good as him, if it goes to that." 
 
 "Ohyis, indeed!" 
 
 "Why, you know you're handsome." 
 
 " Handsome," replied the vain girl, tightening her 
 apron strings, and assuming a sly coquettish look; 
 " Bartle, go an' mind your business, and let me 
 bring home my pitchers; it's time the breakwist was 
 down. Sich nonsense!" 
 
 "Very well, you're not, thin: you've a bad leg, a 
 bad figure, an' a bad face, and it would be a terrible 
 tbing all out for Connor O'Donovan to fall in consate 
 wid you.'
 
 96 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Well, about Connor I could tell you something; 
 — me ! tut ! go to the sarra; faix you dont know 
 them that Connor's afther, nor the collogin' they all 
 had about it no longer ago than last night itself. 
 I suppose they thought I was asleep, but it was like 
 the hares, wid my eyes open." 
 
 " An' it's a pity, Biddy, ever the same two eyes 
 should be shut. Begad myself s beginnin' to feel 
 quare somehow, when I look at them." 
 
 A glance of pretended incredulity was given in 
 return, after which she proceeded — 
 
 " Bartle, don't be bringin' yourself to the fair wid 
 sich folly. My eyes is jist as God made them; but I 
 can tell you that before a month o' Sundays passes, I 
 wouldn't be surprised if you see Connor married to — 
 you wouldn't guess ?" 
 
 "Not I; the divil a hap'orth I know about who 
 he's coortin'." 
 
 "No less than our great beauty, Bodagh Buie's 
 daughter, Oona O'Brien. Now, Bartle, for goodness 
 sake, don't let this crass your lips to livin' mortal. 
 Sure I heard him tellin all to the father and mother 
 last night — they're promised to one another. Eh ! 
 blessed saints, Bartle, what ails you ? you're as white 
 as a sheet. What's wrong 1 and what did you start 
 for ?" 
 
 "Nothin'," replied Flanagan, coolly, "but a stitch 
 in my side. I'm subject to that — it pains me very 
 much while it lasts, and laves my face, as you say, 
 the colour of dimity; but about Connor, upon my
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 97 
 
 throth, I'm main proud to hear it; she's a purty girl, 
 an' besides he'll have a fortune that'll make a man of 
 him; — I am, in throth, heart proud to hear it. It's a 
 pity Connor's father isn't as dacent as himself. 
 Arrah Biddy, where does the ould codger keep his 
 money V 
 
 " Little of it in the house, any way — sure whenever 
 he scrapes a guinea together he's away wid it to the 
 
 county county och, that comity man that 
 
 keeps the money for the people." 
 
 "The Treashurer; well much good may his thrash 
 do him, Biddy, that's the worst I wish him. Come 
 now and I'll lave your pitchers at home, and remem- 
 ber you owe me something for this." 
 
 " Good will, I hope." 
 
 "That for one thing," he replied, as they went 
 along; "but we'll talk more about it when we have 
 time; and I'll thin tell you the truth about what 
 brought me to hire wid Fardorougha Donovan." 
 
 Having thus excited that most active principle 
 called female curiosity, both entered the kitchen, 
 where they found Connor and his mother in close 
 and apparently confidential conversation — Fardo- 
 rougha himself having as usual been abroad upon his 
 farm for upwards of an hour before any of them had 
 risen. 
 
 The feelings with which they met that morning at 
 breakfast may be easily understood by our readers, 
 without much assistance of ours. On the part of 
 Fardorougha there was a narrow selfish sense of 
 
 F
 
 98 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 exultation, if not of triumph, at the chance that lay 
 before his son of being able to settle himself indepen- 
 dently in life, without the necessity of making any 
 demand upon the hundreds which lay so safely in the 
 keeping of the County Treasurer. His sordid soul 
 was too deeply imbued with the love of money to 
 perceive that what he had hitherto looked upon as a 
 proof of parental affection and foresight, was nothing 
 more than a fallacy by which he was led day after day 
 further into his prevailing vice. In other words, 
 now that love for his son, and the hope of seeing him 
 occupy a respectable station in society ought to have 
 justified the reasoning by which he had suffered him- 
 self to be guided, it was apparent that the prudence 
 which he had still considered to be his duty as a 
 kind parent, was nothing else than a mask for his 
 own avarice. The idea, therefore, of seeing Connor 
 settled without any aid from himself, filled] his whole 
 soul with a wild hard satisfaction, which gave him as 
 much delight as perhaps he was capable of enjoying. 
 The advice offered to his son on the preceding night 
 appeared to him a matter so reasonable in itself, 
 and the opportunity offered by Una's attachment so 
 well adapted for making it an instrument to work 
 upon the affections of her parents, that he could not 
 for the life of him perceive why they should entertain 
 any rational objection against it. 
 
 The warm-hearted mother participated so largely 
 in all that affected the happiness of her son, that it 
 we allow for the difference of sex and position,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 99 
 
 we might describe their feelings as bearing, in the 
 character of their simple and vivid enjoyment, a 
 very remarkable resemblance. This amiable wo- 
 man's affection for Connor was reflected upon Una 
 O'Brien, whom she now most tenderly loved, not 
 because the fair girl was beautiful, but because she 
 had plighted her troth to that son who had been 
 during his whole life her own solace and delight. 
 
 No sooner was the morning meal concluded, and 
 the servants engaged at their respective employments 
 than Honor, acting probably under Connor's sug- 
 gestion, resolved at once to ascertain whether her 
 husband could so far overcome his parsimony as to 
 establish their Son and Una in life; that is, in the 
 event of Una's parents opposing their marriage, and 
 declining to render them any assistance. With this 
 object in view, she told him as he was throwing his 
 great-coat over his shoulders, in order to proceed to 
 the fields, that she wished to speak with him upon a 
 matter of deep importance. 
 
 " What is it ?" said Fardorougha, with a hesitat- 
 ing shrug, " what is it 1 This is ever an' always 
 the way when you want money ; but I tell you I have 
 no money. You wor born to waste and extravagance, 
 Honor, and there's no curin' you. What is it you 
 want ? an' let me go about my business." 
 
 " Throw that ould threadbare cothamore off o' 
 you," replied Honor, " and beg of God to give you 
 grace to sit down, an' have common feeling an' 
 common sense."
 
 100 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " If it's money to get does either for yourself or 
 Connor, there's no use in it. I needn't sit; you 
 don't want a stitch either of you." 
 
 Honor, without more ado, seized the coat, and 
 flinging it aside, pushed him over to a seat on which 
 she forced him to sit down. 
 
 " As heaven's above me," she exclaimed, " I 
 dunna what'll come over you at all, at all. Your 
 money, your thrash, your dirt an' filth, ever, ever, 
 an' for ever more in your thought, heart, and sowl. 
 Oh Chierna! to think of it, an' you know there's a 
 God above you, an' that you must meet him, an' that 
 widout your money too!" 
 
 " Ay, ay, the money's what you want to come at; 
 but I'll not sit here to be hecthor'd. What is it, I 
 say agin, you want ?" 
 
 " Fardorougha ahagur," continued the wife, check- 
 ing herself, and addressing him in a kind and affec- 
 tionate voice, " maybe I was spakin' too harsh to 
 you, but sure it was an' is for your own good. How 
 an' ever, I'll thry kindness, and if you have a heart 
 at all, you can't but show it when you hear what I'm 
 goin' to say." 
 
 " Well, well, go an," replied the pertinacious hus- 
 band; " but — money — ay, ay, is there. I feel by 
 the way you're comin' about me, that there is money 
 at the bottom of it." 
 
 The wife raised her hands and eyes to heaven, 
 shook her head, and after a slight pause, in which 
 she appeared to consider her appeal a hopeless one, 
 
 o
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 101 
 
 she at lensth went on in an earnest but subdued and 
 desponding spirit — 
 
 " Fardorougha, the time's now come that will 
 show the world whether you love Connor or not." 
 
 " I don't care a pin about the world; you an' 
 Connor know well enough that I love him." 
 
 " Love for one's child doesn't come out merely in 
 words, Fardorougha; actin' for their benefit shows 
 it betther than spakin'. Don't you grant that ?" 
 
 " Very well, maybe I do, and agin maybe I 
 don't; there's times when the one's betther than the 
 other; but go an; maybe I do grant it." 
 
 " Now tell me where in this parish, ay, or in the 
 next five parishes to it, you'd find sich a boy for a 
 father or mother to be proud out of, as Connor, your 
 own darlin', as you often called him?" 
 
 " Divil a one, Honor ; damnho to the one ; I 
 won't differ wid you in that." 
 
 "You won't differ wid me! the divil thank you for 
 that. You won't, indeed! but could you, I say, if 
 you wor willin' ?" 
 
 " I tell you I could not" 
 
 " Now there's sinse an' kindness in that. Very 
 well, you say you're gatherin' up all the money you 
 can for him." 
 
 " For him — him" exclaimed the unconscious 
 miser, " whv, what do vou mane — for — well — a}* — 
 yes, yes, I did say for him; it's for him I'm keeping 
 it — it is, I tell you." 
 
 " Now, Fardorougha, you know he's ould enough
 
 102 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 to be settled in life on his own account, an' you heard 
 last night the girl he can get, if you stand to him, as 
 he ought to expect from a father that loves him." 
 
 " Why, last night, thin, didn't I give my — " 
 
 " "Whisht, ahagur! hould your tongue awhile, and 
 let me go on. Truth's best — he dotes on that girl 
 to sich a degree, that if he doesn't get her, he'll never 
 see another happy day while he's alive." 
 
 "All feasthalagh,* Honor — that won't pass wid 
 me; I know otherwise myself. Do you think that if 
 I hadn't got you, I'd been unhappy four an' twenty 
 hours, let alone my whole life 1 I tell you that's 
 feasthalagh, an' won't pass. He wouldn't ate an 
 ounce the less if he was never to get her. You seen 
 the breakfast he made this mornin'; I didn't be- 
 grudge it to him, but may I never stir if that Flanagan 
 wouldn't ate a horse behind the saddle; he has a 
 stomach that 'ud require a king's ransom to keep it." 
 
 " You know nothing of what I'm spakin' about," 
 replied his wife. " /wasn't Una dhas dhun O'Brien 
 in my best days; an' be the Vestment, t you warn't 
 Connor, that has more feelin', an' spirit, an' genero- 
 sity in the nail of his little finger, than ever you had 
 in your whole carkass. I tell you if he doesn't get 
 married to that girl he'll break his heart. Now how 
 can he marry her except you take a good farm for 
 him, and stock it dacently, so that he may have a 
 home, sich as she desarves, to bring her to ?" 
 
 * Nonsense. 
 
 + The robes in which the priest celebrates mass.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF L.ISNAMONA. 103 
 
 " How do you know but they'll give her a fortune 
 when they find her bent on him ?" 
 
 " Why, it's not impossible," said the wife, im- 
 mediately changing her tactics, "it's not unpossible, 
 but I can tell you it's very unlikely." 
 
 " The best way, then, in my opinion, 'ud be to 
 spake to Connor about breaking it to the family." 
 
 " Why, that's fair enough," said the wife, " I 
 wondher myself I didn't think of it, but the time 
 was so short since last night." 
 
 " It is short," replied the miser, " far an' away 
 too short to expect any one to make up their mind 
 about it. Let them not be rash themselves aither, 
 for I tell you that when people marry in haste, 
 they're apt to have time enough to repint at lay- 
 sure." 
 
 " Well, but Fardorougha acushla, now hear me; 
 throth it's thruth and sinse what you say; but still, 
 avourneen, listen; now in case that the Bodagh an' 
 his wife don't consint to their marriage, or to do 
 any thing for them, won't you take them a farm and 
 stock it bravely 1 Think of poor Connor, the darlin' 
 fine fellow that he is. Oh, thin but it's he 'ud go to 
 the well o' the world's end to aise you, if your little 
 finger only ached. He would, or for myself, and 
 yet his own father to trate him wid sich — " 
 
 It was in vain she attempted to proceed; the sub- 
 ject was one in which her heart felt too deep an in- 
 terest to be discussed without tears. A brief silence 
 ensued, during which Fardorougha moved uneasily
 
 104 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 on his seat, took the tongs and mechanically mended 
 the fire, and peering at his wife with a countenance 
 twitched as if by tic doloureux, stared round the 
 house with a kind of stupid wonder, rose up, then 
 sat instantly down, and in fact exhibited many of 
 those unintelligible and uncouth movements, which, 
 in persons of his cast, may be properly termed the 
 hieroglyphics of human action, under feelings that 
 cannot be deciphered either by those on whom they 
 operate, or by those who witness them. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " Connor is all you say, an' 
 more, an' more — an' — an' — a rash act is the worst 
 thing he could do. It's betther, Honor, to spake to 
 him, as I sed, about lettin' the matther be known 
 to Una's family out of hand." 
 
 " And, thin, if they refuse, you can show them a 
 ginerous example, by puttin' them into a dacent 
 farm. Will you promise me that, Fardorougha ? If 
 you do, all's right, for they're not livin' that ever 
 knew you to break your word or your promise." 
 
 " I'll make no promise, Honor ; I'll make no 
 promise; but let the other plan be tried first. Now 
 don't be pressin' me; he is — he is a noble boy, and 
 would, as you say, thravel round the earth to keep 
 my little finger from pain; but let me alone about it 
 now — let me alone about it." 
 
 This, though slight encouragement, was still in 
 Honor's opinion quite as much as, if not more than, 
 she expected. Without pressing him, therefore, too 
 strongly at that moment, she contented herself with
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 105 
 
 • 
 
 a full-length pdrtrait of their son, drawn with all the 
 skill of a mother who knew, if her husband's heart 
 could be touched at all, those points on which she 
 stood the greatest chance of finding it accessible. 
 
 For a few days after tliis the subject of Connor's 
 love was permitted to lie undebated, in the earnest 
 hope that Fardorougha's heart might have caught 
 some slight spark of natural affection from the con- 
 versation which had taken place between him and 
 Honor. They waited consequently with patience 
 for some manifestation on his part of a better feeling, 
 and flattered themselves that his silence proceeded 
 from the struggle which they knew a man of his dis- 
 position must necessarily feel in working up his 
 mind to any act requiring him to part with that 
 which he loved better than life. The ardent tem- 
 perament of Connor, however, could ill brook the 
 pulseless indifference of the old man; with much 
 difficulty, therefore, was he induced to wait a whole 
 week for the issue, though sustained by the mother's 
 assurance, that in consequence of the impression left 
 on her by their last conversation, she was certain the 
 father, if not urged beyond his wish, would declare 
 himself willing to provide for them. A week, how- 
 ever, elapsed, and Fardorougha moved on in the same 
 hard and insensible spirit which was usual to him, 
 wholly engrossed by money, and never either directly 
 or indirectly appearing to remember that the happi- 
 ness and welfare of his son were at stake, or depend- 
 ing upon the determination to which he might come. 
 
 f 2
 
 106 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Another half-week passed, during which Connor 
 had made two unsuccessful attempts to see Una, in 
 order that some fixed plan of intercourse might be 
 established between them, at least until his father's 
 ultimate resolution on the subject proposed to him 
 should be known. He now felt deeply distressed, 
 and regretted that the ardour of his attachment had 
 so far borne him away during their last meeting, that 
 he had forgotten to concert measures with Una for 
 their future interviews. 
 
 He had often watched about her father's premises 
 from a little before twilight until the whole family 
 had gone to bed, yet without any chance either of 
 conversing with her, or of letting her know that he 
 was in the neighbourhood. He had gone to chapel, 
 too, with the hope of seeing her, or snatching a hasty 
 opportunity of exchanging a word or two, if possible, 
 but to his astonishment she was absent from mass — 
 an omission of duty of which she had not been guilty 
 for the last three years. What, therefore, was to be 
 done ? For him to be detected lurking about the 
 Bodagh's house might create suspicion, especially 
 after their interview in the garden, which very pro- 
 bably had, through the officiousness of the servants, 
 been communicated to her parents. In a matter of 
 such difficulty he bethought him of a confidant, and 
 the person to whom the necessity of the case directed 
 him was Bartle Flanagan. Bartle, indeed, ever since 
 he entered into his father's service, had gained rapidly 
 upon Connor's good-will, and on one or two occasions
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 107 
 
 well nigh succeeded in drawing from him a history 
 of the mutual attachment which subsisted between 
 him and Una. His good humour, easy language, 
 and apparent friendship for young O' Donovan, toge- 
 ther with his natural readiness of address, or if you 
 will, of manner, all marked him out as admirably 
 qualified to act as a confidant in a matter which 
 required the very tact and talent he possessed. 
 
 "Poor fellow," thought Connor to himself, "it 
 will make him feel more like one of the family than 
 a servant. If he can think that he's trated as my 
 friend and companion, he may forget that he's ating 
 the bread of the veiy man that drove him an' his to 
 destruction. Ay, an' if we're married, I'm not sure 
 but I'll have him to give me away too." 
 
 This resolution of permitting Flanagan to share 
 his confidence had been come to by Connor upon the 
 day subsequent to that on which he had last tried to 
 see Una. After his return home, the disappointment 
 on one hand, and his anxiety concerning his father's 
 liberality on the other, together with the delight 
 arising from the certainty of being beloved, all kept 
 his mind in a tumult, and permitted him to sleep 
 but little. The next day he decided on admitting 
 Bartle to his confidence, and reposing this solemn 
 trust in his integrity. He was lying on his back in 
 the meadow — for they had been ricking the hay 
 from the lapcocks, when that delicious languor which 
 arises from the three greatest provocatives to slum- 
 ber, want of rest, fatigue, and heat, so utterly over-
 
 108 EARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 came him, that, forgetting his love, and all the 
 anxiety arising from it, he fell into a dreamless and 
 profound sleep. 
 
 From this state he was aroused after about an 
 hour by the pressure of something sharp and painful 
 against his side, near the region of the heart, and on 
 looking up he discovered Bartle Flanagan standing 
 over him with a pitchfork in his hand, one end of 
 which was pressed against his breast, as if he had 
 been in the act of driving it forward into his body. His 
 face was pale, his dark brows frightfully contracted, 
 and his teeth apparently set together, as if working 
 under some fearful determination. When Connor 
 awoke, Flanagan broke out into a laugh that no lan- 
 guage could describe. The character of mirth which 
 he wished to throw into his face, jarred so terrifically 
 with its demoniacal expression when first seen by 
 Connor, that even unsuspecting as the latter was, he 
 started up with alarm, and asked Flanagan what was 
 the matter. Flanagan, however, laughed on — peal 
 after peal succeeded — he tossed the pitchfork aside, 
 and clapping both his hands on his face, continued 
 the paroxysms until he recovered his composure. 
 
 " Oh," said he, " I'm sick, I'm as wake as a child 
 wid laughin' ; but, Lord bless us, after all, Connor, 
 what is a man's life worth whin he has an enemy 
 near him. There was I, ticklin' you wid the pitch- 
 fork, strivin' to waken you, and one inch of it would 
 have baked your bread for life. Didn't you feel me, 
 Connor?"
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 109 
 
 " Divil a bit, till the minute afore I ris." 
 
 " Then the divil a purtier jig ever you danced in 
 your life; wait till I show you how your left foot 
 wint." 
 
 He accordingly lay down and illustrated the pre- 
 tended action, after which he burst out into another 
 uncontrollable fit of mirth. 
 
 " 'Twas just for all the world," said he, " as if I 
 had tied a string to your toe, for you groaned an' 
 grunted, an' went on like I dunna what; but Connor, 
 what makes you so sleepy to-day as well as on Mon- 
 day last ?" 
 
 "That's the very thing," replied the unsuspicious 
 and candid young man, " that I wanted to spake to 
 you about." 
 
 "What ! about sleepin' in the meadows ?" 
 
 " Divil a bit o' that Bartle, not a morsal of 
 sleepin' in the meadows is consarned in what I'm 
 goin' to mintion to you. Bartle, didn't you tell me, 
 the day you hired with my father, that you wor in 
 love?" 
 
 " I did, Connor, I did." 
 
 " "Well so am I ; but do you know who I'm in love 
 with?" 
 
 " How the divil, man, could I ?" 
 
 "Well no swearin', Bartle; keep the command- 
 ments, my boy. I'll tell you in the mane time, an' 
 that's more than you did to me, you close-mouth-is-a- 
 sign-of-a- wise-head spalpeen." 
 
 " Hard fortune to you go an, and don't be keepin' 
 me in suspinse — who's the girl ?"
 
 110 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Did you ever hear tell of one Colleen dhas dhun, 
 as she's called, known by the name of Una or Oona 
 O'Brien, daughter to one Bodagh Buie O'Brien, the 
 richest man, barrin' a born gintleman, in the three 
 parishes." 
 
 " All very fair, Connor, for you or any one else to 
 be in love wid her — ay, or man alive, for myself, if it 
 goes to that — but, but Connor, avouchal, are you 
 sure that ever you'll bring her to be in love wid you ?" 
 
 " Bartle," said Connor, seriously, and after a sud- 
 den change in his whole manner, " in this business 
 I'm goin' to trate you as a friend and a brother. She 
 loves me, Bartle, and a solemn promise of marriage 
 has passed between us." 
 
 "Connor," said Bartle, "it's wondherful, it's 
 wondherful; you couldn't believe what a fool I am — 
 fool! no but a faint-hearted, cowardly vidian." 
 
 " What do you mane, Bartle 1 what the dickins 
 are you drivin' at ?" 
 
 "Drivin' at! whenever I happen to have an oppor- 
 tunity of makin' a drive that id' — hut ! I'm talkin' 
 balderdash. Do you see here Connor," said he, 
 putting his hand to his neck, " do you see here ?" 
 
 " To be sure I do. Well, what about there ?" 
 
 " Be my sowl I'm very careful of — hut ! — sure I 
 may as well tell you the whole truth — I sed I was in 
 love; well, man, that was thrue, an'," he added in a 
 low pithy whisper, "I was near — no, Connor, I won't, 
 but go an; it's enough for you to know that I was an' 
 am iu love, an' that it'll go hard wid me if ever any
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. Ill 
 
 one else is married to the girl Fm in love wid. Now 
 that my business is past, let me hear yours, poor 
 fellow, an' I'm divilish glad to know, Connor, that— 
 that — why tundher an' ouns, that you are not as I 
 am. Be the crass that saved us, Connor, I'm glad 
 of that." 
 
 "Why love will set you mad, Bartle, if you don't 
 take care of vourself ; an' faith I dunna but it may do 
 the same with myself, if I'm disappointed. However, 
 the truth is, you must sarve me in this business. I 
 struv to see her twiste, but couldn't, an' I'm afraid of 
 bein' seen spyin' about their place." 
 
 "The thruth is, Connor, you want to make me a 
 go-between — a blackfoot; very well, I'll do that same 
 on your account, an' do it well, too, I hope." 
 
 It was then arranged that Flanagan, who was per- 
 sonally known to some of the Bodagh's servants, 
 should avail himself of that circumstance, and con- 
 trive to gain an interview with Una, in order to con- 
 vey her a letter from O' Donovan. He was further 
 enjoined by no means to commit it to the hands of 
 any person save those of Una herself, and, in the 
 event of his not being able to see her, then the letter 
 was to be returned to Connor. If he succeeded, 
 however, in delivering it, he was to await an answer, 
 provided she found an opportunity of sending one ; if 
 not, she was to inform Connor, through Flanagan, 
 at what time and place he could see her. This 
 arrangement having been made, Connor immediately 
 wrote the letter, and after having despatched Flana-
 
 112 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 gan upon his errand, set himself to perform, by 
 his individual labour, the task which his father had 
 portioned out for both. Ere Bartle's return Far- 
 dorougha came to inspect their progress in the 
 meadow, and, on finding that the servant was absent, 
 he inquired sharply into the cause of it. 
 
 " He's gone on a message for me," replied Connor 
 with the utmost frankness. 
 
 " But that's a bad way for him to mind his busi- 
 ness," said his father. 
 
 " I'll have the task that you set both of us finished," 
 replied the son, " so that you'll lose nothing by his 
 absence, at all events." 
 
 " It's wrong, Connor, it's wrong; where did you 
 sind him to?" 
 
 " To Bodagh Buie's wid a letter to Una." 
 
 "It's a waste of time, an' a loss of work; about 
 that business, I have something to say to your mother 
 an' you to-night afther the supper, when the rest goes 
 to bed." 
 
 "I hope, father, you'll do the dacent thing still." 
 
 "No: but I hope, son, you'll do the wise thing 
 still; how-an-ever, let me alone now; if you expect 
 me to do any thing you must'nt drive me as your 
 mother does. To-night we'll make up a plan that'll 
 out-do Bodagh Buie. Before you come home, Con- 
 nor, throw a stone or two in that gap, to prevent the 
 cows from gettin' into the hay; it won't cost you 
 much throuble. But Connor, honomon dioul, did you 
 ever see sich a gut as Bartle has? He'll brake me
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LTSNAMONA. 113 
 
 out o' house an' home feedin' him; he has a stomach 
 for ten-penny nails; be mv word, it 'ud be a charity 
 to give him a dose of oak-bark to make him dacent; 
 he's a divil at atin', an' little good may it do him ! " 
 
 The hour of supper arrived without Bartle return- 
 ing, and Connor's impatience began to overcome him, 
 when, Fardorougha, for the first time, introduced the 
 subject which lay nearest his son's heart. 
 
 " Connor," he began, "I've been thinkin' of this 
 affair with Una O'Brien; an' in my opinion there's 
 but one way of it; but if you're a fool and stand in 
 your own light, it's not my fault." 
 
 " What is the way, father?" inquired Connor. 
 
 " The very same I tould your mother an' you before 
 — run away wid her — I mane make a runaway match 
 of it — then refuse to marry her unless they come 
 down wid the money. You know after runnin' away 
 wid you, nobody else ever would marry her, so that 
 rather than see their child disgraced, never fear but 
 they'll pay down on the nail, or maybe bring you 
 both to live wid 'em." 
 
 " My sowl to glory, Fardorougha," said the wife, 
 " but you're a bigger an' cunniner ould rogue than 
 ever I tuck you for. By the scapular upon me, if I 
 had a known how you'd turn out, the sarra carry the 
 ring ever you'd put on my finger." 
 
 " Father," said Connor, " I must be disobedient 
 to you in this at all evints. It's plain you'll do 
 untiling for us, so there's no use in sayin' any thing 
 more about it. I have no manes of supportin' her,
 
 114 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 and I swear by the blessed sacrayment I'll never bring 
 her to shame or poverty. If I had money to carry 
 me I'd go to America, an' thry my fortune there ; but 
 I have not. Father, it's too hard that you should 
 stand in my way when you could so easily make me 
 happy; who have you sich a right to assist as your 
 son — your only son, an' your only child too?" 
 
 This was spoken in a tone of respect and sorrow at 
 once impressive and affectionate. His fine features 
 were touched with something beyond sadness or regret, 
 and as the tears stood in his eyes, it was easy to see 
 that he felt much more deeply for his father's want of 
 principle than for any thing connected with his own 
 hopes and prospects. In fact the tears that rolled 
 silently down his cheeks were the tears of shame and 
 sorrow, for a parent who could thus school him to 
 an act of such unparalleled baseness. As it was, 
 the genius of the miser felt rebuked by the natural 
 delicacy and honour of the son — the old man there- 
 fore shrunk back abashed, confused, and moved at 
 the words which he had heard — simple and inoffensive 
 though they were. 
 
 " Fardorougha," said the wife, wiping her eyes, 
 that were kindling into indignation, "we're now 
 married goin' an — " 
 
 " I think, mother," said Connor, " the less we 
 say about it now the better — with my own good will 
 I'll never spake on the subject." 
 
 "You're right, avourneen," replied the mother; 
 "you're right; I'll say nothing — God sees it's no 
 use."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 115 
 
 " What would you have me do?" said the old man, 
 rising and walking about in unusual distress and 
 agitation; — "you don't know me — I can't do it — I 
 cant do it. You say, Honor, I don't care about him 
 — I'd give him my blood — I'd give him my blood to 
 save a hair of his head. My life an' happiness de- 
 pends on him; but who knows how he an' his wife 
 might mismanage that money if they got it — both 
 young and foolish. It wasn't for nothing it came 
 into my mind what I'm afeard will happen to me yet." 
 
 "And what was that, Fardorougha?" asked the 
 wife. 
 
 "Sich foreknowledge doesn't come for nothing, 
 Honor. I've had it and felt it hangin' over me this 
 many a long day, that I'd come to starvation yit; an' 
 I see, if you force me to do as you wish, that it 
 'ill happen. I'm as sure of it as that I stand before 
 you; I'm an unfortunate man wid such a fate before 
 me; and yet I'd shed my blood for my boy — I would, 
 an' he ought to know I would; but he wouldn't ax 
 me to starve for him — woidd you, Connor, avich ma- 
 chree, would you ax your father to starve? I'm 
 unhappy — unhappy — an' my heart's breakin'." 
 
 The old man's voice failed him as he uttered the 
 last words; for the conflict which he felt evidently 
 convulsed his whole frame. He wiped his eyes, and 
 again sitting down he wept bitterly and in silence, for 
 many minutes. 
 
 A look of surprise, compassion, and deep distress 
 passed between Connor and his mother. The latter 
 also was very much affected and said,
 
 UG PARDOROUGHA, THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Fardorougha, dear, maybe I spake sometimes too 
 cross to you; but if I do, God above knows it's not that 
 I bear you ill-will, but bekase I'm throubled about poor 
 Connor; but I hope I won't speak angry to you agin; 
 at all events if I do, remember it's only the mother 
 pladin' for her son — the only son an' child that God 
 was plased to sind her." 
 
 "Father," added Connor, also deeply moved, 
 " don't distress yourself about me — don't, father dear. 
 Let things take their chance, but come or go what 
 will, any good fortune that might happen me wouldn't 
 be sweet if it came by givin' you a sore heart." 
 
 At this moment the barking of the dog gave notice 
 of approaching footsteps; and in a few moments the 
 careless whistle of Bartle Flanagan was heard within 
 a few yards of the door. 
 
 "This is Bartle," said Connor; "maybe, father, 
 his answer may throw some light upon the business. 
 At any rate, as there's no secret in it, we'll all hear 
 what news he brings us." 
 
 He had scarcely concluded when the latch was 
 lifted, but Bartle could not enter. 
 
 " It's locked and boulted," said Fardorougha; "as 
 he sleeps in the barn I forgot that he was to come in 
 here any more to-night — open it, Connor." 
 
 " For the sake of all the money you keep in the 
 house, father," said Connor, smiling, " it's hardly 
 worth your while to be so timorous; but God help 
 the County Treasurer if he forgot to bar his door — 
 Asy, Bartle, I'm openin' it."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 117 
 
 Flanagan immediately entered; and, with all the 
 importance of a confidant, took his seat at the fire. 
 
 "Well, Bartle," said Connor, "what news?" 
 
 "Let the boy get his supper first," said Honor; 
 " Bartle, you must be starved wid the hunger." 
 
 " Faith, I'm middling well I thank you that same 
 way," replied Bartle; " divil a one o' me but's as 
 ripe for my supper as a July cherry; an' wid the 
 blessin' o' heaven upon my endayvours I'll soon show 
 you what good execution is." 
 
 A deep groan from Fardorougha gave back a fear- 
 ful echo to the truth of this formidable annunciation. 
 
 " Arn't you well, Fardorougha," asked Bartle. 
 
 " Throth I'm not, Bartle; never was more uncom- 
 fortable in my life." 
 
 Flanagan immediately commenced his supper, 
 which consisted of flummery and new milk — a luxury 
 among the lower ranks which might create envy in 
 an epicure. As he advanced in the work of destruc- 
 tion, the grey eye of Fardorougha, which followed 
 every spoonful that entered his mouth, scintillated 
 like that of a cat when rubbed down the back, though 
 from a directly opposite feeling. He turned and 
 twisted on the chair, and looked from his wife to his 
 son, then turned up his eyes, and appeared to feel as 
 if a dagger entered his heart with every additional 
 dig of Bartle's spoon into the flummery. The son 
 and wife smiled at each other; for they could enjoy 
 those petty sufferings of Fardorougha with a great 
 deal of good humour.
 
 118 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Bartle," said Connor, " what's the news?" 
 
 "Divil a word worth tellin'; at laste that I can 
 hear." 
 
 " I mane from Bodagh Buie's." 
 
 Bartle stared at him; "Bodagh Buie's! — what do 
 I know about Bodagh Buie? are you ravin'?" 
 
 "Bartle," said Connor, smiling, "my father and 
 mother knows all about it — an' about your going to 
 Una with the letter. I have no sacrets from them." 
 
 " Hoot toot! That's a horse of another colour; but 
 you wouldn't have me, widout knowin' as much, to go 
 to betray trust. In the mane time I may as well 
 finish my supper before I begin to tell you whatsom- 
 ever I happen to know about it." 
 
 Another deep groan from Fardorougha followed 
 the last observation. 
 
 At length the work of demolition ceased, and after 
 Honor had put past the empty dish, Bartle, having 
 wiped his mouth, and uttered a hiccup or two, thus 
 commenced to dole out his intelligence : — 
 
 " Whin I wint to the Bodagh's," said Bartle, " it 
 was wid great schamin' an' throuble I got a sight of 
 Miss Una at all, in regard of — (hiccup) — in regard 
 of her not knowin' that there was any sich message 
 for her — (hiccup.) But happenin' to know Kitty 
 Lowry, I made bould to go into the kitchen to ax, 
 you know, how was her aunt's family up in Skelgy, 
 when who should I find before me in it but Sally and 
 Miss Una — (hiccup). Of coorse I shook hands wid 
 her— wid Kittv I mane; ( an' Kitty,' said I, ' I was
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 119 
 
 sent in wid a message from the master to you; he's 
 in the haggard an' wants you.' So, begad, ou — 
 (hiccup) — out she goes, an' the coast bein' clear, 
 1 Miss Una,' says I, ' here's a scrape of a letther 
 from Mr. Connor O' Donovan; read it, an' if you can 
 write him an answer, do; if you haven't time say 
 whatever you have to say by me.' She go — (hiccup) 
 she got all colours when I handed it to her; an' run 
 away, savin' to me, ' wait for a while, an' don't go 
 till I see you.' In a minute or two Kitty comes in 
 agin as mad as the dickens wid me: the curse o' the 
 crows an you/ says she, ' why did you make me run 
 a fool's errand for no rason. The masther wasn't in 
 the haggard, an' didn't want me good or bad.' 
 
 "Bartle," said the impatient lover, "pass all that 
 over for the present, an' let us know the answer, if 
 she sent any." 
 
 "Sent any! be my sowl she did so; after readin' 
 your letther, an' findin' that she could depind on me, 
 she said that for fear of any remarks bein' made about 
 my waitin', espishially as I live at present in this 
 family, it would be better she thought to answer it 
 by word o' mouth. * Tell him,' said she, ' that I 
 didn't think he wa — (hiccup) ("Queen o' heaven !" 
 from his master,) was so dull an' ignorant o' the cus- 
 toms of the country, as not to know that whin young 
 people want to see one another they stay from mass 
 wid an expectation that' — begad I disremimber ex- 
 actly her own words; but it was as much as to say 
 that she staid at home on last Sunday expectin' to see 
 you when they were all gone to mass."
 
 J 20 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Well, but Bartle, what else 1 — short an' sweet, 
 man." 
 
 " Why, she'll meet you on next Thursday night, 
 God willin', in the same place; an' whin I axed her 
 where, she said you knew it yourself." 
 
 "An' is that all?" 
 
 " No it's not all; she sed it 'ud be better to men- 
 tion the thing to her father. Afther thiukin' it over 
 she says, ' as your father has the na — (hiccup) 
 (Saints above!) name of bein' so rich, she doesn't 
 know if a friend 'ud interfere but his consint might 
 be got; an' that's all I have to say about it, barrin' 
 that she's a very purty girl, an' I advise you not to 
 be too sure of her yet, Connor. So now I'm for the 
 barn— good night Far— (hiccup) (" at my cost you 
 do it!" from the miser again,) Fardorougha." 
 
 He rose and proceeded to his sleeping place in the 
 barn, whither Connor, who was struck by his manner, 
 accompanied him. 
 
 "Bartle," said O' Donovan, "did you take any 
 thing since I saw you last ?" 
 
 "Only share of two naggins wid my brother 
 Antony at Peggy Finigan's." 
 
 " I noticed it upon you," observed Connor; " but 
 I don't think they did." 
 
 "An' if they did, too, it's not high thrason, I 
 
 iope. 
 
 "No; but Bartle, I'm oblaged to you. You've 
 acted as a friend to me, an' I won't forget it to you." 
 
 " Dar Deah, an' I'm so much oblaged to you,.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 121 
 
 Connor, that I'll remimber your employ in' me in 
 this the longest day I have to live. But, Connor ?'> 
 
 "Well, Bartle." 
 
 "I'd take the sacrement, that after all, a ring 
 you'll never put on her." 
 
 "And what makes you think so, Bartle ?" 
 
 "I don't — I do — (hiccup) don't know; but, some- 
 how, something or another tells it to me that you 
 won't; others is fond of her I suppose as well as your- 
 self; and of coorse they'll stand betune you." 
 
 " Ay, but I'm sure of her." 
 
 " Ber Chriastha, but you're not; wait till I see you 
 man and wife, an' thin I'll say so. Here's myself, 
 Bartle, is in love, an' dhough I don't think that 
 ever the girl will or would marry me, be the crass 
 of heaven no other man will have her. Now, how 
 do you know but you may have some one like me — 
 like me, Connor, to stand against you ?" 
 
 "Bartle," said Connor, laughing, "your head's a 
 little moidher'd; give me your hand; whish! the 
 divil take you, man, don't wring my fingers off. Say 
 your prayers, Bartle, an' go to sleep. I say agin I 
 won't forget your kindness to me this night." 
 
 Flanagan had now deposited himself upon his 
 straw bed, and after having tucked the bed-clotbes 
 about him, said, in the relaxed indolent voice of a 
 man about to sleep, 
 
 "Goodnight, Connor; throth my head's a little 
 soft tonight — good night." 
 
 "Good night, Bartle." 
 
 G
 
 122 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Connor?" 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 "Didn't I stand to you to-night? Very well — 
 goo — (hiccup) good night !" 
 
 On Connor's return, a serious conclave was held 
 upon the best mode of procedure in a matter which 
 presented difficulties that appeared to be insur- 
 mountable. The father seizing upon the advice 
 transmitted by Una herself, as that which he had 
 already suggested, insisted that the most judicious 
 course was to propose for her openly, and without 
 appearing to feel that there was any inferiority on 
 the part of Connor. 
 
 "If they talk about wealth, Connor," said he, 
 " say that you are my son, an' that — that — no — no — 
 I'm too poor for sich a boast, — but say that you will 
 be able to take good care of any thing you get." 
 
 At this moment the door, which Connor had not 
 bolted, as his father would have done, opened, and 
 Bartle, wrapped in the treble folds of a winnow-cloth, 
 made a distant appearance." 
 
 "Beg pardon, Connor; I forgot to say that Una's 
 brother, the young priest out o' Maynooth, will be at 
 home from his uncle's, where it appears he is at pre- 
 sent; and Miss Una would wish that the proposial 
 'ud be made while hes at his father's. She says 
 he'll stand her friend, come or go what will. I for- 
 got, begad, to mention it before — so beg pardon, an' 
 wishes you all good night !" 
 
 This information tended to confirm them in the
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 123 
 
 course recommended by Fardorougha. It was accor- 
 dingly resolved upon that he (Fardorougha) himself 
 should wait upon Bodagh Buie, and in the name of 
 his son formally propose for the hand of his 
 daughter. 
 
 To effect this, however, was a matter of no ordi- 
 nary difficulty, as they apprehended that the Bodagh 
 and his wife would recoil with indignation at the bare 
 notion of even condescending to discuss a topic which, 
 in all probability they would consider as an insult. 
 Not, after all, that there existed, according to the 
 opinion of their neighbours, such a vast disparity in 
 the wealth of each; on the contrary, many were heard 
 to assert, that, of the two, Fardorougha had the heavier 
 purse. His character, however, was held in such ab- 
 horrence by all who knew him, and he ranked in 
 point of personal respectability and style of living, 
 so far beneath the Bodagh, that we question if any 
 ordinary occurrence could be supposed to fall upon 
 the public with greater amazement than a marriage, 
 or the report of a marriage, between any member of 
 the two families. The O' Donovans felt, however, that 
 it was better to make the experiment already agreed on, 
 than longer to remain in a state of uncertainty about 
 it. Should it fail, the position of the lovers, though 
 perhaps rendered somewhat less secure, would be 
 such as to suggest, so far as they themselves were 
 concerned, the necessity of a more prompt and effec- 
 tual course of action. Fardorougha expressed his 
 intention of opening the matter on the following day;
 
 124 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 but his wife, with a better knowledge of female cha- 
 racter, deemed it more judicious to defer it until after 
 the interview which was to take place between Con- 
 nor and Una on the succeeding Thursday. It might 
 be better, for instance, to make the proposal first to 
 Mrs. O'Brien herself, or on the other hand to the 
 Bodagh, but touching that and other matters relating 
 to what was proposed to be done, Una's opinion and 
 advice might be necessary. 
 
 Little passed, therefore, worthy of note, during 
 the intermediate time, except a short conversation 
 between Bartle and Connor on the following day, as 
 they returned to the field from dinner. 
 
 " Bartle," said the other, " you wor a little soft 
 last night: or rather a good dale so." 
 
 " Faith, no doubt o' that — but when a man meets 
 an ould acquaintance or two, they dont like to refuse 
 a thrate. I fell in wid three or four boys — all friends 
 o' mine, an' we had a sup on account of what's ex- 
 pected." 
 
 As he uttered these words, he looked at Connor 
 with an eye which seemed to say — you are not in a 
 certain secret with which I am acquainted. 
 
 "Why," replied Connor, "what do you mane, 
 Bartle 1 I thought you wor with your brother — at 
 laste you tould me so." 
 
 Flanagan started on hearing this. 
 
 "Wid my brother!" said he — "why, I — I — what 
 else could I tell you ? he was along wid the boys 
 when I met them."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 125 
 
 " Took a sup on account o' what's expected ! — an' 
 what's the manin' o' that, Bartle?" 
 
 "Why, what would it mane — but — but — your 
 marriage ?" 
 
 "An' thundher an' fury," exclaimed Connor, his 
 eye gleaming, " did you go to betray trust, an' min- 
 tion Una's name an' mine, afther what I tould 
 you?" 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Connor," replied Flanagan; 
 " is it mad you'd have me to be ? I said there was 
 something expected soon, that 'ud surprise them; 
 and when thev axed me what it was — honour bright ! 
 I gave them a knowin' wink, but said nothin.' Eh! 
 was that breakin' trust ? Arrah, be my soul, Connor, 
 you don't trate me well by the words you spoke this 
 blessed minute." 
 
 " An' how does it come, Bartle, my boy, that you 
 had one story last night, an' another to-day V 
 
 "Faix, very aisily, bekase I forget what I said 
 last night — for sure enough I was more cut than you 
 thought — but didn't I keep it well in before the ould 
 couple ?" 
 
 "You did fairly enough — I grant that; but the 
 moment you got into the barn a blind man could 
 see it." 
 
 " Bekase I didn't care a button wanst I escaped 
 from the eye of your father; any how, bad luck to it 
 tor whiskey; I have a murdherin' big heddick all day 
 after it." 
 
 " It's a bad weed, Bartle, and the less a man has
 
 126 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 to do with it, the less he'll be throubled aither with a 
 sore head or a sore conscience." 
 
 " Connor, divil a one, but you're the moral of a 
 good boy; I dunna a fault you have but one." 
 
 " Come let us hear it." 
 
 " I'll tell you some day, but not now, not now — 
 but / will tell you — an' I'll let you know the reason 
 thin that I don't mintion it now; an' in the mane 
 time I'll sit down an' take a smoke." 
 
 "A smoke! why I never knew you smoked." 
 
 " Nor I, myself, till last night. This tindher box 
 I was made a present of to light my pipe, when not 
 near a coal. Begad, now that I think of it, I suppose 
 it was smokiu' that knocked me up so much last 
 night, an' made my head so sick to-day." 
 
 "Ithelp'dit, I'll engage; if you take my advice 
 it's a custom you wont lam." 
 
 " I have a good dale to throuble me, Connor; you 
 know I have; an' what we are brought down to now; 
 I have more nor you'd believe to think of ; as much, 
 any way, as 'ill make this box an' steel useful, I hope, 
 — when I'm frettin'." 
 
 Flanagan spoke truth, in assuring Connor that the 
 apology given for his intoxication on the preceding 
 night had escaped his memory. It was fortunate for 
 him, indeed, that O'Donovan, like all candid and 
 ingenuous persons, was utterly devoid of suspicion, 
 otherwise he might have perceived by the discrepancy 
 in the two accounts, as well as by Flanagan's confu- 
 sion, that he was a person in whom it might not 
 be prudent to place much confidence.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 127 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The tryste between Connor and Una was held at the 
 same place and hour as before, and so rapid a progress 
 had love made in each of their hearts, that we question 
 if the warmth of their interview, though tender and 
 innocent, would be apt to escape the censure of our 
 stricter readers. Both were depressed by the pros- 
 pect that lay before them, for Connor frankly assured 
 her that he feared no earthly circumstance coidd ever 
 soften his father's heart, so far as to be prevailed 
 upon to establish him in life. 
 
 " What then can I do, my darling Una ? If your 
 father and mother wont consent — as I fear they wont 
 — am I to bring you into the miserable cabin of 
 a day labourer ? for to this the son of a man so 
 wealthy as my father must sink. No, Una dear, 
 I have sworn never to bring you to poverty, an' I will 
 not." 
 
 " Connor," she replied, somewhat gravely, " I 
 thought you had formed a different opinion of me. 
 You know but little of your own Una's heart, if you 
 think she wouldn't live with you in a cabin a thou- 
 sand an' a thousand times sooner than she would live 
 with any other in a palace. I love you for your own 
 sake, Connor; but it appears you don't think so." 
 
 Woman can never bear to have her love under-
 
 128 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 valued, nor the moral dignity of a passion which can 
 sacrifice all worldly and selfish considerations to its 
 own purity of attachment unappreciated. When she 
 uttered the last words, therefore, tears of bitter sor- 
 row, mingled with offended pride, came to her aid. 
 She sobbed for some moments, and again went on to 
 reproach him with forming so unfair an estimate of 
 her affection. 
 
 " I repeat that I loved you for yourself only, 
 Connor, and I think of what I would feel, if you 
 refused to spend your life in a cottage with me. If 
 I thought you wished to marry me, not because I am 
 Una O'Brien, but the daughter of a wealthy man, my 
 heart would break, and if I thought you were not 
 true-minded, and pure-hearted, and honourable, I 
 Avould rather be dead than united to you at all." 
 
 " I love you so well, and so much, Una, that I 
 doubt I'm not worthy of you — an' it's fear of seein' 
 you brought down to daily labour that's crushing an' 
 breaking my heart." 
 
 "But, dear Connor — what is there done by any 
 cottager's wife that I don't do every day of my life? 
 Do you think that my mother lets me pass my time 
 in idleness, or that I myself could bear to be unem- 
 ployed even if she did; I can milk, make butter, 
 spin, sew, wash, knit, and clean a kitchen ; : — why, 
 you have no notion," she added, with a smile, " what 
 a clever cottager's wife I'd make." 
 
 " Oh Una," said Connor, now melted into tender- 
 ness greater than he had ever before felt; "Una dear,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 129 
 
 it's useless — it's useless — I cau't, no I couldn't — an' 
 I will not live without you, even if we were to beg 
 together — but what is to be done ?" 
 
 "Now," she replied, "while my brother John is at 
 home is the time to propose it to my father and 
 mother, who look upon him with eyes of such affec- 
 tion and delight that I am half-inclined to think 
 their consent may be gained." 
 
 " May be, darling, his consent will be as hard 
 to gain as their own." 
 
 "Now," she replied, fondly, "only you're a hard- 
 hearted thing that's afraid to live in a cottage with 
 me, I could tell you some good news — or rather you 
 doubt me — an' fear that I wouldn't live in one with 
 you." 
 
 A kiss was the reply, after which he said — 
 
 " With you, my dear Una, now that you're satis- 
 fied, I would live and die in a prison — with yov, with 
 you — in whatever state of life we may be placed, with 
 you, but without you — never, I could not — I could 
 not " 
 
 "Well, we are young, you know, and neither of us 
 proud — and I am not a lazy girl — indeed I am not; 
 but you forget the good news." 
 
 " I forget that, and every thing else but yourself, 
 darling, while I'm in your company. O heavens \ if 
 you were once my own, and that we were never to be 
 separated !" 
 
 " Well, but the good news !" 
 
 "What is it, dear V s 
 
 G 2
 
 130 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " I have mentioned our affection to my brother, 
 and he has promised to assist us. He has heard of 
 your character, and of your mother's, and says that 
 it's unjust to visit upon you " 
 
 She paused — "you know, my dear Connor, that 
 you must not be offended with any thing I say." 
 
 " I know, my sweet treasure, what you're going to 
 say," replied Connor with a smile; "nobody need be 
 delicate in sayin' that my father loves the money, 
 and knows how to put guinea to guinea: that's 
 no secret: I wished he loved it less, to be sure, but it 
 cannot be helped; in the manetime, ma colleen dhas 
 dhun — oh, how I love them words ! God bless your 
 brother, he must have a kind heart, Una dear, and he 
 must love you very much, when he promises to assist 
 us." 
 
 "He has, and will; but Connor, why did you 
 send such a disagreeable, forward, and prying person 
 as your father's servant to bring me your message I 
 I do not like him — he almost stared me out of coun- 
 tenance." 
 
 " Poor fellow," said Connor, " I feel a good dale 
 for him, and I think he's an honest, good-hearted 
 boy, an' besides, he's in love himself." 
 
 " I know he was always a starer, and I say again 
 I don't like him." 
 
 " But as the case stands, dear Una, I have no one 
 else to trust to — at all events, he's in our secret, and 
 the best way, if he's not honest, is to keep him in it; 
 at laste if we put him out of it now, he might 
 be talkin' to our disadvantage afterwards."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 131 
 
 "There's truth in that, and we must only trust 
 him with as little of our real secrets as possible; I 
 cannot account for the strong prejudice I feel against 
 him, and have felt for the last two years. He always 
 dressed above his means, and once or twice attempted 
 to speak to me." 
 
 " Well, but I know he's in love with some one, for 
 he tould me so; poor fellow, I'm bound, my dear 
 Una, to show him any kindness in my power." 
 
 After some further conversation, it was once more 
 decided that Fardorougha should, on the next day, 
 see the Bodagh and his wife, in order to ascertain 
 whether their consent could be obtained to the union 
 of our young and anxious lovers. This step, as the 
 reader knows, was every way in accordance with 
 Fardorougha's inclination. Connor himself would 
 have preferred his mother's advocacy to that of a 
 person possessing such a slender hold on their good 
 will as his other parent. But upon consulting with 
 her, she told him that the fact of the proposal coming 
 from Fardorougha might imply a disposition on his 
 part to provide for his son ; at all events, she hoped 
 that contradiction, the boast of superior wealth, or 
 some fortunate collision of mind and principle, might 
 strike a spark of generous feeling out of her husband's 
 heart, which nothing, she knew, under strong excite- 
 ment, such as might arise from the bitter pride of the 
 O'Briens, could possibly do. Besides, as she had no 
 favourable expectations from the interview, she 
 thought it an unnecessary and painful task to sub-
 
 132 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 ject herself to the insults which she apprehended 
 from the Bodagh's wife, whose pride and importance 
 towered far and high over those even of her conse- 
 quential husband. 
 
 This just and sensible view of the matter, on the 
 part of the mother, satisfied Connor, and reconciled 
 him to the father s disinclination to be accompanied 
 by her to the scene of conflict; for in truth, Fardo- 
 rougha protested against her assistance with a bitter- 
 ness which could not easily be accounted for. 
 
 "If your mother goes, let her go by herself," said 
 he; "for I'll not intherfare in't if she does. I'll take 
 the dirty Bodagh and his fat wife my own way, 
 which I can't do if Honor comes to be snibbin' an' 
 makin' little o' me afore them. Maybe I'll pull down 
 their pride for them betther than you think, an' in a 
 way they're not prepared for; them an' their j an tin' 
 car!" 
 
 Neither Connor nor his mother could help being 
 highly amused at the singularity of the miserable 
 pomp and parsimonious display resorted to by 
 Fardorougha, in preparing for this extraordinary 
 mission. Out of an old strongly locked chest he 
 brought forth a gala coat, which had been duly aired, 
 but not thrice worn within the last twenty years. 
 The progress of time and fashion had left it so odd, 
 outre, and ridiculous, that Connor, though he laughed, 
 could not help feeling depressed on considering the 
 appearance his father must make when dressed, or 
 rather disfigured, in it. Next came a pair of knee
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 133 
 
 breeches by the same hand, and which, in compliance 
 with the taste of the age that produced them, were 
 made to button so far down as the calf of the leg. 
 Then appeared a waistcoat, whose long pointed flaps 
 reached nearly to the knees. Last of all was pro- 
 duced a hat not more than three inches deep in the 
 crown, and brimmed so narrowly, that a spectator 
 would almost imagine the leaf had been cut off. Having 
 pranked himself out in those habiliments, contrary 
 to the strongest expostulations of both wife and son, 
 he took his staff and set forth. But lest the reader 
 should expect a more accurate description of his 
 person, when dressed, we shall endeavour at all events 
 to present him with a loose outline. In the first 
 place, his head was surmounted with a hat that 
 resembled a flat skillet, wanting the handle; his coat, 
 from which avarice and penury had caused him 
 to shrink away, would have fitted a man twice his 
 size, and as he had become much stooped, its tail, 
 which, at the best, had been preposterously long, now 
 nearly swept the ground. To look at him behind, in 
 fact, he appeared all body. The flaps of his waist- 
 coat he had pinned up with his own hands, by which 
 piece of exquisite taste, he displayed a pair of thighs 
 so thin and disproportioncd to his small-clothes, that 
 he resembled a boy who happens to wear the breeches 
 of a fullgrown man, so that to look at him in front he 
 appeared all legs. A pair of shoes, polished with 
 burned straw and buttermilk, and surmounted by two 
 buckles, scoured awav to skeletons, completed his
 
 134 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 costume. In this garb he set out with a crook- 
 headed staff, into which long use, and the habit 
 of griping fast whatever he got in his hand, had 
 actually worn the marks of his forefinger and thumb. 
 
 Bodagh Buie, his wife, and their two children, 
 were very luckily assembled in the parlour, when the 
 non-descript figure of the deputy wooer made his 
 appearance on that part of the neat road which ter- 
 minated at the gate of the little lawn that fronted the 
 hall-door. Here there was another gate to the right, 
 that opened into the farm or kitchen yard, and as 
 Fardorougha hesitated which to enter, the family 
 within had an opportunity of getting a clearer view 
 of his features and person. 
 
 " Who is that quare figure standin' there 1" in- 
 quired the Bodagh; "did you ever see such a 
 
 ah thin, who can he be ?" 
 
 " Somebody comin' to some o' the sarvingts, I 
 suppose," replied his wife; "why, thin, it's not un- 
 like little Dick Groitha, the fairyman." 
 
 In sober truth, Fardorougha was so completely 
 disguised by his dress, especially by his hat, whose 
 shallowness and want of brim gave his face and head 
 so wild and eccentric an appearance, that we question 
 if his own family, had they not seen him dress, could 
 have recognized him. At length he turned into the 
 kitchen-yard, and addressing a labourer whom he 
 met, asked — 
 
 " I say, nabour, which is the right way into 
 Bodagh Buie's house ?"
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 135 
 
 " There's two riglit ways into it, an' you may take 
 aither o' them — hut if you want any favour from 
 him, vou had hetther call him Mr. O'Brien. The 
 Bodagh's a name was first given to his father, an' he 
 bein' a dacenter man, doesn't like it, although it 
 sticks to him; so there's a lift for you, my hip- 
 striddled little codger." 
 
 '•' But which is the right door o' the house ?" 
 
 " There it is, the kitchen — peg in — that's your 
 inthraiice, barrin' you're a gintleman in disguise — 
 an' if you be, why turn out again to that other gate, 
 strip off your shoes, and pass up ginteely on your 
 tippy-toes, and give a thunderin' whack to the green 
 ring that's hangin' from the door. But see, friend," 
 added the man, " maybe you'd do one a sarvice ?" 
 
 " How," said Fardorougha, looking earnestly at 
 him; " what is it ?" 
 
 " Why, to lave us a lock o' your hair before you 
 go," replied the wag, with a grin. 
 
 The miser took no notice whatsoever of this, but 
 was turning quietly out of the yard, to enter by the 
 lawn, when the man called out in a commanding 
 voice — 
 
 " Back here, you codger — tundher an' thump — 
 back I say — you wont be let in that way — thramp 
 back, you leprechaun, into the kitchen — eh ? you 
 wont — well, well, take what you'll get — an' that'll 
 be the way back agin." 
 
 'Twas at this moment that the keen eye of Una 
 recognised the features of her lover's father, and a
 
 136 FARDOROUGHA THE MtSER; OR, 
 
 smile which she felt it impossible to subdue, settled 
 upon her face, which became immediately mantled 
 with blushes. On hurrying out of the room she 
 plucked her brother's sleeve, who followed her to the 
 hall. 
 
 " I can scarcely tell you, dear John," she said, 
 speaking rapidly, " it's Fardorougha O' Donovan, 
 Connor's father; and as you know his business, 
 stay in the parlour;" she squeezed his hand/ and 
 added with a smile on her face, and a tear in her 
 eye, " I fear it's all over with me — I don't know 
 whether to laugh or cry — but stay, John dear, an' 
 fight my battle — poor Una's battle." 
 
 She ran up stairs, and immediately one of the 
 most beggarly, sordid, and pusillanimous knocks 
 that ever spoke of starvation and misery was heard 
 at the door. 
 
 " I will answer it myself," thought the amiable 
 brother; "for if my father or mother does, he surely 
 will not be allowed in." 
 
 John could scarcely preserve a grave face, when 
 Fardorougha presented himself. 
 
 " Is Misther O'Brien widin," inquired the usurer, 
 shrewdly availing himself of the hint he received 
 from the servant. 
 
 " My father is," replied John; " have the good- 
 ness to step in." 
 
 Fardorougha entered immediately, followed by 
 young O'Brien, who said, 
 
 " Father, this is Mr. O' Donovan, who, it appears, 
 has some important business with the family."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 137 
 
 " Don't be mistherin' me," replied Fardorougha, 
 helping himself to a seat; " I'm too poor to he 
 misthered." 
 
 "With this family!" exclaimed the father in 
 amazement; "what business can Fardorougha Do- 
 novan have with this family, John ?" 
 
 " About our childhre," replied the miser; "about 
 my son and your daughther." 
 
 " An' what about them," inquired Mrs. O'Brien; 
 " do you dar to mintion them in the same day toge- 
 ther ?" 
 
 " Why not," said the miser; " ay, an' on the 
 
 same night, too." 
 
 "Upon my reputaytion, Mr. O'Donovan, you're 
 extremely kind — now be a little more so, and let us 
 undherstand you," said the Bodagh. 
 
 " Poor Una," thought John; " all's lost; he will 
 get himself kicked out to a certainty." 
 
 " I think it's time we got them married," replied 
 Fardorougha; " the sooner it's done the betther and 
 the safer for both o' them— espeshally for the col- 
 
 leen." 
 
 " Dar a Lorha, he's cracked," said Mrs. O'Brien; 
 " sarra one o' the poor sowl but's cracked about his 
 money." 
 
 " Poor sowl, woman alive ! wor you never poor 
 yourself'/" 
 
 " Yis I wor; an' I'm not ashamed to own it; but, 
 Chiema, Frank," she added, addressing her hus- 
 band, " there's no use in spakin' to him."
 
 138 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Farclorouglia," said O'Brien seriously, " what 
 brought you here V* 
 
 " Why, to tell you an' your wife the state that my 
 son, Connor, and your daughter's in about one 
 another; an' to advise you both, if you have sinse, 
 to get them married afore worse happens. It's your 
 business more than mine" 
 
 " You're right," said the Bodagh, aside to his 
 wife; "he's sartinly deranged." " Fardorougha," he 
 added, " have you lost any money lately ?" 
 
 " I'm losin' every day," said the other; " I'm 
 broke assistin' them that won't thank me, let alone 
 paying me as they ought." 
 
 " Then you have lost nothing more than usual ?" 
 
 " If I didn't, I tell you there's a good chance of 
 losin' it before me; — can a man call any money of 
 his safe that's in another man's pocket 1" 
 
 " An' so you've come to propose a marriage be- 
 tween your son and my daughter, yet you lost no 
 money, an' you're not mad ! " 
 
 " Divil a morsel o' me's mad — but you'll be so, if 
 you refuse to let this match go an." 
 
 " Out wid him — a slum roghara"* shouted Mrs. 
 O'Brien, in a state of most dignified offence ; 
 " Damn ho orth, you ould knave, is it the son of a 
 misert that has fleeced an' robbed the whole counthry 
 side that we 'ud let our daughter, that resaved the 
 finish to her eggjication in a Dubling boordin' school 
 marry wid ?" — Vich na hoiah, this day!" 
 
 * The old rogue.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 139 
 
 " You had no sich scruple yourself, ma'am," 
 replied the bitter usurer; " when you bounced at the 
 son of the ould Bodagh Buie, an' every one knows 
 what he was." 
 
 " He!" said the good woman; "an' is it runnin' 
 up comparishments betuxt yourself an' him you are 
 afther ? Why, Saint Pether wouldn't thrive on your 
 money, you nager." 
 
 " Maybe Saint Pether thruv an worse — but haven't 
 you thruv as well on the Bodagh's, as if it had been 
 honestly come by; I defy you an' the world both — 
 to say that ever I tuck a penny from any one, more 
 than my right. Lay that to the mimory of the ould 
 Bodagh, an' see if it'll fit. It's no light guinea, any 
 how." 
 
 Had Fardorougha been a man of ordinary standing 
 and character in the country, from whom an insult 
 could be taken, he would no doubt have been by a 
 very summary process expelled the parlour. The 
 history of his querulous and irascible temper, how- 
 ever, was so well known, and his offensive eccentri- 
 city of manner, a matter of such established fact, 
 that the father and son, on glancing at each other, 
 were seized with the same spirit, and both gave way 
 to an uncontrollable fit of laughter. 
 
 " Is it a laughin' stock you're makin' of it," said 
 Mrs. O'Brien, highly indignant. 
 
 " Faith, achora, it may be no laughin' stock afther 
 all," replied the Bodagh. 
 
 " I think, mother," observed John, " that you
 
 140 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 and my father had better treat the matter with more 
 seriousness. Connor O'Donovan is a young man not 
 to be despised by any person at all near his own class 
 of life who regards the peace and welfare of a daugh- 
 ter. His character stands very high; indeed, in 
 every way unimpeachable." 
 
 The bitter scowl which had sat upon the small 
 dark features of Fardorougha, when replying to the 
 last attack of Mrs. O'Brien, passed away as John 
 spoke. — The old man turned hastily round, and sur- 
 veying the eulogist of his son, said, 
 
 " God bless you, asthore, for thim words; and 
 they're throe — thrue as the gospel ; arrah what are 
 you both so proud of 7 I defy you to get the aquil 
 of my son in the barony of Lisnamona, either for 
 face, figure or timper. I say he's fit to be a hus- 
 band for as good a girl as ever stood in your daugh- 
 ter's shoes; and from what I hear of her, she's as 
 good a girl as ever the Almighty put breath in; God 
 bless you, young man! you're a credit yourself to any 
 parents." 
 
 " An' we have nothin' to say aginst your son, nor 
 aginst your wife aither," replied the Bodagh; " an' 
 if your own name was as clear — if you wor looked 
 upon as they are — tut, I'm spaking nonsense ! How 
 do I know whether ever your son and my daughter 
 spoke a word to one another or not V 
 
 " I'll go bail Ooiia never opened her lips to him," 
 said her mother; " I'll go bail she had more spirit." 
 
 " An' I'll go bail she can't live widout him, an'
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISXAMONA. 141 
 
 will have him whether you like it or not," said Far- 
 dorougha. 
 
 " Mother," observed John, " will you and my 
 father come into the next room for a minute — I wish 
 to say a word or two to each of you ; and will you, 
 Fardorougha, have the goodness to sit here till we 
 return ?" 
 
 " Devil a notion," replied O'Donovan, " I have of 
 stirrin' my foot till the thing's settled one way or 
 other." 
 
 " Now," said young O'Brien, when they had got 
 into the back parlour, " it's right that you both 
 should know to what length the courtship between 
 Una and Connor O'Donovan has gone." 
 
 " Coortship ! Vlch na hoiali ! sure she wouldn't 
 go to coort wid the son o' that ould schamer." 
 
 " I'm beginning to fear that it's too thrue," ob- 
 served the Bodagh; " and if she has — but let us 
 hear Jokn." 
 
 " It's perfectly true, indeed, mother, that she 
 has" said the son. " Yes, and they are both this 
 moment pledged, betrothed, promised, solemnly pro- 
 mised, to each other; and in my opinion the old man 
 within is acting a more natural part than either of 
 you give him credit for."' 
 
 "Well, well, well," exclaimed the mother; "who 
 afther that would ever thrust a daughter ? The girl 
 that we rared up as tindher as a chicking, to go to 
 throw herself away upon the son of ould Fardo- 
 rougha Donovan, the misert. Confusion to the
 
 142 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 ring ever he'll put an her ! I'd see her stretched* 
 first." 
 
 " I agree with you in that, Bridget," said the 
 husband; " if it was only to punish her thrachery 
 and desate, I'll take good care a ring will never go 
 on them — but how do you know all this, John ?" 
 
 " From Una's own lips, father." 
 
 The Bodagh paced to and fro in much agitation; 
 one hand in his small-clothes pocket, the other twirl- 
 ing his watch key as rapidly as he could. The mo- 
 ther, in the mean time, had thrown herself into a 
 chair, and gave way to a violent fit of grief. 
 
 " And you have this from Uua's own lips ?" 
 
 " Indeed, father, I have; and it is much to her 
 credit that she was candid enough to place such con- 
 fidence in her brother." 
 
 " Pledged and promised to one another ! Bridget, 
 who could believe this ? 
 
 " Believe it ! I don't believe it — it's only a schame 
 of the hussey to get him. Oh, thin, Queen of 
 heaven, this day, but it's black news to us !" 
 
 " John," said the father, " tell Una to come down 
 to us. 
 
 " Father, I doubt that's rather a trying task for 
 her. I wish you wouldn't insist." 
 
 " Go off, sir; she must come down immediately. 
 I'll have it from her own lips, too." 
 
 Without another word of remonstrance the son 
 went to bring her down. When the brother and 
 
 * Dead.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 143 
 
 sister entered the room, O'Brien still paced the floor. 
 He stood, and turning his eyes upon his daughter 
 with severe displeasure, was about to speak, but he 
 appeared to have lost the power of utterance; and 
 after one or two ineffectual attempts, the big tears 
 fairlv rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 " See, see," said the mother, " see what you have 
 brought us to. Is it thrue that you're promised to 
 Fardorougha's son ?" 
 
 Una tottered over to a chair, and the blood left her 
 cheeks; her lips became dry, and she gasped for 
 breath. 
 
 " Why don't you think it worth your while to 
 answer me ?" continued the mother. 
 
 The daughter gave a look of deep distress and sup- 
 plication at her brother; but when she perceived her 
 father in tears, her head sank down upon her bosom. 
 ""What! what! Una," exclaimed the Bodagh, 
 " Una " But ere he could complete the ques- 
 tion the timid creature fell senseless upon the floor. 
 
 For a long time she lay in that friendly trance; for 
 such in truth it was to a delicate being, subjected to 
 an ordeal so painful as that she was called upon to 
 puss through. We have, indeed, remarked that there 
 is in the young, especially in those of the softer sex, 
 a feeling of terror, and shame, and confusion, when 
 called upon by their parents to disclose a forbidden 
 passion, that renders its avowal perhaps the most 
 formidable task which the young heart can undergo. 
 It is a fearful trial for the youthful, and one which
 
 144 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 parents ought to conduct with surpassing delicacy 
 and tenderness, unless they wish to drive the inge- 
 nuous spirit into the first steps of falsehood and 
 deceit. 
 
 " Father," said John, " I think you may rest 
 satisfied with what you witness; and I am sure it 
 cannot make you or my mother happy to see poor 
 Una miserable." 
 
 Una, who had been during the greater part of her 
 swoon supported in her weeping and alarmed mo- 
 ther's arms, now opened her eyes, and after casting 
 an affrighted look about the room, she hid her face 
 in her mother's bosom, and exclaimed, as distinctly 
 as the violence of sobbing grief would permit her: 
 
 " Oh, mother dear, have pity on me; bring me 
 up stairs and I will tell you." 
 
 " I do, I do pity you," said the mother, kissing 
 her; " I know you'll be a good girl yet, Oona." 
 
 " Una," said her father, placing his hand gently 
 on her shoulder, " was I ever harsh to you, or did 
 I " 
 
 " Father dear," she returned, interrupting him, 
 " I would have told you and my mother, but that I 
 was afraid." 
 
 There was something so utterly innocent and art- 
 less in this reply, that each of the three persons 
 present felt sensibly affected by its extreme and 
 childlike simplicity. 
 
 " Don't be afraid of me, Una," continued the 
 Bodagh, " but answer me truly, like a good girl;
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. N. r > 
 
 and I swear upon my reputaytion that I won't be 
 angry. Do you love the son of this Fardorougha 1" 
 
 " Not, father, because he's Fardorougha's son," 
 said Una, whose face was still hid in her mother's 
 bosom; "I would rather he wasn't." 
 
 " But you do love him ?" 
 
 " For three years he has scarcely been out of my 
 mind." 
 
 Something that might be termed a smile crossed 
 the countenance of the Bodagh at this intimation. 
 
 " God help you, for a foolish child," said he; 
 " you're a poor counsellor when left to defend your 
 own cause." 
 
 " She won't defend it by a falsehood, at all events," 
 observed her trustworthy and affectionate brother. 
 
 " No, she wouldn't," said the mother, " and I 
 did her wrong awhile ago to say that she'd schame 
 any thing about it." 
 
 " And are you and Connor O'Donovan promised to 
 aich other ?" inquired the father again. 
 
 " But it wasn't I that proposed the promise," 
 returned Una. 
 
 " Oh, the desparate villain," exclaimed her father, 
 " to be guilty of sucb a thing; but you took the 
 promise Una — you did — you did — I needn't ask." 
 
 " No," replied Una. 
 
 "No!" re-echoed the father; "then you did not 
 give the promise." 
 
 " I mean," she rejoined, " that you needn't ask." 
 
 "Oh, faith, that alters the case extramely. Now 
 
 H
 
 146 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Una, this — all this promising that has past betune 
 you and Connor O'Donovan is mere folly. If you 
 prove to be the good obadient girl that I hope you 
 are, you'll put him out of your head, and thin you 
 can give back to one another whatever promises you 
 made." 
 
 This was succeeded by a silence of more than a 
 minute. Una at length arose, and with a composed 
 energy of manner, that was evident by her sparkling 
 eye and bloodless cheek, she approached her father, 
 and calmly kneeling down, said slowly but firmly: 
 
 " Father, if nothing else can satisfy you, J will 
 give back my promise; but then, father, it will break 
 my heart, for I know — I feel — how I love him, and 
 how I'm loved by him." 
 
 " I'll get you a better husband," replied her father 
 — " far more wealthy and more respectable than he 
 is." 
 
 "I'll give back the promise," said she; "but 
 the man is not living, except Connor O'Donovan, 
 that will ever call me wife. More wealthy ! more 
 respectable! — oh, it was only himself I loved. Fa- 
 ther, I'm on my knees before you, and before my 
 mother ; I have only one request to make — oh, 
 don't break your daughter's heart ! " 
 
 " God direct us," exclaimed her mother; " it's 
 hard to know how to act. If it would go so hard 
 upon her, sure" — 
 
 " Amen," said her husband; " may God direct 
 us to the best. I'm sure God knows," he continued,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 14" 
 
 now much affected, " that I would rather break mv 
 own heart than yours, Uua. Get up, dear — rise. 
 John, how would you advise us ?" 
 
 " I don't see what serious objection after all," re- 
 plied the son, " either you or my mother can have to 
 Connor O'Donovan. He is every way worthy of her, 
 if he is equal to his character; and as for wealth, I 
 have often heard it said that his father was a richer 
 man than yourself." 
 
 "Afther all," said the mother, " she might be 
 very well wid him." 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do then," said the Bodagh, 
 " let us see the ould man himself, and if he settles 
 his son dacently in life, as he can do if he wishes, why 
 I won't see that poor, foolish, innocent girl breaking 
 her heart." 
 
 Una, who sat with her face still averted, now ran 
 to her father, and throwing her arms about his neck, 
 wept aloud, but said nothing. 
 
 " Ay, ay," said the latter, " it's very fine now 
 that you have every thing your own way, you girsha; 
 but, sure, you're all the daughter we have, achora; 
 and it would be too bad not to let you have a little of 
 your own opinion in the choice of a husband. Now, 
 go up stairs, or where you plase, till we see what can 
 be done with Fardorougha himself." 
 
 With smiling face, and glistening eyes, Una passed 
 out of the room, scarcely sensible whether she walked, 
 ran, or flew, while the others went to renew the dis- 
 cussion with Fardorougha.
 
 148 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Well," said the miser, "you found out, I sup- 
 pose, that she can't do widout him?" 
 
 " Provided we consint to the marriage," asked the 
 Bodagh, " how will you settle your son in life?" 
 
 " Who would I settle in life, if I wouldn't settle 
 my only son?" replied the other; "who else is there 
 to get all I have?" 
 
 "That's very true," observed the Bodagh; "but 
 state plainly what you'll do for him on his marriage." 
 
 " Do you consint to the marriage all ofyees?" 
 
 "That's not the question," said the other. 
 
 " Divil a word I'll answer, till I know whether yees 
 do or not," said Fardorougha. "Say at once that 
 you consint, and thin I'll spake — I'll say what I'll do." 
 
 The Bodagh looked inquiringly at his wife and son. 
 The latter nodded affirmatively. " We do consent," 
 he added. 
 
 " That shows your own sinse," said the old man. 
 " Now what fortune will you portion your co//pp/> 
 wid?" 
 
 "That depiuds upon what you 11 do for your son," 
 returned the Bodagh. 
 
 " And that depends upon what you'll do for your 
 daughter," replied the sagacious old miser. 
 "At this rate we're not likely to agree." 
 " Nothin's asier; you have only to spake out; 
 besides, it's your business, bein' the colleen's 
 father." 
 
 " Try him, and name something fair," whispered 
 John.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 149 
 
 " If I give her a farm of thirty acres of good land, 
 stocked and all, what will you do for Connor?" 
 
 " More than that, five times over; I'll give him 
 all I have. An' now, when will we marrv them? 
 Throth it was best to make things clear," added the 
 knave, " and undherstand one another at wanst. 
 When will we marry them?" 
 
 " Not till yon say out openly and fairly the exai-t 
 sum of money you'll lay down on the nail — an' that 
 before ever a ring goes upon them." 
 
 " Give it up, acushla," said the wife, " you see 
 there's no schrewin' a promise out of him, let alone a 
 penny." 
 
 " What 'ud yees have me do?" said the old man, 
 raising his voice. "Won't he have all I'm worth? 
 Who else is to have it? Am I to make a beggar of 
 myself to plase you? Can't they live on your farm 
 till I die, an' thin it'll all come to them? 
 
 " And no thanks to you for that, Fardorougha," 
 said the Bodagh. " No, no; I'll never buy a pig in 
 a pok&. If you won't act ginerously by your son, go 
 borne, in the name of goodness, and let us hear no 
 more about it." 
 
 " Why, why?" said the miser, " are yees mad to 
 miss what I can lave him? If you knew how much it 
 
 is, you'd snap ; but, God help me, what am I 
 
 savin'? I'm poorer than any body thinks. I am — I 
 am; an' will starve among you all, if God hasn't sed 
 it. Do you think I don't love my sou as well, an' a 
 thousand times better than you do your daughter ?
 
 150 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 God alone sees how my heart's in him — in my own 
 Connor, that never gave me a sore heart — my brave, 
 my dutiful boy!" 
 
 He paused, and the scalding tears here ran down 
 his shrunk and furrowed cheeks, whilst he wrung his 
 hands, started to his feet, and looked about him like 
 a man encompassed by dangers that threatened instant 
 destruction. 
 
 " If you love your son so well," said John, mildly, 
 " why do you grudge to share your wealth with him? 
 It is but natural, and it is your duty." 
 
 " Natural! what's natural? — to give away — is it to 
 love him you mane? It is, it's tmnatural to give it away. 
 He's the best son — the best — what do you mane, 
 I say? — let me alone — let me alone — I could give 
 my blood, my blood, to sich a boy; but, you want to 
 kill me — you want to kill me, an' thin you'll get all, 
 but he'll cross you, never fear — my boy will save me 
 — he's not tired o' me — he'd give up fifty girls sooner 
 than see a hair of his father's head injured — so do vour 
 best, while I have Connor I'm not afraid of yees. 
 Thanks be to God that sent him," he exclaimed, "oh 
 thanks be to God that sent him to comfort an' pro- 
 tect his father from the schames and villany of them 
 that 'ud bring him to starvation for their own 
 ends !" 
 
 " Father," said John, in a low tone, " this strug- 
 gle between avarice and natural affection is awful. 
 See how his small grey eyes glare, and the froth rises 
 white to his thin shrivelled lips. What is to be 
 done?"
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 151 
 
 " Fardorougha," said the Bodagh, "it's over; don't 
 distress yourself — keep your money — there will be no 
 match between our childre." 
 
 " Why? why won't there?" he screamed — " why 
 won't there I say? Haven't you enough for them 
 until / die? Would you see your child breakin' her 
 heart? Bodagh, vou have no nathur in vou — no 
 bowels for }"Our colleen dhas. But I'll spake for her 
 — I'll argue wid you till this time to-morrow, or Til 
 make you show feelin' to her — an' if you don't — if 
 you don't " 
 
 " Wid the help o' God, the man's as mad as a 
 March hare," observed Mrs. O'Brien, "and there's no 
 use in losin' breath wid him." 
 
 " If it's not insanity," said John, " I know not 
 what it is." 
 
 "Young man," proceeded Fardorougha, who evi- 
 dently paid no attention to what the mother and son 
 said, being merely struck by the voice of the latter — 
 " young man, you're kind, you have sinse and feelin' 
 — spake to your father — don't let him destroy his 
 child — don't ax him to starve me, that never did him 
 harm. He loves you — he loves you, for he can't but 
 love you — sure, I know how I love my own darlin' 
 boy ; oh, spake to him — I'll go down on my two knees 
 to you, to beg, as you hope to see God in heaven, that 
 you'll make him not brake his daughter's heart! She's 
 your own sister — there's but the two of yees, an' oh, 
 don't desart her iiv this thr'-nble — this heavy, heavy 
 throuble!"
 
 152 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " I won't interfere farther in it," replied the young 
 man, who, however, felt disturbed and anxious in the 
 extreme. 
 
 " Mrs. O'Brien," said he, turning imploringly, 
 and with a wild haggard look to the Bodagh 's wife, 
 " I'm turnin' to you — you're her mother — oh think, 
 think ." 
 
 " I'll think no more about it," she replied. 
 " You're mad, an' thank God, we know it. Of coorse 
 it 'ill run in the family, for which reasing my daughter 
 'ill never be joined to the son of a madman." 
 
 He then turned as a last resource to O'Brien him- 
 self. " Bodagh — Bodagh, I say :" here his voice rose 
 to a frightful pitch : " I enthrate, I ordher, I com- 
 mand you to listen to me! Marry them — don't 
 kill your daughter, an' don't, don't, don't dare to kill 
 my son. If you do I'll curse you till the marks of 
 your feet will scorch the ground you tread on. Oh," 
 he exclaimed, his voice now sinking, and his reason 
 awaking, apparently from exhaustion, "what is come 
 over me ? what am I sayin' ? — but it's all for my son, 
 my son." He then sat down, and for more than 
 twenty minutes wept like an infant, and sobbed, and 
 sighed, as if his heart would break. 
 
 A feeling very difficult to be described hushed his 
 amazed auditory into silence ; they felt something like 
 pity towards the unfortunate old man, as well as 
 respect for that aifection which struggled with such 
 moral heroism against the frightful vice that attempted 
 to subdue this last surviving virtue in the breast of 
 the miser.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 153 
 
 On his getting calm, they spoke to him kindly, 
 but in firm and friendly terms communicated their 
 ultimate determination, that in consequence of his 
 declining to make an adequate provision for his son, 
 the marriage could by no means take place. He 
 then got his hat, and attempted to go to the road 
 which led to the little lawn, but so complete was his 
 abstraction, and so exhausted his faculties, that it 
 was not without John's assistance he could reach the 
 gate which lay before his eyes. He first turned out 
 of the walk to the right, then crossed over to the 
 left, and felt surprised that a wall opposed him in 
 each direction. 
 
 " You are too much disturbed," said John, " to 
 perceive the way, but I will show you." 
 
 " I suppose I thought it was at home I was," he 
 replied, " bekase at my own house one must turn 
 ait her to the right or to the left, as, indeed, I'm in 
 the custom of doin'." 
 
 h2
 
 154 FARDOROIGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Whilst Fardorougha was engaged upon this ill-ma- 
 naged mission, his wife, who felt that all human 
 efforts at turning the heart of her husband from his 
 wealth must fail, resolved to have recourse to a higher 
 power. With this purpose in view, she put on her 
 Sunday dress, and informed Connor that she was 
 about to go for a short time from home. 
 
 " I'll be back if I can," she added, " before your 
 father comes; and indeed it's as good not to let him 
 know any thing about it." 
 
 " About what, mother? for I know as little about 
 it as he does." 
 
 " Why, dear, I'm goin' to get a couple o' masses 
 sed, for God to turn his heart from that cursed 
 airaghid it's fixed upon. Sure it houlds sich a hard 
 grip of his poor sowl, that it'll be the destruction 
 of him here an' hereafther. It'll kill him afore 
 his time, an' then I thrimble to think of his chance 
 above." 
 
 " The object is a good one, sure enough, an' it 
 bein' for a spiritual purpose, I suppose the priest 
 won't object to it." 
 
 " Why would he, dear, an' it for the good of his 
 sowl. Sure, when Pat Lanigan was jealous, his wife
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 155 
 
 got three masses sed for him; an' wid the help of 
 God, he was cured sound an' clane."* 
 
 Connor could not help smiling at this extraordi- 
 nary cure for jealousy, nor at the simple piety of a 
 heart, the strength of whose affection he knew so 
 well. After her return she informed the son, that in 
 addition to the masses to be said against his father's 
 avarice, she had some notion of getting another said 
 towards his marriage with Una. 
 
 " I was goin'," she proceeded, " to slip it in along 
 wid your father's business, but I thought it wouldn't 
 be fair or honest to trick his reverence that way upon 
 the bare price of the two he is to say; for aldhough 
 it 'ud be killin' two birds wid one stone, still it 
 mightn't bring about the match in regard o' the 
 roguery on my part." 
 
 " God help you, mother," said Connor, laughing; 
 " for I think you one of the innocentest women that 
 ever lived; but whisht!" he added, " here's my 
 fatber — God grant that he may bring good news!" 
 
 When Fardorougha entered he was paler or rather 
 sallower than usual; and on his thin, puckered face, 
 the lines that marked it were exhibited with a dis- 
 tinctness greater than ordinary. His eyes appeared 
 to have sunk back more deeply into his head; his 
 cheeks had fallen farther into his jaws; his eye was 
 gleamy and disturbed; and his whole appearance be- 
 spoke trouble and care, and the traces of a strong and 
 recent struggle within him. 
 
 * Strange as it may appear, masses are said for such purposes.
 
 156 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Father," said Connor, with a beating heart, 
 " for heaven's sake, what news — what tidings ? I 
 trust — I trust in God it's good." 
 
 " They have no bowels, Connor — they have no 
 bowels, thim O'Briens." 
 
 " Then you didn't succeed." 
 
 " The father's as great a bodagh as him he was 
 called after — they're a bad pack — an' you mustn't 
 think of any one belongin' to them." 
 
 " But tell us, man dear," said the v\ife, " what 
 passed — let us know it all." 
 
 " Why they would do nothin' — they wouldn't 
 hear of it. I went on my knees to them — ay to 
 every one of them, barrin' the colleen herself; but 
 'twas all no use — it's to be no match." 
 
 " And why, father, did you go on your knees to 
 any of them," said Connor; " I'm sorry you did 
 that" 
 
 " I did it on your account, Connor, an' I'd do it 
 agin on your account, poor boy." 
 
 " Well, well, it can't be helped." 
 
 " But tell me, Fardorougha," inquired Honor, "was 
 any of the fault your own — what did you offer to do 
 for Connor?" 
 
 " Let me alone," said he, peevishly ; " I won't be 
 crass-questioned about it. My heart's broke among 
 you all — what did I offer to do for Connor 1 The 
 match is knocked up I tell you — and it must be 
 knocked up. Connor's young, an' it'll be time enough 
 for him to marry this seven years to come."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 1 ."> 7 
 
 As he said this, the fire of avarice blazed in his 
 eyes, and he looked angrily at Honor, then at the 
 son; but while contemplating the latter, his counte- 
 nance changed from anger to sorrow, and from sorrow 
 to a mild and serene expression of affection. 
 
 " Connor, avick," said he, " Connor, sure you'll 
 not blame me in this business ? sure you won't blame 
 your poor, heart-broken father, let thim say what they 
 will — sure you won't, avilish ?" 
 
 "Don't fret on my account, father," said the son; 
 " why should I blame you? God knows you're 
 strivin to do what you would wish for me." 
 
 " No, Honor, I knew he wouldn't," he shouted, 
 rising up, "he wouldn't make a saycrefize o' me! 
 Connor, save me, save me," he shrieked, throwing 
 his arms about his neck; "save me, my heart's 
 breakin'; somethin's tearin' me different ways in- 
 side; I can cry, you see; I can cry, but I'm still as 
 hard as a stone; it's terrible this I'm sufferin' — terri- 
 ble all out for a weak old man like me. Oh, Connor, 
 avick, what 'ill I do ? Honor, achora, what 'ill be- 
 come o' me; amn't I strugglin, strugglin' aginst it, 
 whatever it is; don't yees pity me ? don't ye, avick 
 machree, don't ye, Honor ? oh, don't yees pity me ?" 
 
 " God pity you !" said the wife, bursting into 
 tears; " what will become of you? pray to God, Far- 
 dorougha, pray to him. No one alive can change 
 your heart but God. I wint to the priest to-dav, to 
 get two masses said to turn your heart from that 
 cursed money. I didn't intind to tell you, but I do,
 
 158 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 bekase it's your duty to pray now, above all times, 
 an' to back the priest as well as you can." 
 
 " It's the best advice, father, you could get," said 
 the son, as he helped the trembling old man to his 
 seat. 
 
 " An' who bid you thin to go to lavish money that 
 way V said he, turning snappishly to Honor, and 
 relapsing again into the peevish spirit of avarice; 
 " Saver o' Heaven, but you'll kill me, woman, afore 
 you have done wid me. How can I stand it, to have 
 
 my hard-earned an' for what ? to turn my heart 
 
 from money ! I don't want to be turned from it — I 
 don't wish it ! Money! — I have no money; nothin', 
 nothin' ; an' if there's not better decreed for me, I'll 
 be starved yet; an' is it any wondher ? to be robbin' 
 me the way you're doin' !" 
 
 His wife clasped her hands, and looked up towards 
 heaven in silence, and Connor, shaking his head 
 despairingly, passed out to seek Flanagan, with 
 whom he had not spoken that day. Briefly, and 
 with a heavy heart, he communicated to him the un- 
 successful issue of his father's interference, and asked 
 his opinion as to how he should conduct himself 
 under circiimstances so disastrous to his happiness 
 and prospects. Bartle advised him to seek another 
 interview with Una, and for that purpose, offered, as 
 before, to ascertain, in the course of that evening at 
 what time and place she would see him. This sug- 
 gestion, in itself so natural, was adopted, and as 
 Connor felt with peculiar acuteness the pain of the
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 159 
 
 situation in which he was placed, he manifested little 
 tendency to conversation, and the evening, conse- 
 quently, passed heavily and in silence. 
 
 Dusk however arrived, and Bartle prepared him- 
 self to execute the somewhat difficult commission he 
 had so obligingly undertaken. He appeared, how- 
 ever, to have caught a portion of Connor's despon- 
 dency, for, when about to set out he said " that he 
 felt his spirits sunk and melancholy ; just," he added, 
 " as if some misfortune, Connor, was afore aither or 
 both of us : for my part, I'd stake my life tbat things 
 will go ashaughran* one way or other, an' that you'll 
 never call Una O'Brien your wife." 
 
 " Bartle," replied the other, " I only want you to 
 do my message, an' not to be prophesyin' ill; bad 
 news comes too soon, without your tellin' us of it 
 aforehand. God knows, Bartle dear, I'm distressed 
 enough as it is, and want my spirits to be kept up 
 rather than put down." 
 
 " No, Connor, but you want somethin' to divart 
 your mind off of tliis business altogether for a 
 while; an' upon my saunnies it 'ud be a charity for 
 some friend to give you a fresh piece of fun to think 
 of; so keep up your heart, how do you know but I 
 may do that much for you myself? But I want you 
 to lend me the loan of a pair of shoes; divil a tatther 
 of these will be together soon, barrin' I get them 
 mended in time; you can't begrudge that, any how, 
 an' me wearin' them on your own business." 
 
 • Astray.
 
 160 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Nonsense, man; to be snre I will; stop an' I'll 
 bring them out to you in half a shake." 
 
 He accordingly produced a pair of shoes, nearly 
 new, and told Bartle that if he had no objection to 
 accept of them as a present, he might consider them 
 as his own. 
 
 This conversation took place in Fardorougha's 
 barn, where Flanagan always slept, and kept his 
 small deal trunk. 
 
 He paused a moment when this good natured offer 
 was made to him, but as it was dark no particular ex- 
 pression could be discovered on his countenance. 
 
 "No !" said he vehemently; "may I go to perdi- 
 tion if I ought: — Connor — Connor 0' Donovan — 
 you'd turn the div " 
 
 " Hut, Bartle, don't be angry — when I offered 
 them, I didn't mean to give you the slightest offence; 
 it's enough for you to tell me you won't have them 
 without gettin' into a passion." 
 
 " Have what ? what are you spakin' about ?" 
 
 "Why — about the shoes; what else ?" 
 
 "Yes, faith, sure enough — well, ay, the shoes ! — 
 don't think of it, Connor — I'm hasty; too much so, 
 indeed, an' that's my fault. I'm like all good- 
 natured people in that respect; however I'll borry 
 them for a day or two, till I get my own patched up 
 some way. But, death alive, why did you get at 
 this season o' the year three rows of sparables in the 
 soles o' them ?" he asked, running his fingers along 
 the soles as he spoke.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 161 
 
 "Bekase they last longer, of coorse; and now, 
 Bartle, be off, and don't let the grass grow under 
 your feet till I see you agin." 
 
 Connor's patience, or rather his impatience that 
 night was severely taxed. Hour after hour elapsed, 
 and yet Bartle did not return. At length he went 
 to his father's sleeping room, and informed him of 
 the message he had sent through Flanagan to Una. 
 
 " I will sleep in the barn to-night, father,'' he 
 added; "an never fear, let us talk as we may, but 
 we'll be up early enough in the morning, plase God. 
 I couldn't sleep, or go to sleep, till I hear what news 
 he brings back to me; so do you rise and secure the 
 door, an' I'll make my shake down wid Bartle for 
 tins night." 
 
 The father, who never refused him any thing im- 
 pecuniary, (if we may be allowed the word,) did as 
 the son requested him, and again went to bed, uncon- 
 scious of the thundercloud which was so soon to 
 burst upon them both. 
 
 Bartle, however, at length returned, and Connor 
 had the satisfaction of hearing that his faithful Una 
 would meet him the next night, if possible, at the 
 hour of twelve o'clock in her father's haggard. Her 
 parents, Bartle told him, had laid an injunction upon 
 her never to see him again; she was watched too, and 
 unless when the household were asleep, she found it 
 altogether impracticable to effect any appointment 
 whatsoever with her lover. She could not even pro- 
 mise with certainty to meet him on that night, but
 
 I (52 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 she desired him to come, and if she failed to be 
 punctual, not to leave the place of appointment for at 
 least an hour. After that, if she appeared not, then 
 he was to wait no longer. Such was the purport of 
 the message which Flanagan delivered him. 
 
 Flanagan was the first up the next morning, for 
 the purpose of keeping an appointment which he had 
 with Biddy Nulty, whom we have already introduced 
 to the reader. On being taxed with meanness by this 
 weak but honest creature, for having sought service 
 with the man who had ruined his family, he promised 
 to acquaint her with the true motive which had 
 induced him to enter into Fardorougha's employment. 
 Their conversation on this point, however, was merely 
 a love scene, in which Bartle attempted to satisfy her 
 that to an attachment for herself of some months' 
 standing, might be ascribed his humiliation in be- 
 coming a servant to the oppressor and destroyer of 
 his house. He then passed from themselves and 
 their prospects to Connor and Una O'Brien, with 
 whose affection for each other, as the reader knows, 
 he was first made acquainted by his fellow-servant. 
 
 "It's terrible, Biddy," said he, "to think of the 
 black and revengeful heart that Connor bears to 
 Bodagh Buie and his family, merely bekase they 
 refuse to let him marry Una. I'm afeared, Biddy 
 darlin', that there'll be dark work about it on 
 Connor's side; an' if you hear of any thing bad hap- 
 penin' to the Bodagh, you'll know where it comes 
 from."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 163 
 
 " I don't b'lieve it, Bartle, nor I won't b'lieve it — 
 not, any way, till I hear that it happens. But what 
 is it he intends to do to them ?" 
 
 "That's more than I know myself," replied Bartle; 
 " I axed as much, an' he said till it was done nobody 
 would be the wiser." 
 
 "That's quare," said the girl, "for a betther heart 
 than Connor has God never made." 
 
 "You think so, agra, but wait; do you watch, and 
 you'll find that he won't come in to-night. I know 
 uothin' myself of what he's about, for he's as close as 
 his father's purse, an' as deep as a draw-well, ay, an' 
 as fair-faced as the divil, when the ould boy wants to 
 tempt a priest; but this I know, that he has black 
 business on his hands, whatever it is. Be the crass, 
 I tremble to think of it !" 
 
 Flanagan then got tender, and after pressing his 
 suit with all the eloquence he was master of, they 
 separated, he to his labour in the fields, and she to her 
 domestic employment, and the unusual task of watch- 
 ing the motions of her master's son. 
 
 Flanagan, in the course of the day, suggested to 
 Connor the convenience of sleeping that night also 
 in the barn. The time of meeting, he said, was too 
 late, and his father s family, who were early in their 
 hours both night and morning, would be asleep even 
 before they set out. He also added, that lest any of 
 the O'Briens or their retainers should surprise him 
 and Una, he had made up his mind to accompany him, 
 and act as a vidette during their interview.
 
 164 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Connor felt this devotion of Bartle to his dearest 
 interests, as every grateful and generous heart would. 
 
 " Bartle," said he, " when we are married, if it's 
 ever in my power to make you aisy in life, may 
 I never prosper if I don't do it; at all evints, in some 
 way I'll reward you." 
 
 " If you're ever able, Connor, I'll have no objection 
 to be behouldin' to you : that is, if you're ever able, 
 as vou sav." 
 
 " And if there's a just God in heaven, Bartle, who 
 sees niy heart, however things may go against me for 
 a time, I say I will be able to sarve you, or any other 
 friend that desarves it. But about sleepin' in to- 
 night — of coorse I wouldn't be knockin' up my 
 father, and disturbin' my poor mother for no rason; 
 so of coorse, as I said, I'll sleep in the barn: it 
 makes no difference one way or other." 
 
 "Connor," said Flanagan, with much solemnitv, 
 "if Bodagh Buie's wise, he'll marry you an' his 
 daughter as fast as he can." 
 
 "An' why, Bartle?" 
 
 "Why, for rasons you know nothin' about. Of 
 late he's got very much out o' favour, in regard of not 
 comin' in to what people wish." 
 
 "Spake plainer, Bartle; I'm in the dark now." 
 
 "There's work goin' on in the counthry, that you 
 and every one like you ought to be up to; but you 
 know nothin', as I said, about it. Now Bodagh 
 Buie, as far as I hear — for I'm in the dark myself 
 nearly as much as you — Bodagh Buie houlds out
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 165 
 
 against them : an' not only that, I'm tould, but gives 
 them hard words, an' sets them at defiance." 
 
 " But what has all this to do with me marrying his 
 daughter ?" 
 
 " Why, he wants some one badly to stand his 
 friend wid them; an' if you were married to her, yon 
 would on his account become one o' them; begad as it 
 is you ought, for to tell you the truth there's talk — 
 strong talk too, about payin' him a nightly visit that 
 mayn't sane him." 
 
 "Then, Bartle, you're consarned in this business." 
 "No, faith, not yet; but I suppose I must, if 
 I wish to be safe in the counthry; an' so must vou 
 too for the same rason." 
 
 "And, if not up, how do you know so much 
 about it ?" 
 
 " From one o' themselves, that wishes the Bodagh 
 well; ay, an' let me tell you, that he's a marked man, 
 an' the night was appointed to visit him : still it was 
 put back to thry if he could be managed, but he 
 couldn't; an' all I know about it is that the time to 
 reinimber him is settled, an' he's to get it, an', along 
 wid other things, he'll be ped for turnin' off — how- 
 ever I can't say any more about that." 
 " How long is it since you knew this ?" 
 " Not long — only since last night, or you'd 'a got 
 it before this. The best way, I think, to put him on 
 his guard 'ud be to seud him a scrape of a line wid 
 no name to it." 
 
 "Bartle," replied Connor, "I'm as much be- 
 houldin' to you for this, as if it had been myself or
 
 166 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 my father that was marked. God knows you have a 
 good heart, an' if you don't sleep sound, I'm at a loss 
 to know who ought." 
 
 " Ma choirp an diouol but it's hard to tell who has 
 a good heart, Connor; I'd never say any one has till 
 I'd see them well thried." 
 
 At length the hour for setting out arrived, and both, 
 armed with good oaken cudgels, proceeded to Bodagh 
 Buie's haggard, whither they arrived a little before 
 the appointed hour. An utter stillness prevailed 
 round the place — not a dog barked — not a breeze 
 blew, nor did a leaf move on its stem, so calm and 
 warm was the night. Neither moon nor stars shone 
 in the firmament, and the darkness seemed kindly to 
 throw its dusky mantle over this sweet and stolen 
 interview of our young lovers. As yet, however, 
 Una had not come, nor could Connor, on surveying 
 the large massy farm-house of the Bodagh, perceive 
 any appearance of light, or hear a single sound, how- 
 ever faint, to break the stillness in which it slept. 
 Bartle, immediately after their arrival in the haggard, 
 separated from his companion, in order, he said, to 
 give notice of interruption, should Una be either 
 watched or followed. 
 
 " Besides, you know," he added, " sweethearts 
 like nobody to be present but themselves, when they 
 do be speakin' soft to one another. So I'll just keep 
 dodgin' about, from place to place, wid my eye an' 
 ear both open, an' if any intherloper comes I'll give 
 yees the hard word." 
 
 Heavily and lazily creep those moments during
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 167 
 
 which an impatient lover awaits the approach of his 
 mistress; and woe betide the wooer of impetuous 
 temperament who is doomed, like our hero, to watch 
 a whole hour and a half in vain. Many a theory did 
 his fancy body forth, and many a conjecture did he 
 form as to the probable causes of her absence. Was 
 it possible that they watched her even in the dead 
 hour of night 1 Perhaps the grief she felt at her 
 father's refusal to sanction the match had brought on 
 indisposition; and, — oh, harrowing thought! perhaps 
 they had succeeded in prevailing upon her to renounce 
 him and his hopes for ever. But no; their affection 
 was too pure and steadfast to admit of a supposition 
 so utterlv unreasonable. What then could have pre- 
 vented her from keeping an appointment so essential 
 to their future prospects, and to the operations neces- 
 sary for them to pursue ? Some plan of intercourse, 
 some settled mode of communication must be con- 
 certed between them, a circumstance the necessity of 
 which was as well known to herself as to him. 
 
 "Well, well," thought he, " whatever's the reason 
 of her not comin', I'm sure the fault is not her's; at 
 all events, there's no use in waitin' this night any 
 longer." 
 
 Flanagan it appeared was of the same opinion, for 
 in a minute or two he made his appearance, and 
 urged their return home. It was clear, he said, 
 that no interview could take place that night, and the 
 sooner they reached the barn and got to bed the 
 better.
 
 16S FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Folly me," he added; " we can pass through the 
 yard cross the road before the hall-door, and get 
 over the stile, by the near way through the fields 
 that's behind the orchard." 
 
 Connor, who was by no means so well acquainted 
 with the path as his companion, followed him in the 
 way pointed out, and in a few minutes they found 
 themselves walking at a brisk pace in a direction that 
 led homeward by a shorter cut. Connor's mind was 
 too much depressed for conversation, and both were 
 proceeding in silence, when Flanagan started in alarm, 
 and pointed out the figure of some one walking 
 directly towards them. In less than a minute the 
 person, whoever he might be, had come within speak- 
 ing distance, and, as he shouted out " who comes 
 tbere ?" Flauagan bolted across the ditch along 
 which they had been going, and disappeared. 
 
 "A friend," returned Connor, in reply to the 
 question. 
 
 The other man advanced, and with a look of deep 
 scrutiny peered into his face. " A friend," he ex- 
 claimed; " faith, it's a quare hour for a friend to be 
 out. Who are you, eh 1 Is this Connor O'Donovan ?" 
 
 " It is: but you have the advantage of me." 
 
 " If your father was here he would know Phil 
 Curtis, anyway." 
 
 " I ought to 'a known the voice myself," said 
 Connor; " Phil, how are you? an' what's bringing 
 yourself out at this hour ?" 
 
 "Why I want to buy a couple o' milch cows in the
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 169 
 
 fair o' Kilturbit, an' I'm goin' to catch my horse an' 
 make ready. It's a stiff ride from this, an' by the 
 time I'm there it'll be late enough for business, I'm 
 thinkin'. There was some one wid ye; who was it?" 
 
 " Come, come," said Connor good-humouredly, 
 " he was out coortin', and doesn't wish to be known; 
 and Phil, as you had the luck to meet me, I beg you, 
 for heaven's sake, not to breathe that you seen me 
 near Bodagh Buie's tonight; I have various rasons 
 for it." 
 
 " It's no sacret to me as it is," replied Curtis; 
 "half the parish knows it; so make your mind asy 
 on that head. Good night, Connor ! I wish you 
 success, any how; you'll be a happy man if you get 
 her; although from what I hear has happened, you 
 have a bad chance, except herself stands to you." 
 
 The truth was, that Fardorougha's visit to the 
 Bodagh, thanks to the high tones of his own shrill 
 voice, had drawn female curiosity, already suspicious 
 of the circumstances, to the key-hole of the parlour- 
 door, where the issue and object of the conference 
 soon became known. In a short time it had gone 
 among the servants, and from them was transmitted, 
 in the course of that and the following day, to the 
 tenants and day labourers, who contrived to multiplv 
 it with such effect, that, as Curtis said, it was in- 
 deed no secret to the greater part of the parish. 
 
 Flanagan soon rejoined Connor, who, on taxing 
 him with his flight, was informed, with an appearance 
 
 i
 
 1/0 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 of much regret, that a debt of old standing due to 
 Curtis had occasioned it. 
 
 " And upon my saunnies, Connor, I'd rather any 
 time go up to my neck in wather than meet a man 
 that I owe money to, whin I can't pay him. I knew 
 Phil very well, even before he spoke, and that was 
 what made me cut an' nm." 
 
 " What !" said Connor, looking towards the east, 
 " can it be day-light so soon ?" 
 
 " Begad it surely cannot," replied his companion. 
 " Holy mother above, what is this ?" 
 
 Both involuntarily stood to contemplate the strange 
 phenomenon which presented itself to their observa- 
 tion ; and, as it was certainly both novel and startling 
 in its appearance, we shall pause a little to describe 
 it more minutely. 
 
 The night, as we have already said, was remark- 
 ably dark, and warm to an unvisual degree. To the 
 astonishment, however, of our travellers, a gleam of 
 light, extremely faint, and somewhat resembling that 
 which precedes the rising of the summer sun, broke 
 upon their path, and passed on in undulating sweeps 
 for a considerable space before them. Connor had 
 scarcely time to utter the exclamation just alluded to, 
 and Flanagan to reply to him, when the light around 
 them shot farther into the distance, and deepened 
 from its first pale nue into a rich and gorgeous 
 purple. Its effect, however, was limited within 
 a circle of about a mile, for they could observe that
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 1/1 
 
 it got faint gradually from the centre to the extreme 
 verge, where it melted into utter darkness. 
 
 " This must mean something extraordinary," said 
 Connor; " whatever it is, it appears to he behind the 
 hill that divides us from Bodagh Buie's house. 
 Blessed earth ! it looks as if the sky was on fire !" 
 
 The sky indeed presented a fearful but sublime 
 spectacle. One spot appeared to glow with the red 
 white heat of a furnace, and to form the centre of a 
 fiery cupola, from which the flame was flung in redder 
 and grosser masses, that darkened away into wild 
 and dusky indistinctness, in a manner that corres- 
 ponded with the same light, as it danced in red and 
 frightful mirth upon the earth. As they looked, the 
 cause of this awful phenomenon soon became visible. 
 From behind the hill was seen a thick shower of 
 burning particles rushing up into the mid air, and 
 presently the broad point of a huge pyramid of fire, 
 wavering in terrible and capricious power, seemed to 
 disport itself far up in the depths of the glowing sky. 
 On looking again upon the earth they perceived that 
 this terrible circle was extending itself over a wider 
 circumference of country, marking every prominent 
 object around them with a dark blood-red tinge, and 
 throwing those that were more remote into a visionary 
 but appalling relief. 
 
 " l)har Chriestha," exclaimed Flanagan, " I have 
 it; thim I spoke about has paid Bodagh Buie the 
 visit they promised him." 
 
 " Come round the hip o' the hill," said Connor
 
 172 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "till we see where it really is; but I'll tell you what, 
 Bartle, if you be right, woe betide you; all the water 
 in Europe wouldn't wash you free in my mind of bein' 
 connected in this same ribbon business that's spread 
 through the country. As sure as that sky — that 
 fearful sky's — above us, you must prove to me an 
 others, how you came to know that this hellish busi- 
 ness was to take place. God of heaven ! let us run — 
 surely it couldn't be the dwelling-house !" 
 
 His speed was so great that Bartle could find nei- 
 ther breath nor leisure to make any reply. 
 
 "Thank God," he exclaimed; "oh thank Godit's 
 not the house, and their lives are safe; but, blessed 
 Father, there's the man's whole haggard in flames!" 
 
 "Oh, the neturnal villains !" was the simple ex- 
 clamation of Flanagan. 
 
 " Bartle," said his companion, " you heard what 
 I said this minute ?" 
 
 Their eyes met as he spoke, and for the first time 
 0' Donovan was struck by the pallid malignity of his 
 features. The servant gazed steadily upon him, his 
 lips lightly but firmly drawn back, and his eye, in 
 which was neither sympathy nor alarm, charged with 
 the spirit of a cool and devilish triumph. 
 
 Connor's blazed at the bare idea of his villany, 
 and, in a fit of manly and indignant rage, he seized 
 Flanagan and hurled him headlong to the earth at 
 his feet. " You have hell in your face, you villain," 
 he exclaimed, " an' if I thought that — if I did — 
 I'd drag you down like a dog, and pitch you head 
 foremost into the flames."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 173 
 
 Bartle rose, and in a voice wonderfully calm, 
 simply observed, " God knows, Connor, if I know 
 either your heart or mine, you'll be sorry for this 
 tratement you've given me for no rason. You know 
 yourself that, as soon as I heard any thing of the ill- 
 will aginst the Bodagh, I tould it to you, in ordher — 
 mark that — in ordher that you might let him know 
 it the best way you thought proper, an' for that 
 you've knocked me down !" 
 
 " Why, I believe you may be right, Bartle — 
 there's truth in that — but I can't forgive you the 
 look you gave me." 
 
 " That red light was in my face maybe; I'm sure 
 if that wasn't it, I can't tell — I was myself wou- 
 dherin' at your own looks, the same way; but then 
 it was that quare light that was in your face." 
 
 " Well, well, maybe I'm wrong — I hope I am. 
 Do you think we could be of any use there ?" 
 
 " Of use ! an' how would we account for bein' 
 there at all, Connor ? how would you do it, at any 
 rate, widout maybe bringin' the girl into blame." 
 
 " You're right agin, Bartle ; I'm not half so cool 
 as you are; our best plan is to go home " 
 
 " And go to bed; it is; an' the sooner we're there 
 the betther; sowl, Connor, you gev me a murdherin' 
 crack." 
 
 " Think no more of it — think no more of it — I'm 
 not often hasty, so you must overlook it." 
 
 It was, however, with an anxious and distressed 
 heart that Connor O'Donovan reached his father's
 
 174 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 barn, where, in the same bed with Flanagan, he en- 
 joyed towards morning a brief and broken slumber 
 that brought back to his fancy images of blood and 
 fire, all so confusedly mingled with Una, himself, 
 and their parents, that the voice of his father, calling 
 upon them to rise, came to him as a welcome and 
 manifest relief. 
 
 At the time laid in this story, neither burnings nor 
 murders were so familiar nor patriotic, as the fancied 
 necessity for working out political purposes has 
 recently made them. Such atrocities, in those bad 
 and unreformed days, were certainly looked upon as 
 criminal, rather than meritorious, however rmpatriotic 
 it may have been to form so erroneous an estimate of 
 human villany. The consequence of all this was, 
 that the destruction of Bodagh Buie's property created 
 a sensation in the county, of which, familiarized as 
 we are to such crimes, we can entertain but a very 
 faint notion. In three days a reward of five hundred 
 pounds, exclusive of two hundred from government, 
 was offered for such information as might bring the 
 incendiary, or incendiaries, to justice. The Bodagh 
 and his family were stunned as much with amaze- 
 ment at the occurrence of a calamity so incomprehen- 
 sible to them, as with the loss they had sustained, 
 for that indeed was heavy. The man, except with 
 the Kibbonmen, was extremely popular, and by many 
 acts of kindness had won the attachment and good- 
 will of all who knew him, either personally or by 
 character. How then account for an act so wanton
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 1/5 
 
 and vindictive ? They could not understand it ; it 
 was not only a crime, but a crime connected with 
 some mysterious motive, beyond their power to 
 detect. 
 
 But of all who became acquainted with the outrage, 
 not one sympathized more sincerely and deeply with 
 O'Brien's family than did Connor O' Donovan ; 
 although of course that sympathy was unknown to 
 those for whom it was felt. The fact was, that his 
 own happiness became in some degree involved in 
 their calamity ; and, as he came in to breakfast on 
 the fourth morning after its occurrence, he could not 
 help observing as much to his mother. His suspi- 
 cions of Flanagan, as to possessing some clue to the 
 melancholy business, were by no means removed. 
 On the contrary, he felt that he ought to have him 
 brought before the bench of magistrates who were con- 
 ducting the investigation from day to day, and, with 
 this determination, he himself resolved to state fully 
 and candidly to the bench, all the hints which had 
 transpired from Flanagan respecting the denuncia- 
 tions said to be held out against O'Brien, and the 
 causes assigned for them. Breakfast was now ready, 
 and Fardorougha himself entered, uttering petulant 
 charges of neglect and idleness against his servant. 
 
 " He desarves no breakfast," said he ; " not a 
 morsel; it's robbing me by his idleness and schaming 
 he is. What is he doin', Connor ? or what has be- 
 come of him 1 He's not in the field nor about the 
 place."
 
 1/6 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Connor paused. 
 
 " Why, now that I think of it, I didn't see him 
 today," he replied; " I thought he was mendin' the 
 slap at the Three-Acres. I'll thry if he's in the 
 barn." 
 
 And he went accordingly to find him. " I'm afraid, 
 father," said he, on his return, " that Bartle's a bad 
 boy, an' a dangerous one; he's not in the barn, an' 
 it appears, from the bed, that he didn't sleep there 
 last night. The thruth is, he's gone; at laste he has 
 brought all his clothes, his box, an' every thing with 
 him; an' what's more, I suspect the rason of it; he 
 thinks he has let out too much to me; an' dhar ma 
 chorp,* it 'ill go hard but I'll make him let out 
 more." 
 
 The servant-maid, Biddy, now entered and in- 
 formed them that four men, evidently strangers, were 
 approaching the house from the rear, and ere she 
 could add any thing further on the subject, two of 
 them walked in, and seizing Connor, informed him 
 that he was their prisoner. 
 
 " Your prisoner!" exclaimed his mother, getting 
 pale ; " why what could our poor boy do to make 
 him your prisoner ? He never did hurt or harm to 
 the child unborn." 
 
 Fardorougha's keen grey eye rested sharply upon 
 them for a moment; it then turned to Honor, after- 
 wards to Connor, and again gleamed bitterly at the 
 
 * By my body.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 177 
 
 intruders — "What is this?" said he, starting up ; 
 " what is this 1 you don't mane to rob us ?" 
 
 " I think," said the son, "you must be under a 
 mistake ; you surely can have no business with me. 
 It's very likely you want some one else." 
 
 "What is your name ?" inquired he who appeared 
 to be the principal of them. 
 
 " My name is Connor O' Donovan; an' I know no 
 rason why I should deny it." 
 
 " Then you are tbe very man we came for," said 
 the querist, " so you had better prepare to accom- 
 pany us ; in the mean time you must excuse us if 
 we search your room. This is unpleasant, I grant, 
 but we have no discretion, and must perform our 
 duty." 
 
 " What do you want in his room ?" said Fardo- 
 rougha ; " it's robbery you're on for — it's robbery 
 you're on for — in open day-light, too; but you're 
 late; I lodged the last penny yesterday; that's one 
 comfort; you're late — you're late." 
 
 " What did my boy do V exclaimed the affrighted 
 mother; "what did he do, that you come to drag 
 him away from us ?" 
 
 Tins question she put to the other constable, the 
 first having entered her son's bed-room. 
 
 " I am afraid, ma'am, you'll know it too soon," 
 replied the man; "it's a heavy charge, if it proves 
 to be a true one." 
 
 As he spoke, his companion re-entered the apart- 
 ment with Connor's Sunday coat in his hand, from 
 
 I 2
 
 178 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 the pocket of which he drew a steel and tinder- 
 box. 
 
 " I'm sorry for this," he observed ; " it cor- 
 roborates what has been sworn against you by 
 your accomplice, and here I fear comes additional 
 proof." 
 
 At the same moment the other two made their 
 appearance, one of them holding in his hand the 
 shoes which Connor had lent to Flanagan, and which 
 he wore on the night of the conflagration. 
 
 On seeing this, and comparing the two circum- 
 stances together, a fearful light broke on the unfor- 
 tunate young man, who already felt conscious of 
 the snare into which he had fallen. With an air of 
 sorrow and manly resignation he thus addressed his 
 parents : — 
 
 " Don't be alarmed; I see that there is an attempt 
 made to swear away my life; but whatever happens, 
 you both know that I am innocent of doin' an injury 
 to any one. If I die. I would rather die innocent 
 than live as guilty as he will that must have my 
 blood to answer for." 
 
 His mother, on hearing this, ran to him, and with 
 her arms about his neck, exclaimed, 
 
 " Die ! die ! Connor darlin' — my brave boy — my 
 only son — why do you talk about death 1 what is it 
 for ? what is it about ? Oh, for the love of God, 
 tell us what did our boy do ?" 
 
 " He is charged by Bartle Flanagan," replied one 
 of the constables, " with burning Bodagh Buie
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 179 
 
 O'Brien's haggard, because he refused him his 
 daughter. He must now come with us to gaol." 
 
 " I see the whole plot," said Connor, " and a 
 deep one it is; the villain will do his worst; still I 
 can't but have dependence upon justice and my own 
 innocence. I can't but have dependence upon God, 
 who knows my heart."
 
 180 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Fardorougha stood amazed and confounded, look- 
 ing from one to another like a man who felt incapable 
 of comprehending all that passed before him. His 
 forehead, over which fell a few grey thin locks, 
 assumed a deadly paleness, and his eye lost the 
 piercing expression which usually characterized it. 
 He threw his cothamore several times over his 
 shoulders, as he had been in the habit of doing when 
 about to proceed after breakfast to his usual avoca- 
 tions, and as often laid it aside, without being at all 
 conscious of what he did. His limbs appeared to get 
 feeble, and his hands trembled as if he laboured 
 under palsy. In this mood he passed from one to 
 another, sometimes seizing a constable by the arm 
 with a hard, tremulous grip, and again suddenly 
 letting go his hold of him without speaking. At 
 length a singular transition from this state of mind 
 became apparent; a gleam of wild exultation shot 
 from his eye; his sallow and blasted features bright- 
 ened; the cothamore was buttoned under his chin 
 with a rapid energy of manner, evidently arising from 
 the removal of some secret apprehension. 
 
 "Then," he exclaimed, "it's no robbery; it's no 
 robbery; it's no robbery afther all; but how could it? 
 there's no money here; not a penny; an' I'm belied,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 181 
 
 at any rate; for there's not a poorer man in the 
 barony — thank God, it's not robbery /" 
 
 " Oh, Fardorougha," said the wife, " don't you see 
 they're goin' to take him away from us !" 
 
 "Take who away from us ?" 
 
 " Connor, your own Connor — our boy — the light 
 of my heart — the light of his poor mother's heart ! 
 Oh, Connor, Connor, what is it they're goin' to do to 
 you ?" 
 
 "No harm, mother, I trust; no harm — don't be 
 frightened." 
 
 The old man put his open hands to his temples, 
 which he pressed bitterly, and with all his force, for 
 nearly half a minute. He had, in truth, been 
 alarmed into the veiy worst mood of his habitual 
 vice, apprehension concerning his money; and felt 
 that nothing, except a powerful effort, could succeed 
 in drawing his attention to the scene which was 
 passing before him. 
 
 "What," said he; "what is it that's wrong wid 
 Connor ?" 
 
 " He must come to jail," said one of the men, 
 looking at him with surprise; "we have already stated 
 the crime for which he stands committed." 
 
 "To jail ! Connor O'Donovan to jail !" 
 
 "It's too true, father; Bartle Flanagan has sworn 
 that I burned Mr. O'Brien's haggard." 
 
 " Connor, Connor," said the old man, approaching 
 him as he spoke, and putting his arms composedly 
 about his neck, "Connor, my brave boy, my brave
 
 182 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 boy, it wasn't you did it; 'twas I did it," he added, 
 turning to the constables ; "lave him, lave him with 
 her, an' take me in his place! Who would if I 
 would not — who ought, I say — an' I'll do it — take 
 me; I'll go in his place." 
 
 Connor looked down upon the old man, and as he 
 saw his heart rent, and his reason absolutely totter- 
 ing, a sense of the singular and devoted affection 
 which he had ever borne him, overcame him, and 
 with a full heart he dashed away a tear from his eye, 
 and pressed his father to his breast. 
 
 " Mother," said he, "this will kill the old man; it 
 will kill him !" 
 
 " Fardorougha, a hagur," said his wife, feeling it 
 necessary to sustain him as much as possible, " don't 
 take it so much to heart, it won't signify — Connor's 
 innocent, an' no harm will happen him." 
 
 " But are you lavin' us, Connor ? are they — must 
 they bring you to jail ?" 
 
 "For a while, father; but I won't be long there, I 
 hope." 
 
 " It's an unpleasant duty on our part," said the 
 principal of them; "still it's one we must perform. 
 Your father should lose no time in taking the proper 
 steps for your defence." 
 
 "And what are we to do?" asked the mother; 
 " God knows the boy's as innocent as I am." 
 
 " Yes," said Fardorougha, still dwelling upon the 
 resolution he had made ; " Fll stand for you, Connor; 
 you won't go; let them bring me instead of you."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 183 
 
 " That's out of the question," replied the constable; 
 " the law suffers nothing of the kind to take place; 
 but if you be advised by me, lose no time in prepa- 
 ring to defend him. It would be unjust to disguise 
 the matter from you, or to keep you ignorant of its 
 being a case of life and death." 
 
 " Life and death ! what do you mane ?" asked 
 Fardorougha, staring vacantly at the last speaker. 
 
 "It's painful to distress you; but if he's found 
 guilty, it's death." 
 
 " Death ! hanged !" shrieked the old man, awaking 
 as it were for the first time to a full perception of his 
 son's situation; " hanged ! my boy hanged ! Connor, 
 Connor, don't go from me!" 
 
 " I'll die with him," said the mother ; " I'll die with 
 you, Connor. We couldn't live widout him," she 
 added, addressing the strangers ; " as God is in 
 heaven we couldn't ! Oh Connor, Connor, avourneen, 
 what is it that has come over us, and brought us to 
 this sorrow ?" 
 
 The mother's grief then flowed on, accompanied by a 
 burst of that unstudied, but pathetic eloquence, which 
 in Ireland is frequently uttered in the tone of Avail 
 and lamentation peculiar to those who mourn over the 
 dead. 
 
 " No," she added, with her arms tenderly about 
 him, and her streaming eyes fixed with a wild and 
 mournful look of despair upon his face; "no, he 
 is in his loving mother's arms, the boy that never 
 gave to his father or me a harsh word or a sore
 
 184 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 heart ! Long were we lookin' for him, an' little did 
 we think that it was for this heavy fate that the 
 goodness of God sent him to us ! Oh many a look 
 of lovin' affection, many a happy heart did he give us! 
 Many a time Connor, avillish, did I hang over your 
 cradle, and draw out to myself the happiness and the 
 good that I hoped was before you. lou wor too 
 good — too good, I doubt — to be long in such a world 
 as this; an' no wondher, that the heart of the fair 
 young colleen, the heart of the colleen dhas dhun 
 should rest upon you and love you; for who ever 
 knew you that didn't ? Isn't there enough, King of 
 heaven ! enough of the bad an' the wicked in this 
 world for the law to punish, an' not to take the inno- 
 cent — not to take away from us the only one — the 
 only one — I can't — I can't — but if they do — Connor 
 — if they do, your lovin' mother will die with you !" 
 The stern officers of justice wiped their eyes, and 
 were proceeding to afford such consolation as they 
 could, when Fardorougha, who had sat down after 
 having made way for Honor to recline on the bosom 
 of their son, now rose, and seizing the breast of his 
 coat, was about to speak, but ere he could utter a 
 word he tottered, and would have instantly fallen, 
 had not Connor caught him in his arms. This served 
 for a moment to divert the mother's grief, and to 
 draw her attention from the son to the husband, who 
 was now insensible. He was carried to the door by 
 Connor; but when they attempted to lay him in a 
 recumbent posture, it was found almost impossible to
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 185 
 
 unclasp the death-like grip which he held of the coat. 
 His haggard face was shrunk and collapsed; the 
 individual features sharp and thin, but earnest and 
 stamped with traces of alarm; his brows, too, which 
 were slightly knit, gave to his whole countenance 
 a character of keen and painful determination. But 
 that which struck those who were present most, was 
 the unyielding grasp with which he clung even in his 
 insensibility to the person of Connor. 
 
 If not an affecting sight it was one at least strongly 
 indicative of the intractable and indurated attachment 
 which put itself forth with such vague and illusive 
 energy on behalf of his son. At length he recovered, 
 and on opening his eyes he fixed them with a long 
 look of pain and distraction upon the boy's coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 "Father," said Connor, "dont be cast down — you 
 need not — and you ought not to be so much dis- 
 heartened — do you feel better ?" 
 
 When the father heard his voice he smiled; yes — 
 his shrunk, pale, withered face was lit up by a wild, 
 indescribable ecstasy, whose startling expression was 
 borrowed, one would think, as much from the light of 
 insanity as from that of returning consciousness. He 
 sucked in his thin cheeks, smacked his parched 
 skinny lips, and with difficulty called for a drink. 
 Having swallowed a little water, he looked round him 
 with more composure, and inquired — 
 
 " What has happened me ? am I robbed ? are you 
 robbers 1 But I tell you there's no money in the
 
 186 FARDORQTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 house. I lodged the last penny yestherday — afore 
 my God I did — but — oh what am I sayin' ? what is 
 this, Connor ?" 
 
 "Father, dear, compose yourself — we'll get over 
 this trouble." 
 
 " We will, darlin'," said Honor, wiping the pale 
 brows of her husband; "an' we wont lose him." 
 
 " No, achora," said the old man; " no, we won't 
 lose him ! Connor !" 
 
 "Well, father dear!" 
 
 " There's a thing here — here" — and he placed his 
 hand upon his heart — "something it is that makes me 
 afeard — a sinkin' — a weight — and there's a struggling 
 too, Connor. I know I can't stand it long — an' it's 
 about you — it's all about you. 1 * 
 
 "You distress yourself too much, father; indeed 
 you do. Why I hoped that you would comfort my 
 poor mother till I come back to her and you, as I will, 
 plase God." 
 
 "Yes," he replied; "yes, I will, I will." 
 
 " You had better prepare," said one of the officers 
 to Connor; " the sooner this is over the better — he's a 
 feeble man, and not very well able to bear it." 
 
 "You are right," said Connor; "I wont delay 
 many minutes; I have only to change my clothes, an' 
 I'm ready." 
 
 In a short time he made his appearance dressed in 
 his best suit; and indeed it would be extremely diffi- 
 cult to meet, in any rank of life, a finer specimen of 
 vigour, activity, and manly beauty. His countenance,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 187 
 
 at all times sedate and open, was on this occasion 
 shaded by an air of profound melancholy that gave a 
 composed grace and dignity to his whole bearing. 
 
 " Now, father," said he, "before I go, I think it 
 right to lave you and my poor mother all the conso- 
 lation I can. In the presence of God, in yours, in 
 my dear mother's, and in the presence of all who 
 hear me, I am as innocent of the crime that's laid to 
 my charge as the babe unborn. That's a comfort for 
 you to know, and let it prevent you from frettin' ; and 
 now, good by; God be with you, and strengthen and 
 support you both !" 
 
 Fardorougha had already seized his hand; but the 
 old man could neither speak nor weep; his whole 
 frame appeared to have been suddenly pervaded by a 
 dry agony that suspended the beatings of his very 
 heart. The mother's grief, on the contrary, was loud, 
 and piercing, and vehement. She threw herself once 
 more on his neck; she kissed his lips, she pressed him 
 to her heart, and poured out as before the wail of a 
 wild and hopeless misery. At length, by the aid of 
 some slight but necessary force, her arms were un- 
 twined from about his neck ; and Connor, then 
 stooping, embraced his father, and gently placing him 
 upon a settle bed, bade him farewell ! On reaching 
 the door he paused, and, turning about, surveyed his 
 mother struggling in the hands of one of the officers 
 to get embracing him again, and his grey-haired 
 father sitting in speechless misery on the settle. He 
 stood a moment to look upon them, and a few bitter
 
 188 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 tears rolled, in the silence of manly sorrow down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Oh, Fardorougha," exclaimed his mother, after 
 they had gone, " sure it isn't merely for partin' wid 
 him that we feel so heartbroken. He may never 
 stand under this roof again, an' he all we have and 
 had to love !" 
 
 " No," returned Fardorougha, quietly; "no, it's 
 not, as you say for merely partin' wid him — hanged ! 
 God ! God ! him — here — Honor — here the thought 
 of it — I'll die — it'll break — Oh God support me ! 
 my heart — here — my heart 'ill break ! My brain, too, 
 and my head — oh ! if God 'ud take me before I'd see 
 it ! But it can't be — it's not possible, that our inno- 
 cent boy should meet sich a death !" 
 
 "No, dear, it is not; sure he's innocent — that's 
 one comfort; but Fardorougha, as the men said, you 
 must go to a lawyer and see what can be done to 
 defind him." 
 
 The old man rose up and proceeded to his son's 
 bed-room. 
 
 "Honor," said he, "come here;" and while utter- 
 ing these words he gazed upon her face with a look 
 of unutterable and helpless distress ; " there's his 
 bed, Honor, his bed — he may never sleep on it more 
 — he may be cut down like a flower in his youth — 
 and then what will become of us ?" 
 
 " For ever, from this day out," said the distracted 
 mother, "no hands will ever make it but my own; 
 on no other will I sleep — where his head lay there
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 189 
 
 will mine be too — avick machree — machree ! Och, 
 Fardorougha, we can't stand this; let us not take it 
 to heart, as we do; let us trust in God, an' hope for 
 the best." 
 
 Honor, in fact, found it necessary to assume the 
 office of the comforter; but it was clear that nothing 
 urged or suggested by her could for a moment win 
 back the old man's heart from a contemplation of the 
 loss of his son. He moped about for a considerable 
 time; but, ever and anon, found himself in Connor's 
 bedroom, looking upon his clothes and such other 
 memorials of him as it contained. 
 
 During the occurrence of these melancholy incidents 
 at Fardorougha's, others of a scarcely less distressing 
 character were passing under the roof of Bodagh 
 Buie O'Brien. 
 
 Our readers need not be informed that the charge 
 brought by Bartle Flanagan against Connor, excited 
 the utmost amazement in all who heard it. So 
 much at variance w-ere his untarnished reputation and 
 amiable manners with a disposition so dark and 
 malignant as that which must have prompted the 
 perpetration of such a crime, that it was treated 
 at first by the public as an idle rumour. The evi- 
 dence, however, of Phil Curtis, and his deposition to 
 the conversation which occurred between him and 
 Connor at the time and place already known to the 
 reader, together with the corroborating circumstances 
 arising from the correspondence of the foot-prints 
 about the haggard with the shoes produced by the
 
 190 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 constable — all, when combined together, left little doubt 
 of his guilt. No sooner had this impression become 
 general, than the spirit of the father was immediately 
 imputed to the son, and many sagacious observations 
 made, all tending to show, that, as they expressed it, 
 "the bad drop of the old rogue would sooner or later 
 come out in the young one;" — "he wouldn't be what he 
 was, or the bitter heart of the miser would appear;" 
 with many other apothegms of a similar import. 
 The family of the Bodagh, however, were painfully 
 and peculiarly circumstanced. With the exception of 
 Una herself, none of them entertained a doubt that 
 Connor was the incendiary. Flanagan had main- 
 tained a good character, and his direct impeachment 
 of Connor, supported by such exact circumstantial 
 evidence, left nothing to be urged in the young man's 
 defence. Aware as they were of the force of Una's 
 attachment, and apprehensive that the shock arising 
 from the discovery of his atrocity might be dangerous 
 if injudiciously disclosed to her, they themselves 
 resolved, in accordance with the suggestion of their 
 son, to break the matter to her with the utmost 
 delicacy and caution. 
 
 " It is better," said John, " that she should hear 
 of the misfortune from us ; for after breaking it 
 to her as gently as possible, we can at least attempt 
 to strengthen and console her under it." 
 
 " Heaven above sees," exclaimed his mother, "that 
 it was a black and unlucky business to her and to all 
 of us; but now that she knows what a revingeful 
 villain he is, I'm sure she'll not find it hard to banish
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 191 
 
 him out of her thoughts. Deah Grasthias* for the 
 escape she had from him at any rate !" 
 
 " John, bring her in," said the father; " bring the 
 unfortunate young crature in. I can't but pity her, 
 Bridget; I can't but pity ma colleen vo(/hth."f 
 
 When Una entered with her brother she perceived 
 by a glance at the solemn bearing of her parents, 
 that some unhappy announcement was about to be 
 made to her. She sat down therefore with a beating 
 heart and a cheek already pale with apprehension. 
 
 "Una," said her father, "we sent for you to men- 
 tion a circumstance that we would rather you should 
 hear from ourselves than from strangers. You were 
 always a good girl, Una — an obadient girl, and sensi- 
 ble beyant your years; and I trust that your good 
 sinse and the grace of the Almighty will enable you 
 to bear up undher any disappointment that may come 
 upon you." 
 
 " Surely, father, there can be nothing worse than I 
 know already," she replied. 
 
 "Why, what do you know, dear ?" 
 
 "Only what you tould me the day Fardorougha 
 was here, that nothing agreeable to my wishes could 
 take place." 
 
 " I would give a great deal that the business was 
 now as it was even then," responded her father; 
 " there's far worse to come, Una, an' you must be 
 firm an' prepare to hear what'll thry you sorely." 
 
 " I can't guess it, father; but for God's sake tell 
 me at once." 
 
 • Thanks be to God. f My poor girl.
 
 192 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Who do you think burned our property ?" 
 
 "And I suppose if she hadn't been undher the one 
 roof wid us that it's ourselves he'd burn," observed 
 her mother. 
 
 "Father, tell me the worst at once — whatever it 
 may be; how could I guess the villain or villains who 
 destroyed our property ?" 
 
 "Villain, indeed; you may well say so," returned 
 the Bodagh. "That villain is no other than Connor 
 O'Donovan." 
 
 Una felt as if a weighty burthen had been removed 
 from her heart; she breathed freely; her depression 
 and alarm vanished, and her dark eye kindled into a 
 proud confidence in the integrity of her lover. 
 
 " And father," she asked in a full and firm voice, 
 " is there nothing worse than that to come ?" 
 
 " Worse ! is the girl's brain turned V 
 
 " Bhar a Lhora Heena, she's as mad I believe as 
 ould Fardorough himself," said her mother; "worse! 
 why she has parted wid all the little re&sing she ever 
 
 had." 
 
 " Indeed, mother, I hope I have not, and that my 
 reason's clear as ever; but as to Connor O'Donovan, 
 he's innocent of that charge, and of every other that 
 may be brought against him; I don't believe it, and 
 I never will." 
 
 " It's proved against him; it's brought home 
 
 to him." 
 
 " Who is his accuser?" 
 
 " His father's servant, Bartle Flanagan, has turned 
 king's evidence."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 193 
 
 "The deep-dyed villain!" she exclaimed with 
 indication: " father, of that crime, so sure as God's 
 in heaven, so sure is Connor O'Douovan innocent, 
 and so sure is Bartle Flanagan guilty, I know it." 
 
 " You know it — explain yourself." 
 
 " I mean I feel it — ay, home to the core of my 
 heart — my unhappy heart — I feel the truth of what 
 I say." 
 
 " Una," observed her brother, " I'm afraid you 
 have been vilely deceived by him — there's not the 
 slightest doubt of his guilt." 
 
 " Don't you be deceived, John; I say he's innocent, 
 as I hope for heaven he's innocent; and father, I'm 
 not a bit cast down or disheartened by any thing I 
 have yet heard against him." 
 
 " You're a very extraordinary girl, Una; but for 
 my part I'm glad you look upon it as you do. If his 
 innocence appears, no man alive will be better pleased 
 at it than myself." 
 
 " His innocence will appear," exclaimed the faith-' 
 ful girl: " it must appear; and father mark this — 
 I say, time will tell yet who is innocent and who is 
 guilty. God knows," she added, her energy of 
 manner increasing, while a shower of hot tears fell 
 down her cheeks, " God knows I would marry him 
 to-morrow with the disgrace of that and ten times as 
 much upon him, so certain am I that his heart and 
 his hand are free from thought or deed that's either 
 treacherous or dishonourable." 
 
 " Mam- him," said her mother, losing temper; 
 
 K
 
 194 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Nobody doubts but you'd marry him on the gal- 
 lows, wid the rope about his neck." 
 
 " I would do it, and unite myself to a true heart. 
 Don't mistake me, and mother dear, don't blame 
 me," she added, her tears flowing still faster; " he's 
 in disgrace — sunk in shame and sorrow — and I won't 
 conceal the force of what I feel for him; I won't desert 
 him now as the world will do; I know his heart, and 
 on the scaffold tomorrow I would become his wife, if 
 it would take away one atom of his misery." 
 
 " If he's innocent," said her father, " you have 
 more pinetration than any girl in Europe; but if he's 
 guilty of such an act against any one connected with 
 you, Una, the guilt of all the divils in hell is no 
 match for his. Well, you have heard all we wanted 
 to say to you, and you needn't stay." 
 
 " As she herself says," observed John, " perhaps 
 time will place every thing in its true light. At pre- 
 sent all those who are not in love with him have little 
 doubt of his guilt. However, even as it is, in prin- 
 ciple Una is right : putting love out of the question, 
 we should prejudge no one." 
 
 "Time will," said his sister, "or rather God will 
 in his own good time. On God I'm sure he depends; 
 on his providence I also rely for seeing his name and 
 character cleared of all that has been brought against 
 him. John I wish to speak to you in my own room ; 
 not that I intend to make any secret of it, but I want 
 to consult with you first."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 195 
 
 " Cheerna dheelish," exclaimed her mother; " what 
 a wife that child would make to anv one that desarved 
 her !" 
 
 " It's more than I'm able to do, to be angry with 
 her," returned the Bodagh. " Did you ever know 
 her to tell a lie, Bridget ?" 
 
 " A lie; no, nor the shadow of a lie never came 
 out of her lips; the desate's not in her, an' may God 
 look down on her with compunction this day; for, 
 there's a dark road I doubt before her !" 
 
 "Amen," responded her father: "amen, I pray 
 the Saviour. At all evints, O' Donovan's guilt or 
 innocence will soon be known," he added; "the 
 'sizes begin this day week, so that the business will 
 soon be over either one way or other." 
 
 Una, on reaching her own room, thus addressed 
 her affectionate brother: 
 
 " Now, John, you know that my grandfather left 
 me four hundred guineas in his will, and you know, 
 too, the impossibility of getting any money out of the 
 clutches of Fardorougha. You must see Connor, 
 and find out how he intends to defend himself. If 
 his father wont allow him sufficient means to employ 
 the best lawvers — as I doubt whether he will or not — 
 just tell him the truth, that whilst I have a penny of 
 these four hundred guineas, he mustn't want money; 
 an' tell him, too, that all the world wont persuade 
 me that he's guilty; say I know him to be innocent, 
 and that his disgrace has made him dearer to me 
 than ever he was before."
 
 196 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Surely you can't suppose for a moment, my 
 dear Una, that I, your brother, who, by the way, 
 have never opened my lips to him, could deliberately 
 convey such a message." 
 
 " It must be conveyed in some manner — I'm 
 resolved on that." 
 
 " The best plan," said the other, " is to find out 
 whatsoever attorney they employ, and then to dis- 
 cover, if possible, whether his father has furnished 
 sufficient funds for his defence. If he has, your 
 offer is unnecessary; and if not, a private arrange- 
 ment may be made with the attorney of which no- 
 body else need know any thing." 
 
 " God bless you, John; God bless you," she 
 replied; "that is far better; you have been a good 
 brother to your poor Una — to your poor unhappy Una." 
 
 She leaned her head on the table, and wept for 
 some time at the trying fate, as she termed it, which 
 hung over two beings so young and so guiltless of 
 any crime. The brother soothed her by every argu- 
 ment in his power, and after gently compelling her 
 to dry her tears, expressed his intention of going 
 early the next day to ascertain whether or not any 
 professional man had been engaged to conduct the 
 defence of her unfortunate lover. 
 
 In effecting this object, there was little time lost 
 on the part of young O'Brien. Knowing that two 
 respectable attorneys lived in the next market town, 
 he deemed it best to ascertain whether Fardorougha 
 had applied to either of them for the purposes afore- 
 mentioned, or if not to assure himself whether the old
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 197 
 
 man had gone to any of those pettifoggers, who rather 
 than appear without practice, will undertake a cause 
 almost on any terms, and afterwards institute a law- 
 suit for the recovery of a much larger hill of costs 
 than a man of character and experience would 
 demand. 
 
 In pursuance of the plan concerted between them, 
 the next morning found him rapping, about eleven 
 o'clock, at the door of an attorney named O'Halloran, 
 whom he asked to see on professional business. A 
 clerk, on hearing his voice in the hall, came out and 
 requested him to step into a back room, adding, that 
 his master, who was engaged, would see him the 
 moment he had despatched the person then with him. 
 Thus shown, he was separated from O'Halloran' s 
 office only by a pair of folding doors, through which 
 every word uttered in the office could be distinctly 
 heard; a circumstance that enabled O'Brien unin- 
 tentionally to overhear the following dialogue between 
 the parties : 
 
 '". Well, my good friend," said O'Halloran to the 
 stranger, who, it appeared, had arrived before 
 O'Brien only a few minutes, "I am now disengaged; 
 pray, let me know your business." 
 
 The stranger paused a moment, as if seeking the 
 most appropriate terms in which to express himself. 
 
 "It's a black business," he replied, "and the 
 worst of it is, I'm a poor man." 
 
 " You should not go to law, then," observed the 
 attorney. " I tell you before hand you will find it 
 very expensive."
 
 198 IARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OK, 
 
 " I know it," said the man; it's open robbery; i 
 know what it cost me to recover the little pences that 
 wor sometimes due to me, when I broke myself lend- 
 ing weeny divides to strugglin' people that I thought 
 honest, an' robbed me aftherwards." 
 
 " In what way can my services be of use to vou 
 at present I for that I suppose is the object of vour 
 calling upon me," said O'Halloran. 
 
 " Oh thin, sir, if you have the grace of God, or 
 kindness, or pity in your heart, you can sane me, 
 you can save my heart from breakin' !" 
 " How — how, man? — come to the point." 
 "My son, sir, Connor; my only son was taken 
 away from his mother an' me, an' put into jail yes- 
 therday mornin', an' he innocent; he was put hi, sir, 
 for burnin' Bodagh Buie O'Brien's haggard, an' as 
 God is above me, he as much burnt it as you did.*'* 
 
 "Then you are Fardorougha Donovan," said the 
 attorney; " I have heard of that outrage; and to be 
 plain with you, a good deal about yourself. How, 
 in the name of heaven, can you call yourself a poor 
 man ?" 
 
 " They belie me, sir; they're bitter inemies that 
 say I'm otherwise." 
 
 " Be you rich or be you poor, let me tell you that 
 I would not stand in your son's situation for the 
 wealth of the king's exchequer. Sell your last cow ; 
 your last coat; your last acre; sell the bed from 
 under you, without loss of time, if you wish to save 
 his life; and I tell you that for this purpose you must
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 199 
 
 employ the best counsel, and plenty of them. The 
 assizes commence on this day week, so that you have 
 not a single moment to lose. Think now whether 
 you love your son or your money best." 
 
 " Saver of earth, amn't I an unhappy man ! every 
 one savin' I have money, an' me has not ! "Where 
 would I get it ? Where would a man like me get it ? 
 Instead o' that I'm so poor that I see plainly I'll 
 starve yet; I see it's before me! God pity me this day ! 
 But agin, there's my boy, my boy ; oh God pity 
 him ! Say what's the laste, the lowest, the very 
 lowest you could take, for defindin' him; an' for 
 pity's sake, for charity's sake, for God's sake, don't 
 grind a poor, helpless, ould man by extortion. It' 
 vou knew the boy — if you knew him — oh, afore my 
 God, if you knew him, you wouldn't be apt to charge 
 a penny; you'd be proud to sarve sich a boy." 
 
 " You wish every thing possible to be done for 
 him, of course ?" 
 
 " Of coorse, of coorse; but widout exthravagance ; 
 as asy an' light on a poor man as you can. You 
 could shorten it, sure, an' lave out a great dale that 
 'ud be of no use; an' half the paper 'ud do; for you 
 might make the clerks write close — why, very little 
 'ud be wanted if you wor savin'." 
 
 " I can defend him with one counsel if you wish; 
 but if anxious to save the boy's life, you ought to 
 enable your attorney to secure a strong bar of the 
 most eminent lawyers he can engage." 
 
 "An' what 'ud it cost to hire three or four o' 
 them ?"
 
 200 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " The whole expenses might amount to between 
 forty and fifty guineas." 
 
 A deep groan of dismay, astonishment, and an- 
 guish, was the only reply made to this for some 
 time. 
 
 " Oh heavens above," he screamed, " what will — 
 what will become of me ! I'd rather be dead, as I'll 
 soon be, than hear this, or know it at all. How 
 could I get it ? I'm as poor as poverty itself; oh 
 couldn't you feel for the boy, an' defend him on 
 trust; couldn't you feel for him ?" 
 
 " It's your business to do that," returned the man 
 of law, coolly. 
 
 ' Feel for him ; me? oh little you know how my 
 heart's in him; but any way, I'm an unhappy man ; 
 every thing in the world wide goes against me; but — 
 oh my darlin' boy — Connor, Connor, my son, to be 
 tould that I don't feel for you — well you know, avour- 
 neen machree— well you know that I feel for you, 
 and 'ud kiss the track of your feet upon the ground. 
 Oh, it's cruel to tell it to me; to say sich a thing to 
 a man that Ins heart's breakin' widin' him for your 
 sake; but, sir, you sed this minute that you could 
 defind him wid one lawyer ?" 
 
 " Certainly, and with a cheap one, too, if you 
 wish; but in that case, I would rather decline the 
 thing altogether." 
 
 " Why? why? sure if you can defind him chapely, 
 isn't it so much saved ? isn't it the same as if you 
 denuded him at a higher rate ? Sure if one lawyer
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 201 
 
 tells the truth for the poor boy, ten or fifty can do 
 no more; an' thin maybe they'd crass in an' puzzle 
 one another if you hired too many of them." 
 
 " How would you feel, should your son be found 
 guilty ? you know the penalty is his life. He will 
 be executed." 
 
 O'Brien could hear the old man clap his hands in 
 agony, and in truth he walked about wringing them 
 as if his very heart would burst. 
 
 " What will I do ?" he exclaimed ; " what will I 
 do ? I can't lose him, an' I wont lose him ; lose him ! 
 oh God, oh God, is it to lose the best son and only 
 child that ever man had; wouldn't it be downright 
 murdher in me to let him be lost, if I could prevent 
 it. Oh, if I was in his place, what wouldn't he do 
 for me, for the father that he always loved!" 
 
 The tears ran copiously down his furrowed cheeks ; 
 and his whole appearance evinced such distraction 
 and anguish as could rarely be witnessed. 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do," he added; " I'll give 
 you fifty guineas after my death if you defind him 
 properly." 
 
 " Much obliged," replied the other ; " but in 
 matters of this kind we make no such bargains." 
 
 " I'll make it sixty, in case you don't ax it now." 
 
 " Can you give me security that I'll survive you ? 
 Why you are tough looking enough to outlive me." 
 
 " Me tough ! — no, God help me, my race is nearly 
 run; I won't be alive this day twelve months — look 
 at the differ atween us." 
 
 k2
 
 202 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "This is idle talk," said the attorney; " determine 
 on what you'll do; really my time is valuable, and I 
 am now wasting it to no purpose." 
 
 " Take the offer — depind on't it'll soon come to 
 you." 
 
 " No, no," said the other, coolly; "not at all; 
 we might shut up shop if we made such post obit 
 bargains as that." 
 
 " I'll tell you," said Fardorougha; " I'll tell you 
 what;" his eyes gleamed with a reddish, bitter light; 
 and he clasped his withered hands together, until the 
 joints cracked, and the perspiration teemed from his 
 pale, sallow features ; " I'll tell you," he added — 
 " I'll make it seventy!" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Aighty!" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Ninety !" — with a husky shriek. 
 
 " No, no." 
 
 " A hundhre' — a hundhre' — a hundhre','' he 
 shouted; " a hundhre, when I'm gone — when I'm 
 goner' 
 
 One solemn and determined No, that precluded all 
 hopes of any such arrangement, was the only reply. 
 
 The old man leaped up again, and looked impa- 
 tiently and wildly and fiercely about him. 
 
 "What are you ?" he shouted; "what are you/ — 
 You're a divil — a born divil. "Will nothing but my 
 death satisfy you ? Do you want to rob me — to starve 
 me — to murdher me ? Don't you see the state I'm
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMOXA. 203 
 
 iu by you? look at me — look at these thrimblin' 
 limbs — look at the sweat powerin' down from my poor 
 ould face ! What is it you want ? There — there's my 
 grey hairs to you. You have brought me to that 
 — to more than that — I'm dyin' this minute — I'm 
 <lvin' — oh, my boy — my boy, if I had you here — ay, 
 I'm— I'm " 
 
 He staggered over on his seat, his eyes gleaming 
 in a fixed and intense glare at the attorney; his 
 hands were clenched, his lips parched, and his 
 mummy-like cheeks sucked, as before, into his 
 toothless jaws. In addition to all this, there was a 
 bitter white smile of despair upon his features, and 
 his thin grey locks that were discomposed in the 
 paroxysm by his own hands, stood out in disorder 
 upon his head. We question indeed whether mere 
 imagination could, without having actually witnessed 
 it in real life, conceive any object so frightfully illus- 
 trative of the terrible dominion which the passion 
 of avarice is capable of exercising over the human 
 heart. 
 
 "I protest to heaven," exclaimed the attorney, 
 "I believe the 'man is dying — if not dead, he is 
 motionless." 
 
 "O'Donovan, what's the matter with you?" 
 
 The old man's lips gave a dry, hard smack, then 
 became desperately compressed together, and his 
 cheeks were drawn still farther into his jaws. At 
 length he sighed deeply, and changed his fixed and 
 motionless attitude.
 
 204 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "He is alive, at all events," said one of the young 
 men. 
 
 Fardorougha turned his eyes upon the speaker, 
 then upon his master, and successively upon two 
 other assistants who were in the office. 
 
 "What is this?" said he, "what is this? — 
 I'm very weak — will you get me a dhrink o' 
 wather. God help me — God direct me ! I'm 
 an unhappy man; get me a dhrink for heaven's 
 sake, I can hardly spake, my mouth and lips 
 are so dry." 
 
 The water having been procured, he drank it 
 eagerly, and felt evidently relieved. 
 
 "This business," he continued, "about the money 
 — I mane about my poor boy, Connor, how will it be 
 managed, sir ?" 
 
 " I have already told you that there is but one way 
 of managing it, and that is, as the young man's life 
 is at stake, to spare no cost." 
 
 " And I must do that ?" 
 
 "You ought at least; remember that he's an only 
 son, an' that if you lose him " 
 
 "Lose him! — I can't — I couldn't — I'd die — die 
 —dead " 
 
 " By so shameful a death," proceeded O'Hallo- 
 ran, "you will not only be childless, but you will have 
 the bitter fact to reflect on, that he died in disgrace. 
 You will blush to name him ! "What father would 
 not make any sacrifice to prevent his child from 
 meeting such a fate ? It's a trying thing and a piti-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 205 
 
 able calamity to see a father ashamed to name the 
 child that he loves." 
 
 The old man rose, and approaching O'Halloran, 
 said, eagerly, "How much will do? Ashamed to 
 name you, alanna, Chierna — Chierna — ashamed to 
 name you, Connor! Oh! if the world knew you, 
 asthore, as well as I an' your poor mother knows you, 
 they'd say that we ought to be proud to hear your 
 name soundm in our ears. How much will do ? for 
 may God strinthen me, I'll do it." 
 
 "I think about forty guineas; it may be more, 
 and it may be less, but we will say forty." 
 
 " Then I'll give you an ordher for it on a man 
 that's a good mark. Give me a pen an' paper 
 
 fast." 
 
 The paper was placed before him, and he held 
 the pen in his hand for some time, and, ere he 
 wrote, turned a look of deep distress upon O'Halloran. 
 
 " God Almighty pity me," said he; "you see— 
 you see that I am a poor heart-broken creature — a 
 ruined man, I'll be a ruined man !" 
 
 " Think of your son, and of his situation." 
 
 " It's before me— I know it is— to die like a dog 
 behind a ditch wid hunger, as I'll do yit !" 
 
 " Think of your son, I say, and, if possible, save 
 him from a shameful death." 
 
 "What ? Ay— yis— yis, surely— surely— ob, 
 my poor boy — my innocent boy — I will — I will 
 do it." 
 
 He then sat down, and with a tremulous hand, and
 
 206 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 lips tightly drawn together, wrote an order on P 
 
 the comity treasurer for the money. 
 
 O'Halloran, on seeing it, looked alternately at the 
 paper and the man for a considerable time. 
 
 " Is P your banker ?" he asked. 
 
 "Every penny that I'm worth he has." 
 
 " Then you are a ruined man," he replied, with 
 
 cool emphasis. " P absconded the day before 
 
 yesterday, and robbed half the county. Have you no 
 loose cash at home ?" 
 
 " Robbed ! who robbed 1" 
 
 " Why, P has robbed every man who was fool 
 
 enough to trust him; he's off to the Isle of Man, 
 with the county funds in addition to the other prog." 
 
 " You don't mane to say," replied Fardorougha, 
 with a hideous calmness of voice and manner ; "you 
 don't, you can't mane to say that he has run off wid 
 my money ?" 
 
 "I do; you'll never see a shilling of it, if you live 
 to the age of a Hebrew patriarch. See what it is to 
 fix the heart upon money. You are now what you 
 wished the world to believe you to be, a poor mail." 
 
 " Ho, ho," howled the miser, "he darn't, he 
 darn't — wouldn't God conshume him if he robbed 
 the poor — wouldn't God stiffen him, and pin him to 
 the airth, if he attimpted to run off wid the hard 
 earnings of strugglin' honest men ? Where 'ud God 
 be, an' him to dar to do it 1 But it's a falsity, an' 
 you're thryin' me to see how I'd bear it — it is, it is, 
 an' may heaven forgive you."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA, 207 
 
 "It's as true as the gospel," replied the other; 
 "why, I'm surprised you didn't hear it before now — 
 every one knows it — it's over the whole country." 
 
 "It's a lie — it's a lie," he howled again: "no one 
 dar to do sich an act. You have some schame in this 
 — you're not a safe man; you're a villain, an nothin' 
 else; but I'll soon know; which of these is my 
 hat ?" 
 
 "You are mad, I think," said O'Halloran. 
 
 " Get me my hat, I say: I'll soon know it; but 
 sure the world's all in a schame aginst me — all, all, 
 young an' ould — where's my hat, I say V 
 
 " You've put it upon your head this moment, 
 said the other." 
 
 "An' my stick?" 
 
 " It's in your hand." 
 
 " The curse o' heaven upon you," he shrieked, 
 " whether it's thrue or false," and, with a look that 
 might scorch him to whom it was directed, he 
 shuffled in a wild and frantic mood out of the house. 
 
 "The man is mad," observed O'Halloran, " or, if 
 not, he will soon be so; I never witnessed such a des- 
 perate case of avarice. If ever the demon of money 
 lurked in any man's soul, it's in his. God bless me! 
 God bless me ! it's dreadful ! llichard, tell the 
 gentleman in the dining-room I'm at leisure to see 
 him." 
 
 The scene we have attempted to describe, 
 spared O'Brien the trouble of much unpleasant 
 inquiry, and enabled him to enter at once into
 
 208 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 the proposed arrangements on behalf of Connor. 
 Of course he did not permit his sister's name 
 to transpire, nor any trace whatsoever to appear, 
 by which her delicacy might be compromised, 
 or her character involved. His interference in the 
 matter he judiciously put upon the footing of per- 
 sonal regard for the young man, and his reluctance to 
 be even the indirect means of bringing him to a 
 violent and shameful death. Having thus fulfilled 
 Una's instructions, he returned home, and relieved 
 her of a heavy burthen by a full communication of all 
 that had been done.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 
 
 209 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The struggle hitherto endured by Fardorougha was in 
 its own nature sufficiently severe to render his suffer- 
 ings sharp and pungent ; still they resembled the influ- 
 ence of local disease, more than that of a malady which 
 prostrates the strength and grapples with the powers 
 of the whole constitution. The sensation he imme- 
 diately felt on hearing that his banker had absconded 
 with the gains of his penurious life, was rather a 
 stunning shock that occasioned for the moment a 
 feeling of dull, and heavy, and overwhelming dismay. 
 It filled, nay, it actually distended his narrow soul 
 with an oppressive sense of exclusive misery that 
 banished all consideration for every person and thing 
 extraneous to his individual selfishness. In truth the 
 tumult of his mind was peculiarly wild and anomalous. 
 The situation of his son, and the dreadful fate that 
 hung over him were as completely forgotten as if they 
 did not exist. Yet there lay underneath his own gloomy 
 agony, a remote consciousness of collateral affliction, 
 such as is frequently experienced by those who may be 
 drawn by some temporary and present pleasure, from 
 the contemplation, of their misery. We feel in such 
 cases, that the darkness is upon us, even while the 
 image of the calamity is not before the mind ; nay, 
 it sometimes requires an effort to bring it back, when
 
 210 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 anxious to account for our depression; but when it 
 conies, the heart sinks with a shudder, and we feel, 
 that although it ceased to engage our thoughts, we 
 had been sitting all the time beneath its shadow. 
 For this reason, although Fardorougha's own loss 
 absorbed, in one sense, all his powers of suffering, 
 still he knew that something else pressed with addi- 
 tional weight upon his heart. Of its distinct charac- 
 ter, however, he was ignorant, and only felt that a 
 dead and heavy load of multiplied affliction bent him 
 in burning anguish to the earth. 
 
 There is something more or less eccentric in the 
 gait and dress of every miser. Fardorougha's pace 
 was naturally slow, and the habit for which, T in the 
 latter point, he had all his life been remarkable, was 
 that of wearing a great coat thrown loosely about his 
 shoulders. In summer it saved an inside one, and as 
 he said, kept him cool and comfortable. That he 
 seldom or never put his arms into it arose from the 
 fact that he knew it would last a much longer period 
 of time, than if he wore it in the usual manner. 
 
 On leaving the attorney's office, he might be seen 
 creeping along towards the county treasurer's, at 
 a pace quite unusual to him; his hollow gleaming 
 eyes were bent on the earth; his cot ha more about his 
 shoulders ; his staff held with a tight and desperate 
 grip, and his whole appearance that of a man fright- 
 fully distracted by the intelligence of some sudden 
 calamity. 
 
 He had not proceeded far on this hopeless errand, 
 when many bitter confirmations of the melancholy
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 211 
 
 truth were afforded him by persons whom he met on 
 
 their return from P 's residence. Even these, 
 
 however, were insufficient to satisfy him ; he heard 
 them with a vehement impatience, that could not 
 brook the bare possibility of the report being true. 
 His soul clung with the tenacity of a death-grip to 
 the hope that, however others might have suffered, 
 some chance might notwithstanding, still remain in 
 his particular favour. In the meantime he poured out 
 curses of unexampled malignity against the guilty 
 defaulter, on whose head he invoked the Almighty's 
 vengeance with a venomous fervour which appalled all 
 who heard him. Having reached the treasurer's 
 house, a scene presented itself that was by no means 
 calculated to afford him consolation. Persons of 
 every condition, from the squireen and gentleman 
 farmer, to the humble widow, and inexperienced 
 orphan, stood in melancholy groups about the 
 deserted mansion, interchanging details of their losses, 
 their blasted prospects, and their immediate ruin. 
 The cries of the widow, who mourned for the desola- 
 tion brought upon her and her now destitute orphans, 
 rose in a piteous wail to heaven, and the industrious 
 fathers of many struggling families, with pale faces 
 and breaking hearts, looked up in silent misery upon 
 the closed shutters and smokeless chimneys of their 
 oppressor's house, bitterly conscious that the laws of 
 the boasted constitution under which they lived, per- 
 mitted the destroyer of hundreds to enjoy, in luxury 
 and security, the many thousands of which, at out: 
 fell and rapacious swoop, he had deprived them.
 
 212 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 With white quivering lips, and panting breath, 
 Fardorougha approached and joined them. 
 
 "What, what," said he, in broken sentences; "is 
 this thrue — can it, can it be thrue ? Is the thievin' 
 villain gone? Has he robbed us, ruined us, de- 
 stroyed us ?" 
 
 "Ay, too thrue it is," replied a farmer; "the rip 
 is off to that nest of robbers, the Isle of Man ; ay, 
 he's gone ! an' may all our bad luck past, present, 
 and to come, go with him, an' all he tuck." 
 
 Fardorougha looked at his informant as if he had 
 
 been P himself; he then glared from one to 
 
 another, whilst the white foam wrought up to his 
 lips by the prodigious force of his excitement. He 
 clasped his hands, then attempted to speak, but lan- 
 guage had abandoned him. 
 
 " If one is to judge by your appearance, you have 
 suffered heavily," observed the farmer. 
 
 The other stared at him with a kind of angry 
 amazement for doubting it, or it might be, for speak- 
 ing so coolly of his loss. 
 
 " Suffered," said he, " ay, ay, but did yees thry 
 the house? we'll see — suffered! — suffered! — we'll 
 see." 
 
 He immediately shuffled over to the hall-door, 
 which he assaulted with the eagerness of a de- 
 spairing soul at the gate of heaven, throwing into each 
 knock such a character of impatience and apprehen- 
 sion, as one might suppose the aforesaid soul to feel 
 from a certain knowledge that the devil's clutches
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 213 
 
 were spread immediately behind, to seize and carry 
 him to perdition. His impetuosity, however, was all 
 in vain; not even an echo reverberated through the 
 cold and empty walls, but on the contrary, every peal 
 was followed by a most unromantic and ominous 
 silence. 
 
 "That man appears beside himself," observed 
 another of the sufferers: " surely, if he wasn't half- 
 mad, he'd not expect to find any one in an empty 
 house ?" 
 
 " Divil a much it signifies whether he's mad or 
 otherwise," responded a neighbour; "I know him 
 well; his name's Fardorougha Donovan, the miser of 
 Lisnamona, the biggest shkrew that ever skinned a 
 
 flint. If P did nothin' worse than fleece him, 
 
 it would never stand between him an' the blessin' o' 
 heaven." 
 
 Fardorougha, in the mean time, finding that no 
 response was given from the front, passed hurriedly 
 by an archway into the back court, where he made 
 similar efforts to get in by attempting to force the 
 kitchen door. Every entrance, however, had been 
 strongly secured ; he rattled, and thumped, and 
 
 screamed, as if P himself had actually been 
 
 within hearing, but still to no purpose, he might as 
 well have expected to extort a reply from the grave. 
 
 When he returned to the group that stood on the 
 lawn, the deadly conviction that all was lost affected 
 every joint of his body with a nervous trepidation, 
 that might have been mistaken for delirium tremens.
 
 214 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 His eyes were full of terror, mingled with the im- 
 potent fury of hatred and revenge; whilst over all 
 now predominated for the first time such an expression 
 of horror and despair, as made the spectators shud- 
 der to look upon him. 
 
 " Where was God," said he, addressing them, and 
 his voice naturally thin and wiry, now became husky 
 and hollow ; " where was God to suffer this 1 to 
 suffer the poor to be ruined, and the rich to be made 
 poor ? Was it right for the Almighty to look on an' 
 let the villain do it? No — no — no; I sav no !" 
 
 The group around him shuddered at the daring 
 blasphemy to which his monstrous passion had 
 driven him. Many females, who were in tears, 
 lamenting audibly, started, and felt their grief sus- 
 pended for a moment by this revolting charge against 
 the justice of Providence. 
 
 " What do you all stand for here," he proceeded, 
 "like stocks an' stones 1 Why don't yees kneel with 
 me, an' let us join in one curse; one, no, but let us 
 shower them down upon him in thousands — in mil- 
 lions; an' when we can no longer spake them, let us 
 think them. To the last hour of my life my heart 'ill 
 never be widout a curse for him; an' the last word 
 afore I go into the presence of God 'ill be a black 
 heavy blessin' from hell against him an' his, sowl an' 
 body, while a drop o' their bad blood's upon earth." 
 "Don't be blasphemin', honest man," said a by- 
 stander; "if you've lost your money, that's no reason 
 why you should fly in the face o' God for P 's
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 215 
 
 roguery. Divil a one o' myself cares if I join you in 
 a volley against the robbin' scoundrel, but I'd not 
 take all the money the rip ran away wid, an' spake of 
 God as you do." 
 
 "Oh Saver!" exclaimed Fardorougha, who pro- 
 bably heard not a word he said; " I knew — I knew — 
 I always felt it was before me — a dog's death behind 
 a ditch — my tongue out wid starvation and hunger, 
 and it was he brought me to it '. " 
 
 He had already knelt, and was uncovered, his whit- 
 ish hair tossed by the breeze in confusion about a 
 face on which was painted the fearful workings of 
 that giant spirit, under whose tremendous grasp he 
 writhed and suffered like a serpent in the talons of a 
 vulture. In this position, with uplifted and trembling 
 arms, his face raised towards heaven, and his whole 
 figure shrunk firmly together by the intense malignity 
 with which he was about to hiss out his venemous im- 
 precations against the defaulter, he presented at least 
 one instance in which the low sordid vice of avarice 
 rose to something like wild grandeur, if not sub- 
 limity. 
 
 Having remained in this posture for some time, 
 he clasped his withered hands together, and wrung 
 them until the bones cracked; then rising up and 
 striking his stick bitterly on the earth — 
 
 "I can't," he exclaimed, "I can't get out the 
 curses against him; but my heart's full of them — 
 they're in it — they're in it — it's black an' hot wid 
 them ; I feel them here — here — moviri as if they war 
 alive, an' they'll be out."
 
 216 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 Such was the strength and impetuosity of his 
 hatred, and such his eagerness to discharge the 
 whole quiver of his maledictions against the great 
 public delinquent, that, as often happens in cases of 
 overwhelming agitation, his faculties were paralysed 
 bv the storm of passion which raged within him. 
 
 He rose to his feet, and left the group, muttering his 
 wordless malignity as he went along, and occasion- 
 ally pausing to look back with the fiery glare of a 
 hyena at the house in which the robbery of his soul's 
 treasure had been planned and accomplished. 
 
 It is unnecessary to say that the arrangements 
 entered into with O'Halloran by John O'Brien, were 
 promptly and ably carried into effect. A rapid ride 
 soon brought the man of briefs and depositions to the 
 prison where unhappy Connor lay. This young 
 man's story, though simple, was improbable, and his 
 version of the burning such as induced O'Halloran, 
 who knew little of impressions and feelings in the 
 absence of facts, to believe that no other head than his 
 concocted the crime. Still, from the manly sincerity 
 with which his young client spoke, he felt inclined to 
 impute the act rather to a freak of boyish malice and 
 disappointment, than to a spirit of vindictive rancour. 
 He entertained no expectation whatsoever, of Connor's 
 acquittal, and hinted to him that it was his habit in 
 such cases to recommend his clients to be prepared 
 for the worst, without at the same time altogether 
 abolishing hope. There was, indeed, nothing to 
 break the chain of circumstantial evidence in which
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 217 
 
 Flanagan had entangled him ; he had been at the hag- 
 gard shortly before the conflagration broke out: he 
 had met Phil Curtis, and begged that man to con- 
 ceal the fact of his having seen him, and he had not 
 slept in his own bed either on that or the preceding 
 night. It was to no purpose, he affirmed that Fla- 
 nagan himself had borrowed from him, and worn on 
 the night in question, the shoes, whose prints were so 
 strongly agaiust him, or that the steel and tinder-box, 
 which were found in his pocket, actually belonged to 
 his accuser, who must have put them there without 
 his knowledge. His case, in fact, was a bad one, and 
 he felt that the interview with his attorney left him 
 more seriously impressed with the danger of his situ- 
 ation, than he had been up till that period. 
 
 " I suppo e," said he, when the instructions were 
 completed, "you have seen my father." 
 
 "Every thing is fully and liberally arranged," 
 replied the other, with a reservation; "your father has 
 been with me to-day; in fact I parted with him only 
 a few minutes before I left home. So far let your 
 mind be easy. The government prosecutes, which is 
 something in your favour; and, now, good-by to 
 you; for my part, I neither advise you to hope or de- 
 spair. If the worst comes to the worst, you must bear 
 it like a man, and if we get an acquittal, it will 
 prove the more agreeable for its not being ex- 
 pected." 
 
 The unfortunate youth felt, after O'Halloran's de- 
 parture, the full force of that dark and fearful presen- 
 ts
 
 218 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 timent which arises from the approach of the 
 mightiest calamity that can befall an innocent man — 
 a public and ignominous death, while in the very 
 pride of youth, strength, and those natural hopes of 
 happiness which existence had otherwise promised. 
 In him this awful apprehension proceeded neither 
 from the terror of judgment nor of hell, but from 
 that dread of being withdrawn from life, and of pass- 
 ing down from the light, the enjoyments, and busy 
 intercourse of a breathing and conscious world, into 
 the silence and corruption of the unknown grave. 
 When this ghastly picture was brought near him by 
 the force of his imagination, he felt for a moment as 
 if his heart had died away , in him, and his blood 
 become congealed iuto ice. Should this continue, he 
 knew that human nature could not sustain it long, 
 and he had already resolved to bear his fate with 
 firmness, whatever that fate might be. He then 
 reflected that he was innocent, and remembering the 
 practice of his simple and less political forefathers, he 
 knelt down and fervently besought the protection of 
 that Being in whose hands are the issues of life and 
 death. 
 
 On rising from this act of heartfelt devotion, he 
 experienced that strength which he required so much. 
 The fear of death ceased to alarm him, and his natural 
 fortitude returned with more than its usual power to 
 his support. In this state of mind he was pacing his 
 narrow room, when the door opened, and his father, 
 with a tottering step entered, and approached him. The
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 219 
 
 son was startled, if not terrified at the change 
 which so short a time had wrought in the old man's 
 appearance. 
 
 "Good God, father dear," he exclaimed, as the 
 latter threw his arms with a tight and clinging grasp 
 about him, " good heavens, what has happened to 
 change you so much for the worse ? why if you fret 
 this way about me, you'll soon break your heart: 
 why will you fret, father, when you know I am inno- 
 cent ? Surely, at the worst, it is better to die innocent 
 than live guilty ?" 
 
 " Connor," said the old man, still clinging tena- 
 ciously to him, and looking wildly into his face; 
 " Connor, it's broke — my heart's broke at last. Oh, 
 Connor, won't you pity me, when you hear it — 
 won't you, Connor — oh when you hear it, Connor, 
 won't you pity me 1 1t's gone, it's gone, it's gone — he's 
 off, off — to that nest of robbers, the Isle of Man, 
 
 and has robbed me and half the county; P has; 
 
 I'm a ruined man, a beggar, an' will die a dog's death." 
 
 Connor looked down keenly into his father's face, 
 and began to entertain a surmise so terrible that the 
 beatings of his heart were in a moment audible to his 
 own ear. 
 
 " Father," he inquired, " in the name of God what 
 is wrong with you 1 what is it you speak of ? Has 
 
 P gone off with your money ? Sit down, and 
 
 don't look so terrified." 
 
 "He has, Connor — robbed me and half the county 
 — he disappeared the evenin' of the very day I left 
 my last lodgment wid him; he's in that nest of
 
 220 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 robbers, the Isle of Man, an' I'm ruined — ruined ! 
 Oh, God ! Connor, how can I stand it ? all my 
 earnin's an' my savin's an' the fruits of my industhry 
 in his pocket, an' upon his back, an' upon his bones \ 
 My brain is reelin' — I dunna what I'm doin', nor 
 what I'll do. To what hand now can I turn myself? 
 who'll assist me ? I dunna what I'm doin', nor 
 scarcely what I'm sayin'. My head's all in confusion. 
 Gone ! gone ! gone ! Oh, see the luck that has come 
 down upon me ! Above all men, why was I singled 
 out to be made a world's wondher of — why was I? 
 What did I do ? I robbed no one : yet it's gone — an' 
 see the death that's afore me ! oh God ! oh God !" 
 
 "Well, father, let it go — you have still your 
 health; you have still my poor mother to console you; 
 and I hope you'll soon have myself too; between us 
 we'll keep you comfortable, an' if you'll allow us to 
 take our own way, more so than ever you did " 
 
 Fardorougha started, as if struck by some faint but 
 sudden recollection. All at once he looked with 
 amazement around the room, and afterwards with a 
 pause of inquiry at his son. At length, a light of 
 some forgotten memory appeared to flash at once 
 across his brain; his countenance changed from the 
 wild and unsettled expression which it bore, to one 
 more stamped with the earnest humanity of our 
 batter nature. 
 
 " Oh, Connor," he at last exclaimed, putting his 
 two hands into those of his son; "can you pity me, 
 an' forgive me ? You see, my poor boy, how I'm
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 221 
 
 sufferin', an' you see that I can't — I won't — be able to 
 bear up against this long." 
 
 The tears here ran down his worn and hollow 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Oh," he proceeded, " how could I forget you, my 
 darlin' boy ? but I hardly think my head's right. If I 
 had you with me, an' before my eyes, you'd keep my 
 heart right, an' give me strength, which I stand 
 sorely in need of. Saints in glory ! how could I for- 
 get you, acushla, an' what now can I do for you ? 
 Not a penny have I to pay lawyer, or attorney, or any 
 one, to defind you at your trial, and it so near !" 
 
 "Why, haven't you settled all that with Mr„ 
 O'Halloran, the attorney ?" 
 
 " Not a bit, achora machree, not a bit; I was wid 
 him this day, an' had agreed, but whin I went to give 
 
 him an ordher on P , he — oh saints above, he 
 
 fwTiistled at me an' it — an' tould me that P was 
 
 gone to that nest o' robbers, the Isle of Man." 
 
 Connor turned his eyes, during a long pause, on 
 the floor, and it was evident by his features that he 
 laboured under some powerful and profound emotion. 
 He rose up and took a sudden turn or two across the 
 room, then resuming his seat, he wiped away a few 
 bitter tears that no firmness on his part could 
 repress. 
 
 " Noble girl — my darling, darling life, I see it all," 
 he exclaimed. " Father, I never felt how bitter an' 
 dark my fate is till novo; death, death would be little 
 to me, only for her, but to leave her — to leave her — "
 
 222 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 He suddenly buried his face in his hands; but, by an 
 instant effort once more rose up and added — " Well, 
 I'll die worthy of her, if I can't live so. Like a man 
 I'll die, if it must be — she knows I'm innocent, father; 
 an' when others, when the world will be talking of 
 me as a villain, there will be, out of my own family at 
 all events, one heart and one tongue, that will defend 
 my unhappy name. If I am to come to a shameful 
 death, I'll care little about what the world may think, 
 but that she knows me to be innocent, will make me 
 die proudly — proudly." 
 
 While he thus spoke and thought, the father's eyes 
 with a fixed gaze steadily followed his motions; the 
 old man's countenance altered; it first became pale as 
 the ghastly visage of a skeleton, anon darkened with 
 horror, which eventually shifted its hue into the work- 
 ings of some passion or feeling that was new to him. 
 
 " Connor," said he feebly, " I am unwell — unwell 
 — come and sit down by me." 
 
 " You are too much distressed every way, father," 
 said his son, taking his place upon the iron bedstead 
 beside him. 
 
 " I am," said Fardorougha calmly; " I am too 
 much distressed — sit nearer me, Connor. I wish 
 your mother was here, but she wasn't able to come, 
 she's unwell too; a good mother she was, Connor, and 
 a good wife." 
 
 The son was struck, and somewhat alarmed by this 
 sudden and extraordinary calmness of the old man. 
 
 " Father dear," said he, " don't be too much dis-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 
 
 223 
 
 heartened— all will be well yet, I hope— my trust in 
 God is strong." 
 
 " I hope all will be well," replied the old man, "sit 
 nearer me, an' Connor, let me lay my head over upon 
 your breast. I'm thinkin a great dale— don't the 
 world say, Connor, that I am a bad man?" 
 
 "I don't care what the world says; no one in it 
 ever durst say as much to me, father dear." 
 
 The old man looked up affectionately, but shook 
 his head apparently in calm but rooted sorrow. 
 
 " Put your arms about me, Connor, and keep my 
 head a little more up; I'm weak an' tired, an', some- 
 way, spakin's a throuble to me; let me think for a 
 
 while." 
 
 " Do so, father," said the son, with deep com- 
 passion; " God knows but you're sufferings are enough 
 to wear you out." 
 
 "They are," said Fardorougha, " they are." 
 A silence of some minutes ensued, during which 
 Connor perceived that the old man, overcome with 
 care and misery, had actually fallen asleep with his 
 head upon his bosom. This circumstance, though by 
 no means extraordinary, affected him very much. On 
 surveying the pallid face of his father, and the worn, 
 thread-like veins that ran along his temples, and call- 
 ing to mind the love of the old man for himself, which, 
 even avarice, in its deadliest power, failed to utterly 
 overcome, he felt all the springs of his affection 
 loosened, and his soul vibrated with a tenderness to- 
 wards him, such as no situation in their past lives 
 had ever before created.
 
 224 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "If my fate chances to be an nntimely one, father 
 dear," he slowly murmured, "we'll soon meet in 
 another place, for I know that you will not long live 
 after me." 
 
 He then thought with bitterness of his mother and 
 Una, and wondered at the mystery of the trial to which 
 he was exposed. 
 
 The old man's slumber, however, was not dream- 
 less, nor so refreshing as the exhaustion of a frame 
 shattered by the havoc of contending principles re- 
 quired. On the contrary, it was disturbed by heavy 
 groans, quick startiugs, and those twitchings of the 
 limbs which betoken a restless mood of mind, and a 
 nervous system highly excited. In the course of half 
 an hour, the symptoms of his inward commotion be- 
 came more apparent; from being as at first merely 
 physical, they assumed a mental character, and passed 
 from ejaculations and single words, to short sentences, 
 and ultimately to those of considerable length. 
 
 " Gone," he exclaimed, "gone; oh God! my curse — 
 starved — dog — wid my tongue out!" 
 
 This dread of starvation, which haunted him through 
 life, appeared in his dream still to follow him like a 
 demon. 
 
 " I'm dyin'," he said, " I'm dyin' wid hunger — 
 will no one give me a morsel? I was robbed an' have 
 no money — don't you see me starvin'? I'm cuttin' 
 wid hunger — five days widout mate — bring me mate, 
 for God's sake — mate, mate, mate! — I'm gaspin' — my 
 tongue's out; look at me, like a dog, behind this ditch, 
 an' my tongue out !"
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 225 
 
 The son at this period would have awoke him, but 
 he became more composed for a time, and enjoyed ap- 
 parently a refreshing sleep. Still, it soon was evident 
 that he dreamt, and as clear that " a change had come 
 o'er the spirit of his dream. 
 
 " Who'll prevent me!" he exclaimed, " isn't he my 
 son, our only child? Let me alone — I must, I must 
 — what's my life, take it, an' let him live." 
 
 The tears started to Connor's eyes, and he pressed 
 his father to his heart. 
 
 "Don't hould me," he proceeded; " oh God, here, 
 I'll give all I'm worth, an' save him! Oh let me, thin 
 — let me but kiss him once before he dies; it w?.s I, it 
 was myself that murdered him — all might 'a been 
 well; ay, it was I that murdhered you, Connor, my 
 brave boy, an' have I you in my arms? Oh, avick 
 agus ashtore machree, it was I that murdhered you, 
 
 by my , but they're takin' him — they're tearin' 
 
 him away to ." 
 
 He started, and awoke, but so terrific had been his 
 dream, that on opening his eyes he clasped Connor in 
 his arms, and exclaimed — 
 
 " No, no, I'll hould him till you cut my grip — 
 Connor avick, avick machree, hould to me !" 
 
 " Father, father, for God's sake, think a minute, 
 you wor only dreamin'." 
 
 " Eh — what — where am I? Oh, Connor darlin', if 
 you knew the dhrames I had — I thought you wor on 
 the scaffle; but thanks be to the Saver, it was only a 
 dhrame."
 
 226 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Nothing more, father — nothing more; but for 
 God's sake, keep your mind asy. Trust in God, 
 father; every thing's in his hands; if it's his will to 
 make us suffer, we ought to submit; and if it's not his 
 will, he surely can bring us out of all our troubles. 
 That's the greatest comfort I have." 
 
 Fardorougha once more became calm, but still 
 there was on his countenance, which was mournful 
 and full of something else than simple sorrow, some 
 deeply fixed determination, such as it was difficult to 
 develope. 
 
 "Connor, achora," said he, "I must lave you, for 
 there's little time to be lost. What attorney would 
 you wish me to employ 1 I'll go home an' sell oats 
 an' a cow or two. I've done you harm enough — 
 more than you know — but now I'll spare no cost to get 
 you out of this business. Connor, the tears that 
 I saw a while agone run down your cheeks cut me to 
 the heart." 
 
 The son informed him that a friend had taken 
 proper measures for his defence, and that any further 
 interference on his part would only create con- 
 fusion and delay. He also entreated his father 
 to make no allusion whatsoever to this circum- 
 stance, and added, " that he himself actually 
 knew not the name of the friend in question, but 
 that as the matter stood, he considered even a surmise 
 to be a breach of confidence that might be indelicate 
 and offensive. After the trial, you can and ought to 
 pay the expenses, and not be under an obligation to
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 227 
 
 any one of so solemn a kind as that." He then sent 
 his affectionate love and duty to his mother, at whose 
 name his eyes were again filled with tears, and begged 
 the old man to comfort and support her with the 
 utmost care and tenderness. As she was unwell, he 
 requested him to dissuade her against visiting him 
 till after the trial, lest an interview might increase 
 her illness, and render her less capable of bearing up 
 under an unfavourable sentence, should such be the 
 issue of the prosecution. Having then bade farewell 
 to, and embraced the old man, the latter departed 
 with more calmness and fortitude than he had up to 
 that period displayed.
 
 228 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 When Time approaches the miserable with calamity 
 in his train, his pinion is swifter than that of 
 the eagle; but, alas! when carrying them towards 
 happiness, his pace is slower than that of the tor- 
 toise. The only three persons on earth whose 
 happiness was involved in that of Donovan, found 
 themselves, on the eve of the assizes, overshadowed by 
 a dreariness of heart, that was strong in proportion to 
 the love they bore him. The dead calm which had 
 fallen on Fardorougha was absolutely more painful to 
 his wife, than would have been the paroxysms that 
 resulted from his lust of wealth. Since his last inter- 
 view with Connor, he never once alluded to the loss 
 of his money, unless abruptly in his dreams, but there 
 was stamped upon his whole manner a gloomy and 
 mysterious composure, which, of itself, wofully sank 
 her spirits, independently of the fate which impended 
 over their son. The change visible on both, and the 
 breaking down of their strength, were indeed pitiable. 
 As for Una, it would be difficult to describe her 
 struggle between confidence in his innocence and 
 apprehension of the law, which she knew had often 
 punished the guiltless instead of the criminal. 'Tis 
 true, she attempted to assume, in the eyes of others, 
 a fortitude which belied her fears, and even affected 
 to smile at the possibility of her lover's honour and 
 character suffering any tarnish from the ordeal to
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 229 
 
 which they were about to be submitted. Her smile, 
 however, on such occasions, was a melancholy one, 
 and the secret tears she shed might prove, as they did 
 to her brother, who was alone privy to her grief, the 
 extent of those terrors which, notwithstanding her 
 disavowal of them, wrung her soul so bitterly. Day 
 after day her spirits became more and more de- 
 pressed, till, as the crisis of Connor's fate arrived, the 
 roses had altogether flown from her cheeks. 
 
 Indeed, now that the trial was at hand, public 
 sympathy turned rapidly and strongly in his favour. 
 His father had lost that wealth, the acquisition of 
 which earned him so heavy a portion of infamy; and 
 as he had been sufficiently punished in his own -person, 
 they did not think it just to transfer any portion of 
 the resentment borne against him to a son who had 
 never participated in his system of oppression. They 
 felt for Connor now on his own account, and remem- 
 bered only his amiable and excellent character. In 
 addition to this, the history of the mutual attachment 
 between him and Una having become the topic of 
 general conversation, the rash act for which he stood 
 committed was good-humouredly resolved into a fool- 
 ish freak of love, for which it would be a thousand 
 murders to take away his life. In such mood was the 
 public, and the parties most interested in the event of 
 our story, when the morning dawned of that awful 
 day which was to restore Connor O' Donovan to the 
 hearts that loved him so well, or to doom him, a con- 
 victed felon, to a shameful and ignominious death.
 
 230 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 At length the trial came on, and our unhappy pri- 
 soner, at the hour of eleven o'clock, was placed at the 
 bar of his country to stand the brunt of a govern- 
 ment prosecution. Common report had already 
 carried abroad the story of Una's love and his, many 
 interesting accounts of which had got into the papers 
 of the day. When he stood forward, therefore, all 
 eyes were eagerly rivetted upon him; the judge 
 glanced at him with calm dispassionate scrutiny, and 
 the members of the bar, especially the juniors, 
 turning round, surveyed him through their glasses with 
 a gaze in which might be read something more than 
 that hard indifference which familiarity with human 
 crime and affliction ultimately produces even in dis- 
 positions the most humane and amiable. No sooner 
 had the curiosity of the multitude been gratified, than 
 a murmur of pity, blended slightly with surprise and 
 approbation, ran lowly through the court-house. 
 The judge again surveyed him with a countenance in 
 which were depicted admiration and regret. The 
 counsel also chatted to each other in a low tone, 
 occasionally turning round and marking his deport- 
 ment and appearance with increasing interest. 
 
 Seldom, probably never, had a more striking, per- 
 haps a more noble figure, stood at the bar of that 
 court. His locks were rich and brown; his forehead 
 expansive, and his manly features remarkable for 
 their symmetry; his teeth were regular and white, 
 and his dark eye full of a youthful lustre which no 
 dread of calamity coidd repress. Neither was his
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 231 
 
 fi<*ure, which was of the tallest, inferior in a single 
 point to so fine a countenance. As he stood, at his 
 full height of six feet, it was impossible not to feel 
 deeply influenced in his favour, especially after having 
 witnessed the mournful but dignified composure of 
 his manner, equally remote from indifference or dejec- 
 tion. He appeared indeed to view in its proper light 
 the danger of the position in which he stood, but he 
 viewed it with the calm unshrinking energy of a brave 
 man who is always prepared for the worst. Indeed 
 there might be observed upon his broad open brow 
 a loftiness of bearing such as is not imfrequently pro- 
 duced by a consciousness of innocence, and the 
 natural elevation of mind which results from a sense 
 of danger; to which we may add that inward scorn 
 which is ever felt for baseness, by those who are 
 degraded to the necessity of defending themselves 
 against the villany of the malignant and profligate. 
 
 When called upon to plead to the indictment, he 
 uttered the words "not guilty" in a full, firm, and 
 mellow voice that drew the eyes of the spectators 
 once more upon him, and occasioned another slight 
 hum of sympathy and admiration. No change of 
 colour was observable on his countenance, nor any 
 other expression, save the lofty composure to which 
 we have just alluded. 
 
 The trial at length proceeded, and, after a long 
 and able statement from the attorney-general, Bartle 
 Flanagan was called upon the table. The prisoner, 
 whose motions were keenly observed, betrayed, on
 
 232 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 seeing him, neither embarrassment nor agitation ; all 
 that could be perceived, was a more earnest and in- 
 tense light in his eyes, as they settled upon his 
 accuser. Flanagan detailed, with singular minute- 
 ness and accuracy, the whole progress of the crime 
 from its first conception to its perpetration. Indeed, 
 had he himself been in the dock, and his evidence 
 against Connor a confession of his own guilt, it 
 would, with some exceptions, have been literally 
 true. He was ably cross-examined, but no tact or 
 experience, or talent, on the part of the prisoner's 
 counsel, could in any important degree shake his 
 testimony. The ingenuity with which he laid and 
 conducted the plot was astonishing, as was his fore- 
 sight, and the precaution he adopted against detec- 
 tion. O'Halloran, Connor's attorney, had ferreted 
 out the very man from whom he purchased the 
 tinder-box, with a hope of proving that it was not 
 the prisoner's property but his own, yet this person, 
 who remembered the transaction very well, assured 
 him that Flanagan said he procured it by the desire 
 of Fardorougha Donovan's son. 
 
 During his whole evidence, he never once raised 
 his eyes to look upon the prisoner's face, until he was 
 desired to identify him. He then turned round, and 
 standing with the rod in his hand, looked for some 
 moments upon his victim. His dark brows got black 
 as night, whilst his cheeks were blanched to the hue 
 of ashes — the white smile as before sat upon his lips, 
 and his eyes, in which there blazed the unsteady fire
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 233 
 
 of a treacherous and cowardly heart, sparkled with 
 the red turbid glare of triumph and vengeance. He 
 laid the rod upon Connor's head, and they gazed at 
 each other face to face, exhibiting as striking a con- 
 trast as could be witnessed. The latter stood erect 
 and unshaken — his eye calmly bent upon that of his 
 foe, but with a spirit in it that seemed to him alone 
 by whom it was best understood, to strike dismay 
 into the very soul of falsehood within him. The 
 villain's eyes could not stand the glance of Connor's — 
 they fell, and his whole countenance assumed such a 
 blank and guilty stamp, that an old experienced bar- 
 rister who watched them both, could not avoid saying, 
 that if he had his will they should exchange situa- 
 tions. 
 
 " I would not hang a dog," he whispered, " on 
 that fellow's evidence — he has guilt in his face." 
 
 When asked why he ran away on meeting Phil 
 Curtis, near O'Brien's house, on their return that 
 night, while Connor held his ground, he replied that 
 it was very natural he should run away, and not wish 
 to be seen after having assisted at such a crime. In 
 reply to another question, he said it was as natural 
 that Connor should have run away also, and that he 
 could not account for it, except by the fact that God 
 always occasions the guilty to commit some oversight, 
 by which they may be brought to punishment. 
 These replies, apparently so rational and satisfactory, 
 convinced Connor's counsel that his case was hope- 
 less, and that no skill or ingenuity on their part
 
 234 
 
 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 could succeed in breaking down Flanagan's evi- 
 dence. 
 
 The next witness called was Phil Curtis, whose 
 testimony corroborated Bartle's in every particular, 
 and gave to the whole trial a character of gloom and 
 despair. The constables who applied his shoes to 
 tbe foot-marks were then produced, and swore in the 
 clearest manner as to their corresponding. They 
 then deposed to rinding the tinder-box in his pocket, 
 according to the information received from Flanagan, 
 every tittle of which they found to be remarkably 
 correct. 
 
 There was only one other witness now necessary 
 to complete the chain against him, and he was only 
 produced because Biddy Nulty, the servant-maid, 
 positively stated, and actually swore, when previously 
 examined, that she was ignorant whether Connor 
 slept in his father's house on the night in question 
 or not. There was no alternative, therefore, but to 
 produce the father; and Fardorougha Donovan was 
 consequently forced to become an evidence against 
 his own son. 
 
 The old man's appearance upon the table excited 
 deep commiseration for both, and the more so when 
 the spectators contemplated the rooted sorrow which 
 lay upon the wild and wasted features of the woe- 
 worn father. Still the old man was composed and 
 calm; but his calmness was in an extraordinary de- 
 gree mournful and touching. When he sat down 
 after having been sworn, and feebly wiped the dew
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 235 
 
 from his thin temples, many eyes were already filled 
 with tears. "When the question was put to him if he 
 remembered the night laid in the indictment, he 
 replied, that he did. 
 
 " Did the prisoner at the bar sleep at home on 
 that night ?" 
 
 The old man looked into the face of the counsel 
 with such an eye of deprecating entreaty, as shook 
 the voice in which the question was repeated. He 
 then turned about, and taking a long gaze at his son, 
 rose up, and extending his hands to the judge, ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 " My lord, my lord, he is my only son — my only 
 child!" 
 
 These words were followed by a pause in the busi- 
 ness of the court, and a dead silence of more than a 
 minute. 
 
 " If justice," said the judge, " could on any 
 occasion waive her claim to a subordinate link in the 
 testimony she requires, it would certainly be in a 
 case so painful and affecting as this. Still we cannot 
 permit personal feeling, however amiable, or domestic 
 attachment, however strong, to impede her progress 
 when redressing public wrong. Although the duty 
 be painful, and, we admit, that such a duty is one 
 of unexampled agony, yet it must be complied with, 
 and you consequently will answer the question which 
 the counsel has put to you. The interests of society 
 require such sacrifices, and they must be made." 
 
 The old man kept his eyes fixed on the judge
 
 236 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 while he spoke, but when he had ceased, he again 
 fixed them on his son. 
 
 "My lord," he exclaimed again, with clasped hands 
 — " I can't— I can't." 
 
 "There is nothing criminal, or improper, or sinful 
 in it," replied the judge; "on the contrary, it is 
 your duty both as a Christian and a man. Remem- 
 ber you have this moment sworn to tell the truth, 
 and the whole truth; you consequently must keep 
 your oath." 
 
 " What you say, sir, may be right, an' of coorse 
 is; but oh, my lord, I'm notable; I cant get out 
 the words to hang my only hoy. If I sed any 
 thing to hurt him, my heart 'ud break before your 
 eyes. Maybe you don't know the love of a father for 
 an only son ?" 
 
 "Perhaps, my lords," observed the attorney- 
 general, "it would be desirable to send for a clergy- 
 man of his own religion who might succeed in 
 prevailing on him to " 
 
 "No," interrupted Fardorougha, "my mind's 
 made up — a word against him will never come from 
 my lips, not for priest or friar. I'd die widout the 
 Saykerment sooner." 
 
 " This is trifling with the court," said the judge, 
 assuming an air of severity, which, however, he did 
 not feel. "We shall be forced to commit you to 
 prison unless you give evidence." 
 
 " My lord," said Fardorougha, meekly but firmly, 
 " I am willin' to go to prison. I am willin' to die
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 237 
 
 wid him, if he is to die — but I neither can nor will 
 open my lips against him. If I thought him guilty 
 I might, but I know he is innocent — my heart knows 
 it — an' am I to back the villain that's strivin' to 
 swear away his life ? No, Connor avourneen, what- 
 ever they do to you, your father will have no hand 
 in it." 
 
 The court, in fact, were perplexed in the extreme. 
 The old man was not onlv firm, from motives of 
 strong attachment, but intractable from a habitual 
 narrowness of thought which prevented him from 
 taking that comprehensive view of justice and judicial 
 authority, which might overcome the repugnance of 
 men less obstinate from ignorance of legal usages. 
 
 "I ask you for the last time," said the judge, 
 "will you give your evidence? because if you refuse, 
 the court will feel bound to send you to prison." 
 
 " God bless you, my lord; that's a relief to my 
 heart — any thing, any thing, but to say a word 
 against a boy that, since the day he was born, never 
 vexed either his mother or myself. If he gets over 
 this, I have much to make up to him; for indeed I 
 wasn't the father to him that I ought. Avick 
 machree, now I feel it, maybe whin it's too late." 
 
 These words affected all who heard them, many 
 even to tears. 
 
 "I have no remedy," observed the judge. "Tip- 
 staff, take away the witness to prison. It is painful 
 to me," he added, in a broken voice, "to feel com- 
 pelled thus to punish you for an act which, however
 
 238 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 I may respect the motives that dictate it, I cannot 
 overlook. The ends of justice cannot be frustrated." 
 
 " My lord," exclaimed the prisoner, "don't punish 
 the old man for refusing to speak against me. His 
 love for me is so strong, that I know he couldn't do 
 it. I will state the truth myself, but spare him. I 
 did not sleep in my own bed on the night Mr. 
 O'Brien's haggard was burned, nor on the night 
 before it. I slept in my father's barn with Flana- 
 gan, both times at his own request, but I did not 
 then suspect his design in asking me." 
 
 " This admission, though creditable to your affec- 
 tion and filial duty, was indiscreet," observed the 
 judge. " Whatever you think might be serviceable, 
 suggest to your attorney, who can communicate it to 
 your counsel." 
 
 " My lord," said Connor, " I could not see my 
 father punished for loving me as he does; an' besides 
 I have no wish to conceal any thing. If the whole 
 truth could be known, I would stand but a short 
 time where I am, nor would Flanagan be long out 
 of it." 
 
 There is an earnest and impressive tone in truth, 
 especially when spoken under circumstances of great 
 difficulty, where it is rather disadvantageous to him 
 who utters it, that in many instances produces con- 
 viction by an inherent candour which all feel without 
 any process of reasoning or argument. There was 
 in those few words a warmth of affection towards his 
 father, and a manly simplicity of heart, each of which
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 239 
 
 was duly appreciated by the assembly about him, who 
 felt, without knowing why, the indignant scorn of 
 falsehood that so emphatically pervaded his expres- 
 sions. It was indeed impossible to hear them, and 
 look upon his noble countenance and figure without 
 forgetting the humbleness of his rank in life, and 
 feeling for him a marked deference of respect. 
 
 The trial then proceeded, but, alas, the hopes of 
 Connor's friends abandoned them at its conclusion; 
 for although the judge's charge was as favourable as 
 the nature of the evidence permitted, yet it was 
 quite clear that the jury had only one course to 
 pursue, and that was to bring in a conviction. After 
 a lapse of about ten minutes, they returned to the 
 jury-box, and as the foreman handed down their ver- 
 dict, a feather might be heard falling in the court, 
 the faces of the spectators got pale, and the hearts of 
 strong men beat as if the verdict about to be an- 
 nounced were to fall upon themselves, and not upon 
 the prisoner. It is at all times an awful and trying 
 ceremony to witness, but on this occasion it was a 
 much more affecting one than had occurred in the 
 court for many years. As the foreman handed down 
 the verdict, Connor's eye followed the paper with 
 tbe same calm resolution which he displayed during 
 the trial. On himself there was no change visible, 
 unless the appearance of two round spots, one on 
 each cheek, of a somewhat deeper red than the rest. 
 
 At length, in the midst of the dead silence, pro- 
 nounced in a voice that reached to the remotest ex-
 
 240 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 tremity of the court, was heard the fatal sentence — 
 " Guilty;" and afterwards in a less distinct manner, 
 " with our strongest and most earnest recommenda- 
 tion for mercy, in consequence of his youth and 
 previous good character." The wail and loud sobbings 
 of the female part of the crowd, and the stronger 
 but more silent grief of the men, could not for 
 many minutes be repressed by any efforts of the 
 court or its officers. 
 
 In the midst of this, a little to the left of the dock, 
 was an old man, whom those around him were con- 
 veying in a state of insensibility out of the court, and 
 it was obvious that from motives of humane conside- 
 ration for the prisoner, they endeavoured to prevent 
 him from ascertaining that it was his father. In this, 
 however, they failed; the son's eye caught a glimpse 
 of his grey locks, and it was observed that his cheek 
 for the first time indicated by a momentary change, 
 that the only evidence of agitation he betrayed was 
 occasioned by sympathy in the old man's sorrows, 
 rather than by the contemplation of his own fate. 
 
 The tragic spirit of the day, however, was still to 
 deepen, and a more stunning blow, though less acute 
 in its agony, was to fall upon the prisoner. The stir 
 of the calm and solemn jurors, as they issued out of 
 their room — the hushed breaths of the spectators — 
 the deadly silence that prevails — and the appalling 
 announcement of the word " Guilty" — are circum- 
 stances that test human fortitude, more even than 
 the passing of the fearful sentence itself. In the latter
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 241 
 
 case hope is banished, and the worst that can happen 
 known; the mind is, therefore, thrown back upon its 
 last energies, which give it strength in the same way 
 in which the death-struggle frequently arouses the 
 muscular action of the body — an unconscious power 
 of resistance that forces the culprit's heart to take 
 refuge in the first and strongest instincts of its na- 
 ture, the undying principle of self-preservation. No 
 sooner was the verdict returned, and silence obtained, 
 than the judge, now deeply affected, put on the black 
 cap, at which a low mid murmur of stifled grief and 
 pity ran through the court-house; but no sooner was 
 his eye bent on the prisoner, than their anxiety to 
 hear the sentence hushed them once more into the 
 stillness of the grave. The prisoner looked upon him 
 with an open but melancholy gaze, which from the 
 candid and manly character of his countenance, was 
 touching in the extreme. 
 
 " Connor O'Donovan," said the judge, " have you 
 any thing to say why sentence of death should not 
 be passed upon you ?" 
 
 " My lord," he replied, " I can say nothing to pre- 
 vent it. I am prepared for it. I know I must bear 
 it, and I hope I will bear it as a man ought that feels 
 his heart free from even a thought of the crime he is 
 to die for. I have nothing more to say." 
 
 " You have this day been found guilty," proceeded 
 the judge, " and, in the opinion of the court, upon 
 clear and satisfactory evidence, of a crime marked by 
 a character of revenge, which, I am bound to say, 
 
 M
 
 242 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 must have proceeded from a very malignant spirit. 
 It was a wanton act, for the perpetration of which 
 your motives were so inadequate, that one must feel at a 
 loss to ascertain the exact principle on which you com- 
 mitted it. It was also not only a wicked act, but one so 
 mean, that a young man bearing the character of spirit 
 and generosity which you have hitherto borne, as ap- 
 pears from the testimony of those respectable persons 
 who this day have spoken in your favor, ought to 
 have scorned to contemplate it even for a moment. 
 Had the passion you entertained for the daughter of 
 the man you so basely injured, possessed one atom of 
 the dignity, disinterestedness, or purity of true affec- 
 tion, you never could have stooped to any act offen- 
 sive to the object of your love, or to those even in 
 the remotest degree related to her. The example, 
 consequently, which you have held out to society 
 is equally vile and dangerous. You punished the 
 father by a dastardly and unmanly act, for guarding 
 the future peace and welfare of a child so young and 
 so dear to him. What would become of society if 
 this exercise of a parent's right on behalf of his 
 daughter were to be visited upon him as a crime, by 
 every vindictive and disappointed man, whose affec- 
 tion for her he might," upon proper grounds, decline 
 to sanction? Yet it is singular, and, I confess, 
 almost inexplicable to me at least, why you should 
 have rushed into the commission of such an act. 
 The brief period of your existence has been stained 
 by no other crime. On the contrary, you have
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 243 
 
 maintained a character far above your situation in 
 life — a character equally remarkable for gentleness, 
 spirit, truth, and affection — and I must confess, that 
 on no other occasion of my judicial life have I 
 ever felt my judgment and my feelings so much at 
 variance. I cannot doubt your guilt, but I shed those 
 tears that it ever existed, and that a youth of so much 
 promise should be cut down prematurely by the 
 strong arm of necessary justice, leaving his bereaved 
 parents bowed down with despair that can never be 
 comforted. Had they another son, or another child 
 to whom their affections could turn " 
 
 Here the judge felt it necessary to pause, in con- 
 sequence of his emotion. Strong feeling had, 
 indeed, spread through the whole court, in which, 
 while he ceased, could be heard low moanings, and 
 other symptoms of acute sorrow. 
 
 "It is now your duty to forget every eartldy ob- 
 ject on which your heart may have been fixed, and 
 to seek that source of consolation and mercy which 
 can best sustain and comfort you. Go with a peni- 
 tent heart to the throne of your Redeemer, who, if 
 your repentance be sincere, will in no wise cast you 
 out. The recommendation of the jury to the mercy 
 of the crown, in consideration of your youth and pre- 
 vious good conduct, will not be overlooked; but in 
 the mean time the court is bound to pronounce upon 
 you the sentence of the law, which is, that you be 
 taken from the prison from which you came, on the 
 8th of next month, at the hour of twelve o'clock in the
 
 244 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 forenoon, to the front drop of the gaol, and there 
 hanged by the neck until you be dead, and may God 
 have mercy on your soul !" 
 
 " My lord," said the prisoner, unmoved in voice or 
 manner, unless it might be that both expressed more 
 decision and energy than he had shown during any 
 other part of the trial; "my lord, I am now a con- 
 demned man, but if I stood with the rope about my 
 neck, ready to die, I woidd not exchange situations 
 with the man that has been my accuser. My lord, 
 I can forgive him, and I ought, for I know he has 
 yet to die, and must meet his God. As for myself, 
 I am thankful that I have not such a conscience as 
 his to bring afore my judge; and for this reason I 
 am not afraid to die." 
 
 He was then removed amidst a murmur of grief, 
 as deep and sincere as was ever expressed for a human 
 being under circumstances of a similar character. 
 After having entered the prison, he was about to turn 
 along a passage which led to the apartment hitherto 
 allocated to him, 
 
 " This way," said the turnkey, " this way; God 
 knows I would be glad to let you stop in the room 
 you had, but I haven't the power. We must put 
 
 you into one of the condemned cells ; but by it 'ill 
 
 go hard if I don't stretch a little to make you as 
 comfortable as possible." 
 
 " Take no trouble," said Connor, " take no trouble. 
 I care now little about my own comfort; but if you 
 wish to oblage me, bring me my father. Oh, my
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 245 
 
 mother, my mother! — you, I doubt, are struck down 
 already !" 
 
 " She was too ill to attend the trial to-day," replied 
 the turnkey. 
 
 " I know it," said Connor; " but as she's not 
 here, bring me my father. Send out a messenger 
 for him, and be quick, for I won't rest till I see him; 
 he wants comfort; the old man's heart will break." 
 
 " I heard them say," replied the turnkey, after 
 they had entered the cell allotted to him, " that he 
 was in a faint in Mat Corrigan's public-house, but 
 that he had recovered. I'll go myself and bring him 
 to you." 
 
 " Do," said Connor, " an' leave us the moment 
 you bring him." 
 
 It was more than an hour before the man returned, 
 holding Fardorougha by the arm, and after having 
 left him in the cell, he instantly locked it outside, 
 and withdrew, as he had been desired. Connor ran 
 to support his tottering steps ; and wofully indeed did 
 that unfortunate parent stand in need of his assistance. 
 In the picture presented by Fardorougha the unhappy 
 young man forgot in a moment his own miserable and 
 gloomy fate. There blazed in his father's eyes an ex- 
 citement at once dead and wild, a vague fire without cha- 
 racter, yet stirred by an incomprehensible energy wholly 
 beyond the usual manifestations of thought or suf- 
 fering. The son, on beholding him, shuddered, and 
 not for the first time, for he had on one or two occa- 
 sions before become apprehensive that his father's 
 mind might, if strongly pressed, be worn down by the
 
 246 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 singular conflict of which it was the scene, to that 
 most frightful of all maladies, insanity. As the old 
 man, however, folded him in his feeble arms, and 
 attempted to express what he felt, the unhappy boy 
 groaned aloud, and felt even in the depth of his cell, 
 a blush of momentary shame suffuse his cheek and 
 brow. His father, notwithstanding the sentence that 
 had been so shortly before passed upon his son — that 
 father he perceived to be absolutely intoxicated, or to 
 use a more appropriate expression, decidedly drunk. 
 
 There was less blame, however, to be attached to 
 Fardorougha on this occasion, than Connor imagined. 
 When the old man swooned in the court-house, he 
 was taken by his neighbours to a public-house, where 
 he lay for some minutes in a state of insensibility. 
 On his recovery he was plied with burnt whiskey, as 
 well to restore his strength and prevent a relapse, as 
 upon the principle that it would enable him to sus- 
 tain with more firmness the dreadful and shocking 
 destiny which awaited Ins son. Actuated by motives 
 of mistaken kindness, they poured between three and 
 four glasses of this fiery cordial down his throat, 
 which, as he had not taken so much during the 
 lapse of thirty years before, soon reduced the feeble 
 old man to the condition in which we have described 
 him when entering the gloomy cell of the prison. 
 
 " Father," said Connor, " in the name of heaven, 
 who or what has put you into this dreadful state, 
 especially when we consider the hard, hard fate that 
 is over us, and upon us?"
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 247 
 
 " Connor," returned Fardorougha, not perceiving 
 the drift of his question, " Connor, my son, I'll hang 
 — hang him, that's one comfort." 
 
 " Who are you speaking about V 
 
 " The villain sentence was passed on to — to-day. 
 
 He'll swing — swing for the robbery; P e will. 
 
 We got him back out of that nest of robbers, the Isle 
 o' Man — o' Man they call it — that he made off to, the 
 villain !" 
 
 " Father dear, I'm sorry to see you in this state 
 on sich a day — sich a black day to us. For your 
 sake I am. What will the world say of it ?" 
 
 " Connor, I'm in great spirits all out, exceptin' for 
 something that I forget, that — that — li — lies heavy 
 upon me. That I mayn't sin, but I am — I am, in- 
 deed — for now that we've cotch him, we'll hang the 
 villain up. Ha, ha, ha, it's a pleasant sight to see 
 sich a fellow danglin' from a rope !" 
 
 " Father, sit down here, sit down upon this bad 
 and comfortless bed, and keep yourself quiet for a 
 little. Maybe you'll be better soon. Ob, why did 
 you drink, and us in such trouble ?" 
 
 " I'll not sit down; I'm very well able to stand," 
 said he, tottering across the room. "The villain 
 thought to starve me, Connor, but you heard the 
 sentence that was passed on him to-day. Where's 
 Honor, from me ? she'll be glad whin — whin she hears 
 it, and my son, Connor, will too — but he's, he's — where 
 is Connor ? — bring me, bring me to Connor. Ah 
 avourneen, Honor's heart's breaking for him — 'tany
 
 248 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 rate, the mother's heart — the mother's heart — she's 
 laid low wid an achin' sorrowful head for her boy." 
 
 " Father, for God's sake, will you try and rest a 
 little. If you could sleep, father dear, if you could 
 sleep." 
 
 " I'll hang P e — I'll hang him — but if he gives 
 
 back my money, I'll not touch him. Who are you?" 
 
 " Father dear, I'm Connor, your own son, 
 Connor." 
 
 " I'll marry you and Una, then. I'll settle all the 
 villain robbed me of on you, and you'll have every 
 penny of it afther my death. Don't be keepin' me 
 up, I can walk very well; ay, an' I'm in right good 
 spirits. Sure the money's got, Connor — got back 
 every skillyeen of it. Ha, ha, ha, God be praised! 
 God be praised! We've a right to be thankful — the 
 world is'nt so bad afther all." 
 
 "Father, will you try and rest?" 
 
 "It's not bad, afther all — I won't starve, as I 
 thought I would, now that the arrighad is got back 
 from the villain. Ha, ha, ha, it's great — it's great, 
 Connor, ahagur ?" 
 
 " What is it, father dear ?" 
 
 " Connor, sing me a song — my heart's up — it's 
 light — ar'nt you glad 1 — sing me a song." 
 
 "If you'll. sleep first, father." 
 
 "The Uligone, Connor, or Shuil agra, or the Trovgha 
 — for, avourneen, avourneen, there must be sorrow in 
 it, for my heart's low, and your mother's heart's in 
 sorrow, an' she's lyin' far from us, an' her boy's not
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 249 
 
 near her, an' her heart's sore, sore, an' her head 
 achin', bekase her boy's far from her, an' she can't 
 come to him!" 
 
 The boy, whos'enoble fortitude was unshaken during 
 the formidable trial it had encountered in the course 
 of that day, now felt overcome by this simple allusion 
 to his mother's love. He threw his arms about his 
 father's neck, and placing his head upon his bosom, 
 wept aloud for many, many minutes. 
 
 " Hushth, Connor, hushth asthore — what makes 
 you cry ? Sure all will be right now that we've got 
 back the money. Eh ? Ha, ha, ha, it's great luck, 
 Connor, isn't it great ? An' you'll have it, you an' 
 Una, after my death — for I won't starve for e'er a one 
 o' yees." 
 
 "Father, father, I wish you would rest." 
 
 " Well, well, avick, I will — bring me to bed — you'll 
 sleep in your own bed to-night. Your poor mother's 
 head hasn't been off o' the place where your own lay, 
 Connor. No, indeed; her heart's low — it's breakin', 
 breakin', — but she won't let any body make your bed 
 but herself. Oh, the mother's love, Connor ! — that 
 mother's love — that mother's love — but, Connor " 
 
 "Well, father dear ?" 
 
 "Isn't there something wrong, avick ? isn't there 
 something not right, somehow ?" 
 
 This question occasioned the son to feel as if his 
 heart would literally burst to pieces, especially when 
 he considered the circumstances under which the old 
 man put it. Indeed there was something so trans- 
 it 2
 
 250 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 cendently appalling in his intoxication, and in the 
 wild but affecting tone of his conversation, that when 
 joined to his pallid and spectral appearance, it gave a 
 character, for the time being, of a mood that struck 
 the heart with an image more frightful than that of 
 madness itself. 
 
 "Wrong, father !" he replied, "all's wrong, and I 
 can't understand it. It's well for you that you don't 
 know the doom that's upon us now, for I feel how it 
 would bring you down, and how it will, too. It will 
 kill you, my father — it will kill you." 
 
 " Connor, come home, avick, come home — I'm 
 tired at any rate — come home to your mother — come, 
 for her sake — I know I'm not at home, an' she'll not 
 rest till I bring you safe back to her. Come now, 
 I'll have no put offs — you must come, I say. — I 
 ordher you — I can't and won't meet her widout you. 
 Come, avick, an' you can sing me the song goin' home 
 — come wid your own poor ould father, that can't live 
 widout you — come, a sullish machree, I don't feel 
 right here — we won't be properly happy, till we go to 
 your lovin' mother." 
 
 " Father, father, you don't know what you're 
 making me suffer. What heart, blessed heaven, can 
 bear " 
 
 The door of his cell here opened, and the turnkey 
 stated that some five or six of his friends were 
 anxious to see him, and, above all things, to take 
 charge of his father to his own home. This was a 
 manifest relief to the young man, who felt more
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 251 
 
 deeply upon his unhappy father's account than his 
 own. 
 
 " Some foolish friends," said he, "have given my 
 father liquor, an' it has got into his head — indeed it 
 overcame him the more, as I never remember him to 
 taste a drop of spirits during his life before. I can 
 see nobody now, an' him in this state ; but if they 
 wish me well, let them take care of him, and lave 
 him safe at his own house, and tell them I'll be glad if 
 I can see them to-morrow, or any other time." 
 
 With considerable difficulty Fardorougha was 
 removed from Connor, whom he clung to with all his 
 strength, attempting also to drag him away. He 
 then wept bitterly, because he declined to accompany 
 him home, that he might comfort his mother, and 
 enjoy the imagined recovery of his money from 
 
 P e, and the conviction which he believed they 
 
 had just succeeded in getting against that notorious 
 defaulter.
 
 252 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 After they had departed, Connor sat down upon 
 his hard pallet, and, supporting his head with his 
 hand, saw, for the first time, in all its magnitude 
 and horror, the death to which he found himself 
 doomed. The excitement occasioned by his trial, 
 and his increasing firmness, as that sad event dark- 
 ened on through all its stages to the final sentence, 
 had now in a considerable degree abandoned him, and 
 left his heart, at present more accessible to natural 
 weakness than it had been, to the power of his own 
 affections. The image of his early-loved Una had 
 seldom since his arrest been out of his imagination. 
 Her youth, her beauty, her wild but natural grace, 
 and the flashing glances of her dark enthusiastic eye, 
 when joined to her tenderness and boundless affec- 
 tion for himself — all caused his heart to quiver with 
 deadly anguish through every fibre. This produced 
 a transition to Flanagan — the contemplation of whose 
 perfidious vengeance made him spring from his seat 
 in a paroxysm of indignant but intense hatred, so 
 utterly furious that the swelling tempest which it sent 
 through his veins caused him to reel with absolute 
 giddiness. 
 
 " Great God !" he exclaimed, " you are just, and 
 will this be suffered ?"
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 253 
 
 He then thought of his parents, and the fiery 
 mood of his mind changed to one of melancholy and 
 sorrow. He looked back upon his aged father's en- 
 during struggle — upon the battle of the old man's 
 heart against the accursed vice which had swayed its 
 impulses so long — on the protracted conflict between 
 the two energies, which, like contending armies in 
 the field, had now left little but ruin and desolation 
 behind them. His heart, when he brought all these 
 things near him, expanded, and, like a bird, folded 
 its wings about the grey-haired martyr, for such 
 indeed he was, to the lore he bore him. But his 
 mother — the caressing, the proud, the affectionate — 
 whose heart, in the vivid tenderness of hope for her 
 beloved boy, had shaped out his path in life, as that 
 on which she could brood with the fondness of a 
 loving and delighted spirit — that mother's image, and 
 the idea of her sorrows prostrated his whole strength, 
 like that of a stricken infant, to the earth. 
 
 " Mother, mother," he exclaimed, "when I think 
 of what you reared me for, and what I am this 
 night, how can my heart do otherwise than break, as 
 well on your account as my own, and for all that 
 love us! Oh! what will become of you, my blessed 
 mother! Hard does it go with you that you're not 
 about " your pride," as you used to call me, now that 
 I'm in this trouble, in this fate that is soon to cut 
 me down from your loving arms! The thought of 
 you is dear to my heart, dear, dearer, dearer than 
 that of any — than my own Una. What will become
 
 254 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 of her, too, and the old man ? Oh, why, why is it 
 that the death I am to suffer is to fall so heavily on 
 them that love me best ?" 
 
 He then returned to his bed, but the cold and 
 dreary images of death and rum haunted his imagi- 
 nation, until the night was far spent, when at length 
 he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. 
 
 By the sympathy expressed at his trial, our readers 
 may easily conceive the profound sorrow which was 
 felt for him, in the district where he was known, 
 from the moment the knowledge of his sentence had 
 gone abroad among the people. This was much 
 strengthened by that which, whether in man or 
 woman, never fails to create an amiable prejudice in 
 its favour — I mean youth and personal beauty. His 
 whole previous character was now canvassed with a 
 mournful lenity that brought out his virtues into 
 beautiful relief; and the fate of the affectionate son 
 was deplored no less than that of the youthful, but 
 rash and inconsiderate lover. Neither was the father 
 without his share of compassion, for they could not 
 forget that, despite of all his penury and extortion, 
 the old man's heart had been fixed with a strong 
 but uncouth affection upon his amiable and only boy. 
 It was, however, when they thought of his mother, 
 in whose heart of hearts he had been enshrined as 
 the idol of her whole affection, that their spirits 
 became truly touched. Many a mother assumed in 
 her own person, by the force of imagination, the 
 sinking woman's misery, and poured forth, in im-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. Jo.» 
 
 availing tears, the undeniable proofs of the sincerity 
 with which she participated in Honor's bereave- 
 ment. 
 
 As for Flanagan, a deadly weight of odium, 
 such as is peculiar to the Informer in Ireland, fell 
 upon both him and his. Nor was this all. Aided 
 by that sagacity which is so conspicuous in Irish- 
 men, when a vindictive or hostile feeling is excited 
 among them, they depicted Flanagan's character 
 with an accuracy and truth astonishingly correct 
 and intuitive. Numerous were the instances of 
 cowardice, treachery, and revenge, remembered 
 against him, by those who had been his close and 
 early companions, not one of which would have 
 ever occurred to them, were it not that their minds 
 had been thrown back upon the scrutiny by the 
 melancholy fate in which he had involved the 
 unhappy Connor O' Donovan. Had he been a mere 
 ordinary witness in the matter, he wovdd have 
 experienced little of this boiling indignation at their 
 hands; but first to participate in the guilt, and 
 afterwards, for the sake of the reward, or from a 
 worse and more flagitious motive, to turn upon 
 him, and become his accuser, even to the taking 
 away of the young man's life — to stag against his 
 companion and accomplice — this was looked upon as 
 a crime ten thousand times more black and damnable 
 than that for which the unhappy culprit had been 
 consigned to so shameful a death. 
 
 But, alas, of what avail was all this sympathy and
 
 256 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 indignation to the unfortunate youth himself, or to 
 those most deeply interested in his fate? Would 
 not the very love and sorrow felt towards her son 
 fall upon his mother's heart with a heavier weight 
 of bitterness and agony? Would not his Una's soul 
 be wounded on that account with a sharper and 
 more deadly pang of despair and misery. It would 
 indeed, be difficult to say whether the house of 
 Bodagh Buie or that of Fardorougha was then in the 
 deeper sorrow. 
 
 On the morning of Connor's trial Una arose at 
 an earlier hour than usual, and it was observed 
 when she sat at breakfast, that her cheek was at 
 one moment pale as death, and again flushed and 
 feverish. These symptoms were first perceived by 
 her affectionate brother, who, on witnessing the 
 mistakes she made in pouring out the tea, exchanged 
 a glance with his parents, and afterwards asked her 
 to allow him to take her place. She laid down 
 the tea-pot, and looking him mournfully in the 
 face, attempted to smile at a request so unusual. 
 
 "Una dear," said he, "you must allow me.— 
 There is no necessity for attempting to conceal 
 what you feel — we all know it — and if we did 
 not, the fact of your having filled the sugar-bowl 
 instead of the tea-cup would soon discover it." 
 
 She said nothing, but looked at him again, as 
 if she scarcely comprehended what he said. A 
 glance, however at the sugar-bowl convinced her 
 that she was incapable of performing the usual
 
 THE CONVICTS OF L.ISNAMONA. 20/ 
 
 duties of the breakfast-table. Hitherto she had 
 not raised her eyes to her father's or her mother's 
 face, nor spoken to them, as had been her wont, 
 when meeting at that strictly domestic meal. The 
 unrestrained sobbings of the mother now aroused 
 her for the first time, and on looking up, she 
 saw her father wiping away the big tears from 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Una, avourneen," said the worthy man, "let 
 John make tay for us— for, God help you, you 
 can't do it. Don't fret, achora machree, don't, 
 don't, Una; as God is over me, I'd give all I'm 
 worth to save him for your sake." 
 
 She looked at her father, and smiled again ; but 
 that smile cut him to the heart. 
 
 "I will make tea myself, father," she replied, 
 "and I won't commit any more mistakes." 
 
 "Avourneen," said the mother, "let John do it; 
 acushla machree, let him do it." 
 
 She then rose, and without uttering a word, 
 passively and silently placed herself on her brother's 
 chair ; he having, at the same time, taken that 
 on which she sat. 
 
 " Una," said her father, taking her hand, " you 
 must be a good girl, and you must have courage; 
 and whatever happens, my darling, you'll pluck up 
 strength, I hope, and bear it." 
 
 "I hope so, father," said she, "I hope so." 
 
 " But, avourneen machree," said her motber,
 
 258 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " I would rather see you cryiu' fifty times over, 
 than smilin' the way you do." 
 
 "Mother," said she, "my heart is sore — my heart 
 is sore.'' 
 
 "It is, ahagur maehree; and your hand is trem- 
 blin' so much that you can't bring the tay-cup to 
 your mouth; but, then, don't smile so sorrowfully, 
 anein maehree." 
 
 "Why sbould I cry, mother?" she replied; 
 "I know that Connor is innocent. If I knew 
 him to be guilty I would weep, and I ought to 
 weep." 
 
 "At all events, Una," said her father, "you 
 know it's the government and not us that's pro- 
 secuting him." 
 
 To this Una made no reply, but, thrusting away 
 her cup, she looked with the same mournful smile 
 from one to another of the little circle about her. 
 At length she spoke. 
 
 "Father, I have a request to ask of you." 
 
 "If it's within my power, Una darling, I'll grant 
 it; and if it's not, it'll go hard with me but I'll 
 bring it within my power. What is it, asthore 
 maehree." 
 
 "In case he's found guilty, to let John put off 
 his journey to Maynooth, and stay with me for 
 some time — it won't be long I'll keep him." 
 
 "If it pleases you, darling, he'll never put his 
 foot into Maynooth again."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 259 
 
 "No," said the mother, " dhamnho to the step, 
 if you don't wish him." 
 
 "Oh, no, no," said Una, "it's only for a while." 
 
 " Unless she desires it, I will never go," replied 
 the loving brother; " nor will I ever leave you 
 in sorrow, my beloved and only sister — never — 
 never — so long as a word from my lips can give 
 you consolation." 
 
 The warm tears coursed each other down his 
 cheeks as he spoke, and both his parents, on look- 
 ing at the almost blighted flower before them, 
 wept as if the hand of death had already been 
 upon her. 
 
 " You, father, and John, are going to his trial," 
 she observed; "for me I like to be alone; — alone; 
 but when you return to-night, let John break it 
 to me. I'll go now to the garden. I'll walk about 
 to-day — only before you go, John, I want to speak 
 to you." 
 
 Calmly and without a tear, she then left the 
 parlour, and proceeded to the garden where she 
 began to dress and ornament the hive which con- 
 tained the swarm that Connor had brought back 
 to her on the day their mutual attachment was 
 first disclosed to each other. 
 
 "Father," said John, when she was gone, "I 
 am afraid that Una's heart is broken, or if not 
 broken, that she won't survive his conviction long 
 — it's breaking fast — for my part, in her present 
 state, I neither will nor can leave her."
 
 2G0 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 The affectionate father made no reply, but putting 
 his handkerchief to his eyes, wept, as did her mother, 
 in silent but bitter grief. 
 
 "I cannot speak about it, nor think of it, John," 
 said he, after some time, "but we must do what 
 we can for her." 
 
 "If any thing happens her," said the mother, 
 " I'd never get over it. Oh, marciful Saviour ! how 
 could we live widout her!" 
 
 " I would rather see her in tears," said John — 
 "I would rather see her in outrageous grief a thousand 
 times, than in the calm but ghastly resolution with 
 which she is bearing herself up against the trial of this 
 day. If he's condemned to death, I'm afraid that 
 either her health or reason will sink under it, 
 and, in that case, God pity her and us, for how, 
 how, as you say mother, could we afford to lose 
 her? Still let us hope for the best. Father, it's 
 time to prepare; get the car ready. I am going 
 to the garden, to hear what the poor thing 
 has to say to me, but I will be with you soon." 
 
 Her brother found her, as we have said, engaged 
 calmly, and with a melancholy pleasure, in 
 adorning the hive, which, on Connor's account, 
 had become her favourite. He was not at all sorry 
 that she had proposed this short interview, for 
 as his hopes of Connor's acquittal were but feeble, 
 if, indeed he could truly be said to entertain any, he 
 resolved by delicately communicating his appre- 
 hensions, to gradually prepare her mind for the 
 worst that might happen.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 On hearing her brother's step, she raised her head, 
 and advancing towards the middle of the garden, 
 took his arm, and led him towards the summer-house 
 in which Connor and she had first acknowledged 
 their love. She gazed wistfully upon it after they 
 entered, and wrung her hands, but still shed no tear. 
 
 "Una," said her brother, "you had something 
 to say to me; what is it, darling?" 
 
 She glanced timidly at him, and blushed. 
 
 " You won't be angry with me, John," she replied; 
 " would it be proper for me to to go " 
 
 " What ! to be present at the trial ? Dear Una, 
 you cannot think of it. It would neither be proper 
 nor prudent; and you surely would not be considered 
 indelicate? Besides, even were it not so, your 
 strength is unequal to it. No, no, Una dear; dismiss 
 it from your thoughts." 
 
 " I fear I could not stand it, indeed, John, even 
 if it were proper; but I know not what to do; there 
 is a weight like death upou my heart. If I could 
 shed a tear it would relieve me; but I cannot." 
 
 " It is probably better you should feel so, Una, 
 than entertain hopes upon the matter tbat may be 
 disappointed. It is always wisest to prepare for the 
 worst, in order to avoid the shock that may come
 
 262 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 upon us, and which always falls heaviest when it 
 comes contrary to our expectations." 
 
 "I do not at all feel well," she replied, "and I have 
 been thinking of the best way to break this day's 
 tidings to me, when you come home. If he's cleared, 
 say, good humouredly, 'Una, all's lost;' and if — if not, 
 oh, desire me — say to me, ' Una, you had better go to 
 bed, and let your mother go with you;' that will be 
 enough; I will go to bed, and if ever I rise from it 
 again, it will not be from a love of life." 
 
 The brother seeing that conversation on the sub- 
 ject of her grief only caused her to feel more deeply, 
 deemed it better to terminate than to continue a 
 dialogue which only aggravated her sufferings. 
 
 " I trust and hope, dear Una," he said, " that 
 you will observe my father's advice, and make at 
 least a worthy effort to support yourself, under what 
 certainly is a heavy affliction to you, in a manner 
 becoming your own character. For his sake — for 
 my mother's, and for mine too, endeavour to have 
 courage; be firm — and, Una, if you take my advice, 
 you'll pray to God to strengthen you; for, after all, 
 there is no support in the moment of distress and 
 sorrow like His." 
 
 "I will take your advice," she replied; "but is it 
 not strange, John, that such heavy misfortune 
 should fall upon two persons so young, and who 
 deserve it so little?" 
 
 " It may be a trial sent for your advantage and 
 his ; who can say but it may yet end for the good of
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 263 
 
 you both ? At present, indeed, there is no proba- 
 bility of its ending favourably, and, even should it 
 not, we are bound to bear with patience such dis- 
 pensations as the Great Being to whom we owe our 
 existence, and of whose ways we know so little, may 
 think right to lay upon us. Now, God bless you, 
 and support you, dear, till I see you again. I must 
 go; don't you hear the jaunting-car coming up to 
 the gate? be firm, dear Una, be firm, and good 
 
 b y-" 
 
 Never was a day spent under the influence of a 
 more terrible suspense than that which drank up the 
 strength of this sinking girl during the trial of her 
 lover. Actuated bv a burnine; and restless sense of 
 distraction, sbe passed from place to place with that 
 mechanical step which marks those who seek for 
 comfort in vain. She retired to her apartment and 
 strove to pray; but the effort was fruitless; the con- 
 fusion of her mind rendered connexion and continuity 
 of thought and language impossible. At one mo- 
 ment she repaired to the scenes where they had met, 
 and again with a hot and aching brain, left them 
 with a shudder that arose from the withering concep- 
 tion of the loss of him whose image, by their associ- 
 ations, was at once rendered more distinct and more 
 beloved. Her poor mother frequently endeavoured 
 to console her, but became too much affected herself 
 to proceed. Nor were the servants less anxious to 
 remove the heavy load of sorrow which weighed down 
 her young spirit to the earth. Her brief but affecting 
 reply was the same to each.
 
 264 
 
 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Nothing can comfort me; my heart is breaking; 
 oh, leave me — leave me to the sorrow that's upon me." 
 Deep indeed was the distress felt on her ac- 
 count, even by the females of her father's house, 
 who that day shed many tears on witnessing 
 the mute but feverish agony of her sufferings. As 
 evening approached she became evidently more dis- 
 tracted and depressed; her head, she said, felt hot, 
 and her temples occasionally throbbed with conside- 
 rable violence. The alternations of colour on her 
 cheek were more frequent than before, and their 
 pallid and carmine hues were more alarmingly con- 
 trasted. Her weeping mother took the stricken one 
 to her bosom, and after kissing her burning and 
 passive lips, pressed her temples, with a hope that 
 this might give her relief. 
 
 " Why don't you cry, anien machree ? (daughter 
 of my heart.) Thry and shed tears; it 'ill take 
 away this burnin' pain that's in your poor head; 
 oh, thry an' let down the tears, an' you'll see how 
 it 'ill relieve you." 
 
 "Mother,. I can't," she replied; "I can shed no 
 tear; I wish they were home, for the worst couldn't 
 be worse than this." 
 
 "No, asthore, it couldn't — it can't; husth ! — 
 do you hear it? There they are; that's the car; 
 ay, indeed, it's at the gate." 
 
 They both listened for a moment, and the voices 
 of her father and brother were distinctly heard 
 giving some necessary orders to the servant.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 205 
 
 " Mother, mother," exclaimed Una, pressing her 
 hands upon her heart, " my heart is bursting, and 
 my temples — my temples " 
 
 "Chierna yeelish," said the mother, feeling its 
 strong and rapid palpitations, "you can't stand 
 this ! Oh, darlin' of my heart, for the sake of your 
 own life, an' of the livin' God, be firm." 
 
 At this moment their knock at the hall-door 
 occasioned her to leap, with a sudden start, almost 
 out of her mother's arms. But, all at once, the 
 tumult of that heart ceased, and the vermillion of 
 her cheek changed to the hue of death. With a 
 composure, probably more the result of weakness 
 than fortitude, she clasped her hands, and giving 
 a fixed gaze towards the parlour-door, that spoke 
 the resignation of despair, she awaited the tidings 
 of her lover's doom. They both entered, and 
 after a cautious glance about the room, immediately 
 perceived the situation in which, reclining on her 
 mother's bosom, she lay, ghastly as a corpse, before 
 them. 
 
 "Una dear," said John approaching her, "lam 
 afraid you are ill." 
 
 She rivetted her eyes upon him, as if she would 
 read his soul, but she could not utter a syllable. 
 
 The young man's countenance became oversha- 
 dowed by a deep and mournful sense of the task he 
 found himself compelled to perform ; his voice fal- 
 tered, and his limbs trembled, as in a low tone 
 of heartfelt and profound sympathy, he exclaimed — 
 
 N
 
 266 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Una dear, you had better go to bed, and let my 
 mother stay with you." 
 
 Calmly she heard him, and rising, she slowly 
 but deliberately left the room, and proceeded up 
 stairs with a degree of steadiness which surprised her 
 mother. The only words she uttered, on hearing 
 this blighting communication, Avere, " Come with me, 
 mother." 
 
 "Una darling," said the latter, when they had 
 reached the bed-room, "why don't you spake to 
 me? Let me hear your voice, jewel; only let me 
 hear your voice." 
 
 Una stooped and affectionately kissed her, but 
 made no reply for some minutes. She then began 
 to undress, which she did by fits and starts ; sometimes 
 pausing in evident abstraction for a considerable 
 time, and again resuming the task of preparing for 
 bed. 
 
 "Mother," she at length said, "my heart is 
 as cold as ice ; but my brain is burning ; feel 
 my temples, how hot they are, and how they 
 beat." 
 
 " I do, alanna dheelish; your body as well as your 
 mind, is sick; but we'll sind for the docthor, darlin', 
 and you'll soon be betther, I hope." 
 
 " I hope so ; and then Connor and I can be 
 married in spite of them. Don't they say, mother, 
 that marriages are made in heaven?" 
 
 "They do, darlin'." 
 
 " Well, then, I will meet him there. Oh, my
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 267 
 
 head — my head ; I cannot bear — bear this racking 
 pain." 
 
 Her mother, who, though an uneducated woman, 
 was by no means deficient in sagacity, immediately 
 perceived that her mind was beginning to exhibit 
 symptoms of being unsettled. Having, therefore, 
 immediately called one of the maid-servants, she 
 gave her orders to stay with Una, who had now 
 gone to bed, until she herself could again return 
 to her. She instantly proceeded to the parlour, 
 where her husband and son were, and, with a face 
 pale from alarm, told them that she feared Una's 
 mind was going. 
 
 " May the Almighty forbid," exclaimed her father, 
 laving down his knife and fork; for they had just 
 sat down to dinner ; "oh, what makes you say 
 such a thing, Bridget ? what on earth makes you 
 think it ?" 
 
 "For heaven's sake, mother, tell us at once ?" 
 inquired the son, rising from the table and walking 
 distractedly across the room. 
 
 ""Why she's beginnin' to rave about him," re- 
 plied her mother; "she's afther sayin' that she'll 
 be married to him in spite o' them." 
 
 " In spite o' who, Bridget ?" asked the Bodagh, 
 wiping his eyes — "in spite o' who does she mane?" 
 
 "Why, I suppose, in spite o' Flanagan and thim 
 that found him guilty," replied his wife. 
 
 " Well, but what else did she say, mother ?" 
 
 "She axed me if marriages warn't made in heaven,
 
 268 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 and I toulrl her that the people said so; upon that 
 she said she'd meet him there, an' then she com- 
 plained of her head. The trewth is, she has a 
 heavy load of sickness on her back, an' the sorra 
 hour should be lost till we get a docthor." 
 
 "Yes, that is the truth, mother; I'll go this 
 
 moment for Doctor H . There's nothing like 
 
 taking these things in time. Poor Una ! God knows 
 this trial is a sore one upon a heart so faithful and 
 affectionate as her's." 
 
 " John, had vou not betther ait something before 
 you go ?" said his father; " you want it afther the 
 troublesome day you had." 
 
 "No, no," replied the son; "I cannot — I cannot; 
 I will neither eat nor drink till I hear what the 
 doctor will say about her. Oh, my God," he 
 exclaimed, whilst his eyes filled with tears, "and 
 is it come to this with you, our darling Una ? — 
 I won't lose a moment till I return," he added, 
 as he went out; "nor will I, under any cir- 
 cumstances, come without medical aid of some 
 kind." 
 
 " Let these things be taken away, Bridget," said 
 the Bodagh; "my appetite is gone, too; that last 
 news is the worst of all. May the Lord of heaven 
 keep our child's mind right; for, oh, Bridget, 
 wouldn't death itself be far afore that ?" 
 
 "I'm going up to her," replied his wife; "and 
 may Jasus guard her, and spare her safe and sound 
 to us! For what — what kind of a house would it be
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 269 
 
 if she but I can't think of it. Oh, wurrah, 
 
 wurrah, this night !" 
 
 Until the return of their son with the physician, 
 both O'Brien and his wife hung in a state of alarm 
 bordering on agony over the bed of their beloved 
 daughter. Indeed the rapidity and vehemence with 
 which incoherence, accompanied by severe illness, 
 set in, were sufficient to excite the greatest alarm, 
 and to justify their darkest apprehensions. Her 
 skin was hot almost to burning; her temples throb- 
 bed terribly, and such were her fits of starting and 
 raving, that they felt as if every minute were an hour, 
 until the physician actually made his appearance- 
 Long before this gentleman reached the house, the 
 son had made him fully acquainted with what he 
 looked upon as the immediate cause of her illness; 
 not that the doctor himself had been altogether igno- 
 rant of it; for indeed there were few persons of any 
 class or condition in the neighbourhood to whom 
 that circumstance was unknown. 
 
 On examining the diagnostics that presented them- 
 selves, he pronounced her complaint to be brain 
 fever of the most formidable class, to wit, that which 
 arises from extraordinary pressure upon the mind, and 
 unusual excitement of the feelings. It was a relief 
 to her family, however, to- know that beyond the 
 temporary mental aberrations inseparable from the 
 nature of her complaint, there was no evidence what- 
 soever of insanity. They felt grateful to God for this, 
 and were consequently enabled to watch her sick-bed
 
 2/0 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 with more composure, and to look forward to her 
 ultimate recovery with a hope less morbid and 
 gloomy. In this state we are now compelled to 
 leave them and her, and to beg the reader will 
 accompany us to another house of sorrow, where 
 the mourning was still more deep, and the spirits 
 that were wounded driven into all the wild and dreary 
 darkness of affliction. 
 
 Our readers cannot forget the helpless state of 
 intoxication, in which Fardorougha left his unhappy 
 son on the evening of the calamitous day that saw 
 him doomed to an ignominious death. His neighbours, 
 as we then said, having procured a car, assisted him 
 home, and would, for his wife's and son's sake have 
 afforded him all the sympathy in their power; he 
 was, however, so completely overcome with the spirits 
 he had drank, and an unconscious latent feeling of 
 the dreadful sentence that had been pronounced 
 upon his son, that he required little else at their 
 hands than to keep him steady on the car. During 
 the greater part of the journey home, his language 
 was only a continuation of the incoherencies which 
 Connor had, with such a humiliating sense of shame 
 and sorrow, witnessed in his prison-cell. A little before 
 they arrived within sight of Ins house, his companions 
 perceived that he had fallen asleep; but to a stranger, 
 ignorant of the occurrences of the day, the car pre- 
 sented the appearance of a party returning from a 
 wedding, or from some other occasion equally festive 
 and social. Most of them were the worse of liquor,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 271 
 
 and one of them in particular had reached a condition 
 which may be too often witnessed in this country. 
 I mean that in which the language becomes thick; 
 the eye knowing, but vacant; the face impudent, but 
 relaxed; the limbs tottering, and the voice invete- 
 rately disposed to melody. The general conversa- 
 tion, therefore, of those who accompanied the old 
 man was, as is usual with persons so circumstanced, 
 high and windy ; but as far as could be supposed by 
 those who heard them, cheerful and amicable. Over 
 the loudness of their dialogue might be heard, from 
 time to time, at a great distance, the song of the 
 drunken melodist just alluded to, rising into those 
 desperate tones which borrow their drowsy energy 
 from intoxication alone. Such was the character of 
 those who accompanied the miser home; and such 
 were the indications conveyed to the ears or eyes of 
 those who either saw or heard them, as they 
 approached Fardorougha's dwelling, where the un- 
 sleeping heart of the mother watched — and oh, with 
 what a dry and burning anguish of expectation, let 
 our readers judge — for the life or death of the only 
 child that God had ever vouchsafed to that loving 
 heart on which to rest all its tenderest hopes and 
 affections. 
 
 The manner in which Honor O' Donovan spent that 
 day was marked by an earnest and simple piety that 
 would have excited high praise and admiration if 
 witnessed in a person of rank or consideration in 
 society. She was, as the reader may remember, too
 
 272 FARDOROUGHA, THE MISER; OR, 
 
 ill to be able to attend tbe trial cf her son, or as she 
 herself expressed it in Irish, "to draw strength to her 
 heart by one look at his manly face — by one glance 
 from her boy's eye." She resolved, however, to draw 
 consolation from a higher source, and to rest the 
 burthen of her sorrows, as far as in her lay, upon 
 that Being by whom alone support can be given; 
 or if she descended from the elevation of true 
 worship, to supplicate the intercession of departed 
 spirits, let us attribute this rather to the dogmas of 
 her creed than the errors of her heart. From the 
 moment her husband left the threshold of his child- 
 less house on that morning, until his return, her 
 prayers to God and the saints were truly incessant. 
 And who is so well acquainted with the inscrutable 
 ways of the Almighty, as to dare assert that the 
 humble supplications of this pious and sorrowful 
 mother were not heard and answered. Whether it 
 was owing to the fervour of an imagination, wrought 
 upon by the influence of a creed which nourishes 
 religious enthusiasm in an extraordinary degree, or 
 whether it was by direct support from that God who 
 compassionated her affliction, let others determine; 
 but certain it is, that in the course of that day she 
 gained a calmness and resignation, joined to an 
 increased fortitude of heart, such as she had not 
 hoped to feel under a calamity so black and terrible. 
 On hearing the approach of the car which bore her 
 husband home, and on listening to the noisy mirth 
 of those, who, had they been sober, would have
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 273 
 
 sincerely respected her grief, she put up an inward 
 prayer of thanksgiving to God for what she supposed 
 to be the happy event of Connor's acquittal. Stun- 
 ning was the blow, however, and dreadful the revul- 
 sion of feeling, occasioned by the discovery of this 
 sad mistake. When she reached the door she felt 
 still further persuaded that all had ended as she 
 wished, for to nothing else, except the wildness of un- 
 expected joy, could she think of ascribing her hus- 
 band's intoxication. 
 
 "We must carry Fardorougha in," said one of 
 them to the rest; "for the liquor has fairly overcome 
 him — he's sound asleep." 
 
 " He is cleared," exclaimed the mother; " my son 
 is cleared ! My heart tells me he has come out without 
 a stain. What else could make his father, that never 
 tasted liquor for the last thirty years, be as he is?" 
 
 " Honor O'Donovan," said one of them, wringing 
 her hand as he spoke, "this has been a black day 
 to you all; you must prepare yourself for bad news." 
 
 "Thin Christ and his blessed mother support me, 
 and support us all ! but what is the worst ? oh ! 
 what is the worst?" 
 
 "The bharradh dhu"* replied the man, alluding 
 to the black cap which the judge puts on when 
 passing sentence of death. 
 
 " Well," said she, " may the name of the Lord 
 that sent this upon us be praised for ever ! That's 
 
 * Literally the black cap." 
 
 N 2
 
 274 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 no rason why we shouldn't still put our trust and 
 reliance in him. I will show them, by the help of 
 God's grace, an' bv the assistance of his blessed 
 mother, who suffered herself — an' oh! what is my 
 sufferings to her's? — I will show them, I say, that I 
 can bear, as a Christian ought, whatever hard fate 
 it may plase the Saviour of the earth to lay upon us. 
 I am sure my son is innocent, an' surely, although 
 it's hard, hard to part with such a boy, yet it's a con- 
 solation to know that he'll be better wid God, who is 
 takin' him, than ever he'd be wid us. So the Lord's 
 will be done this night and for ever! amin!" 
 
 This noble display of glowing piety and fortitude 
 was not lost upon those who witnessed it. After 
 uttering these simple but exalted sentiments, she 
 crossed herself devoutly, as is the custom, and 
 bowed her head with such a vivid sense of God's 
 presence, that it seemed as if she actually stood, as 
 no doubt she did, under the shadow of his power. 
 These men, knowing the force of her love to that 
 son, and the consequent depth of her misery at 
 losing him by a death so shameful and violent, reve- 
 rently took off their hats as she bent her head to 
 express this obedience to the decrees of God, and hi 
 a subdued tone and manner exclaimed, almost with 
 one voice — 
 
 " May God pity you, Honor; for who but your- 
 self would or could act as you do this bitther, bitther 
 night!" 
 
 "I'm onlydoin' what I ought to do," she replied;
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 275 
 
 "what is religion good for if it doesn't keep the 
 heart right, an' support us undher thrials like this, 
 what 'ud it then be but a name ? But how, oh how 
 came his father to be in sich a state on this bitther, 
 bitther night, as you say it is — an' oh! heaven above 
 sees it's that — how came his father, I say, into such 
 a state?" 
 
 They then related the circumstance as it actually 
 happened; and she appeared much relieved to hear 
 that his inebriety was only accidental. 
 
 "I am glad," she said, "that he got it as he did; 
 for indeed if he had made himself dhrunk this day, as 
 too many like him do on sich occasions, he never 
 again would appear the same man in my eyes, nor 
 would my heart ever more warm to him as it did. 
 But thanks be to God that he didn't take it of him- 
 self." 
 
 She then heard, with a composure that could result 
 only from fortitude and resignation united, a more 
 detailed account of her son's trial, after which she 
 added — 
 
 " As God is above me this night, I find it easier to 
 lose Connor than to forgive the man that destroyed 
 him; but this is a bad state of heart, that I trust 
 my Saviour will give me grace to overcome ; an' I 
 know he will if I ax it as I ought; at all evints, I 
 won't lay my side on a bed this night until I pray to 
 God to forgive Bartle Flanagan, an' to turn his 
 heart." 
 
 She then pressed them with a spirit as hospitable
 
 276 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 as it was pious, to partake of food, which they de- 
 clined, from a natural reluctance to give trouble 
 where the heart is known to he pressed down by the 
 violence of domestic calamity. These are distinctions 
 which our humble countrymen draw with a delicacy 
 that may well shame those who move in a higher 
 rank of life. Respect for unmerited affliction, and 
 sympathy for the sorrows of the just and virtuous, 
 are never withheld by the Irish peasant when allowed 
 by those who can guide him either for good or evil 
 to follow the impulses of his own heart. The dignity, 
 for instance, of Honor O' Donovan's bearing under a 
 trial so overwhelming in its nature, and the piety 
 with which she supported it, struck them, half tipsy 
 as they were, so forcibly, that they became sobered 
 down — some of them into a full perception of her 
 firmness and high religious feeling; and those who 
 were more affected by drink into a maudlin gravity 
 of deportment still more honourable to the admirable 
 principles of the woman who occasioned it. 
 
 One of the latter, for instance, named Bat Han- 
 ratty, exclaimed, after they had bade her good night, 
 and expressed their unaffected sorrow for the severe 
 loss she was about to sustain, 
 
 "Well, well, you may all talk; but, be the pow- 
 dhers o' delf, nothin' barrin' the downright grace o' 
 God could sup — sup-port that dacent mother of ould 
 Fardorougha — I mane of his son, poor Connor. But 
 the truth is, you see, that there's nothin' — nothin' — 
 no, the divil saize the hap'o'rth at all, good, bad, or 
 indifferent aquil to puttin' your trust in God; bekaise,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. '1/ / 
 
 you see — Con Roach, I say — bekaise, you see, when 
 a man does that as he ought to do it; for it's all 
 faisthelagh if you go the wrong way about it; but 
 Con — Condy, I say, you're a dacent man; an' it 
 stands to raison — it does, boys — upon my sowl, it 
 does. It wasn't for nothin' that money was lost upon 
 myself, when I was takin' in the edjiggation ; and 
 maybe, if Connor O' Donovan, that is now goin' to 
 suffer, poor fellow — 
 
 1 For the villian swore away my life, an' all by parjuree ; 
 And for that same I die wid shame upon the gallows tree.' 
 
 So, as I was savin', why didn't Connor come in an' 
 join the boys* like another, an' then we could settle 
 Bartle for staggin' against him. For you see, in 
 regard o' that, Condy, it doesn't signify a traneen 
 whether he put a match to the haggard or not; the 
 thing is, you know, that even if he did, Bartle darn't 
 swear against him widout breaking his first oath to 
 the boys ; an' if he did it afther that, an' brought 
 any of them into throuble conthrairy to the Articles, 
 be gorra, sure he'd be entitled to get a gusset opened 
 undher one o' his ears, any how. But you see, Con, 
 be the book — God pardon me for swearin' — but be 
 the book, the mother has the thrue ralligion in her 
 heart, or she'd never stand it the way she does, an' 
 that proves what I was expoundin' ; that afthur all, 
 the sorra hap'o'rth aquil to the grace o' God. I can 
 repate the Conwheetitref in Latin myself, an', upon my 
 
 * Become a Ribbonman. 
 
 -J- The Confiteor, a Latin confession of sin, addressed by 
 Roman Catholics to God and the Saints.
 
 278 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 sowl, I find that afthur a hard day's fightin' or 
 drinkin' it aises my mind all to pieces. Sure they 
 say one bout of it in Latin is worth half a dozin rosa- 
 ries; for, you see, the Latin bein' the mother tongue 
 in heaven, that's what gives sich power entirely to 
 prayers that's offered up in that langridge, an' what 
 makes our clargy so powerful beyant all others." 
 
 He then sang a comic song, and, having passed 
 an additional eulogium on the conduct of Honor 
 O' Donovan, concluded by exhibiting some rather 
 unequivocal symptoms of becoming pathetic from 
 sheer sympathy; after which the soporific effect of 
 his libations soon hushed himself into a snore that 
 acted as a base to the shrill tones in which his com- 
 panions addressed one another from each side of the 
 car.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMOXA. 2/9 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Fardorougha, ever since the passion of avarice had 
 established its accursed dominion in his heart, nar- 
 rowed by degrees his domestic establishment, until, 
 ;owards the latter years of his life, it consisted of 
 onlv a labouring; boy. as the term is, and a servant 
 girl. Indeed, no miser ever was known to maintain 
 a large household : and that for reasons too obvious 
 to be detailed. Since Connor's incarceration, however, 
 his father's heart had so far expanded, that he hired 
 two men as inside servants,* one of them now the 
 father of a large family, being the identical Nogher 
 M'Cormick, who, as the reader remembers, was in 
 his service at the period of Connor's birth. The 
 other was a young man named Thady Star, or Reil- 
 laghan, as it is called in Irish, who was engaged upon 
 the recommendation of Biddy Nulty, then an estab- 
 lished favourite with her master and mistress, in 
 consequence of her faithful devotion to them and 
 Connor, and her simple-hearted participation in 
 their heavy trouble. The manner in which they 
 received the result of her son's trial was not indeed 
 calculated to sustain his mother. In the midst of 
 the clamour, however, she was calm and composed; 
 but it would have been evident to a close observer 
 that a deep impression of religious duty alone sus- 
 
 * That is, labourers who board and lodge in the family.
 
 280 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 tained her, and that the yearnings of the mother's 
 heart, though stilled by resignation to the Divine Will, 
 were yet more intensely agonized by the suppression 
 of what she secretly felt. Such, however, is the 
 motive of those heroic acts of self-denial, which re- 
 ligion only can enable us to perform. It does not 
 harden the heart, or prevent it from feeling the full 
 force of the calamity or sorrow which comes upon us ; 
 no, but whilst we experience it in all the rigour of 
 distress, it teaches us to reflect that suffering is our 
 lot, and that it is our duty to receive these severe 
 dispensations in such a manner as to prevent otbers 
 from being corrupted by our impatience, or by our 
 open want of submission to the decrees of Providence. 
 When the agony of the Man of Sorrows was at its 
 highest, he retired to a solitary place, and whilst 
 every pore exuded water and blood, he still ex- 
 claimed — " Not my will, but thine be done." Here 
 was resignation indeed, but at the same time a heart 
 exquisitely sensible of all it had to bear. And much, 
 indeed, yet lay before tliat of the pious mother of 
 our unhappy hero, and severe was the trial which, 
 on this very night, she was doomed to encounter. 
 
 When Fardorougha awoke, which he did not do 
 until about three o'clock in the morning, he looked 
 wildly about him, and, starting up in the bed, put 
 his two hands on his temples, like a man distracted 
 bv acute pain; yet anxious todevelopein his memory 
 the proceedings of the foregoing day. The inmates, 
 however, were startled from their sleep by a shriek,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 281 
 
 or rather a yell, so loud and unearthly that, in a few 
 minutes, they stood collected about his bed. It would 
 be impossible, indeed, to conceive, much less to 
 describe such a picture of utter horror as then pre- 
 sented itself to their observation. A look that re- 
 sembled the turbid glare of insanity, was fixed 
 upon them whilst he uttered shriek after shriek, 
 without the power of articulating a syllable. The 
 room, too, was dim and gloomy; for the light of the 
 candle that was left burning beside him, had become 
 ghastly for want of snuffing. There he sat — his 
 fleshless hands pressed against his temples ; his thin, 
 grey hair standing out wildly from his head; his lips 
 asunder; and his cheeks sucked in so far that the 
 chasms occasioned in his jawbones, by the want of 
 his back teeth, were plainly visible. 
 
 "Chiernah dheelish," exclaimed Honor, "what is 
 this? as heaven's above me, I believe he's dyin'; see 
 how he gasps. Here, Fardorougha," she exclaimed, 
 seizing a jug of water which had been left on the 
 chair beside him, but which he evidently had not seen, 
 "here, here, darlin', wet your lips; the cool wather 
 will refresh you." 
 
 He immediately clutched the jug with eager and 
 trembling hands, and at one rapid draught emptied 
 it to the bottom. 
 
 "Now," he shouted, "I can spake, now I can 
 spake. Where's my son? where's my son? an' what 
 has happened me? how did I come here? was I 
 mad? am I mad? but tell me, tell me first, where's
 
 282 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Connor? Is it thrue? is it all thrue? or is it me 
 that's mad?" 
 
 " Fardorougha, dear," said his wife, " be a man, 
 or rather be a Christian. It was God gave Connor 
 to us, and who has a betther right to take him back 
 from us? Don't be flyin' in His face, bekase he 
 wont ordher every thing as you wish. You haven't 
 taken off of you to-night, so rise, dear, and calm 
 yourself; then go to your knees, lift your heart to 
 God, and beg of him to grant you strinth and pa- 
 tience. Thry that coorse, avourneen, an' you'll 
 find it the best." 
 
 "How did I come home, I say? oh, tell me, 
 Honor, tell me, was I out o' my wits?" 
 
 " You fainted," she replied; "and thin they gave 
 you whiskey to support you; an' not bein' accus- 
 tomed to it, it got into your head." 
 
 "Oh, Honor, our son! our son!" he replied; then, 
 starting out of the bed in a fit of the wildest despair, 
 he clasped his hands together, and shrieked out, "oh, 
 our son, our son, our son Connor! Merciful Saviour, 
 how will I name it ? to be hanged by the neck ! Oh, 
 Honor, Honor, dont you pity me ? Mother of heaven, 
 this night! That burradh dhu, that barradh dhu 
 put on for our boy, our innocent boy; who can un- 
 dherstand it, Honor? It's not justice; there's no 
 justice in heaven, or my son wouldn't be murdhered, 
 slaughtered down in the prime of his life, for no 
 rason. But no matther; let him be taken; only 
 hear this — if he goes, I'll never bend my knee to a
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 283 
 
 single prayer while I've life; for it's terrible, it's 
 cruel, 'tisn't justice — nor do I care what becomes of 
 me, either in this world or the other. All I want, 
 Honor, is to folly him as soon as I can ; my hopes, 
 my happiness, my life, my every thing is gone wid 
 him; an' what need I care thin what becomes of me? 
 I don't, I don't." 
 
 The faces of the domestics grew pale as they heard, 
 with silent horror, the incoherent blasphemies of the 
 frantic man; but his wife, whose eyes were riveted on 
 him while he spoke, and while he paced, with a hurried 
 step, up and down the room, felt at a loss whether 
 to attribute his impiety to an attack of insanity, or 
 to a temporary fever brought on by his late sufferings, 
 and the intoxication of the preceding night. 
 
 "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy 
 Ghost, Fardorougha," she said calmly, placing her 
 hand upon his shoulder; "are you sinsible that 
 you're this minute afther blasphemin' your Creator?" 
 
 He gave her a quick, disturbed, and peevish look; 
 but made no reply. She then proceeded: 
 
 " Fardorougha, I thought the loss of Connor the 
 greatest punishment that could be put upon me; but 
 I find I was mistaken. I would rather see him dead 
 to-morrow, wid the rope about his neck, than to 
 hear his father blasphemin' the livin' God! Fardo- 
 rougha, it's clear that you're not now fit to pray for 
 yourself, but in the name of our Saviour, I'll go an' 
 pray for you. In the manetime go to bed; sleep 
 will settle your head, and you will be better, I trust, 
 in the mornin'."
 
 284 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 The calm solemnity of her manner awed him, 
 notwithstanding the vehemence of his grief. He 
 stood and looked at her, with his hands tightly 
 clasped, as she went to her son's bed-room in order 
 to pray for him. For a moment he seemed abashed 
 and stunned. While she addressed him, he invo- 
 luntarily ceased to utter those sounds of anguish, 
 which were neither shrieks nor groans, but something 
 between both. He then resumed his pace, but with 
 a more settled step, and for some minutes main- 
 tained perfect silence. 
 
 " Get me," said he, at length, " get me a drink 
 of water; I'm in a flame wid drouth." 
 
 When Biddy Nulty went out to fetch him this, he 
 inquired of the rest what Honor meant by charging 
 him with blasphemy. 
 
 " Surely, I didn't blaspheme," he said, peevishly; 
 " no, no, I'm not that bad; but, any how, let her 
 pray for me; her prayer will be heard, if ever woman's 
 was." 
 
 When Biddy returned, he emptied the jug of water 
 with the same trembling eagerness as before; then 
 clasped his hands again, and commenced pacing the 
 room, evidently in a mood of mind about to darken 
 into all the wildness of his former grief. 
 
 " Fardorougha," saidNogher M'Cormick; " I was 
 undher this roof the night your manly son was born. 
 I remimber it well; and I remimber, more betoken, I 
 had to check vou for flvin' in the face o' God that 
 sent him to you. Instead o' feelin' happy and de-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 285 
 
 lighted, as you ought to a' done, an' as any other 
 man but yourself would, you grew dark an' sulky, 
 and grumbled bekase you thought there was a family 
 comin'. I tould you that night to take care an' not 
 be committin' sin; an' you may remimber, too, that 
 I gev you chapther and verse for it out o' Scripthur: 
 ' Yo be to the* man that's born wid a millstone 
 about his neck, espeshilly, if he's to be cast into 
 the say.' The truth is, Fardorougha, you warn't 
 thankful to God for him ; and you see that afther all, 
 it doesn't do to go to loggerheads wid the Almighty. 
 Maybe, had you been thankful for him, he wouldn't 
 be where he is this night. Millstone ! Faith it was 
 a home thrust that same verse; for if you didn't carry 
 the millstone about your neck, you had it in your 
 heart; and you now see and feel the upshot. I'm 
 now goin' fast into age myself; my hair is greyer 
 than your own, and I could take it to my death," 
 said the honest fellow, while a tear or two ran slowly 
 down his cheek, " that, exceptin' one o' my own 
 childhre; and may God spare them to me; I couldn't 
 feel more sorrow at the fate of any one livin' than at 
 Connor's. Many a time I held him in these arms, 
 and many a little play I made for him, an' many a 
 time he axed me why his father didn't nurse him as 
 I did; 'bekase,' he used to say, 'I would rather he 
 would nurse me, nor any body else, barring my 
 mother; an' after him, you, Nogher.' " 
 
 These last observations of his servant, probed the 
 heart of the old man to the quick; but the feeling
 
 286 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 which they excited was a healthy one; or, rather, 
 the associations they occasioned threw Fardorougha's 
 mind upon the memory of those affections which 
 avarice had suppressed, without destroying. 
 
 " I loved him, Nogher," said he, deeply agitated; 
 " oh, none but God knows how I loved him, although 
 I didn't an' couldn't bring myself to show it at the 
 time. There was something upon me; a curse, I 
 think, that prevented me; an' now that I love him 
 as a father ought to do, I will not have him. Oh, 
 my son, my son, what will become of me, after you ? 
 Heavenly Father, pity me and support me! Oh, 
 Connor, my son, my son, what will become of me !" 
 
 He then sat down on the bed, and placing his 
 hands upon his face, he wept long and bitterly. His 
 grief now, however, was natural, for during the most 
 violent of his paroxysms in the preceding hour, he 
 shed not a tear; yet now they ran down his cheeks, 
 and through his fingers in torrents. 
 
 " Cry on, cry on," said Nogher, wiping his own 
 eyes; "it will lighten your heart; an' who knows but 
 it's his mother's prayers that brought you to your- 
 self, and got this relief for you. Go, Biddy," said 
 he in a whisper to the servant-maid, " and tell the 
 misthress to come here, she'll know best how to 
 manage him, now that he's a little calm." 
 
 " God be praised," ejaculated Honor, on seeing 
 him weep; "these tears will cool your head, avour- 
 neen ; an' now, Fardorougha, when you're tired 
 cryin', if you take my advice, you'll go to your knees,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMOXA. 287 
 
 an' offer up five Pathers, fives Aves, an' a Creed, for 
 the grace of the Almighty to direct and strengthen 
 you; and thin, afther that, go to bed, as I sed, an' 
 you'll find how well you'll be afther a sound sleep." 
 
 " Honor," replied her husband, " avourneen ma- 
 chree, I think you'll save your husband's sowl yet, 
 undher my merciful Saviour." 
 
 " Your son, undher the same merciful God will do 
 it. Your heart was hard and godless, Fardorougha, 
 and surelv, if Connor's death 'ill be the manes of 
 savin' his father's sowl, wouldn't it be a blessin' 
 instead of a misfortune ? Think of it in that light, 
 Fardorougha, and turn your heart to God. As for 
 Connor, isn't it a comfort to know, that the breath 
 won't be out of his body, till he's a bright angel in 
 heaven ?" 
 
 The old man wiped his eyes, and knelt down, first 
 having desired them to leave him. When the prayers 
 were recited, he called in Honor. 
 
 " I'm afeard," said he, " that my heart wasn't 
 properly in them, for I couldn't prevent my mind 
 from wandherin' to our boy." 
 
 This touching observation took the mother's affec- 
 tions by surprise. A tear started to her eye, but 
 after what was evidently a severe struggle she sup- 
 pressed it. 
 
 " It's not at once you can do it, Fardorougha; so 
 don't be cast down. Now, go to bed in the name of 
 God, and sleep ; and may the Lord in heaven support 
 you — and support us both; for oh, it's we that want 
 it this night of sorrow."
 
 288 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 She then stooped down, and affectionately kissed 
 him, and having wished him good night, she retired 
 to Connor's bed, where, ever since the day of his 
 incarceration, this well-tried mother and enduring 
 Christian slept. 
 
 At this stage of our story, we will pause for a 
 moment, to consider the state of mind and compara- 
 tive happiness of the few persons who are actors in 
 our humble drama. 
 
 To those capable of observing only human action, 
 independently of the motives by which it is regu- 
 lated, it may appear that the day which saw Connor 
 O' Donovan consigned to a premature and shameful 
 deatb, was one of unmingled happiness to Bartle 
 Flanagan. They know little of man's heart, how- 
 ever, who could suppose this to be the case, or who 
 could even imagine that he was happier than those 
 on whom his revenge and perfidy had entailed such 
 a crushing load of misery. It is, indeed, impossible 
 to guess what the nature of that feeling must be, 
 which arises from the full gratification of mean and 
 diabolical malignity. Every action of the heart at 
 variance with virtue and truth, is forced to keep up 
 so many minute and fearful precautions, all of which 
 are felt to be of vast moment at the time, that we 
 question if ever the greatest glut of vengeance pro- 
 duced, no matter what the occasion may have been, 
 any satisfaction capable of counterbalancing all the 
 contingencies and apprehensions by which the mind 
 is distracted both before and after its perpetration.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 289 
 
 The plan and accomplishment must both be perfect 
 in all their parts — for if either fail only in a single 
 point, all is lost, and the pleasure arising from them 
 resembles the fruit which is said to grow by the 
 banks of the Dead Sea — it is beautiful and tempting 
 to the eve, but bitterness and ashes to the taste. 
 
 The fadure of the County Treasurer, for instance, 
 deprived Bartle Flanagan of more than half his 
 revenge. He was certainly far more anxious to punish 
 the father than the son, and were it not that he saw 
 no other mode of effecting his vengeance on Fardo- 
 rougha, than by destroying the only object on earth 
 that he loved next to his wealth, he would never 
 have made the innocent pay the penalty of the gudty. 
 As he had gone so far, however, self-preservation 
 now made him anxious that Connor should die; as 
 he knew his death would remove out of his way the 
 only person in existence absolutely acquainted with 
 his villany. One would think, indeed, that the sen- 
 tence pronounced upon his victim ought to have 
 satisfied him on that head. This, however, it failed 
 to do. That sentence contained one clause, which 
 utterly destroyed the completeness of his design, and 
 filled his soul with a secret apprehension either of 
 just retribution, or some future ill which he could 
 not shake off, and for which the reward received for 
 Connor's apprehension was but an ineffectual anti- 
 dote. The clause alluded to in the judge's charge, 
 viz. — " the recommendation of the jury to the mercy 
 of the crown, in consideration of your youth, and 
 
 o
 
 290 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 previous good conduct, shall not be overlooked" — 
 sounded in his ears like some mysterious sentence 
 that involved his own fate, and literallv filled his 
 heart with terror and dismay. Independently of all 
 this, his villanous projects had involved him in a 
 systematic course of guilt, which was yet far from 
 being brought to a close. In fact, he now found by 
 experience how difficult it is to work out a bad action 
 with success, and how the means, and plans, and 
 instruments necessary to it, must multiply and be- 
 come so deep and complicated in guilt, that scarcely 
 any single intellect, in the case of a person who can 
 be reached by the laws, is equal to the task of execut- 
 ing a great crime against society, in a perfect manner. 
 If this were so, discovery would be impossible, and 
 revenge certain. 
 
 With respect to Connor himself it is only necessary 
 to say that a short and well-spent life, and a heart 
 naturally firm, deprived death of its greatest terrors. 
 Still he felt it in some depressed moods a terrible 
 thing indeed to reflect, that he, in the very fulness of 
 strength and youth, should be cut down from among 
 his fellows — a victim without a crime, and laid with 
 shame in the grave of a felon. But he had witnessed 
 neither his mother's piety nor her example in vain, 
 and it was in the gloom of his dungeon that he felt 
 the light of both upon his spirit. 
 
 " Surely," said he, " as I am to die, is it not 
 better that I should die innocent than guilty ? 
 Instead of fretting that I suffer, a guiltless man,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 291 
 
 surely I ought to thank my God that I am so; an' 
 that my soul hasn't to meet the sin of such a revenge- 
 ful act as I'm now condemned for. I'll die, then, 
 like a Christian man, putting my hope and trust in 
 the mercy of my Redeemer — ever an' always hoping 
 that by his assistance I will be enabled to do it." 
 
 Different, indeed, was the moral state and position 
 of these two young men ; the one, though shut up in 
 his prison cell, was sustained by the force of con- 
 scious innocence, and that reliance upon the mercy 
 of God, which constitutes the highest order of piety, 
 and the noblest basis for fortitude; the other, on the 
 contrary, disturbed by the tumultuous and gloomy 
 associations of guilt, and writhing under the convic- 
 tion, that although he had revenge, he had not 
 satisfaction. The terror of crime was upon him, and 
 he felt himself deprived of that best and only security, 
 which sets all vain apprehensions at defiance, the 
 consciousness of inward integrity. Who, after all, 
 would barter an honest heart for the danger arising 
 from secret villany, when such an apparently triumph- 
 ant villain as Bartle Flanagan felt a deadly fear of 
 Connor O' Donovan in his very dungeon ? Such, 
 however, is guilt, and such are the terrors that 
 accompany it. 
 
 The circumstances which in Ireland usually follow 
 the conviction of a criminal, are so similar to each 
 other, that we feel it, even in this case, unnecessary 
 to do more than give a mere sketch of Connor's brief 
 life as a culprit. We have just observed that the
 
 292 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 only clause in the judge's charge which smote the 
 heart of the traitor Flanagan with a presentiment of 
 evil, was that containing the words in which something 
 like a hope of having Connor's sentence mitigated was 
 held out to him, in consequence of the recommenda- 
 tion to mercy, by which the jury accompanied their 
 verdict. It is very strange, on the other hand, that 
 at the present stage of our story, neither his father 
 nor mother knew any thing whatsoever of the judge 
 having given expression to such a hope. The old 
 man, distracted as he was at the time, heard nothing, 
 or at least remembered nothing, but the awful 
 appearance of the black cap, or as they term it in the 
 country, the barradh dhu, and the paralysing words 
 in which the sentence of death was pronounced upon 
 his son. It consequently happened that the same 
 clause in the charge already noticed, positively occa- 
 sioned the misery df Bartle Flanagan on the one 
 hand, and negatively of Connor's parents on the 
 other. 
 
 The morning after the trial, Fardorougha was up as 
 early as usual, but his grief was nearly as vehement 
 and frantic as on the preceding night. It was ob- 
 served, however — such is the power of sorrow to 
 humanize and create sympathy in the heart — that 
 when he arose, instead of peevishly and weakly obtru- 
 ding his grief and care upon those about him, as he 
 was wont to do, he now kept aloof from the room in 
 w r hich Honor slept, from an apprehension of dis- 
 turbing her repose — a fact which none who knew his
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 293 
 
 previous selfishness would have believed, had he not 
 himself expressed in strong terms a fear of awakening 
 her. Nor did this new trait of his character escape 
 the observation of his own servants, especially of his 
 honest monitor, Nogher M'Cormick. 
 
 "Well, well," exclaimed this rustic philosopher; 
 "see what God's affliction does. Faith it has brought 
 Fardorougha to feel a trifle for others, as well as for 
 himself. Who knows, begad, but it may take the mill- 
 stone out of his heart yet ? and if it does, my word to 
 you, he may thank his wife, undher God, for it." 
 
 Before leaving home that morning to see his son, 
 he found with deep regret that Honor's illness had 
 been so much increased by the events of the prece- 
 ding day, that she could not leave her bed. And 
 now, for the first time a thought loaded with 
 double anguish struck upon his heart. 
 
 "Saver of earth!" he exclaimed, "what would 
 become of me if both should go and lave me alone ? 
 Ay, ay," he continued, "I see it. I see how asily 
 God might make my situation still worse than I 
 thought it could he. Oh God forgive me my sins! 
 and may God soften my heart ! Amin !" 
 
 He then went to see his wife ere he set out for his 
 unhappy son; and it was with much satisfaction that 
 Honor observed a changed and chastened tone in his 
 manner, which she had never, except for a moment 
 at the birth of his child, noticed before. Not that 
 his grief was much lessened, but it was more rational, 
 and altogether free from the violence and impiety
 
 294 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 which had characterized it when he awoke from his 
 intoxication. 
 
 " Honor/' said he, " how do you find yourself this 
 mornin', alanna ? They tell me you're worse than 
 you wor yestherda." 
 
 "Indeed, I'm wake enough," she replied, "and 
 very much bate down, Fardorougha; but you know 
 it's not our own stringth at any time that we're to 
 depend upon, but God's. I'm not willin' to attempt 
 any thing beyant my power at present. My seeing 
 him now would do neither of us any good, and might 
 be his mother's death. I must see him, to be 
 sure, and I'll strive, plase God, to gather up a 
 little strength for that." 
 
 "My heart's breakin', Honor, and I'm beginnin' 
 to see I've acted a bad part to both of you all along. 
 I feel it, indeed; and if it was the will o' God, I 
 
 didn't care if " 
 
 "Whisht, acushla, whisht — sich talk as that's 
 not right. Think, Fardorougha, whether you acted 
 a bad part towards God or not, and never heed us; 
 an' think too, dear, whether you acted a bad or 
 a good part towards the poor, an' them that was in 
 distress and hardship, an' that came to you for relief 
 — they were your fellow-crathers, Fardorougha, at all 
 evints. Think of these things, I'm sayin', and never 
 heed us. You know that Connor and I forgive you, 
 but you aren't so sure whether God and them will." 
 These observations of this inestimable woman had 
 the desired effect, which was, as she afterwards said,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 295 
 
 to divert her husband's mind as much as possible 
 from the contemplation of Connor's fate, and to fix 
 it upon the consideration of those duties in which she 
 knew his conscience, now touched by calamity, 
 would tell him he had been deficient. 
 
 Fardorougha was silent for some time after her 
 last observations — but at length he observed : 
 
 " Would it be possible, Honor, that all this was 
 brought upon us in ordher to punish me for — 
 for " 
 
 "To pimish you, Fardorougha! Fareer gairh, 
 avourneen, arn't we all punished ? look at my worn 
 face, and think of what ten days' sorrow can do in a 
 mother's heart — think, too, of the boy. Oh no, no — 
 do you think we have nothin' to be punished for ? 
 But we have all one comfort, Fardorougha, and that 
 is, that God's ever and always willin' to resave us, 
 when we turn to him wid a true heart. Nobody, 
 avillish, can forget and forgive as he does." 
 
 " Honor, why didn't you oftener spake to me 
 this a-way than you did ?" 
 
 "I often did, dear, an' you may remember it; but 
 you were then strong; you had your wealth; every 
 thing flowed wid you, an' the same wealth — the 
 world's timptation — was strong in your heart; but 
 God has taken it from you, I hope as a blessing — for 
 indeed, Fardorougha, I'm afeared if you had it now, 
 
 that neither he nor but I won't say it, dear, for 
 
 God he sees I dont wish to say one word that 'ud 
 distress you now, avourneen. Any how, Fardorougha,
 
 296 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 never despair in God's goodness — never do it; who 
 can tell what may happen ?" 
 
 Her husband's grief was thus checked, and a 
 train of serious reflection laid, which like some of 
 those self-evident convictions that fasten on the 
 awakened conscience, the old man could not shake 
 off. 
 
 Honor, in her further conversation with him, 
 touching the coming interview with the unhappy cul- 
 prit, desired him above all things, to set " their noble 
 boy" an example of firmness, and by no means to 
 hold out to him any expectation of life. 
 
 " It would be worse than murdher," she ex- 
 claimed, "to do so. No — prepare him by your advice, 
 Fardorougha, ay, and by your example to be firm — 
 and tell him that his mother expects he will die like 
 an innocent man — noble and brave — not like a guilty 
 coward, afeard to look up and meet his God." 
 
 Infidels and hypocrites, so long as their career in 
 vice is unchecked by calamity, will no doubt sneer 
 when we assure them, that Fardorougha, after leaving 
 his wife that morning once more to visit his son, felt 
 a sense of relief, or, perhaps we should say, a breaking 
 of faint light upon his mind, which slight as it was, 
 afforded him more comfort and support than he ever 
 hoped to experience. Indeed it was almost impossible 
 for any heart to exist within the influence of that 
 piety which animated his admirable wife, and not 
 catch the holy fire which there burned with such 
 purity and brightness.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 297 
 
 Ireland, however, abounds with such instances of 
 female piety and fortitude, not indeed, as they would 
 be made to appear in the unfeminine violence of poli- 
 tical turmoil, in which a truly pious female would not 
 embroil herself; but in the quiet recess of domestic 
 life — in the hard struggles against poverty, and in 
 those cruel visitations, where the godly mother is 
 forced to see her innocent son corrupted by the dark 
 influence of political crime, drawn within the vortex 
 of secret confederacy, and subsequently yielding up 
 his life to the outraged laws of that country which he 
 assisted to distract. It is in scenes like these that 
 the unostentatious magnanimity of the pious Irish 
 wife or mother may be discovered ; and it is here 
 where as the night and storms of life darken her path, 
 the holy fortitude of her heart shines with a lustre 
 proportioned to the depth of the gloom around her. 
 
 When Fardorougha reached the town in which 
 his ill-fated son occupied the cell 0/ a felon, he found 
 to his surprise that early as were his habits, there 
 were others whose movements were still more early 
 than his own. John O'Brien had come to town — 
 been with his attorney — had got a memorial in 
 behalf of Connor to the Irish government engrossed 
 and actually signed by more than one half of the 
 jury who tried him — all before the hour of ten 
 o'clock. A copy of this document, which was written 
 by O'Brien himself, now lies before us, with the 
 names of all the jurors attached to it; and a more 
 beautiful or affecting piece of composition we have 
 
 o 2
 
 298 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 never read. The energy and activity of O'Brien 
 were certainly uncommon, and so, indeed, were his 
 motives. As he himself told Fardorougha, whom 
 he met as the latter entered the town — 
 
 "I am doing what I can for Connor, although 
 I have never yet exchanged a syllable with him. 
 Still, I do assure you, Fardorougha, that I have other 
 motives — which you shall never know — far stronger 
 than any connected with the fate of your son. Now, 
 don't misunderstand me." 
 
 "No," replied the helpless old man, who was 
 ignorant of the condition of O'Brien's sister, " I will 
 not indeed — I'd he long sarry." 
 
 O'Brien saw that any rational explanation he might 
 give would only be thrown away upon a man who 
 seemed to be so utterly absorbed and stupified by the 
 force of his own sufferings. 
 
 " Poor old man," he exclaimed, as Fardorougha 
 left him to visit Connor, "see what affliction does! 
 There are thousands now who pity you — even you, 
 whom almost every one who knew you cursed and 
 detested." 
 
 Such, indeed, was the fact. The old man's hard- 
 ness of heart was forgotten in the pity that was 
 produced by the dreadful fate which awaited his 
 unhappy son. We must now pass briefly over occur- 
 rences which are better understood when left to the 
 reader's imagination. John O'Brien was not the 
 only one who interested himself in the fate of Connor. 
 Fardorougha, as a matter of course, got the priest of
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 299 
 
 the parish, a good and pious man, to draw up a 
 memorial in the name, as he said, of himself and 
 his wife. The gentry of the neighbourhood, also 
 including the members of the grand jury, addressed 
 government on his behalf — for somehow there was 
 created among those who knew the parties, or even 
 who heard the history of their loves, a sympathy 
 which resulted more from those generous impulses 
 that intuitively perceive truth, than from the cooler 
 calculations of reason. The heart never reasons — 
 it is therefore the seat of feeling, and the fountain of 
 mercy; the head does — and it is probably on that 
 account the seat of justice, often of severity, and 
 not unfrequently of cruelty and persecution. Connor 
 himself was much relieved by that day's interview 
 with his father. Even he could perceive a change 
 for the better in the old man's deportment. Fardo- 
 rougha's praises of Honor, and his strong allusions 
 to the support and affection he experienced at her 
 hands, under circumstances so trying, were indeed 
 well calculated to prepare her "noble boy," as she 
 truly called him, for the reception of the still more 
 noble message which she sent him. 
 
 "Father," said he, as they separated that day, 
 " tell my mother that I will die as she wishes me; and 
 tell her, too, that if I wasn't an innocent man I could 
 not do it. And oh, father," he added, and he seized his 
 hands, and fell upon his neck, "oh, father dear, if you 
 love me, your own Connor — and I know you do — oh
 
 300 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 then, father dear, I say again, be guided in this heavy- 
 affliction by my dear mother's advice." 
 
 "Connor," returned the old man, deeply affected, 
 "I will. I had made my mind up to that afore I 
 saw you at all to-day. Connor do you know what 
 I'm beginnin' to think?" 
 
 " No, father dear, I do not." 
 
 "Why, then, it's this, that she'll be the manes of 
 savin' your father's soul. Connor, I can look back 
 now upon my money — all I lost — it was no doubt 
 terrible — terrible all out — Connor, my rint is due, 
 and I haven't the manes of meetin' it! 
 
 Alas, thought the boy, how hard is it to root 
 altogether out of the heart that principle which 
 inclines it to the love of wealth. 
 
 "At any rate, I will take your advice, Connor, 
 and be guided by your mother. She's very poorly, 
 or she'd be wid you afore now; but, indeed, Connor, 
 her health is the occasion of it — it is — it is !" 
 
 Fardorougha's apology for his wife contained much 
 more truth than he himself was aware of at the time 
 he made it. On returning home that night, he found 
 her considerably worse, but as she had been generally 
 healthy, he very naturally ascribed her illness to the 
 affliction she felt for the fate of their son. In this, 
 however, he was mistaken, as the original cause of 
 it was unconnected with the heavy domestic dispen- 
 sation which had fallen upon them. So far as she 
 was concerned, the fate of her boy would have called
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 301 
 
 up from her heart fresh energy, and if possible a 
 higher order of meek but pious courage. She would 
 not have left him unsustained and uncherished, had 
 the physical powers of the mother been able to 
 second the sacred principles with which she met and 
 triumphed over the trial that was laid upon her.
 
 302 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 It was one evening about ten days after O' Donovan's 
 conviction that Bodagh Buie O'Brien's wife sat by 
 the bed-side of her enfeebled and languishing 
 daughter. The crisis of her complaint had passed 
 the day before; and a very slight improvement, 
 visible only to the eye of her physician, had taken 
 place. Her delirium remained much as before; 
 sometimes returning with considerable violence, and 
 again leaving reason, though feeble and easily dis- 
 turbed, yet when unexcited by external causes, 
 capable of applying its powers to the circumstances 
 around her. On this occasion the mother, who 
 watched every motion and anticipated every wish of 
 the beloved one, saw that she turned her eye several 
 times upon her as if some peculiar anxiety distressed 
 her. 
 
 " Una, jewel," she at length inquired, " is there 
 any thing you want, colleen machree; or any thing I 
 can do for you?" 
 
 "Come near me, mother," she replied, "come 
 near me." 
 
 Her mother approached her still more nearly. 
 
 "I'm afraid," she said in a very low voice, "I'm 
 afraid to ask it." 
 
 " Only wait for a minute or two," said her mother,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 303 
 
 " an' John will — but here's the docthor's foot; they 
 wor spakin' a word or two below; an' whisper, darlin' 
 o' my heart, sure John has something to tell you — 
 something that will — " 
 
 She looked with a searching anxiety into her 
 mother's face; and it might have been perceived that 
 the morning twilight of hope beamed faintly but 
 beautifully upon her pale features. The expression 
 that passed over them was indeed so light and tran- 
 sient that one could scarcely say she smiled; yet that 
 a more perceptible serenity diffused its gentle irradi- 
 ation over her languid countenance was observed 
 even by her mother. 
 
 The doctor's report was favourable. 
 
 "She is slowly improving since yesterday," said 
 he, on reaching the parlour; "I am afraid, however, 
 she's too weak at present to sustain this intelligence. 
 I would recommend you to wait for a day or two, 
 and in the mean time to assume a cheerful deport- 
 ment, and break it to her rather by your looks 
 and manner than by a direct or abrupt communi- 
 cation." 
 
 They promised to observe his directions; but when 
 her mother informed them of the hint she herself 
 threw out to her, they resolved to delay the matter 
 no longer; and John, in consequence of what his 
 mother had led her to expect, went to break the intelli- 
 gence to her as well as he could. An expectation 
 had been raised in her mind, and he judged properly 
 enough that there was less danger in satisfying it than
 
 304 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 in leaving her just then in a state of such painful 
 uncertainty. 
 
 "Dear Una," said he, "I am glad to hear the 
 doctor say that you are better." 
 
 " I think I am a little," said she. 
 
 "What was my mother saying to you, just now, 
 before the doctor was with you 1 But why do you 
 look at me so keenly, Una," said he cheerfully; "it's 
 some time since you saw me in such good humour — 
 isn't it ?" 
 
 She paused for a moment herself; and her brother 
 could observe that the hope which his manner was 
 calculated to awaken, lit itself into a faint smile 
 rather visible in her eyes than on her features. 
 
 " Why, I believe you are smiling yourself, Una." 
 
 "John," said she, earnestly, "is it good ?" 
 
 " It is darling — he wont die." 
 
 "Oh! kiss me, kiss me," she said, "and may 
 eternal blessings rest upon you !" 
 
 She then kissed him affectionately, laid her head 
 back upon the pillow, and John saw with delight that 
 the large tears of happiness rolled in torrents down 
 her pale cheeks. 
 
 It was indeed true that Connor O'Donovan was 
 not to die. The memorials which had reached 
 government from so many quarters, backed as they 
 were by very powerful influence, and detailing as 
 they did a case of such very romantic interest, could 
 scarcely fail in arresting the execution of so stern and 
 deadly a sentence. It was ascertained, too, by the
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 305 
 
 correspondence of his friends with government that 
 the judge who tried his case, notwithstanding the ap- 
 parent severity of his charge, had been moved by an 
 irresistible impulse to save him; and he actually 
 determined from the beginning to have his sentence 
 commuted to transportation for life. 
 
 The happy effect of this communication on Una 
 O'Brien diffused a cheerful spirit among her family 
 and relatives, who, in truth, had feared that her fate 
 would ultimately depend upon that of her lover. 
 After having been much relieved by the copious flood 
 of tears she shed, and heard with composure all 
 the details connected with the mitigation of his sen- 
 tence, she asked her brother if Connor's parents had 
 been yet made acquainted with it. 
 
 "I think not," he replied; "the time is too 
 short." 
 
 "John," said the affectionate girl, "oh, consider 
 his mother; and think of the misery that one single 
 hour's knowledge of this may take away from her 
 heart. Go to her, my dear John, and may all the 
 blessings of heaven rest upon you !" 
 
 " Good by, then, Una dear; I will go." 
 
 He took her worn hand in his, as he spoke, 
 and looking on her with affectionate admiration, 
 added — 
 
 "Yes ! Good by, my darling sister; believe me, 
 Una, that I think if there's justice in heaven you'll 
 have a light heart yet." 
 
 " It is very light now," she returned, "compared
 
 306 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 with what it was; but go, John, don't lose a moment; 
 for I know what they svffer." 
 
 Her mother, after John's departure for Fardo- 
 rougha's, went up to sit with her; but she found that 
 the previous scene, although it relieved, had ex- 
 hausted her. In the course of a few minutes their 
 limited dialogue ceased, and she sank into a sound 
 and refreshing sleep, from which she did not awaken 
 until her brother had some time returned from the 
 execution of his pious message. And piously was 
 that message received by her for whose misery the 
 considerate heart of Una O'Brien felt so deeply. 
 
 Fardorougha had been out about the premises, 
 mechanically looking to the manner in which the 
 business of his farm had been of late managed by 
 his two servants, when he descried O'Brien approach- 
 ing the house at a cpiick if not a hurried pace. He 
 immediately went in and communicated the circum- 
 stance to his wife. 
 
 "Honor," said he, "here is Bodagh Buie's son 
 comin' up to the house — what on earth can bring 
 the boy here ?" 
 
 This was the first day on which his wife had been 
 able to rise from her sick bed. She was consequently 
 feeble ; and physically speaking capable of no domes- 
 tic exertion. Her mind, however, was firm as ever, 
 and prompt as before her calamity, to direct and 
 overlook in her own sweet and affectionate manner, 
 whatever required her superintendence. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know, Fardorougha," she
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 307 
 
 replied. " It can't, I hope, be wid bad news— that 
 thravels fast enough— an' I'm sure the Bodagh's son 
 wouldn't take pleasure in bein' the first to tell it 
 to us." 
 
 " But what can bring him, Honor ? What on 
 earth can bring the boy here now that never stood 
 undher our roof afore ?" 
 
 " Three or four minutes, Fardorougha, will tell us. 
 Let us hope in God it isn't bad. Eh, it wouldn't be 
 the death of his sister— of Connor's Oona ? No," 
 she added, "they wouldn't send, much less come, 
 to tell us that, but sure we'll hear it — we'll hear it; 
 and may God give us stringth to hear it right, 
 whether it's good or bad ! Amin, Jasus, this day!" 
 
 She had hardly uttered the last words when 
 O'Brien entered. 
 
 "Young man," said this superior woman, "it's 
 a poor welcome we can give you to a house of 
 sorrow." 
 
 "Ay," said Fardorougha, "his mother an' I's 
 here, but where is he 1 Nine days from this— but 
 it'll kill me— it will— it will. Whin he's taken from 
 me I don't care how soon I folly him; God forgive 
 me if it's a sin to say so!" 
 
 " Fardorougha," said his wife, in a tone of affec- 
 tionate reproof, " remimber what you promised me, 
 an', at all events, you forget that Mr. O'Brien here 
 may have his own troubles; I hard your sister was 
 unwell. Oh, how is she, poor thing ?" 
 
 " I thank you, a great deal better; I will not deny
 
 308 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 but she heard a piece of intelligence this day, that 
 has relieved her mind and taken a dead weight off 
 her heart. 
 
 Honor, with uncommon firmness and solemnity of 
 manner, placed her hand upon his shoulder, and, 
 looking him earnestly in the face said, 
 
 " That news is about our son ?" 
 
 "It is," replied O'Brien, "and it's good; his sen- 
 tence is changed, and he's not to die." 
 
 " Not to die!" shrieked the old man, starting up, 
 and clapping his hands franticly — " not to die ! our 
 son — Connor, Connor — not to be hanged — not to be 
 hanged! did you say that, son of O'Brien Buie — did 
 you? — did you?" 
 
 "I did," replied the other; "he will not suffer." 
 
 "Now that's God!" ejaculated Fardorougha, 
 wildly; "that's God — an' his mother's prayers. 
 Boys," he shrieked, "come here; come here, Biddy 
 Nulty, come here; Connor's not to die! he won't 
 suffer — he won't suffer!" 
 
 He was rushing wildly to the door, but Honor 
 placed herself before him, and said, in that voice 
 of calmness which is uniformly that of authority and 
 power, 
 
 "Fardorougha dear, calm yourself. If this is 
 God's work, as you say, why not resave it as comin' 
 from God; it's upon your two knees you ought to 
 
 drop, an' Saver above, what's the matther wid 
 
 him! — He's off; keep him up! Oh, God bless you; 
 that's it, avourneen; jist place him on the chair there
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 309 
 
 1'orninst the door, where he can have air. Here, dear," 
 said she to Biddy Nulty, who, on hearing herself 
 called by her master, had come in from another 
 room. "Get some feathers, Biddy, till we burn 
 them under his nose; but first fetch a jug of could 
 wather." 
 
 On looking at the face of the miser, O'Brien 
 started, as indeed well he might, at such a pallid, 
 worn, and death-like countenance ; why, thought he 
 to himself, surely this must be death, and the old 
 man's cares, and sorrows, and hopes, are all passed 
 away for ever. 
 
 Honor now bathed his face, and wet his lips with 
 water, and as she sprinkled and rubbed back the grey 
 hair from his emaciated temples, there might be read 
 there an expression of singular wildness that resem- 
 bled the wreck produced by insanity. 
 
 " He looks ill," observed O'Brien, who actually 
 thought him dead; "but I hope it won't signify." 
 
 "I trust in God's mercy it won't," replied Honor; 
 " for till his heart, poor man, is brought more to 
 God—" 
 
 She paused with untaught delicacy, for she re- 
 flected that he was her husband. 
 
 "For that matther, who is there," she continued, 
 " that is fit to go to their last account at a moment's 
 warnin'? That's a good girl, Biddy; give me the 
 feathers; there's nothin' like them. Dheah Gras- 
 thias! Dheah Grasthias!"* she exclaimed, "he's not 
 
 * Thanks be to God ! Thanks be to God !
 
 310 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 gone — he's not — an' I was afeard he was but no, 
 
 he is recoverin'. Shake him; rouse him a little; 
 Fardorougha, dear !" 
 
 "Where — where am I?" exclaimed her husband, 
 " what's this ? what ails me ?" 
 
 He then looked inquiringly at his wife and O'Brien; 
 but it appeared that the presence of the latter revived 
 in his mind the cause of his excitement. 
 
 "Is it — is it thrue, young man; tell me — tell 
 me?" 
 
 " How, dear, can any one have spirits to tell you 
 good news, when you can't bear it aither like a man 
 or a Christian ?" 
 
 "Good news, you say! Then it's thrue, an' he's 
 not to be hanged by the neck, as the judge said; 
 ail' my curse — my heavy curse upon him for a 
 judge !" 
 
 " I hate myself to hear the words of his sentence, 
 Fardorougha," said the wife; " but if you have pa- 
 tience you'll find that his life's granted to him; an', 
 for heaven's sake, curse nobody. The judge only 
 did his duty." 
 
 " Well," he exclaimed, sinking upon his knees, 
 " now, from this day out, let what will happen, I'll 
 stick to my duty to God — I'll repint — I'll repint an' 
 lead a new life. I will, an' while I'm alive I'll never 
 say a word aginst the will of my heavenly Saviour; 
 never, never!" 
 
 " Fardorougha," replied his wife, " it's good no 
 doubt to have a grateful heart to God; but I'm afeard 
 there's sin in what you're sayin', for you know, dear,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 311 
 
 that, whether it pleased the Almighty to take our 
 boy, or not, what you've promised to do is your 
 duty. It's like sayin', I'll now turn my heart bekase 
 God has deserved it at my hands. Still, dear, I'm 
 not goin' to condimn you, only I think it's betther 
 an' safer to love an' obey God for his own sake, 
 blessed be his holy name !" 
 
 Young O'Brien was forcibly struck by the uncom- 
 mon character of Honor O' Donovan. Her patience, 
 good sense, and sincere acquiescence in the will of 
 God, under so severe a trial, were such as he had 
 never seen equalled. Nor could he help admitting to 
 himself, while contemplating her conduct, that the 
 example of such a woman was not only the most 
 beautiful comment on religious truth, but the noblest 
 testimony of its power. 
 
 " Yes, Honor," said the husband, in reply, 
 
 " you're right, for I know that what you say is 
 always thrue. It is indeed," he added, addressing 
 
 O'Brien, " she's aquil to a prayer-book." 
 
 "Yes, and far superior to any," replied the latter; 
 
 " for she not only gives you the advice, but sets you 
 
 the example." 
 
 "Ay, the sorra lie in it; an', oh, Honor, he's not 
 
 to die — he's not to be han — not to suffer. Our son's 
 
 to live ! Oh, Saver of earth, make me thankful this 
 
 day!" 
 
 The tears ran fast from his eyes as he looked up 
 
 to heaven, and uttered the last words. Indeed, it 
 
 was impossible not to feel deep compassion for this
 
 312 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 aged man, whose heart had been smote so heavily, 
 and on the only two points where it was capable of 
 feeling the blow. 
 
 After having indulged his grief for some time, he 
 became considerably more composed, if not cheerful. 
 Honor made many kind inquiries after Una's health, 
 to which her brother answered with strict candour, 
 for he had heard from Una that she was acquainted 
 with the whole history of their courtship. 
 
 " Who knows," said she, speaking with reference 
 to their melancholy fate, " but the God who has 
 saved his life, an' most likely her's, may yet do 
 more for them both; while there's life there's hope." 
 
 " Young man," said Fardorougha, "you carry a 
 blessin' wid }'ou wherever you go, an' may God bless 
 you for the news you have brought to us this day. 
 I'll go to see him to-morrow, an' wid a light heart 
 I'll go too, for my son is not to die." 
 
 O'Brien then took his leave and returned home, 
 pondering as he went, upon the singular contrast 
 which existed between the character of the miser and 
 that of his admirable wife. He was no sooner gone 
 than Honor addressed her husband as follows : — 
 
 " Fardorougha, what do you think we ought both 
 to do now after the happy news we've hard ?" 
 
 "I'll be guided by you, Honor; I'll be guided by 
 you." 
 
 "Then," said she, "go an' thank God that has 
 taken the edge, the bitther keen edge off of our 
 sufferm' ; and the best way, in my opinion, for you
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 313 
 
 to do it, is to go to the barn by yourself, and strive 
 to put your whole heart into your prayers. You'll 
 pray betther by yourself than wid me. An' in the 
 name of God I'll do the same as well as I can in the 
 house here. To-morrow, too, is Friday, an' plaise 
 our Saviour, we'll both fast in honour of his goodness 
 to us an' to our son." 
 
 " We will, Honor," said he, " we will, indeed; 
 for now I have spirits to fast, and spirits to pray, too. 
 What will I say, now ? Will I say the five Dickens 
 (Decades) or the whole Rosary ?" 
 
 " If you can keep your mind in the prayers, I 
 think you ought to say the whole of it; but if you 
 wandher don't say more than the five." 
 
 Fardorougha then went to pray, rather because 
 his wife desired him than from a higber motive, 
 whilst she withdrew to her own apartment, here 
 humbly to worship God in thanksgiving. 
 
 The next day had made the commutation of Con- 
 nor's punishment a matter of notoriety through the 
 whole parish, and very sincere indeed was the grati- 
 fication it conveyed to all who heard it. Public fame, 
 it is true, took her usual liberties with the facts. 
 Some said he had got a free pardon, others that he 
 was to be liberated after six months' imprisonment; 
 and a third report asserted that the lord lieutenant 
 sent him down a hundred pounds to fit him out for 
 marriage with Una; and it further added that his 
 excellency wrote a letter with his own hand to Bodagh 
 Buie, desiring him to give his daughter to Connor 
 
 i*
 
 314 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 on receipt of it, or if not, that the Knight of the 
 Black Rod would come down, strip him of his 
 property, and bestow it upon Connor and his 
 daughter. 
 
 The young man himself was almost one of the first 
 who heard of this favourable change in his dreadful 
 sentence. 
 
 He was seated on his bedside reading, when the 
 sheriff and gaoler entered his cell, anxious to lay be- 
 fore him the reply which had that morning arrived 
 from government. 
 
 *' I'm inclined to think, O' Donovan, that your 
 case is likely to turn out more favourably than we 
 expected," said the humane sheriff. 
 
 " I hope, with all my heart, it may," replied the 
 other; "there's no denying, sir, that I'd wish it. 
 Life is sweet, especially to a young man of my 
 years." 
 
 <f But if we should fail," observed the gaoler, " I 
 trust you will act the part of a man." 
 
 " I hope at all events that I will act the part of a 
 Christian," returned O'Donovan. " I certainly would 
 rather live; but I'm not afeard of death; and if 
 it comes I trust I will meet it humbly but firmly." 
 
 " I believe," said the sheriff, " you need entertain 
 little apprehension of death; I'm inclined to think 
 that that part of your sentence is not likely to be put 
 in execution. I have heard as much." 
 
 " I think, sir, by your manner that you have," 
 returned Connor; "but I beg you to tell me without
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 315 
 
 goin' about. Don't be afeard, sir, that I'm too wake 
 to bear either good news or bad." 
 
 The sheriff made no reply ; but placed in his hands 
 the official document which remitted to him the awful 
 penalty of his life. Connor read it over slowly, and 
 the other kept his eye fixed keenly upon his counte- 
 nance, in order to observe his bearing under circum- 
 stances that are often known to try human fortitude 
 as severely as death itself. He could, however, per- 
 ceive no change ; not even the unsteadiness of a 
 nerve or muscle was visible, nor the slightest fluctu- 
 ation in the hue of his complexion. 
 
 " I feel grateful to the lord lieutenant for his 
 mercy to me," said he, handing him back the letter, 
 " as I do to the friends who interceded for me; I 
 never will or can forget their goodness. Oh never, 
 never!" 
 
 " I believe it," said the sheriff; " but there's one 
 thing that I am anxious to press upon your atten- 
 tion; and it's this, that no further mitigation of your 
 punishment is to be expected from government; so 
 that you must make up your mind to leave your 
 friends and your country for life, as you now know." 
 
 " I expect nothing more," returned Connor, " ex- 
 cept this, that the hand of God may yet bring the 
 guilt of the burning borne to the man that committed 
 it, and prove my innocence. I'm now not without 
 some hope that sich a thing may be brought about, 
 some how. I thank you, Misthcr Sheriff, for your 
 kindness in coming to me with this good news so
 
 316 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 soon; all I can say is, that I thank you from my 
 heart. I am bound to say, too, that any civility and 
 comfort that could be shown was afforded me ever 
 since I came here, an' I feel it, an' I am grateful 
 for it." 
 
 Both were deeply impressed by the firm tone of 
 manly smcerity and earnestness with which he spoke, 
 blended as it was by a melancholy which gave, at 
 the same time, a character of elevation and pathos 
 to all he said. They then shook hands with him, 
 after chatting for some time on indifferent subjects, 
 the gaoler promising to make his situation while he 
 should remain in prison as easy as the regulations 
 would allow him; or who knows," he added, smiling, 
 " but we might make them a little easier." 
 
 " That's a fine young fellow," said he to the sheriff, 
 after they had left him. 
 
 "He is a gentleman," replied the sheriff, " by 
 nature a gentleman; and a very uncommon one too. 
 I defy a man to doubt a word that comes out of his 
 lips; all he says is impressed with the stamp of 
 truth itself; and by Jove I feel certain he never 
 committed the felony he's in for. Keep him as 
 comfortable as you can." 
 
 They then separated. 
 
 The love of life is the first and strongest principle 
 in our nature, and what man is there except some 
 unhappy wretch pressed down by long and galling 
 misery to the uttermost depths of despair, who, 
 knowing that life was forfeited, whether justly or not
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 317 
 
 matters little, to the laws of his country, will not 
 feel the mercy which bids him live with a corres- 
 ponding sense of gratitude 1 The son of the pious 
 mother acted as if she were still his guide and 
 monitress. 
 
 He knelt down and poured out his gratitude to 
 that Being who had the first claim upon it, and 
 whose blessing he fervently invoked upon the heads 
 of those true friends by whose exertions and influ- 
 ence he now felt that life was restored to him. 
 
 Of his life while he remained in this country there 
 is little more to be said than what is usually known 
 to occur in the case of other convicts similarly cir- 
 cumstanced, if we except his separation from the few 
 persons who were dear to him. He saw his father 
 the next day, and the old man felt almost disap- 
 pointed on discovering that he was deprived of the 
 pleasure which he proposed to himself of being the 
 bearer of such glad tidings to him. Those who 
 visited him, however, noticed, with a good deal of 
 surprise that he appeared as if labouring under some 
 .secret anxiety, which, however, no tact or address 
 on their part could induce him to disclose. Many of 
 them, actuated by the best motives, asked him in 
 distinct terms why he appeared to be troubled; but 
 the only reply they received was a good-humoured 
 remark that it was not to be expected he could leave 
 for ever all that was dear to him on earth with a very 
 cheerful spirit. 
 
 It was at this period that his old friend Nogher
 
 318 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 M'Cormick came to pay him a visit; it being the last 
 time, as he said, that he would ever have an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing his face. Nogher, whose moral im- 
 pressions were by no means so correct as Connor's, 
 asked him, with a face of dry, peculiar mystery, if 
 he had any particular wish unfulfilled; or if there 
 remained behind him any individual against whom 
 he entertained a spirit of enmity. If there were, he 
 begged him to make no scruple in entrusting to him 
 a full statement of his wishes on the subject, adding 
 that he might rest assured of having them accom- 
 plished. 
 
 " One thing you may be certain of, Nogher," said 
 lie to the affectionate fellow, " that I have no sacrets 
 to tell; so don't let that go abroad upon me. I have 
 heard to-day," he added, "that the vessel we are 
 to go in will sail on this day week. My father was 
 here this mornin'; but I hadn't hard it then. Will 
 you, Nogher, tell my mother privately that she 
 mustn't come to see me on the day I appointed with 
 my father. From the state of health she's in I'm 
 tould she couldn't bear it. Tell her, then, not to 
 come till the day before I sail; an' that I will expect 
 to see her early on that day. And Nogher, as you 
 know more about this unhappy business than any 
 one else, except the O'Briens and ourselves, will 
 you give this little packet to my mother ? There's 
 three or four locks of my hair in it: one of them is 
 for Una; and desire my mother to see Una, and to 
 get a link of her hair to wear next my heart. My
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 319 
 
 poor father — now that he finds he must part with me 
 — is so distracted and distressed, that I couldn't trust 
 him with this message. I want it to be kept a sacret 
 to every one but you, my mother, and Una; but my 
 poor father would be apt to mention it in some fit of 
 grief." 
 
 " But is there nothin' else on your mind, Con- 
 nor ?" 
 
 " There's no heavy guilt on my mind, Nogher, I 
 thank mv God and my dear mother for it." 
 
 " Well, I can tell you one thing before you go, 
 Connor — Bartle Flanagan's well watched. If he has 
 been guilty — if — derry downs, who doubts it ? — well 
 — never mind; I'll hould a trifle we get him to show 
 the cloven foot, and condemn himself yet." 
 
 " The villain," said Connor, " will be too deep — 
 too polished for you." 
 
 " Ten to one he's not. Do you know what we've 
 found out since this business ?" 
 " No." 
 
 " Why divil resave the squig of punch, whiskey, 
 or liquor of any sort or size he'll allow to pass 
 the lips of him. Now, Connor, aren't you up to 
 the cunnin' villany of the thraitor in that may- 
 newvre ?" 
 
 " I am, Nogher; I see his design in it. He is 
 afeard if he got drunk that he might n't be able to 
 keep his own sacret." 
 
 " Ab, thin by the holy Nelly, we'll steep him yet, 
 or he'll look sharp. Never you mind him, Connor."
 
 320 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Nogher ! stop," said Connor, almost angrily, 
 " stop; what do you mane by them last words ?" 
 
 " Divil a much; it's about the blaggard I'm spak- 
 in'; he'll be ped I can tell you. There's a few friends 
 of yours that intinds, some o' these nights, to aise 
 his windpipe a little; the divil a thing more." 
 
 " What ! to take the unhappy man's life ? — to 
 murdher him!" 
 
 "Hut, Connor; who's spakin' about murdher']' 
 No, only to make him miss his breath some nigrht 
 afore long. Does he desarve mercy that 'ud swear 
 away the life of an innocent man ?" 
 
 " Nogher," replied the other, rising up and speak- 
 ing with the utmost solemnity — 
 
 " If one drop of his blood is spilled on my account 
 it will bring the vengeance of heaven upon the head 
 of every man bavin' a hand in it. Will you, because 
 he's a villain, make yourselves murderers ? — make 
 yourselves blacker than he is ?" 
 
 " Why, thin, death alive, Connor, have you your 
 seven sinsis about you ? Faith that's good, as if it 
 was a sin to knock sich a white-livered Judas upon 
 the head ! Sin! — oh devil a morsel o' sin's in that, 
 but the coutrairy. Sure it's only sarvin' honest 
 people right, to knock such a desaiver on the head. 
 If he had parjured himself for the sake of the thruth, 
 or to assist a brother in throuble — or to help on the 
 good cause — it would be something; but to go to — 
 hut — arra, be my sowl, he'll sup sarra for it, sure 
 enough ! I thought it would make your mind aisy,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 321 
 
 or I wouldn't mintion it till we'd let the breath out 
 of him." 
 
 " Nogher," said Connor, " before you leave this 
 unfortunate room, you must take the Almighty to 
 witness that you'll have no hand in this bloody busi- 
 ness, an' that you'll put a stop to it altogether. If 
 you don't — and that his life is taken; — in the first 
 place, I'll be miserable for life; and in the next, take 
 my word for it, that the judgment of God will fall 
 heavily upon every one consarned in it." 
 
 " "What for ? Is it for slittin' the jugler of sich a 
 rip ? Isn't he as bad as a heretic, an' worse, for he 
 turned aginst his own. He has got himself made 
 the head of a lodge, too, and houlds Articles; but 
 it's not bein' an Article-bearer that '11 save him, an' 
 he'll find that to his cost. But, indeed, Connor, the 
 villain's a double thraitor, as you'd own, if you hievjn 
 what I hard a hint of?" 
 
 " Well, but you must lave him to God." 
 
 " What do you thiuk but I got a whisper that he 
 has bad designs on her." 
 
 O 
 
 " On who!" said O'Donovan, starting. 
 
 " Why, on your own girl, Oona, the Bodagh's 
 daughter. He intends, it's whispered, to take her 
 off; an' it seems, as her father doesn't stand well wid 
 the boys, that Bartle's to get a great body of them 
 to assist him in bringing her away." 
 
 Connor paced his cell in deep and vehement agita- 
 tion. His resentment against this double-dyed villain 
 rose to a fearful pitch; his colour deepened — his eye 
 
 p2
 
 322 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 shot fire, and, as he clenched his hand convulsively, 
 Nogher saw the fury which this intelligence had ex- 
 cited in him. 
 
 " No," he proceeded, " it would be an open sin 
 an' shame to let sich a netarnal limb of the divil 
 escape." 
 
 It may, indeed, be said that O'Donovan never pro- 
 perly felt the sense of his restraint until this moment. 
 When he reflected on the danger to which his beloved 
 Una was exposed from the dark plans of this detest- 
 able villain, and recollected that there existed in the 
 members of the illegal confederacy such a strong 
 spirit of enmity against Bodagh Buie, as would in- 
 duce them to support Bartle in his designs upon his 
 daughter, he pressed his hand against his forehead, 
 and walked about in a tumult of distress and re- 
 sentment, such as he had never yet felt in his 
 bosom. 
 
 " It's a charity it will be," said Nogher, shrewdly 
 
 availing himself of the commotion he had created, 
 
 ' to stop the vagabone short in the coorse of his 
 
 villany. He'll surely bring the darlin' young girl off, 
 
 and destroy her." 
 
 For a few moments he felt as if his heart were dis- 
 posed to rebel against the ordinances of Providence, 
 as they appeared to be manifested in his own punish- 
 ment, and the successful villany of Bartle Flanagan. 
 The reflection, however, of a strong and naturally 
 pious mind soon enabled him to perceive the errors 
 into which his passions would lead him, if not re-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 323 
 
 strained and subjected. He made an effort to be 
 calm, and in a considerable degree succeeded. 
 
 " Nogher," said he, " let us not forget that this 
 Bartle — this — but I will not say it — let us not forget 
 that God can aisily turn his plans aginst himself. To 
 God, then, let us lave him. Now, hear me — you 
 must swear in His Presence that you will have neither 
 act nor part in doin' him an injury — that you will not 
 shed his blood nor allow it to be shed by others, as 
 far as you can prevent it. 
 
 Nogher rubbed his chin gravely, and almost smiled 
 at what he considered to be a piece of silly nonsense 
 on the part of Connor. He determined, therefore, to 
 satisfy his scruples as well as he could ; but, let the 
 consequence be what it might, to evade such an oath. 
 
 "Why, Connor," said he, " surely, if you go to 
 that, we can have no ill will against the villain, an 
 as you don't wish it, we'll dhrop the thing; so now 
 make your mind aisy, for another word you or any 
 one else won't ever hear about it." 
 
 " And you won't injure the man ?" 
 
 " Hut ! no," replied Nogher with a gravity whose 
 irony was scarcely perceptible, "what would ice 
 do for him for, now that you don't wish it? I 
 never had any particular wish to see my own 
 funeral." 
 
 " And, Nogher, you'll do all you can to prevent 
 him from being murdhered ?" 
 
 " To be sure, Connor — to be sure. By He that 
 made me, we won't give pain to a single hair of his 
 head : are you satisfied now ?"
 
 324 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " I am," replied the ingenuous young man, who 
 was himself too candid to see through the sophistry 
 of Nogher's oath. 
 
 "And now, Nogher," he replied, "many a day 
 have we spent together — you are one of my oldest 
 friends. I suppose this is the last time you will ever 
 see Connor O'Donovan; however don't, man — don't 
 be cast down; you will hear from me, I hope, and 
 hear that I am well too." 
 
 He uttered this with a smile which cost him an 
 effort ; for on looking into the face of his faithful old 
 friend, he saw its muscles working under the 
 influence of strong feeling — or, I should rather say, 
 deep sorrow — which he felt anxious, by a show of 
 cheerfulness, to remove. The fountains, however, of 
 the old servant's heart were opened, and, after some 
 ineffectual attempts to repress his grief, he fell upon 
 Connor's neck and wept aloud. 
 
 " Tut, Nogher," said Connor, " surely it's glad you 
 ought to be, instead of sorry. What would you have 
 done if my first sentence had been acted upon ?" 
 
 " I'm glad for your sake," replied the other, " but 
 I'm now sorry for my own. You will live, Connor, 
 and you may yet be happy; but he that often held 
 you in his arms — that often played with you, and 
 that next to your father and your mother, you loved 
 betther than any other livin' thing — he, poor Nogher, 
 will never see his boy more." 
 
 On uttering these words, he threw himself again 
 upon Connor's neck, and we are not ashamed to say 
 that their tears flowed together.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 325 
 
 " I'll miss you, Connor dear; I'll not see your face 
 at fair or market, nor on the Chapel-green of a 
 Sunday. Your poor father will break his heart, and 
 the mother's eye will never more have an opportunity 
 of being proud out of her son. It's hard upon me to 
 part wid you, Connor, but it can't be helped; I only 
 ax you to remember Nogher, that, you know, loved 
 you as if you wor his own; remimber me, Connor, of 
 an odd time. I never thought — oh, God, I never 
 thought to see this day. No wondher — oh, no 
 wondher that the fair young crature should be pale 
 and worn, an' sick at heart. I love her now, an' ever 
 will, as well as I did yourself. I'll never see her, 
 Connor, widout thinkin' heavily of him that her 
 heart was set upon, an' that will then be far away 
 from her an' from all that ever loved him." 
 
 " Nogher," replied Connor, " I'm not without hope 
 that — but this — this is folly. You know I have a 
 right to be thankful to God and the goodness of 
 government for sparin' my life. Now, farewell — it is 
 for ever Nogher, and it is a tryin' word to say; but you 
 know that every one goin' to America must say it; so 
 think that I'm goin' there an' it won't signify." 
 
 "Ah, Connor, I wish I could," replied Nogher; 
 1 ' but, to tell the truth, what breaks my heart is, to 
 think of the way you are goin' from us. Farewell, 
 then, Connor tlarlin'; an' may the blessin' of God, 
 an' his holy mother, an' of all the saints be upon you, 
 an' guard you now an' for iver. Amin !" 
 
 His tears flowed fast, and he sobbed aloud, whilst
 
 326 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 uttering the last words ; he then threw his arms 
 about Connor's neck, and, having kissed him, he 
 again wrung his hand, and passed out of the cell, in 
 an agony of grief. 
 
 Such is the anomalous nature of that peculiar tem- 
 perament, which, in Ireland combines within it the 
 extremes of generosity and crime. Here was a man 
 who had been literally affectionate and harmless 
 during his whole past life, yet, who was now actually 
 plotting the murder of a person who had never — 
 except remotely, by his treachery to Connor, whom 
 he loved — rendered him an injury, or given him any 
 cause of offence. And what can show us the degra- 
 ded state of moral feeling among a people whose 
 natural impulses are as quick to virtue as to vice, and 
 the reckless estimate which the peasantry form of 
 human life, more clearly than the fact, that Connor, 
 the noble-minded, heroic, and pious peasant, could 
 admire the honest attachment of his old friend, with- 
 out dwelling upon the dark point in his character, and 
 mingle his tears with a man who was deliberately 
 about to join in, or compass, the assassination of a 
 fellow creature ? 
 
 Even against persons of his own creed the Irishman 
 thinks that revenge is a duty which he owes to him- 
 self ; — but against those of a different faith it is not 
 only a duty but a virtue — and any man who acts out 
 of this feeling, either as a juror, a witness, or an 
 elector — for the principle is the same — must expect 
 to meet such retribution as was suggested by a heart
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 327 
 
 like Nogher M'Cormick's, which was otherwise affec- 
 tionate and honest. In the sacred code of perverted 
 honour by which Irishmen are guided, he is undoubt- 
 edly the most heroic and manly, and the most worthy 
 also of imitation, who indulges in, and executes his 
 vengeance for injuries, whether real or supposed, with 
 the most determined and unshrinking spirit; but the 
 man who is capable of braving death, by quoting 
 his own innocence as an argument against the justice 
 of the law, even when notoriously guilty, is looked 
 upon by the people, not as an innocent man — for his 
 accomplices and friends know he is not — but as one 
 who is a hero in his rank of life ; and it is unfortu- 
 nately a kind of ambition among too many of our ill- 
 thinking but generous countrymen, to propose such 
 men as the best models for imitation, not only in 
 their lives, but in that hardened hypocrisy which 
 defies and triumphs over the ordeal of death itself. 
 
 Connor O' Donovan was a happy representation of 
 all that is noble and pious in the Irish character, 
 without one tinge of the crimes which darken or dis- 
 colour it. But the heart that is full of geiierosity 
 and fortitude, is generally most susceptible of the 
 kinder and more amiable affections. The noble boy 
 who could hear the sentence of death without the com- 
 motion of a nerve, was forced to weep upon the neck 
 of an old and faithful follower, who loved him, when 
 he remembered that, after that melancholy visit, he 
 would see his familiar face no more. When Nogher 
 left him, a train of painful reflections passed through
 
 328 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 his mind. He thought of Una, of his father, of his 
 mother, and for some time was more depressed than 
 usual. But the gift of life to the young is ever a 
 counterbalance to every evil that is less than death. 
 In a short time he reflected that the same Providence 
 which had interposed between him and his recorded 
 sentence, had his future fate in its hands; and that 
 he had health, and youth, and strength — and, above 
 all, a good conscience — to bear him through the 
 future vicissitudes of his appointed fate.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 329 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 During the few days that intervened between the 
 last interview which Connor held with Nogher 
 M'Cormick, and the day of his final departure he 
 felt himself rather relieved than depressed by the 
 number of friends who came to A~isit him for the last 
 time. He was left less to solitude and himself than 
 he otherwise woidd have been, and, of course, the 
 days of his imprisonment were neither so dreary nor 
 oppressive as the uninterrupted contemplation of his 
 gloomy destiny would have rendered them. Full of 
 the irrepressible ardour of youth, he longed for that 
 change which he knew must bring him onward in the 
 path of life; and in this how little did he resemble 
 the generality of other convicts, who feel as if time 
 were bringing about the day of their departure with 
 painful and more than ordinary celerity. At length 
 the interviews between him and all those whom he 
 wished to see were concluded, with the exception of 
 three, viz. John O'Brien, and his own parents, whilst 
 only two clear days intervened until the period of his 
 departure. 
 
 It was on the third morning previous to that un- 
 happy event, that the brother of his Una — the most 
 active and indefatigable of all those who had inte- 
 rested themselves for him — was announced as re-
 
 330 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 questing an interview. Connor, although prepared 
 for this, experienced on the occasion, as every high- 
 minded person would do, a strong feeling of degra- 
 dation and shame as the predominant sensation. 
 That, indeed, was but natural, for it is undoubtedly 
 true that we feel disgrace lie more heavily upon us 
 in the eyes of those whom we esteem, than we do 
 under any other circumstances. This impression, 
 however, though as we have said the strongest, was 
 far from being the only one he felt. A heart like his 
 could not be insensible to the obligations under which 
 the generous and indefatigable exertions of young 
 O'Brien had placed him. But independently of this, 
 he was Una's brother, and the appearance of one so 
 dear to her, gave to all his love for her a character of 
 melancholy tenderness, more deep and full, than he 
 had probably ever experienced before. Her brother 
 would have been received with extraordinary warmth 
 on his own account, but in addition to that, Connor 
 knew that he now came on behalf of Una herself. It 
 was therefore, under a tumult of mingled sensations, 
 that he received him in his gloomy apartment — 
 gloomy in despite of all that a humane gaoler could 
 do to lessen the rigours of his confinement. 
 
 " I cannot welcome you to sich a place as this is," 
 said Connor, grasping and wringing his hand, as the 
 other entered, " although I may well say that I would 
 be glad to see you any where, as I am, indeed, to 
 see you even here. I know what I owe you, an' 
 what you have done for me."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 331 
 
 "Thank God," replied the other, returning his 
 grasp with equal pressure, " thank God, that, at all 
 events, the worst of what we expected will not — " 
 He paused, for on looking at O' Donovan, he observed 
 upon his open brow a singular depth of melancholy, 
 mingled less with an expression of shame, than with 
 the calm but indignant sorrow of one who could 
 feel no resentment against him with whom he 
 spoke. 
 
 O'Brien saw at a glance, that Connor, in conse- 
 quence of something in his manner, joined to his 
 his inconsiderate congratulations, imagined that he 
 believed him guilty. He lost not a moment, there- 
 fore, in correcting this mistake. 
 
 " It would have been dreadful," he proceeded, "to 
 see innocent blood shed, through the perjury of a 
 villain — fo;^ of course, you cannot suppose for a 
 moment that any one of our family believes you to 
 be guilty." 
 
 " I was near doin' you injustice, then," replied the 
 other; "but I ought to know that if you did think 
 me so, you wouldn't now be here, nor act as you 
 did. Not but that I thought it possible, on another 
 
 account you No," he added, after a pause, "that 
 
 would be doin' the brother of Una injustice." 
 
 " You are right," returned O'Brien, " no circum- 
 stance of any kind" — and he laid a peculiar emphasis 
 on the words — "no circumstance of any kind could 
 bring me to visit a man capable of such a mean and 
 cowardly act; for as to the loss we sustained, I
 
 332 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 wouldn't think of it. You, Connor 0' Donovan, are not 
 the man to commit such an act, either the one wav or 
 the other. If I did not feel this, you would not see me 
 before you." He extended his hand to him while 
 he spoke, and the brow of Connor brightened as he 
 met his grasp. 
 
 "I believe you," he replied; "and now I hope we 
 may spake out like men that undherstand one 
 another. In case you hadn't come, I intended to 
 lave a message for you with my mother. I believe 
 you know all Una's sacrets." 
 
 "I do," replied O'Brien, "just as well as her 
 confessor." 
 
 " Yes, I believe that," said Connor. " The sun in 
 heaven is not purer than she is. The only fault she 
 ever could be charged with, was her love for me; 
 and heavily, oh ! far too heavily has she suffered 
 for it." 
 
 "I for one never blamed her on that account," 
 said her brother. " I knew that her good sense 
 would have at any time, prevented her from forming 
 an attachment to an unworthy object; and upon the 
 strength of her own judgment, I approved of that 
 which she avowed for you. Indeed I perceived it 
 myself before she told me; but upon attempting to 
 gain her secret, the candid creature at once made me 
 her confident." 
 
 "It is like her," said Connor; " she is all truth. 
 Well would it be for her, if she had never seen me. 
 Not even the parting from my father and mother
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMON'A. 333 
 
 sinks my heart with so much sorrow, as the thought 
 that her love for me has made her so unhappy. It's 
 a strange case, John O'Brien, an' a trying one; but 
 since it is the will of God, we must submit to it. 
 How did you leave her ? I heard she was getting 
 betther." 
 
 "She is better," said John; "past danger, but 
 still very delicate and feeble. Indeed she is so much 
 worn down, that you would scarcely know her. The 
 brightness of her dark eye is gone, so is her com- 
 plexion. Sorrow, as she says herself, is in her and 
 upon her. Never, indeed, was a young creature's 
 love so pure and true." 
 
 O'Donovan made no reply for some time; but the 
 other observed that he turned away his face from 
 him, as if to conceal his emotion. At length his 
 bosom heaved vehemently three or four times, and 
 his breath came and went with a quick and quivering 
 motion, that betrayed the powerful struggle which 
 he felt. 
 
 " I know it is but natural for you to feel deeply," 
 continued her brother; "but as you have borne every 
 thing heretofore with so much firmness, you must not 
 break down now." 
 
 " But you know it is a deadly trial to be for ever 
 separated from sich a girl. Sufferin' so much, you 
 
 say — so worn ! Her dark eye dim with oh, it 
 
 is — it is a deadly trial — a heart-breaking trial ! 
 John O'Brien," he proceeded, with uncommon 
 earnestness, " you are her only brother, an' she is
 
 334 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 your only sister. Oh, will you, for the sake of God, 
 and for my sake, if I may take the liberty of sayin' 
 so — but, above all things, will you, for her own 
 sake, when I am gone, comfort and support her, 
 an' raise her heart, if possible, out of this heavy 
 throuble ?" 
 
 Her brother gazed on him with a melancholy 
 smile, in which might be read both admiration and 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Do you think it possible that I would, or could 
 omit to cherish and sustain poor Una, under such 
 trying circumstances ? Every thing considered, how- 
 ever, your words are only natural — only natural." 
 
 " Don't let her think too much about it," conti- 
 nued O' Donovan. " Bring her out as much as you 
 can — let her not be much by herself. But this is 
 folly in me," he added, " you know yourself better 
 than 1 can instruct you how to act." 
 
 "God knows," replied the brother, struck, and 
 softened by the mournful anxiety for her welfare, 
 which Connor expressed, " God knows, that all you 
 say, and all you can think of besides, shall be done 
 for our dear girl — so make your mind easy." 
 
 "I thank you," replied the other; "from my soul 
 an' from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. En- 
 deavour to make her forget me, if you can; an' when 
 this passes away out of her mind, she may yet be 
 happy — a happy wife an' a happy mother — an' she 
 can then think of her love for Connor O'Donovan, 
 only as a troubled drame that she had in her early 
 life."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 335 
 
 "Connor," said the other, "this is not right — you 
 must be firmer;" but as he uttered the words of 
 reproof, the tears almost came to his eyes. 
 
 "As for my part," continued Connor, "what is 
 the world to me now, that I've lost her ? It is — it 
 is a hard an' a dark fate, but why it should fall upon 
 us I do not know. It's as much as I can do to bear 
 it as I ought. 
 
 "Well, well," replied John, "don't dwell too 
 much on it. I have something else to speak to you 
 about." 
 
 "Dwell on it !" returned the other; " as God is 
 above me, she's not one minute out of my thoughts; 
 an' I tell you, I'd rather be dead this moment, than 
 forget her. Her mimory now is the only happiness 
 that is left to me — my only wealth in this world." 
 
 "No," said John, "it is not. Connor, I have 
 now ? few words to say to you, and I know they will 
 prove whether you are as generous as you are said to 
 be; and whether your love for my sister is truly 
 tender and disinterested. You have it now in your 
 power to ease her heart very much of a heavy load of 
 concern which she feels on your account. Your 
 father, you know, is now a ruined man, or I should 
 rather say a poor one. You are going out under cir- 
 cumstances the most painful. In the country to 
 which you are unhappily destined, you will have no 
 friends — and no one living feels this more acutely 
 than Una; for observe me, I am now speaking on her 
 behalf, and acting in her name. I am her agent.
 
 336 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Now Una is richer than you might imagine, being the 
 possessor of a legacy left her by our grandfather by 
 my father's side. Of this legacy she herself stands 
 in no need — but you may and will, when you reach a 
 distant country. Now, Connor, you see how that 
 admirable creature loves you — you see how that love 
 would follow you to the uttermost ends of the earth. 
 Will you, or rather are you, capable of being as gene- 
 rous as she is ? — and can you show her that you are 
 as much above the absurd prejudices of the world, 
 and its cold forms as he ought to be who is loved bv 
 a creature so truly generous and delicate as Una ! 
 You know how very poorly she is at present in health ; 
 and I tell you candidly, that your declining to accept 
 this as a gift and memorial by which to remember 
 her, may be attended with very serious conse- 
 quences to her health." 
 
 Connor kept his eyes fixed upon the speaker with 
 a look of deep and earnest attention; and as O'Brien 
 detailed with singular address and delicacy these 
 striking proofs of Una's affection, her lover's counte- 
 nance became an index of the truth with which his 
 heart corresponded to the admirable girl's tenderness 
 and generosity. He seized O'Brien's hand — 
 
 "John," said he, "you are worthy of bein' Una's 
 brother, and I could say nothing higher in your 
 favour; but in the mane time, you and she both 
 know that I want nothing to enable me to remem- 
 ber her by. This is a proof, I grant you, that 
 she loves me truly; but I knew that as well before,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LIS"NAMONA. 337 
 
 as I do now. In this business I cannot comply with 
 her wish an' yours, an' you musn't press me. You, 
 I say, musn't press me. Through my whole life I 
 have never lost my own good opinion, but if I did 
 what you want me now to do, I couldn't respect 
 myself — I would feel lowered in my own mind. In 
 short, I'd feel unhappy, an' that I was too mane to 
 be worthy of your sister. Once for all, then, I can- 
 not comply in this business with your wish an' 
 her's." 
 
 " But the anxiety produced by your refusal, may 
 have very dangerous effects on her health." 
 
 " Then you must contrive somehow to concale my 
 refusal from her, till she gets recovered. I couldn't 
 do what you want me, an' if you press me farther 
 upon it, I'll think you don't respect me as 
 much as I'd wish her brother to do. Oh, God of 
 heaven !" he exclaimed, clasping his hands, "must I 
 lave you, my darling Una, for ever ? I must, I must ; 
 an' the dhrame of all we hoped is past — but never, 
 never, will she be out of my heart. Her eye dim, an' 
 her cheek pale ! an' all for me — for a man covered 
 with shame and disgrace ! Oh, John, John, what a 
 heart ! — to love me in spite of all this, an' in spite of 
 the world's opinion along with it !" 
 
 At this moment one of the turnkeys entered, and 
 told him that his mother and a young lady were 
 coming up to see him. 
 
 " My mother ! " he exclaimed, "I am glad she is 
 come; but I didn't expect her till the day after to- 
 
 Q
 
 338 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 morrow. A young lady ! Heavens above, what young 
 lady could come with my mother ?" 
 
 He involuntarily exchanged looks with O'Brien, 
 and a thought flashed on the instant across the 
 mind of both. They immediately understood each 
 other. 
 
 "Undoubtedly," said John, "it can be no other — 
 it is she — it is Una. Good God ! how is this ? The 
 interview and separation will be more than she can 
 bear — she will sink under it." 
 
 Connor made no reply, but sat down and pressed 
 his right hand upon his forehead, as if to collect 
 energy sufficient to meet the double trial which was 
 now before him. 
 
 "I have only one coorse, John," said he, "now; 
 and that is, to appear to be — what I am not — a firm- 
 hearted man. I must try to put on a smiling face 
 before them." 
 
 " If it be Una," returned the other, " I shall with- 
 draw for a while. I know her extreme bashfulness 
 in many cases; and I know, too, that any thing like 
 
 a restraint upon her heart at present In a word, I 
 
 shall retire for a little." 
 
 " It may be as well," said Connor; "but so far as I 
 am concerned, it makes no difference — just as you 
 think proper." 
 
 " Your mother will be a sufficient witness," said the 
 delicate-minded brother; "but I will see you again 
 after they shall have left you." 
 
 "You must," replied 0' Donovan. "Oh see me —
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 339 
 
 see me again! I have something to say to you of 
 more value even than Una's life." 
 
 The door then opened, and assisted, or rather sup- 
 ported by the governor of the gaol, and one of the 
 turnkeys, Honor O' Donovan and Una O'Brien 
 entered the cell together. 
 
 The situation in which O' Donovan was now placed, 
 will be admitted, we think, by the reader, to have 
 been one equally unprecedented and distressing. It has 
 often been said, and on many occasions with perfect 
 truth, that opposite states of feeling existing in the 
 same breast generally neutralize each other. In 
 Connor's heart, however, there was in this instance 
 nothing of a conflicting nature. The young man's love 
 for such a mother, bore in its melancholy beauty 
 a touching resemblance to the purity of his affection 
 for Una O'Brien — each exhibiting in its highest cha- 
 racter those virtues which made the heart of the 
 mother proud and loving, and that of his beautiful 
 girl generous and devoted. So far, therefore, from 
 their appearance together tending to concentrate his 
 moral fortitude, it actually divided his strength, and 
 forced him to meet each with a heart subdued and 
 softened by his love for the other. 
 
 As they entered, therefore, he approached them, 
 smiling as well as he could; and first taking a hand 
 of each, would have led them over to a deal form 
 beside the fire, but it was soon evident, that owing to 
 their weakness and agitation united, they required 
 greater support. He and O'Brien accordingly helped
 
 340 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 them to a seat, on which they sat with every 
 symptom of that exhaustion which results at once 
 from illness and mental suffering. 
 
 Let us not forget to inform our readers that the 
 day of this sorrowful visit was that on which, ac- 
 cording to his original sentence, he should have 
 yielded up his life as a penalty to the law. 
 
 "My dear mother," said he, "you an' Una know 
 that this day ought not to be a day of sorrow among 
 us. Only for the goodness of my friends, an' of 
 government, it's not my voice you'd be now listenin' 
 to — but that is now changed — so no more about 
 it. I'm glad to see you both able to come out." 
 
 His mother, on first sitting down, clasped her 
 hands together, and in a silent ejaculation, with 
 closed eyes, raised her heart to the Almighty, to sup- 
 plicate aid and strength to enable her to part finally 
 with that boy who was, and ever had been, dearer to 
 her than her own heart. Una trembled, and on 
 meeting her brother so unexpectedly, blushed deeply, 
 and, indeed, appeared to breathe with difficulty. 
 She held a bottle of smelling salts in her hand. 
 
 " John," she said, " I will explain this visit." 
 
 " My dear Una," he replied, affectionately, "you 
 need not — it requires no explanation — and I beg you 
 will not think of it one moment more. I must now 
 leave you together for about half an hour, as I have 
 some business to do in town that will detain me 
 about that time." He then left them. 
 
 " Connor," said his mother, " sit down between 
 this darlin' girl an' me, till I spake to you."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 341 
 
 He sat down and took a hand of each. 
 
 " A darlin' girl she is> mother. It's now I see how 
 very ill you have been, my own Una." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, "I was ill — but when I heard 
 that your life was spared, I got better." 
 
 This she said with an artless but melancholy 
 naivete, that was very trying to the fortitude of her 
 lover. As she spoke she looked fondly but mourn- 
 fully into his face. 
 
 " Connor/' proceeded his mother, " I hope you are 
 fully sensible of the mercy that God has shown you, 
 under this great thrial ?" 
 
 " I hope I am, indeed, my dear mother. It is to 
 God I surely owe it." 
 
 " It is, an' I trust that go where you will, and live 
 where you may, the day will never come when you'll 
 forget the debt you owe the Almighty, for preventin' 
 you from bein' cut down into the grave in the very 
 bloom of your life. I hope, avillish machree, that 
 that day will never come." + 
 
 " God forbid it ever should, mother dear." 
 
 " Thin you may lam from what has happened, 
 avick agus asthore, * never, oh never to despair of God's 
 mercy; no matther into what thrial or difficulty you 
 may be brought. You see whin you nayther hoped 
 for it here, nor expected it, how it came for all that." 
 " It did, blessed be God!" 
 
 " You're goin' now, ahagur, to a sthrange land, 
 where you'll meet — ay, where my darlin' boy will 
 meet the worst of company; but remember, alanna 
 * My son and my darling.
 
 342 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 villish that your mother, well as she loves you, an' 
 well, I own, as you desarve to be loved — that mother 
 that hung over the cradle of her only one — that 
 dressed him, an' reared him, an' felt many a proud 
 heart out of him — that mother would sooner at any 
 time see him in his grave, his soul bein' free from 
 stain, than to know that his heart was corrupted by 
 the world, an' the people you'll meet in it." 
 
 Something in the last sentence must have touched 
 a chord in Una's heart, for the tears, without her 
 showing any other external signs of emotion, streamed 
 down her cheeks. 
 
 " My advice thin to you — an' oh, avick machree, 
 machree, it is my last, the last you will ever hear 
 from my lips — " 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother," exclaimed Connor, but he 
 could not proceed — voice was denied him. Una here 
 sobbed aloud. 
 
 " You bore your thrial well, my darlin' son — you 
 must thin bear this as well; an' you, a colleen dhas, 
 remember your promise to me afore I consinted to 
 come with you this day." 
 
 The weeping girl here dried her eyes, and by a 
 strong effort hushed her grief. 
 
 " My advice, thin, to you, is never to neglect your 
 duty to God, for if you do it wanst or twiste, you'll 
 begin by degrees to get careless — then, bit by bit, 
 asthore, your heart will harden, your conscience will 
 lave you, an' wickedness, an' sin, an' guilt will come 
 upon you. It's no matther, asthore, how much
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 343 
 
 wicked comrades may laugh an' jeer at you, keep you 
 thrue to the will of your good God, an' to your reli- 
 gious duties, an' let them take their own coorse. 
 Will you promise me to do this, asuillisk machree ?"* 
 
 " Mother, I have always sthrove to do it, and with 
 God's assistance, always will." 
 
 " An' my son, too, will bear up undher this like a 
 man. Remember, Connor darlin', that although 
 you're lavin' us for ever, yet your poor father an' I 
 have the blessed satisfaction of knowin' that we're not 
 childless; that you're alive, an' that you may yet do 
 well an' be happy. I mention these things, acushla 
 machree, to show you that there's nothin' over you so 
 bad but you may show yourself firm an' manly 
 undher it; act as you have done. It's you, asthore, 
 ought to comfort your father an' me; an' I hope 
 whin your're partin' from him, that you'll 
 Oh God support him ! I wish, Connor darlin', 
 that that partin' was over, but I depend upon you to 
 make it as light upon him as you can." 
 
 She paused, apparently from exhaustion. Indeed 
 it was evident, either that she had little else to add, 
 or that she felt too weak to speak much more, with 
 such a load of sorrow and affliction on her heart. 
 
 " There is one thing, Connor jewel, that I need'nt 
 mintion. Of coorse you'll write to us as often as you 
 convaniently can. Oh, do not forget that, for you 
 know that that bit of paper from your own hand, is 
 all belongin' to you we will ever see more. Avick 
 
 * Light of my heart.
 
 344 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 machree, machree, many a long look out we will have 
 for it. It may keep the ould man's heart from breakin'." 
 
 She was silent, but as she uttered the last words, 
 there was a shaking of the voice that gave clear proof 
 of the difficulty with which she went through the solemn 
 task of being calm — a difficulty which, for the sake of 
 her son, she had heroically imposed upon herself. 
 
 She was now silent, but as is usual with Irishwo- 
 men when under the influence of sorrow, she rocked 
 herself involuntarily to and fro, whilst, with closed 
 eyes, hands clasped as before, she held communion 
 with God, the only true source of comfort. 
 
 " Connor," she added, after a pause, during which 
 he and Una, though silent from respect to her, were 
 both deeply affected; " sit fornint me, avick machree, 
 that, for the short time you're to be with me, I may 
 have you before my eyes. Husth now, a colleen 
 machree, an' remimber your promise. Where's the 
 stringth you said you'd show?" 
 
 She then gazed with a long look of love and sorrow 
 upon the fine countenance of her manly son, and na- 
 ture would be no longer restrained — 
 
 " Let me lay my head upon your breast," said she, 
 "I'm attemptin' too much; the mother's heart will give 
 out the mother's voice — will speak the mother's sor- 
 row ! Oh, my son, my son, my darlin' manly son, are you 
 lavin' yourlovin' mother for evermore, for evermore if" 
 
 She was overcome; placing her head upon his 
 bosom, her grief fell into that beautiful but mournful 
 wail, with which, in Ireland, those of her sex express 
 the profoundest sense of affliction.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 345 
 
 Indeed, the scene assumed a tenderness, from this 
 incident, which was inexpressibly affecting; inasmuch 
 as her cry, so like that of death, was but little out of 
 place when bewailing that beloved son whom, by the 
 stern decree of law, she was never to see again. 
 
 Connor kissed her pale cheek and lips, and rained 
 down a flood of bitter tears upon her face; and Una, 
 borne away by the enthusiasm of her sorrow, threw 
 her arms also around her, and wept aloud. 
 
 At length having in some degree eased her heart, 
 she sat up, and with that consideration and good 
 sense for which she had ever been remarkable, 
 said — 
 
 "Nature must have its way; an' surely, within 
 rason, it's not sinful, seein' that God himself has given 
 us the feelin's of sorrow, whin thim that we love is 
 lavin' us — lavin' us, never, never to see them agin. 
 It's only nature, afther all; and now, ma colleen 
 dlias— " 
 
 Her allusion to the final separation of those we 
 love — or, in her own words, "to the feelin's of sorrow, 
 whin thim we love is lavin' us" — was too much for 
 the beart and affections of the gentle girl at her oide, 
 whose grief now passed all the bounds which her 
 previous attempts at being firm had prescribed 
 to it. 
 
 O' Donovan took the beloved one in his arms, and, 
 in the long embrace which ensued, seldom were 
 love and sorrow so singularly and mournfully 
 blended. 
 
 Q 2
 
 346 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 "I don't want to prevent you from cryin', a 
 colleen machree; for I know it will lighten an' aise 
 your heart," said Honor; "but remimber your 
 wakeness, and your poor health; an' Connor, avour- 
 neen, don't you — if you love her — don't forget the 
 state her health's in either." 
 
 " Mother, mother, you know it's the last time I'll 
 ever look upon my Una's face again," he exclaimed. 
 " Oh well may I be loath an' unwillin' to part with 
 her. You'll think of me, my darlin' life, when I'm 
 gone — not as a guilty man, Una dear, but as one 
 that if he ever committed a crime, it was lovin' you, 
 an' bringin' you to this unhappy state." 
 
 " God sees my heart this day," she replied — and 
 she spoke with difficulty — " that I could and would 
 have travelled over the world; borne joy and sorrow, 
 hardship and distress — good fortune and bad — all 
 happily, if you had been by my side — if you had 
 not been taken from me. Oh, Connor, Connor, 
 you may well pity your Una — for your's I am and 
 was — another's I will never be. You are entering 
 into scenes that will relieve you by their novelty — 
 that will force you to think of other things and of 
 other persons than those you've left behind you; but 
 I — oh, what can I look upon that will not fill my 
 heart with despair and sorrow, by reminding me of 
 you and of your affection?" 
 
 "Fareer ffair," exclaimed the mother, speaking 
 involuntarily aloud, and interrupting her own words 
 with sobs of bitter anguish — " Fareer g air, ma colleen
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 347 
 
 dhas, but that's the heavy thruth with us all. Oh, 
 the ould man's heart will break all out, when he 
 looks upon the place, an' every thing else that our 
 boy left behind him." 
 
 "Dear Una," said Connor, "you know that we're 
 partin' now for ever." 
 
 " My breaking heart tells me that," she replied. 
 "I would give the wealth of the world that it was 
 not so — I would — I would." 
 
 "Listen to me, my own life. You must not let 
 your love for me lie so heavy upon your heart. Go 
 out, and keep your mind employed upon other thoughts 
 — by degrees you'll forget — no, I don't think you 
 could altogether forget me — me — the first, Una, you 
 ever loved." 
 
 "And the last, Connor — the last I ever will love." 
 
 " No, no. In the presence of my lovin' mother, 
 I say that you must not think that way. Time will 
 pass, my own Una, an' you will yet be happy with 
 some other. You're very young; an', as I said, 
 time will wear me by degrees out of your mimory." 
 
 Una broke hastily from his embrace, for she lay 
 upon his breast all this time. 
 
 " Do you think so, Connor O'Donovan," she ex- 
 claimed, standing apart from him; but on looking 
 into his face, and reading the history of deep-seated 
 sorrow which appeared there so legible, she again 
 "fled to him and wept." 
 
 "Oh, no," she continued, "I cannot quarrel 
 with you now; but you do the heart of your own
 
 348 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Una injustice, if you think it could ever feel hap- 
 piness with another. Already I have my mother's 
 consent to enter a convent — and to enter a convent 
 is my fixed determination." 
 
 "Oh, mother," said Connor, "how will I lave 
 this blessed girl ? how will I part with her?" 
 
 Honor rose up, and, by two or three simple Avords, 
 disclosed more forcibly, more touchingly, than any 
 direct exhibition of grief could have done, the inex- 
 pressible power of the misery she felt at this eternal 
 separation from her only boy. She seized Una's two 
 hands, and kissing her lips, said, in tones of the 
 most heart-rending pathos — 
 
 "Oh, Una, Una, pity me — I am his mother I" 
 
 Una threw herself into her arms, and sobbed out — 
 
 "Yes, and mine." 
 
 "Thin you'll obay me as a daughther should," 
 said Honor. "This is too much for you, Oona; 
 part we both must from him, an' neither of us is 
 able to bear much more." 
 
 She here gave Connor a private signal to be firm, 
 pointing unobservedly to Una's pale cheek, which at 
 the moment lay upon her bosom. 
 
 " Connor," she proceeded, " Oona has the lock you 
 sent her. Nogher gave it to me; an' my daughther, 
 for I will always call her so, has it at this minute next 
 her lovin' heart. Here is her's, an' let it lie next 
 your's." 
 
 Connor seized the glossy ringlet from his mother's 
 hands, and placed it at that moment next the seat
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 349 
 
 of his undying affection for the devoted creature from 
 whose ebon locks it had been taken. 
 
 His mother then kissed Una again, and, rising 
 up, said — 
 
 " Now, my daughther, remimber I am your mother, 
 an' obay me." 
 
 " I will," said Una, attempting to repress her 
 grief— "I will; but " 
 
 " Yis, darlin', you will. Now Connor, my son, 
 my son — Connor?" 
 
 " What is it, mother darlin' ?" 
 
 " We're goin', Connor — we're lavin' you; be firm — 
 be a man. Aren't you my son, Connor? — my only 
 son — an' the ould man — an' never, never more — 
 oh ! — kneel down — kneel down till I bless you. Oh, 
 many, many a blessin' has risen from your mother's 
 lips an' your mother's heart to heaven for you, 
 my son, my son!" 
 
 Connor knelt, his heart bursting; but he knelt 
 not alone. By his side was his own Una, with meek 
 and bended head, awaiting for her mother's blessing. 
 
 She then poured forth that blessing: first upon 
 him who was nearest to her heart, and afterwards 
 upon the worn, but still beautifid girl, whose love 
 for that adored son had made her so inexpressibly 
 dear to her. Whilst utterina; this fervent but sor- 
 rowful benediction, she placed a hand upon the head 
 of each, after which she stooped and kissed them 
 both, but without shedding a single tear. 
 
 "Now," said she, "comes the mother's wakeness;
 
 350 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 but my son will help me by his manliness — so will 
 my daughter. I am very weak. Oh, what heart 
 can know the sufferin's of this hour, but mine ? My 
 son, my son — Connor O'Donovan, my son!" 
 
 At this moment John O'Brien entered the room; 
 but the solemnity and pathos of her manner and 
 voice hushed him so completely into silent attention, 
 that it is probable she did not perceive him. 
 
 " Let me put my arms about him an' kiss his lips 
 once more, an' then I'll say farewell." 
 
 She again approached Connor, who opened his 
 arms to receive her, and after having kissed him and 
 looked into his face, said, " I will now go — I will 
 now go;" but instead of withdrawing as she had 
 intended, it was observed that she pressed him 
 more closely to her heart than before; plied her 
 hands about his neck and bosom, as if she were 
 not actually conscious of what she did; and at length 
 sunk into the forgetfulness of all her piercing 
 misery upon his breast. 
 
 " Now," said Una, rising into a spirit of unex- 
 pected fortitude, "now, Connor, I will be her 
 daughter, and you must be her son. The moment 
 she recovers we must separate, and in such a manner 
 as to show that our affection for each other shall not 
 be injurious to her." 
 
 " It is nature only," said her brother; "or, in other 
 words, the love that is natural to such a mother for 
 such a son that has overcome her. Connor, this 
 must be ended."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 351 
 
 " I am willin' it should," replied the other. "You 
 must assist them home, and let me see you again 
 to-morrow. I have something of the deepest im- 
 portance to say to you." 
 
 Una's bottle of smelling salts soon relieved the 
 woe-worn mother; and, ere the lapse of many mi- 
 nutes, she was able to summon her own natural 
 firmness of character. The lovers, too, strove to 
 be firm; and, after one long and last embrace, they 
 separated from Connor with more composure than, 
 from the preceding scene, might have been expected. 
 
 The next day, according to promise, John O'Brien 
 paid him an early visit, in order to hear what Connor 
 had assured him was of more importance even than 
 Una's life itself. Their conference was long and 
 serious, for each felt equally interested in its subject 
 matter. When it was concluded, and they had 
 separated, O'Brien's friends observed that he ap- 
 peared like a man whose mind was occupied by 
 something that occasioned him to feel deep anxiety. 
 What the cause of this secret care was, he did not 
 disclose to any one except his father, to whom, in a 
 few days afterwards, he mentioned it. His college 
 vacation had now nearly expired; but it was naturally 
 agreed upon, in the course of the communication he 
 then made, that for the present he should remain 
 with them at home, and postpone his return to 
 Maynooth, if not abandon the notion of the Priest- 
 hood altogether. When the Bodagh left his son, 
 after this dialogue, his open, good-humoured coun-
 
 352 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 tenance seemed clouded, his brow thoughtful, and 
 his whole manner that of a man who has heard 
 something more than usually unpleasant; but what- 
 ever this intelligence was, he too, appeared equally 
 studious to conceal it. 
 
 The day now arrived on which Connor O'Donovan 
 was to see his other parent for the last time, and 
 this interview he dreaded, on the old man's account, 
 more than he had done even the separation from his 
 mother. Our readers may judge, therefore, of his 
 surprise on finding that his father exhibited a want 
 of sorrow or of common feeling that absolutely 
 amounted almost to indifference. 
 
 Connor felt it difficult to account for a change so 
 singular and extraordinary in one with whose affection 
 for himself he was so well acquainted. A little time, 
 however, and an odd hint or two thrown out in 
 the early part of their conversation, soon enabled 
 him to perceive, either that he laboured under 
 some strange hallucination, or had discovered a 
 secret source of comfort known only to himself. At 
 length it appeared to the son that he had discovered 
 the cause of this unaccountable change in the con- 
 duct of his father; and, we need scarcely assure our 
 readers, that his heart sank into new and deeper 
 distress at the words from which he drew the in- 
 ference. 
 
 "Connor," said the miser, "I had great luck 
 yestherday. You remimber Antony Cusack, that 
 ran away from me wid seventy-three pounds fifteen
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 353 
 
 sbillins an' nine pence, now bettker than nine years 
 ago. Many a curse he had from me for his roguery; 
 but, somehow, it seems he only thruv undher them. 
 His son Andy called on me yestherday mornin', and 
 ped me to the last farden, inth'rest an' all. Wasn't 
 I in luck?" 
 
 " It was very fortunate, father, an' I'm glad of it." 
 
 " It was, indeed, the hoighth o' luck. Now, 
 Connor, you think one thing, an' that is, that we're 
 partin' for ever, and that we'll never see one another 
 till we meet in the next world. Isn't that what you 
 think? Eh, Connor?" 
 
 " It's hard to tell what may happen, father. We 
 may see one another even in this; stranger things 
 have been brought about." 
 
 "I tell you, Connor, we'll meet agin; I have 
 made a plan out of my own head for that; but the 
 luckiest of all was the money yestherday." 
 
 "What is the plan, father?" 
 
 " Don't ax me, avick, bekase it's betther for you 
 not to know it. I may be disappointed, but it's not 
 likely aither; still it 'ud be risin' expectations in you, 
 an' if it didn't come to pass, you'd only be more 
 unhappy; an' you know, Connor darlin', I wouldn't 
 wish to be the manes of making your poor heart sore 
 for one minute. God knows the same young heart 
 has suffered enough, an' more than it ought to 
 suffer. — Connor ?" 
 
 "Well, father?"
 
 354 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Keep up your spirits, darlin'; don't be at all cast 
 down, I tell you." 
 
 The old man caught his son's hands ere he spoke, 
 and uttered these words with a voice of such tender- 
 ness and affection, that Connor, on seeing him assume 
 the office of comforter, contrary to all he had ex- 
 pected, felt himself more deeply affected than if his 
 father had fallen, as was his wont, into all the impotent 
 violence of grief. 
 
 " It was only comin' here to-day, Connor, that I 
 thought of this plan; but I wish to goodness your 
 poor mother knew it, for thin maybe she'd let me 
 mintion it to you." 
 
 " If it would make me any way unhappy," replied 
 Connor, fearing it might be some sordid project, 
 " I'd rather not hear it; only whatever it is, father, if 
 it's against my dear mother's wishes, don't put it in 
 practice." 
 
 " I couldn't, Connor, widout her consint, barrin' 
 we'd — but there's no use in that; only keep up your 
 spirits, Connor dear. Still I'm glad it came into 
 my head, this plan; for if I thought that I'd never 
 see you agin, I wouldn't know how to part wid you; 
 my heart 'ud fairly break, or my head 'ud get light. 
 Now, won't you promise me not to fret, acushla 
 machree? an' to keep your heart up, an' your spirits ?" 
 
 " I'll fret as little as I can, father. You know 
 there's not much pleasure in frettin', an' that no one 
 would fret if they could avoid it; but will you pro-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 355 
 
 mise me, my dear father, to be guided an' advised 
 in whatever you do, or intend to do, by my mother — 
 by my blessed mother ?" 
 
 "I will — I will, Connor; an' if I had always done 
 so, maybe it isn't here now you'd be standin', 
 an' my heart breakin' to look at you; but, indeed, 
 it was God, I hope, put this plan into my head; an' 
 the money yestherday — that, too, was so lucky — far 
 more so, Connor dear, than you think. Only for that 
 — but sure no matther, Connor, we're not partin' for 
 evermore now; so, acushla machree, let your mind 
 be aisy. Cheer up, cheer up, my darlin' son." 
 
 Much more conversation of this kind took place 
 between them during the old man's stay, which he 
 prolonged almost to the last hour. Connor wondered, 
 as was but natural, what the plan so recently fallen 
 upon by his father could be. Indeed, sometimes he 
 feared that the idea of their separation had shaken 
 his intellect, and that his allusions to this mysterious 
 discovery, mixed up, as they were, with the uncom- 
 mon delight he expressed at having recovered 
 Cusack's money, boded nothing less than the ulti- 
 mate derangement of his faculties. One thing, 
 however, seemed obvious — that, whatever it might 
 be, whether reasonable or otherwise, his father's 
 mind was exclusively occupied by it; and that, during 
 the whole scene of their parting, it sustained him 
 in a manner for which he felt it utterly impossible to 
 account. It is true he did not leave him without 
 shedding tears, and bitter tears; but they were unac-
 
 356 
 
 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 companied by the wild vehemence of grief which 
 had, on former occasions, raged through and almost 
 desolated his heart. The reader may entertain some 
 notion of what he would have felt on this occasion, 
 were it not for the " plan," as he called it, which 
 supported him so much, when we tell him that he 
 blessed his son three or four times during their 
 interview, without being conscious that he had 
 blessed him more than once. His last words to him 
 were to keep up his spirits for that there was little 
 doubt but they would meet again. 
 
 The next morning, at day-break, "their noble boy," 
 as they fondly and proudly called him, was conveyed 
 to the transport, in company with many others; and, 
 at the hour of five o'clock, p.m. that melancholy 
 vessel weighed anchor, and spread her broad sails to 
 the bosom of the ocean. 
 
 Although the necessary affairs of life are, after all, 
 the great assuagers of sorrow, yet there are also 
 cases where the heart persists in rejecting the con- 
 solation brought by time, and in clinging to the 
 memory of that which it loved. Neither Honor 
 O' Donovan nor Una O'Brien could forget our un- 
 happy hero, nor school their affections into the 
 apathy of ordinary feelings. Of Fardorougha we 
 might say the same; for, although he probably felt 
 the want of his son's presence more keenly even than 
 his wife, yet his grief, notwithstanding its severity, 
 was mingled with the interruption of a habit, such 
 as is frequently the prevailing cause of sorrow in
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 3.") 7 
 
 selfish and contracted minds. That there was much 
 selfishness in his grief, our readers, we dare say, will 
 admit. At all events, a scene which took place 
 between him and his wife, on the night of the day 
 which saw Connor depart from his native land for 
 ever, will satisfy them of the different spirit 
 which marked their feelings on that unfortunate 
 occasion. 
 
 Honor had, as might be expected, recovered her 
 serious composure, and spent a great portion of that 
 day in offering up her prayers for the welfare of their 
 son. Indeed much of her secret grief was checked by 
 the alarm which she felt for her husband, whose 
 conduct on that morning before he left home was 
 marked by the wild excitement which of late had been 
 so peculiar to him. Her surprise was consecmently 
 great when she observed on his return, that he mani- 
 fested a degree of calmness, if not serenity, utterly 
 at variance with the outrage of his grief, or we 
 should rather say, the delirium of his despair, 
 in the early part of the day. She resolved, however, 
 with her usual discretion, not to catechise him on 
 the subject, lest his violence might revive, but to let 
 his conduct explain itself, which she knew in a little 
 time it would do. Nor was she mistaken. Scarcely 
 had an hour elapsed, when with something like 
 exultation, he disclosed his plan, and asked her advice 
 and opinion. She heard it attentively, and for the first 
 time since the commencement of their affliction, did
 
 3.38 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 the mother's brow seem uuburthened of the sorrow 
 which sat upon it, and her eye to gleam with some- 
 thing like the light of expected happiness. It was 
 however, on their retiring to rest that night that the 
 affecting contest took place, which exhibited so 
 strongly the contrast between their characters. We 
 mentioned in a preceding part of this narrative, that 
 ever since her son's incarceration Honor had slept in 
 his bed, and with her head on the very pillow which 
 his had so often pressed. As she was about to 
 retire, Fardorougha, for a moment, appeared to forget 
 his " plan," and every thing but the departure of his 
 son. He followed Honor to his bedroom, which he 
 traversed, distractedly clasping his hands, kissing his 
 boy's clothes, and uttering sentiments of extreme 
 misery and despair. 
 
 "There's his bed," he exclaimed; "there's our 
 boy's bed — but where is he himself? — gone, gone for 
 ever ! There's his clothes, ourdarlin' son's clothes; 
 look at them. Oh God, oh God! my heart will 
 break outright. Oh, Connor, our boy, our boy, are 
 you gone from us for ever ! We must sit down to 
 our breakfast in the mornin', to our dinner, and to 
 our supper at night, but our noble boy's face we'll 
 never see — his voice we'll never hear." 
 
 " Ah, Fardorougha, it's thrue, it's thrue," replied 
 the wife; " but remimber he's not in the grave, not 
 in the clay of the church-yard; we haven't seen him 
 carried there, an' laid down undher the heart -breakin' 
 sound of the dead-bell: we haven't hard the cowld
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMOXA. 359 
 
 noise of the clay fallin' in upon his coffin. Oh no, 
 no — thanks, everlastin' thanks to the God that 
 has spared our boy's life ! How often have you an' 
 I hard people say over the corpses of their children, 
 ' Oh, if he was only alive, I didn't care in what part 
 of the world it was, or if I was never to see his face 
 again, only that he was livinV An' wouldn't they, 
 Fardorougha dear, give the world's wealth to have 
 their wishes ? Oh they would, they would — an' 
 thanks' for ever be to the Almighty! our boy is livin' 
 and may yet be happy. Fardorougha, let us not fly 
 in the face of God, who has in his mercy spared our 
 son." 
 
 " I'll sleep in his bed," replied the husband; "on 
 the very spot he lay on I'll lie." 
 
 This was indeed trenching, and selfishly trenching 
 upon the last sad privilege of the mother's 
 heart. Her sleeping here was one of those secret 
 but melancholy enjoyments, which the love of a 
 mother or of a wife will often steal, like a miser's 
 theft, from the very hoard of their own sorrows. In 
 fact, she was not prepared for this, and when he 
 spoke she looked at him for some time in silent 
 amazement. 
 
 " Oh no, Fardorougha dear — the mother, the mo- 
 ther, that her breast was so often his pillow, has the 
 best right, now that he's gone, to lay her head where 
 his lay. Oh, for heaven's sake, lave that poor 
 pleasure to me, Fardorougha."
 
 360 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " No, Honor, you can bear up undher grief better 
 than J can. I must sleep where my boy slep." 
 
 fC Farclorougha, I could go upon my knees to you, 
 an' I will, avoumeen, if you'll grant me this." 
 
 " I can't, I can't," he replied, distractedly; "I could 
 sleep no where else. I love every thing belongin' to 
 him. I can't, Honor, I can't, I can't." 
 
 " Fardorougha, my heart — his mother's heart is 
 fixed upon it, an' was. Oh lave this to me, acushla, 
 lave this to me — it's all I axe." 
 
 " I couldn't, I couldn't — my heart is breakin' — 
 it'll be sweet to me — I'll think I'll be nearer him," — 
 and as he uttered these words the tears flowed copi- 
 ously down his checks. 
 
 His affectionate wife was touched with compassion, 
 and immediately resolved to let him have his way, 
 whatever it might cost herself. 
 
 " God pity you," she said; " I'll give it up, I'll 
 give it up, Fardorougha. Do, sleep where he slep; 
 I can't blame you, nor I don't; for sure it's only a 
 proof of how much you love him." She then bade 
 him good night, and, with spirits dreadfully weighed 
 down by this singular incident, withdrew to her lonely 
 pillow; for Connor's bed had been a single one, in 
 which of course two persons could not sleep together. 
 Thus did these bereaved parents retire to seek that 
 rest which nothing but exhausted nature seemed dis- 
 posed to give them, until at length they fell asleep 
 under the double shadow of night and a calamity
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 361 
 
 which filled their hearts with so much distress and 
 misery. 
 
 In the mean time, whatever these two families 
 might have felt for the sufferings of their respective 
 children in consequence of Bartle Flanagan's villany, 
 that plausible traitor had watched the departure of 
 his victim with a palpitating anxiety almost equal to 
 what some unhappy culprit, in the dock of a prison, 
 would experience when the foreman of his jury hands 
 down the sentence which is either to hang or acquit 
 him. Up to the very moment on which the vessel 
 sailed, his cruel but cowardly heart was literally sick 
 with the apprehension that Connor's mitigated sen- 
 tence might be still -further commuted to a term of 
 imprisonment. Great, therefore, was his joy, and 
 boundless his exultation, on satisfying himself that he 
 was now perfectly safe m the crime he had com- 
 mitted, and that his path was never to be crossed by 
 him, whom, of all men living, he had most feared 
 and hated. The reader is not to suppose, however, 
 that by the ruin of Connor, and the revenge he con- 
 sequently had gained upon Fardorougha, the scope 
 of his dark designs was by any means accomplished. 
 Far from it; the fact is, his measures were only in a 
 progressive state. In Nogher M'Cormick's last in- 
 terview with Connor, our readers will please to 
 remember that a hint had been thrown out by that 
 attached old follower, of Flanagan's entertaining cer- 
 tain guilty purposes involving nothing less than the 
 abduction of Una. Now in justice to Flanagan's saga- 
 
 R
 
 362 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 city we are bound to say that no one living had ever 
 received from himself any intimation of such an in- 
 tention. The whole story was fabricated by Nogher 
 for the purpose of getting Connor's consent to the 
 vengeance which it had been determined to execute 
 upon his enemy. By a curious coincidence, however, 
 the story, though decidedly false so far as Nogher 
 knew to the contrary, happened to be literally and 
 absolutely true. Flanagan, indeed, was too skilful 
 and secret, either to precipitate his own designs 
 until the feelings of the parties should abate and 
 settle down, or to place himself at the mercy of 
 another person's discretion. He knew his own heart 
 too well to risk his life by such dangerous and unsea- 
 sonable confidence. Some months consequently had 
 passed away since Connor's departure, when an event 
 took place which gave him still further security. This 
 was nothing less than the fulfilment by Fardorougha 
 of that plan to which he looked forward with such 
 prospective satisfaction. Connor had not been a 
 month gone when his father began to dispose 
 of his property, which he soon did, having sold 
 out his farm to good advantage. He then paid his 
 rent, the only debt he owed; and having taken a 
 passage to New South Wales for himself and Honor, 
 they departed with melancholy satisfaction to seek 
 that son without whose society they found their deso- 
 late hearth gloomier than the cell of a prison. 
 
 This was followed, too, by another circumstance — 
 but one apparently of little importance — which was,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 363 
 
 the removal of Biddy Nutty to the Bodagh's family, 
 through the interference of Una, by whom she was 
 treated with singular affection, and admitted to her 
 confidence. 
 
 Such was the position of the parties after a lapse 
 of five months subsequent to the transportation of 
 Connor. Flanagan had conducted himself with great 
 circumspection, and, so far as public observation 
 could go, with much propriety. There was no change 
 whatsoever perceptible, either in his dress or manner, 
 except that alluded to by Nogher of his altogether 
 declining to taste any intoxicating liquid. In truth, 
 so well did he act his part, that the obloquy raised 
 against him at the period of Connor's trial was nearly, 
 if not altogether, removed, and many persons once 
 more adopted an impression of his victim's guilt. 
 
 With respect to the Bodagh and his son, the anx- 
 iety which we have described them as feeling in 
 consequence of the latter' s interview with O'Donovan, 
 was now completely removed. Una's mother had 
 nearly forgotten both the crime and its consequences ; 
 but upon the spirits of her daughter there appeared 
 to rest a silent and a settled sorrow, not likely to be 
 diminished or removed. Her cheerfulness had aban- 
 doned her, and many an hour did she contrive to 
 spend with Biddy Nulty, engaged in the mournful 
 satisfaction of talking over all that affection prompted 
 of her banished lover.
 
 364 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 We must now beg our readers to accompany us to a 
 scene of a different description from any we have yet 
 drawn. The night of a November day had set in, or 
 rather advanced so far as nine o'clock, when, towards 
 the angle of a small three-corned field, called by a 
 peculiar coincidence of name, Oona's Handkerchief, 
 in consequence of an old legend connected with it, 
 might be seen moving a number of straggling figures, 
 sometimes in groups of fours and fives ; sometimes in 
 twos or threes, as the case might be, and not unfre- 
 quently did a single straggler advance, and after a 
 few private words, either join the others or proceed 
 alone to a house situated in the angular corner of the 
 field to which we allude. As the district was a remote 
 one, and the night rather dark, several shots might 
 be heard as they proceeded, and several flashes in 
 the pan seen from the rusty arms of those who were 
 probably anxious to pull a trigger for the first time. 
 The country, at the period we write of, be it ob- 
 served, was in a state of comparative tranquillity, 
 and no such thing as a police corps had been heard 
 of or known in the neighbourhood. 
 
 At the lower end of a long, level stretch of moor, 
 called the Black Park, two figures approached a kind 
 of gate or pass that opened into it. One of them
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 365 
 
 stood until the other advanced, and in a significant 
 tone asked, who conies there ? 
 
 " A friend to the guard," was the reply. 
 
 " Good morrow," said the other. 
 
 " Good morrow mornin to you." 
 
 " What age are you in ?" 
 
 " In the end of the Fifth."* 
 
 " All right; come on, boy; the thrue blood's in 
 you, whoever you are." 
 
 " An' is it possible you don't know me, Dandy?" 
 
 " Faix is it; I forgot my spectacles to-night. Who 
 the dickens are you at all ?" 
 
 " I suppose you purtind to forget Ned M'Cor- 
 mick ?" 
 
 " Is it Nogher's son ?" 
 
 " The divil a other; an' Dandy Duffy, how are you, 
 man alive 1" 
 
 " Why you see, Ned, I've been so long out of the 
 counthry, an' I'm now so short a time back, that 
 upon my sowl I forget a great many of my ould 
 acquaintances, especially them that wor only slips 
 when I wint acrass.-f Faith I'm purty well considher- 
 in', Ned, I thank you." 
 
 " Bad luck to thim that sint you acrass, Dandy; 
 not but that you got off purty well on the whole, by 
 all accounts. They say only that Rousin Redhead 
 
 • These were passwords of Ribbonism, and are taken from 
 the chronological arrangement of the seven ages of the Chris- 
 tian Church, as adopted by the writer of Pastorini. 
 
 f In other words, when he was transported.
 
 366 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 swore like a man you'd 'a' got a touch of the Shuggy 
 Shoe."* 
 
 " To the divil wid it all now, Ned; let us have no 
 more about it; I don't for my own part like to think 
 of it. Have you any notion of what we're called 
 upon for tonight ?" 
 
 " Divil the laste; but I believe, Dandy, that Bartle's 
 not the white-headed boy wid you no more nor wid 
 some more of us." 
 
 " Him ! a double distilled villain. Faith they wot- 
 never good that had the white liver; an' he has it to 
 the back bone. My brother Lachlin, that's now dead, 
 God rest him, often tould me about the way he 
 thricked him and Barney Bradly when they wor green 
 horns, about sixteen or seventeen. He got them to 
 join him in stalin' a sheep for their Christmas dinner, 
 he said; so they all three stole it; an' the blaggard 
 skinned and cut it up, sendin' my poor bocaunf of a 
 brother home to hide the skin in the sthraw in our 
 barn, and poor Barney, wid only the head an' trot- 
 thers, to hide them in his father's cow-house. Very 
 good; in a day or two the neighbours wor all called 
 upon to clear themselves upon the holy Evangelisk; 
 and the two first that he egg'd an to do it was my 
 brother an' Barney. Of coorse he " switched the 
 primmer" J himself that he was innocent; but whin it 
 was all over some one sint Jarmy Campel, that lost 
 
 * Gallows, 
 f A soft, silly fellow. 
 
 | To switch the primmer, i. e. to swear ; and it is generally 
 understood, falsely.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 367 
 
 the sheep, to the very spot where they hid the fleece 
 an' trotthers. Jarmy didn't wish to say much about 
 it; so he tonld them if they'd fairly acknowledge it, 
 an' pay him betune them for the sheep, he'd dhrop 
 it. My father an' Andy Bradly did so, an' there it 
 ended; but purshue the morsel of the mutton ever 
 they tasted in the mane time. As for Bartle, he 
 managed the thing so well that at the time they never 
 suspected him, although divil a other could betray 
 them, for he was the only one knew it ; an' he had 
 the aiten o' the mutton, too, the blaggard. Faith, 
 Ned, I know him well. Now think o' that thrick, 
 an' him only a boy at the time!" 
 
 " He has conthrived to get a sthrong back o' the 
 boys any how." 
 
 '* He has, an' 'tis that, an' bekase he's a good 
 hand to be undher for my revinge on Blennerhasset 
 that made me join him." 
 
 " I dunna what could make him refuse to let Alick 
 Nulty join him V 
 
 " Is it my cousin from Annaloghan ? an' did he ?" 
 
 " Divil a lie in it; it's as thrue as you're standin' 
 there; but do you know what's suspected ?" 
 
 « No." 
 
 " Why, that he has an eye on Bodagh Buie's 
 daughter. Alick towld me that for a long time afther 
 Connor O'Donovan was thransported, the father an 
 son wor afeard of him, in consequence of something 
 they hard from Connor himself. Alick hard it from 
 his sister Biddy, an' it appears that the Bodagh' s
 
 368 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 daughter tould her family that he used to stare her 
 out of countenance at mass, an' several times struv 
 to put the furraun* on her in hopes to get acquainted." 
 
 " He would do it; an' my hand to you, if he un- 
 dhertakes it he'll not fail; an' I'll tell you another 
 thing, if he suspected that I knew any thing about 
 the thraicherous thrick he put on my poor brother, 
 the divil a toe he'd let me join him; but you see I 
 was only a mere gorsoon at the time." 
 
 " At all evints let us keep an eye on him; an' in 
 regard to Connor O'Donovan's business, let him not 
 be too sure that thafs over wid him yet. At any rate, 
 by dad, my father has slipped out a name upon him 
 an' us that will do him no good. The other boys 
 now call us the Stays of Lisdhn, that bein' the place 
 where his father lived, an' the nickname you see rises 
 out of his thrachery to poor Connor O'Donovan." 
 
 " Did he ever give any hint himself about carryin' 
 away the Bodagh's purty daughter ?" 
 
 " Is it him ? Oh, ho! catch him at it; he's a dam' 
 sight too close to do any sich thing." 
 
 After some further conversation upon that and 
 other topics, they arrived at the place of appoint- 
 ment which was a hedge school-house; one of those 
 where the master, generally an unmarried man, 
 merely wields his sceptre during school hours, leaving 
 it open and uninhabited for the rest of the twenty- 
 four. 
 
 * An over civil and plausible manner of addressing a persoc
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 369 
 
 The appearance of those who were here assembled 
 was indeed singularly striking. A large fire of the 
 unconsumed peat brought by the scholars on that 
 morning was kindled in the middle of the floor — its 
 usual site. Around upon stones, hobs, bosses, and 
 seats of various descriptions, sat the " boys," — some 
 smoking and others drinking; for upon nights of this 
 kind a shebeen-house keeper, uniformly a member of 
 such societies, generally attends for the sale of his 
 liquor, if be cannot succeed in prevailing on them to 
 hold their meetings in his own house — a circumstance 
 which for many reasons may not be in every case ad- 
 visable. As they had not all yet assembled, nor the 
 business of the night commenced, they were, of 
 course, divided into several groups and engaged 
 in various amusements. In the lower end of the 
 house was a knot, busy at the game of " spoil five," 
 their ludicrous table being the crown of a hat, placed 
 upon the floor in the centre. These all sat upon the 
 ground, their legs stretched out, their torch-bearer 
 holding a lit bunch of fir splinters, stuck for conve- 
 nience sake in the muzzle of a horse pistol. In the 
 upper end, again, sat another clique, listening to a 
 man who was reading a treasonable ballad. Such of 
 them as could themselves read stretched over their 
 necks, in eagerness to peruse it along with him, and 
 such as could not — indeed the greater number — gave 
 force to its principles by very significant tones and ges- 
 tures; some being those of melody, and others those of 
 murder; that is to say, part of them were attempting 
 
 r 2
 
 3/0 FARDOROUGHA THE MISERj OR, 
 
 to hum a tune in a low voice suitable to the words, 
 whilst others more ferocious brandished their weapons, 
 as if those against whom the spirit of the ballad was 
 directed had been then within the reach of their 
 savage passions. Beside the fire, and near the 
 middle of the house, sat a man, who, by his black 
 stock and military appearance, together with a scar 
 over his brow that gave him a most repulsive look, 
 was evidently a pensioner, or old soldier. This 
 person was engaged in examining some rusty fire- 
 arms that had been submitted to his inspection. His 
 self-importance was amusing, as was also the deferen- 
 tial aspect of those, who, with arms in their hands, 
 hammering flints or turning screws, awaited patiently 
 their turn for his opinion of their efficiency. But per- 
 haps the most striking group of all was that in which 
 a thick-necked, bull-headed young fellow, with blood- 
 coloured hair — a son of Rousin Redhead's — who, by 
 the way, was himself present, and another beetle- 
 browed slip were engaged in drawing for a wager upon 
 one of the school-boy's slates, the figure of a coffin and 
 cross bones. A hardened looking old sinner, with 
 murder legible in his face, held the few halfpence 
 which they wagered in his open hand, whilst in the 
 other he clutched a pole, surmounted by a bent bay- 
 onet that had evidently seen some service. The last 
 group worthy remark was composed of a few persons 
 who were writing threatening notices upon a leaf torn 
 out of a school-boy's copy, which was laid upon what 
 they formerly termed " a copy board," or piece of
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 371 
 
 plain deal, kept upon the knees, as a substitute for 
 desks, while the boys were writing. These amuse- 
 ments were resorted to while waiting for the Article 
 Bearer, or the Captain, for such was Bartle Flanagan, 
 who now entered the house, and saluted all present 
 with great cordiality. 
 
 " Begad, boys," he said, " our four guards widout is 
 worth any mouey. I had to pass the signword afore 
 I could pass myself, and that's the way it ought to be. 
 But, boys, before we go any farther, an' for fraid of 
 thraitors, I must call the rowl. You'll stand in a row 
 roun' the walls, an' thin we can make sure that there's 
 no spies among us." 
 
 He then called out the roll of those who were mem- 
 bers of his Lodge, and having ascertained that all was 
 right, he proceeded immediately to business. 
 
 " Rousin' Redhead, what's the raison you didn't 
 take the arms from Captain St. Ledger's stewart ? 
 Sixteen men armed was enough to it, an' yees 
 faded." 
 
 " Ay, an' if you had been wid us, and sixteen more 
 to the back o' that, you'd fail too. Begarra, Captain 
 dear, it seems that good people is scarce. Look at 
 Micky Mulvather there, you see his head tied up: 
 but aldo he can play cards well enough, be me sowl 
 he's short of one ear, any how, an' if you could meet 
 wan o' the same Stewart's bullets goin' abroad at 
 night like ourselves for its divarsion, it might let you 
 know how he lost it. Bartle, I tell you, a number of 
 us isn't satisfied wid you. You send us out to meet 
 danger, an' you won't come yourself."
 
 372 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 "Don't you know, Rouser, that I always do go 
 whenever I can, but I'm caged now;* faix I don't 
 sleep in a barn, and can't budge as I used to do." 
 
 "An' who's tyin' you to your place, thin?" 
 
 " Rouser," replied Bartle, I wish I had a thousand 
 like you, not but I have fine fellows. Boys, the 
 truth is this, you must all meet here to-morrow-night, 
 for the short an' long of it is that I'm goin' to run 
 away wid a wife." 
 
 " Well," replied Redhead, " sure you can do that 
 widout our assistance, if she's willin' to come." 
 
 " Willin' ! why," replied Bartle, "it's by her own 
 appointment we're goin'." 
 
 "An' if it is, then," said the Rouser, who, in 
 truth, was the leader of the suspicious and disaffected 
 party in Flanagan's Lodge, " what the blazes use have 
 you for uz ?" 
 
 " Rousin Redhead," said Bartle, casting a suspi- 
 cious and malignant glance at him, "might I take 
 the liberty of axin' what you mane by speaking of 
 me in that disparagin' manner ? Do you renum- 
 ber your oath ? or do you forget that you are bound 
 by it to meet at twelve hours' notice or less, 
 whinever you're called upon. — Dhar Chriestha ! man, 
 if I hear another word of the kind out o' your lips, 
 down you go on the black list. Boys," he proceeded, 
 with a wheedling look of good humour to the rest, 
 
 * Meaning that in his present service he slept in the dwelling- 
 house, and that he consequently could not stop out at night 
 without observation.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 373 
 
 we'll have neither Spies nor Stags here, come or go 
 what may." 
 
 " Stags," replied Rousin Redhead, whose face had 
 already become scarlet with indignation, "Stags, you 
 say, Bartle Flanagan ! Arrah, boys, I wondher where 
 is poor Connor O' Donovan by this time 1" 
 
 "I suppose Bushin' it afore now," observed our 
 friend Dandy Duffy, whining his pipe. " I bushed it 
 myself for a year an' a half, but be Japers, I got sick 
 of it. But any how, Bartle, you oughtn't to speak of 
 Stags, for although Connor refused to join us, you had 
 no right to go inform upon him. Sure, only for the 
 intherest that was made for him you'd have his blood 
 on your sowl." 
 
 " An' if he had itself," observed one of Flanagan's 
 friends, "'twould signify very little. The Bodagh 
 desarved what he got, and more if he had got it. 
 What right has he, one of our own purswadjion as he 
 is, to hould out aginst us the way he does 1 Sure 
 he's as rich as a Sassenach, an' divel resave the 
 farden he'll subscribe towards our gettin' arms or 
 ammunition, or towards difendin' us when we're 
 brought to thrial. To hell's delights wid the dirty 
 Bodagh, says myself for one." 
 
 " An' is that by way of a defince of Captain Bartle 
 Flanagan ?" inquired Rousin Redhead indignantly. 
 " An' so our worthy Captain sint the man across that 
 punished our inimy, even accordian to your own 
 provin', and tbat by star/gin' against him. Of coorse, 
 had the miser's son been one of huz, Bartle's brains
 
 374 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 would be scatthered to the four quarthers of heaven 
 long agone." 
 
 "An' how did I know but he'd stag aginst me," 
 said Bartle very calmly. 
 
 " Dam' well you knew he would not" observed Ned 
 M'Cormick, now encouraged by the bold and decided 
 manner of Rousin Redhead. "Before ever you went 
 into Fardorougha's sarvice you sed to more than one 
 that you'd make him sup sorrow for his harshness to 
 your father and family." 
 
 " An' didn't he desarve it Ned ? — Didn't he ruin us." 
 
 " He might desarve it, an' I suppose did; but 
 what right had you to punish the innocent for the 
 guilty ? You knewn very well that both his son 
 an' his wife always sot their faces aginst his doins." 
 
 " Boys," said Flanagan, " I don't undherstand this, 
 and I tell you more, I won't bear it. This night let 
 any of you that doesn't like to be undher me say so. 
 Rousin Redhead, you'll never meet in a Ribbon lodge 
 agin. You're scratched out of one book, but by way 
 of comfort your' re down in another." 
 
 " What other, Bartle ?" 
 
 " The Black List. An' now I have nothin' more to 
 say, except that if there's any thing on your mind 
 that wants absolution, look to it." 
 
 We must now pause for a moment to reflect upon 
 that which we suppose the sagacity of the reader has 
 already discovered — that is, the connection between 
 what occurred in Flanagan's lodge, and the last 
 dialogue which took place between Nogher and Con-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 375 
 
 nor O'Donovan. It is evident that Nogher had 
 spirits at work for the purpose both of watching 
 and contravening all Flanagan's plans, and if pos- 
 sible, of drawing him into some position which might 
 justify the " few friends," as he termed them, 
 first in disgracing him, and afterwards of set- 
 tling their account ultimately with a man whom they 
 wished to blacken, as dangerous to the society of 
 which they were members. The curse, however, of 
 these secret confederacies, and indeed of ribbonism 
 in general is, that the savage principle of personal 
 vengeance is transferred from the nocturnal assault, 
 or the mid-day assassination which may be directed 
 against religious or political enemies, to the private 
 bickerings and petty jealousies that must necessarily 
 occur in a combination of ignorant and bigoted men, 
 whose passions are guided by no principle but one of 
 practical cruelty. This explains, as we have put it, 
 and justly put it, the incredible number of murders 
 which are committed in our unhappy country, under 
 the name of waylayings and midnight attacks, where 
 the offence that caused them cannot be traced by soci- 
 ety at large, although it is an incontrovertible fact, 
 that to all those who are connected with ribbonism, 
 in its varied phases, it often happens that the projec- 
 tion of such murders is known for weeks before they 
 are perpetrated. The wretched assassin who murders 
 a man that has never offended him personally, and 
 who suffers himself to become the instrument of exe- 
 cuting the hatred which originates from a principle
 
 376 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 of general enmity against a class, will not be likely, 
 once his hands are stained with blood, to spare any 
 one who may, by direct personal injury, incur his 
 resentment. Every such offence, where secret so- 
 cieties are concerned, is made a matter of personal 
 feeling, and a trial of strength between factions, and 
 of course a similar spirit is superinduced among 
 persons of the same creed and principles to that 
 which actuates them against those who differ from 
 them in politics and religion. It is true, that the 
 occurrence of murders of this character has been 
 referred to as a proof that secret societies are not 
 founded or conducted upon a spirit of religious 
 rancour; but such an assertion is, in some cases, the 
 result of gross ignorance, and in many more, of far 
 grosser dishonesty. Their murdering each other is 
 not at all a proof of any such thing, but it is a proof, as 
 we have said, that their habit of taking away human 
 life, and shedding human blood upon slight grounds 
 or political feelings, follows them from their conven- 
 tional principles to their private resentments, and is, 
 therefore, such a consequence as might naturally be 
 expected to result from a combination of men, who in 
 one sense consider murder no crime. Thus does this 
 secret tyranny fall back upon society, as well as upon 
 those who are concerned in it, as a double curse, and 
 indeed we believe that even the greater number of 
 these unhappy wretches whom it keeps within its 
 toils, would feel happy that the principle were rooted 
 out of the country for ever.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 377 
 
 " An' so you're goin' to put my father down on the 
 black list," said the beetle-browed son of Rouser. 
 "Very well, Bartle, do so; but do you see that," he 
 added, pointing to the sign of the coffin and cross 
 bones which he had previously drawn upon the slate; 
 "dhar an sphirit Neev* if you do you'll waken some 
 momin' in a warmer counthry than Ireland." 
 
 "Very well," said Bartle, quietly, but evidently 
 shrinking from a threat nearly as fearful, and far 
 more daring than his own, "you know I have 
 nothin' to do except my duty. Yez are goin' aginst the 
 Cause, an' I must report yez; afther that whatever 
 happens won't come from me, nor from any one here. 
 It is from thim that's in higher quarthers you'll get 
 your doom, an' not from me, or, as I said afore, 
 from any one here. Mark that ; but indeed you 
 know it as well as I do, an' I believe, Rouser, a good 
 deal betther." 
 
 Flanagan's argument, to men who understood its 
 dreadful import, was one before which almost every 
 description of personal courage must quail. Persons 
 were then present, Rousin Redhead among the rest, 
 who had been sent upon some of those midnight mis- 
 sions, which contumacy against the system, when 
 operating in its cruelty, had occasioned. Persons of 
 humane disposition declining to act in these sangui- 
 nary villanies are generally the first to be sacrificed, 
 
 * The name of the Third Person of the Trinity is seldom 
 sworn by in Ireland, unless when some dreadful purpose is de- 
 termined on.
 
 378 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 for, as in the case of the execrable Inquisition, indi- 
 vidual life is nothing when obstructing the propaga- 
 tion of the general principle. 
 
 This truth, coming from Flanagan's lips, they 
 themselves, some of whom had executed its spirit, 
 knew but too well. The difference, however, be- 
 tween their apprehensions, so far as they were 
 individually concerned, was not much ; Flanagan had 
 the person to fear, and his opponents the principle. 
 
 Redhead, however, who knew that whatever he had 
 executed upon delinquents like himself might also 
 upon himself be visited in his turn, saw that his 
 safest plan for the present was to submit; for indeed 
 the meshes of the Whiteboy system, like those of the 
 Inquisition, leave no man's life safe, if he express 
 hostile opinions against it. 
 
 "Bartle, said he, "you know I'm no coward; an' 
 I grant you've a long head at plannin' anything you 
 set about. I don't see, in the mane time, why 
 afther all, we should quarrel. You know me, Bartle; 
 an' if any thing happens me, it won't be for nothirC. 
 I say no more; but I say still that you throw the 
 danger upon uz, and don't" — 
 
 " Rousin Redhead," said Bartle, " give me your 
 hand. I say now what I didn't wish to say to-night 
 afore, by Japers, you're worth five men; an' I'll tell 
 you all, boys, you must meet the Rouser here to- 
 morrow night, an' we'll have adhrink at my cost; an' 
 boys — Rouser, hear me — you all know your oaths; 
 we'll do something to-morrow night — an' I say agin,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 3/9 
 
 Rouser, I'll be wid yez an' among yez; an' to prove 
 my opinion of the Rouser, I'll allow him to head 
 us." 
 
 "An', by the crass o' Moses, I'll do it in style," 
 rejoined the hot-headed but unthinking miscreant, who 
 did not see that the adroit captain was placing him in 
 the post of danger. " I don't care a damn what it 
 is — we'll meet here to-morrow night, boys, an' I'll 
 s how you that I can lead as well as folly." 
 
 "Whatever happens," said Bartle, "we oughtn't 
 to have any words or bickerins among ourselves at 
 any rate. I undherstand that two among yez struck 
 one another. Sure yez know that there's not a blow 
 yez give to a brother, but's a perjury — and there's no 
 use in that, barrin' in a righteous cause, an' to help 
 forid the thruth. I'll say no more about it now; but 
 I hope there 'ill never be another blow given among 
 yez. Now, get a hat some o' yez, till we draw cuts 
 for six that I want to beat Tom Lynchagan, of 
 Lisdhu; he's workin' for St. Ledger, afther gettin' 
 two notices. He's a quiet, civil man, no doubt: but 
 that's not the thing. We must have obadience, or 
 where's the use of our meetins' at all ? Give him a 
 sound batin', but no further — break no bones." 
 
 He then marked slips of paper, equal in number to 
 those who were present, with the numericals 1, 2, 3, 
 &c. to correspond, after which he determined that 
 the three first numbers and three last should go — all 
 which was agreed to without remonstrance, or any 
 apparent show of reluctance whatever.
 
 380 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Now, boys," he continued, "don't forget to 
 attend to-morrow night; an' I say to every man of 
 you, as Darby Spaight said to the divil, whin he 
 promised to join the rebellion, be dha pheeka laghty 
 (bring your pike with you) — bring the weapons." 
 
 " An' who's the purty girl that's goin' to get you, 
 Captain Bartle?" inquired Dandy Duffy. 
 
 "The purtiest girl in this parish, any how," replied 
 Flanagan, unawares. — The words, however, were 
 scarcely out of his lips, when he felt that he had 
 been indiscreet. He immediately added — "that is, 
 if she is of this parish; but I didn't say she is. 
 Maybe we'll have to thravel a bit to find her out; 
 but come what come may, don't neglect to be all 
 here about half-past nine o'clock, wid your arms an' 
 ammunition." 
 
 Duffy, who had sat beside Ned M'Cormick dur- 
 ing the night, gave him a significant look, which 
 the other, who, in truth, joined himself to Flana- 
 gan's lodge only to watch his movements, as sig- 
 nificantly returned. 
 
 When the men deputed to beat Lynchaghan had 
 blackened their faces, the lodge dispersed for the 
 night, the two latter taking their way home together, 
 in order to consider of that which they had just 
 witnessed.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 381 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Indeed it was no wonder that Dandy Duffy and 
 Ned M'Cormick should have exchanged significant 
 glances with each other, upon Flanagan's having 
 admitted unawares that the female he designed to 
 take away on the following night was " the por- 
 tiest girl in the parish." The truth was, he imagined 
 at the moment that his designs were fully matured, 
 and in the secret vanity, or rather, we would say, 
 in the triumphant villany of his heart, he allowed 
 an expression to incautiously pass his lips which was 
 nearly tantamount to an admission of Una's name. 
 The truth of this he instantly felt. But even had 
 he not by his own natural sagacity perceived it, the 
 look of mutual intelligence which his quick and sus- 
 picious eye observed to pass between Duffy and Ned 
 M'Cormick would at once have convinced him. Una 
 was not merely entitled to the compliment so covertly 
 bestowed upon her extraordinary personal attractions, 
 but in addition it might have been truly affirmed, 
 that neither that nor any adjoining parish could pro- 
 duce a female, in any rank, who could compete with 
 her in the character of a rival beauty. 
 
 This was admitted by all who had ever seen the 
 colleen dhas dhun, or " the purty brown girl," as she 
 was called, and it followed, as a matter of course,
 
 382 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 that Flanagan's words could imply no other than the 
 Bodagh's daughter. 
 
 It is unnecessary to say, that Flanagan, knowing 
 this as he did, coidd almost have bit a portion of his 
 own tongue off as a punishment for its indiscretion. 
 It was then too late, however, to efface the impres- 
 sion which the words were calculated to make, and 
 he felt besides that he would only strengthen the 
 suspicion by an over anxiety to remove it. He there- 
 fore repeated his orders respecting the appointed 
 meeting on the following nigbt, although he had 
 already resolved in consequence of his indiscretion to 
 change the whole plan of his operations. 
 
 Such was the precaution with which this cowardly 
 but accomplished miscreant proceeded towards the 
 accomplishment of his purposes, and such was his 
 apprehension lest the premature suspicion of a single 
 individual might by contingent treachery defeat his 
 design, or affect his personal safety. He had made 
 up his mind to communicate the secret of his enter- 
 prise to none until the very moment of its execu- 
 tion; and this being effected, his ultimate plans 
 were laid, as he thought, with sufficient skill to baffle 
 pursuit, and defeat either the malice of his enemies 
 or the vengeance of the law. 
 
 No sooner had they left the school-house than the 
 Dandy and M'Cormick immediately separated from 
 the rest, in order to talk over the proceedings of the 
 night, with a view to their suspicions of the " Cap- 
 tain." They had not gone far, however, when they
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 383 
 
 were overtaken by two others, who came up with 
 them at a quick, or, if I may be allowed the ex- 
 pression, an earnest pace. The two latter were 
 Rousin Redhead and his son Corney. 
 
 "So, boys," said the Rouser, "what do you think 
 of our business to-night 1 Didn't I get well out of 
 his clutches?" 
 
 " Be me throth, Rouser darlin','' replied the 
 Dandy, " you niver wor complately in them till this 
 minnit." 
 
 " Dhar ma lham chart/i,"* said Corney, "I say he's 
 a black-hearted villin, and damnho orm but it 'ud be 
 aquil to absolution from the priest's hand to knock 
 him on the head." 
 
 " But how am I in his clutches, Dandy ?" inquired 
 the Rouse^r. 
 
 "Why," rejoined Duffy, "don't you see that for 
 all you said about his throwin' the post of danger on 
 other people, he's givin' it to you to-morrow night." 
 
 Rousin Redhead stood still for nearly half a minute 
 without uttering a syllable; at length he seized Dandy 
 by the arm, which he pressed with the grip of Her- 
 cules, for he was a man of huge size and strength. 
 
 " Chorp an dioual, you giant, is it my arm you're 
 goin' to brake ?" 
 
 " Be the 'tarnel primmer, Dandy Duffy, but I see 
 it now," said the Rouser, struck by Bartle's address, 
 and indignant at the idea of being over-reached by 
 him. "Eh, Corney," he continued, addressing his son, 
 
 • By my right hand.
 
 384 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " hasn't he the Rouser set ? I see boys, I see. I'm 
 a marked man wid him, an' it's likely, for all he said, 
 will be on the black list afore he sleeps. Well, Corney 
 avic, you and others know how to act if any thing 
 happens me." 
 
 "I don't think," said M'Cormick, who was a lad 
 of considerable penetration, " that you need be afeard 
 of either him or the black list. Be me sowl, I know 
 the same Bartle well, an' a bigger coward never put 
 a coat on his back. He got as pale as a sheet to- 
 night when Corney there threatened him; not but 
 he's desateful enough, I grant; but he'd be a greater 
 tyrant, only he's so hen-hearted." 
 
 " But what job," said the Rouser, " has he for 
 us to-morrow night, do you think? It must be some- 
 thin past the common. Who the dioual qan he have 
 in his eye to run away wid ?" 
 
 "Who's the purtiest girl in the parish, Rouser?" 
 asked Ned. " I thought every one knew that." 
 
 " Why you don't mane for to say," replied Red- 
 head, "that he'd have the spunk in him to run away 
 wid Bodagh Buie's daughter ? Be the contents o' 
 the book, if I thought he'd thry it, I'd stick to him 
 like a Throjan; the dirty Bodagh, that, as Larry 
 Lawdher said to-night, never backed or supported 
 us, or gev a single rap to help us, if a penny 'ud save 
 one of us from the gallis. The divil's delights to 
 him an' all belongin' to him, I say too; an' I tell you 
 what it is, boys, dhar Chriestha, if Flanagan has the 
 manliness to take away his daughther, I'll be the 
 first to sledge the door in to pieces."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 385 
 
 " Dhar a spiridh, an' so will I," said the young 
 beetle-browed tiger beside him; "thim that can 
 an' won't help on the cause desarves no marcy 
 from it.'' 
 
 Thus spoke from the lips of ignorance and brutality 
 that esprit du corps of blood, which never scruples 
 to sacrifice all minor resentments to any opportunity 
 of extending the cause, as it is termed, or that 
 ideal monster, in the promotion of which the worst 
 principles of our nature, still the most active, are sure 
 to experience the greatest glut of low and gross gra- 
 tification. Oh, if reason, virtue, and true religion, 
 were only as earnest and vigorous in extending their 
 own cause, as ignorance, persecution, and bigotry, 
 how soon would society present a different aspect. 
 But, unfortunately, they cannot stoop to call in the 
 aid of tyranny, and cruelty, and bloodshed, nor of the 
 thousand other atrocious allies of falsehood and dis- 
 honesty, of which ignorance, craft, and cruelty 
 never fail to avail themselves, and without which 
 they could not proceed successfully. 
 
 M'Cormick having heard Rousin Redhead and his 
 son utter such sentiments, did not feel at all justified 
 in admitting them to any confidence with himself or 
 Duffy. He accordingly replied with more of adroit- 
 ness than of candour to the savage sentiments they 
 expressed. 
 
 "Faith you're right, Rouser; he'd never have 
 spunk, sure enough, to carry otf the Bodagh's 
 daughter. But in the mane time, who was spakin' 
 
 s
 
 386 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 about her ? Begor if I thought he had the heart I'd 
 — but he hasn't." 
 
 " I know he hasn't," said the Rouser. 
 
 " He's nothing but a white-livered dog," said 
 Duffy. 
 
 "I thought, to tell you the truth," said M'Cor- 
 mick, "that you might give a guess as to the girl, but 
 for the Bodagh's daughter, he has not the mettle for 
 that." 
 
 " If he had," replied the Bouser, "he might count 
 upon Corney an' myself as right-hand men. We all 
 bave a crow to pluck wid the dirty Bodagh, an' be 
 me zounds it 'ill puzzle him to find a bag to hould the 
 feathers." 
 
 " One 'ud think he got enough," observed M'Cor- 
 mack, "in the loss of his haggard." 
 
 "But that didn't come from uz," said the Rouser; 
 " we have our share to give him yet, an' never fear 
 he'll get it. We'll taich him to abuse us, and set us 
 at defiance, as he's constantly doin." 
 
 " Well, Rouser," said M'Cormick, who now felt 
 anxious to get rid of him, "we'll be wishin' you a 
 good night; we're goin' to have a while of a kail- 
 yeah* up at my uncle's. Corney, my boy, good 
 night." 
 
 " Good night kindly, boys,'' replied the others, 
 " an' banayht laht,^ any how." 
 
 " Rouser, you divil," said the Dandy, calling after 
 them, " will you an' blessed Corney there, offer up 
 
 * An evening conversational visit, f Our blessing be with you.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 387 
 
 a Pattheranavy for my convarsion, for I'm sure that 
 both your prayers will go far." 
 
 Rousin Redhead and Corney responded to this 
 with a loud laugh and a banter. 
 
 "Ay, ay, Dandy; but be me soul, if they only go 
 as far as your own goodness sint you before now, 
 it i'll be seven years before they come back agin. 
 Eh, do you smell any thing ? — ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 " The bigbosthoon hot me fairly, begad," observed 
 the Dandy, aside; — "The divil's own tongue he 
 has." 
 
 "Bad cess to you, for a walkin' bonfire, an' go 
 home," replied the Dandy, "I'm not a match for 
 you wid the tongue, at all at all." 
 
 "No, nor wid any thing else, barrm' your heels," 
 replied the Rouser; "or your hands, if there was a 
 horse in the way. Arrah, Dandy ?" 
 " Well, you graceful youth, well ?" 
 " You ought to be a good workman by this time; 
 you first larned your thrade, an' thin you put in your 
 seven years' apprenticeship* — ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 " Faith, an Rouser, I can promise you a merry end, 
 my beauty; you'll be the only man that'll dance at 
 your own funeral? an' I'll tell you what, Rouser, it'll 
 be like an egg hornpipe, wid your eyes covered. 
 That's what I call an active death, avouchal!" 
 
 " Faith, an' if you wor a priest, Dandy, you'd be 
 sure to die with your face to the congregation. You'll 
 be a rope-dancer yourself yet; only this, Dandy, that 
 * Alluding to the term of his transportation.
 
 388 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 you'll be undher the rope instead of over it; so good 
 night." 
 
 "Rouser," exclaimed the other, "Rousin Red- 
 head!" 
 
 " Go home," replied the Rouser. " Good night, I 
 say; you've thravelled a great deal too far for an igno- 
 rant man like me to stand any chance wid you. 
 Your tongue's lighter than your hands* even, and 
 that's payin' it a high compliment." 
 
 "Divil sweep you, Brien," said Dandy, "you'd 
 beat the divil an' Docthor Fosther. Good night 
 agin!" 
 
 "Oh, ma bannaght laht, I say." 
 
 And they accordingly parted. 
 
 " Now," said Ned, " what's to be done, Dandy ? 
 As sure as gun's iron, this limb of hell will take away 
 the Bodagh's daughther, if we don't do something to 
 prevent it." 
 
 "I'm not puttin' it past him," returned his com- 
 panion, " but how to prevent it is the thing. He 
 has the boys all on his side, barrin' yourself and me, 
 an' a few more." 
 
 "An' you see, Ned, the Bodagh is so much hated, 
 that even some of thim that don't like Flanagan wont 
 scruple to join him in this." 
 
 "An' if we wor known to let the cat out o' the bag 
 to the Bodagh, we might as well prepare our coffins 
 at wanst." 
 
 "Faith, sure enough — that's but gospel, Ned," 
 * In Ireland to be light-handed signifies to be a thief.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 389 
 
 replied the Dandy ; "still it 'ud be the milliah murdhers 
 to let the double-faced villin carry off sich a girl." 
 
 "I'll tell you what you'll do thin, Dandy," re- 
 joined Ned, "what if you'd walk down wid me as far 
 as the Bodagh's." 
 
 " For why 1 Sure they're in bed now, man alive." 
 
 " I know that," said M'Cormick; "but how-an'- 
 ever, if you come down wid me that far, I'll conthrive 
 to get in somehow, widout wakenin' them." 
 
 " The dickens you will! How the sorra, man ?" 
 
 " No matther, I will; an' you see," he added, 
 pulling out a flask of spirits, " I'm not goin' impty 
 handed." 
 
 " Phew !" exclaimed Duffy, "is it there you are ? 
 — oh, that indeed ! Faith I got a whisper of it some 
 time ago, but it wint out o' my head. Biddy Nulty, 
 faix — a nate clean girl she is too." 
 
 " But that's not the best of it, Dandy. Sure, blood 
 alive, I can tell you a sacret — may I depind ?" 
 
 "Honour bright!" 
 
 "The Bodagh's daughter, man, 's to give her 
 a portion, in regard of her bein' so thrue to Connor 
 O'Donovan. Bad luck to the oath she'd swear aginst 
 him if they'd make a queen of her, but outdone the 
 counsellors and lawyers, an' all the whole bobbery o' 
 them, whin they wanted her to turn king's evidence. 
 Now, it's not but I'd do any thing to sarve the purty 
 Bodagh's daughter widout it; but you see, Dandy, if 
 White-liver takes her away, I may stand a bad chance 
 for the portion."
 
 390 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Say no more; I'll go wid you; but how will you 
 get in, Ned?" 
 
 " Never you mind that; here, take a pull out of 
 this flask before you go any farther. Blood an' 
 flummery! what a night; divil a my finger I can see 
 before me. Here — where's your hand? — that's it; 
 warm your heart, my boy." 
 
 "You intend thin, Ned, to give Biddy the hard 
 word about Flanagan?" 
 
 "Why, to bid her put them on their guard; sure 
 there can be no harm in that." 
 
 "They say, Ned, it's not safe to trust a woman; 
 what if you axe to see the Bodagh's son, the young 
 sogarth." ; 
 
 "I'd trust my life to Biddy — she that was so 
 honest to the Donovans wouldn't be desateful to her 
 sweetheart that — he — hem — she's far gone in con- 
 sate wid — your sowl. Her brother Alick's to meet 
 me at the Bodagh's on his way from his Lodge, for 
 they hould a meetin' to-night too." 
 
 " Never say it agin. I'll stick to you; so push an', 
 for it's late. You'll be apt to make up the match 
 before you part I suppose." 
 
 " That wont be hard to do any time, Dandy." 
 
 Both then proceeded down the same field which we 
 have already said was called the Black Park, in con- 
 sequence of its dark and mossy soil. Having with 
 some difficulty found the stile at the lower end of it, 
 they passed into a short car track, which they were 
 barely able to follow.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 391 
 
 The night, considering that it was the month of 
 November, was close and foggy — such as frequently 
 follows a calm day of incessant rain. The bottoms 
 were plashy, the drains all full, and the small rivu- 
 lets and streams about the country were up above their 
 banks, whilst the larger rivers swept along with the 
 hoarse continuous murmurs of an unusual flood. The 
 sky was one sheet of darkness — for not a cloud could 
 be seen, or any thing except the passing gleam of 
 a cottage taper, lessened by the haziness of the night 
 into a mere point of faint light, and thrown by the 
 same cause into a distance which appeared to the 
 eye much more remote than that of reality. 
 
 After having threaded their way for nearly a mile, 
 the water spouting almost at every step up to their 
 knees, they at length came to an old bridle way, 
 deeply shaded with hedges on each side. They had 
 not spoken much since the close of their last dialogue; 
 for the truth is, each had enough to do, indepen- 
 dently of dialogue, to keep himself out of drains and 
 quagmires. An occasional " hanamondiouol, I'm in 
 to the hinches;" "holy St. Pether I'm stuck;" 
 " tundher an' turf, where are you at all ?" or "by 
 this an' by that, I dunna where I am," were the only 
 words that passed between them, until they reached 
 the little road we are speaking of, which, in fact, was 
 one unbroken rut, and on such a night almost impas- 
 sable. 
 
 "Now," said M'Cormick, " we must n't keep this 
 divil's gut, for conslmmin' to the shoe or stockin' ever
 
 392 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 we'd bring out of it; however do you folly me, Dandy, 
 an' there's no danger." 
 
 "I can do nothing else," replied the other, "for 
 I know no more where I am than the man o' the 
 moon, who, if all's true that's sed of him, is the 
 biggest blockhead alive." 
 
 M'Cormick, who knew the* path well, turned off 
 the road into a pathway that ran inside the hedge and 
 along the fields, but parallel with the muddy boreen 
 in question. They now found themselves upon 
 comparatively clear ground, and with the exception 
 of an occasional slip or two, in consequence of the 
 heavy rain, they had little difficulty in advanc- 
 ing. At this state of their journey not a light was 
 to be seen, nor a sound of life heard, and it was 
 evident that the whole population of the neighbour- 
 hood had sunk to rest. 
 
 " Where will this bring us to, Ned ?" asked 
 the Dandy — " I hope we'll soon be at the Bo- 
 dagh's." 
 
 M'Cormick stood and suddenly pressed his arm, 
 " Whist," said he, in an under tone, " I think I hard 
 voices." 
 
 "No," replied the other in the same low tone. 
 
 "I am sure I did," said Ned; "take my word 
 for it there's people before us on the boreen — 
 whist !" 
 
 They both listened, and very distinctly heard a 
 confused but a suppressed murmur of voices, appa- 
 rently about a hundred yards before them on the
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 393 
 
 little bridle-way. Without uttering a word they both 
 proceeded as quietly and quickly as possible, aud in a 
 few minutes nothing separated them but the hedge. 
 The party on the road were wallowing through the 
 mire with great difficulty, many of them, at the 
 same time, bestowing very energetic execrations upon 
 it, and upon those who suffered it to remain in such 
 a condition. Even the oaths, however, were uttered 
 in so low and cautious a tone, that neither M'Cor- 
 mick nor the Dandy could distinguish their voices so 
 clearly, as to recognise those who spoke, supposing 
 that they had known them. Once or twice they 
 heard the clashing of arms, or of iron instruments 
 of some sort, and it seemed to them that the noise 
 was occasioned by the accidental jostling together of 
 those who carried them. — At length they heard one 
 voice exclaim rather testily, " D — n your blood, 
 Bartle Flanagan, will you have patience till I get my 
 shoe out o' the mud — you don't expect me to lose 
 it, do you ? — We're not goin' to get a purty wife, 
 whatever you may be." 
 
 The reply to this was short, but pithy — " May all 
 the divils in hell's fire pull the tongue out o' you, for 
 nothin' but hell itself, you villin, timpted me to 
 bring you wid me." 
 
 This was not intended to be heard, nor was it by 
 the person against whom it was uttered, he being 
 some distance behind — but as Ned and his compa- 
 nion were at the moment exactly on the other side of 
 the hedge, they could hear the words of this precious 
 
 s2
 
 394 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 soliloquy — for such it was — delivered as they were, 
 with a suppressed energy of malignity, worthy of the 
 heart that suggested them. 
 
 M'Cormick immediately pulled Duffy's coat with- 
 out speaking a word, as a hint to follow him with as 
 litle noise as possible, which he did, and ere many 
 minutes they were so far in advance of the others, as 
 to be enabled to converse without risk of being heard. 
 
 "DharDheah, Duffy," said his companion, "there's 
 not a minute to be lost." 
 
 "There is not," replied the other — "but what will 
 you do with me ? I'll lend a hand in any way I can, 
 but remimber that if we're seen, or if it's known that 
 we go against them in this — " 
 
 " I know," said the other " we're gone* men; still we 
 must manage it somehow, so as to save the girl. God! 
 if it was only on Connor O' Donovan's account, that's 
 far away this night, I'd do it. Dandy, you wor only 
 a boy whin Blennerhasset prosecuted you, an' people 
 pitied you at the time, and now they don't think 
 much the worse of you for it, an' you know it was 
 proved since, that what you sed then was thrue, that 
 other rogues made you do it, and thin left you in the 
 lurch. But, d — n it, where's the use of all this; 
 give me your hand — it's life or death — can I trust 
 you ?" 
 
 "You may," said the other, "you may, Ned; do 
 whatsomer you wish with me." 
 
 "Then," continued Ned, "I'll go into the house, 
 * Lost men.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 395 
 
 and do you keep near them widout bein' seen; watch 
 their motions; but above all things, if they take her 
 off — folly on till you see where they'll bring her; 
 after that they can get backin' enough — the sogers, if 
 they're awantin." 
 
 "Depind an me, Ned; to the core depind an me." 
 They had now reached the Bodagh's house, upon 
 which, as upon every other object around them, the 
 shadows of night rested heavily. The Dandy took 
 up his position behind one of the porches of the gate 
 that divided the little grass-plot before the hall-door, 
 and the farm-yard, as being the most central spot, 
 and from which he could with more ease hear, or, as 
 far as might be, observe, the plan and nature of their 
 proceedings. 
 
 It was at least fifteen minutes before Flanagan's 
 party reached the little avenue that led up to the 
 Bodagh's residence ; for we ought to have told 
 our readers, that M'Cormick and Duffy having 
 taken a short path, left the others — who being 
 ignorant of it, were forced to keep to the road — 
 considerably behind them. Ned was consequently 
 from ten to fifteen minutes in the house previous 
 to their arrival. At length they approached silently, 
 and with that creeping pace which betokens either 
 fear or caution, as the case may be, and stood 
 outside the gate which led into the grass-plot before 
 the hall-door, not more than three or four yards from 
 the porch of the farm-yard gate where the Dandy was 
 concealed. And here he had an opportunity of wit- 
 nessing the extreme skill with which Flanagan con-
 
 396 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 ducted this nefarious exploit. After listening for 
 about a minute, he found that their worthy leader 
 was not present, but he almost immediately disco- 
 vered that he was engaged in placing guards upon all 
 the back windows of the dwelling-house and kitchen. 
 During his absence the following short consultation 
 took place among those whom he left behind him for 
 the purpose of taking a personal part in the enter- 
 prize : 
 
 "It was too thrue what Rousin Redhead said 
 to-night," observed one of them — "he always takes 
 care to throw the post of danger on some one else. 
 Now, it's not that I'm afeard, but as he's to have 
 tbe girl himself, it's but fair that his own neck should 
 run the first danger, an' not mine." 
 
 They all assented to this. 
 
 "Well, then, boys," he proceeded, " if yez support 
 me, we'll make him head this business himself. It's 
 his own consarn, not ours; an' besides as he houlds 
 the Articles, it's his duty to lead us in every thing. 
 So, be the saykerment, I for one, won't take away his 
 girl, an' himself keepin' back. If there's any one 
 here that 'ill take my place or his, let him now say 
 so." 
 
 They were all silent as to that point; but most of 
 them said, they wished, at all events, to give " the 
 dirty Bodagh," for so they usually called him, some- 
 thing to remember them by, in consequence of his 
 having, on all occasions, stood out against the 
 system. 
 
 " Still it's fair," said several of them, " that in
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 397 
 
 takin' away the colleen, Bartle should go foremost, 
 as she's for himself an' not for huz." 
 
 "Well, then, you all agree to tins?" 
 
 "We do; but whist — here he is. 
 
 Deeply mortified was their leader on finding that 
 they had come unanimously to this determination. 
 It was too late now, however, to reason with them, 
 and the crime, to the perpetration of which he brought 
 them, too dangerous in its consequences to render a 
 quarrel with them safe or prudent. He felt himself 
 therefore in a position which, of all others, he did not 
 covet. Still his adroitness was too perfect to allow 
 any symptoms of chagrin or disappointment to be 
 perceptible in his voice or manner, although the 
 truth is, he cursed them in his heart at the moment, 
 and vowed in some shape or other to visit their in- 
 subordination with vengeance. 
 
 Such, indeed, is the nature of those secret confe- 
 deracies that are opposed to the laws of the land, and 
 the spirit of religion. It matters little how open and 
 apparently honest the conduct of such men may be 
 among each other: there is, notwithstanding this, a 
 distrust, a fear, a suspicion lurking at every heart, 
 that renders personal security unsafe, and life mise- 
 rable. But how indeed can they repose confidence 
 in each other, when they know that in consequence 
 of their connexion with such systems, many of the 
 civil duties of life cannot be performed without per- 
 jury on the one hand, or risk of life on the other, and 
 that the whole principle of the combination is founded 
 upon hatred, revenge, and a violation of all moral
 
 398 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 obligation. No church but the church that grapples 
 with the secrets of the heart can crush this; but woe 
 to the church that can and will not. 
 
 "Well then," said their leader, "as your minds 
 is made up, boys, folly me as quietly as you can, an' 
 don't spake a word in your own voices." 
 
 They approached the hall-door, with the exception 
 of six, who stood guarding the front windows of the 
 dwelling-house and kitchen; and to the Dandy's as- 
 tonishment, the whole party, amounting to about 
 eighteen, entered the house without either noise or 
 obstruction of any kind. 
 
 "By Japers," thought he to himself, "there's 
 thraichery there any how." 
 
 This now to the Dandy was a moment of intense 
 interest. Though by no means a coward, or a young 
 fellow of delicate nerves, yet his heart beat furiously 
 against his ribs, and his whole frame shook with 
 excitement. He would, in truth, much rather have 
 been engaged in the outrage, than forced as he was 
 merely to look on without an opportunity of taking a 
 part in it, one way or the other. Such, at least, 
 were his own impressions, when the report of a gun 
 was heard inside the house. 
 
 "Dhar an Iffirin,"* thought he again, " I'll boult an' 
 see what'sgoin' an — oh ma shaght millia mallach ort/i,f 
 Flanagan, if you spill blood — Jasus above ! Well, 
 any how, come or go what may, we can hang him 
 for this — glory be to God ! 
 
 * By the Mass . f Seven hundred thousand curses on you.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 399 
 
 These reflections were very near breaking forth 
 into words. 
 
 " Dhar Toasha, I don't like that," said one of the 
 guards to another; "he may take the girl away, but 
 it's not the thing to murdher any one belongin' to a 
 dacent family, an' of our own religion." 
 
 " If it's only the Bodagh got it," replied his com- 
 rade, who was no other than Mickey Mulvather, 
 " divil the hair I care. When my brother Barney 
 that suffered for Caam Seal (crooked mouth) Grime's 
 business, was before his thrial, divel resave the 
 taisther the same Bodagh would give to defind 
 him." 
 
 " Damn it," rejoined the other, " but to murdher 
 a man in his bed! Why now, if it was even comin' 
 home from a fair or market, but at midnight, an' 
 in his bed, begorra, it is not the thing, Mickey." 
 
 There was now a pause in the conversation for 
 some minutes; at length screams were heard, and 
 the noise of men's feet, as if engaged in a scuffle 
 upon the stairs, for the hall-door lay open. A light 
 too was seen, but it appeared to have been blown out ; 
 the same noise of feet, trampling, as if still in a 
 tumult, approached the door, and almost immediately 
 afterwards Flanagan's party approached, bearing in 
 their arms a female, who panted and struggled as if 
 she had been too weak to shriek or call for assistance. 
 The hall-door was then pulled to and locked by those 
 who were outside. 
 
 The Dandy could see by the passing gleam of light,
 
 400 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 which fell upon those who watched beside him, that 
 their faces were blackened, and their clothes covered 
 by a shirt, as was usual with the whiteboys of old, 
 and for the same object — that of preventing them- 
 selves from being recognised by their apparel. 
 
 " So far so good," said Flanagan, who cared not 
 now whether his voice was known or not ; " the 
 prize is mine, boys, an' now to bring ma colleen dhas 
 dhun to a snug place, an' a friendly priest that I have 
 to put the knot onus for life." 
 
 "Be heaventhers," thought Duffy, "I'll put a 
 different kind of knot on you for that, if I should 
 swing myself for it." 
 
 They hurried onwards with as much speed as pos- 
 sible, bearing the fainting female in a seat formed by 
 clasping their hands together. Duffy still stood in 
 his place of concealment, waiting to let them get so 
 far in advance as that he might dog them without 
 danger of being heard. Just then a man cautiously 
 approached, and in a whisper asked, " Is that 
 Dandy ?" 
 
 " It is — Ned, how is this ? all's lost!" 
 
 " No, no — I hope not — but go an an' watch them; 
 we'll folly as soon as we get help. My curse on 
 Alick Nulty, he disappointed me an' didn't come; if 
 he had, why some of the Bodagh's servant boys would 
 be up wid us in the kitchen, an' we could bate 
 them back aisy; for Flanagan, as I tould you, is a 
 coward." 
 
 "Well thin I'll trace thim," replied the other,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 401 
 
 "but you know in sich darkness, as this you haven't 
 a minnit to lose, otherwise you'll miss them." 
 
 " Go an, but afore you go listen, be the light of 
 day, not that we have much af it now any way — by 
 the vestment, Biddy Nulty's worth her weight in bank 
 of Ireland notes; now pelt an afther them; I'll tell 
 you agin." 
 
 Flanagan's party were necessarily forced to retrace 
 their steps along the sludgy boreen we have men- 
 tioned, and we need scarcely say, that in consequence 
 of the charge with which they were encumbered, their 
 progress was proportionably slow; to cross the fields 
 on such a night was out of the question. 
 
 The first thing Flanagan did, when he found his prize 
 safe was to tie a handkerchief about her mouth, that she 
 might not scream, and to secure her hands together 
 by the wrists. Indeed the first of these precautions 
 seemed to be scarcely necessary, for what with the 
 terror occasioned by such unexpected and frightful 
 violence, and the extreme delicacy of her health, it 
 was evident that she could not utter even a shriek. 
 Yet, did she on the other hand, lapse into fits of such 
 spasmodic violence as, wrought up as she was by the 
 horror of her situation, called forth all her physical 
 energies, and literally gave her the strength of three 
 women. 
 
 "Well, well," observed one of the fellows who had 
 assisted in holding her down during these wild fits, 
 " you may talk of jinteel people, but be the piper o' 
 Moses, that same sick daughter of the Bodagh's is
 
 402 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 the hardiest sprout I've laid my hands on this month 
 o' Sundays." 
 
 "Maybe you'd make as hard a battle yourself," 
 replied he to whom he spoke, " if you wor forced to 
 a thing you hate as much as she hates Bartle." 
 
 "Maybe so," rejoined the other, with an incredulous 
 shrug, that seemed to say he was by no means satis- 
 fied by the reasoning of his companion. 
 
 Bartle now addressed his charge with a hope of 
 reconciling her, if possible, to the fate of becoming 
 united to him. 
 
 " Don't be at all alarmed, Miss Oona, for indeed 
 you may take my word for it, that I'll make as good 
 and as lovin' a husband as ever had a purty wife. It's 
 two or three years since I fell in consate wid you, an' 
 I needn't tell you, darlin', how happy I am now that 
 you're mine. I have two horses waitin' for us at 
 the end of this vile road, an' plase Providence, we'll 
 ride onwards a bit, to a friend's house of mine, where 
 I've a priest ready to tie the knot; an' to-morrow, 
 if you're willin', we'll start for America; but if you 
 don't like that, we'll live together till you'll be willin' 
 enough, I hope, to go any where I wish. So take 
 heart, darlin', take heart. As for the money I made 
 free wid out o' your desk, it'll help to keep us com- 
 fortable; it was your own, you know, an' who has a 
 betther right to be at the spendin' of it?" 
 
 This, which was meant for consolation, utterly 
 failed, or rather aggravated the sufferings of the 
 affrighted girl they bore, who once more struggled
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 403 
 
 with a power that resembled the intense muscular 
 strength of epilepsy, more than any thing else. It 
 literally required four of them to hold her down, so 
 dreadfully spasmodic were her efforts to be free. 
 
 The delay caused by those occasional workings of 
 terror, at a moment when Flanagan expected every 
 sound to be the noise of pursuit, wrought up his 
 bad passions to a furious height. His own compa- 
 nions could actually hear him grinding his teeth with 
 vexation and venom, whenever any thing on her part 
 occurred to retard their flight. All this, however, 
 he kept to himself, owing to the singular command 
 he possessed over his passions. Nay, he undertook 
 once more the task of reconciling her to the agree- 
 able prospect, as he termed it, that life presented 
 her. 
 
 " We'll be as happy as the day's long," said he, 
 " espishilly when heaven sends us a family; an', upon 
 my throth, a purty mother you'll make. I suppose, 
 darlin' love, you wondher how I got in to-night, but 
 I tell you, I've my wits about me; you don't know 
 that it was I encouraged Biddy Nulty to go to live 
 wid you, but I knew what I was about then; Biddy 
 it was that left the door open for me, an' that tould 
 me the room you lay in, an' the place you keep your 
 hard goold an' notes in ; I mintion these things to 
 showyou how I had you hemmed in, an'thatyourwisest 
 way is to submit widout makin' a rout about it. You 
 know that even if you wor taken from me this minnit, 
 there 'ud be a stain upon your name that 'ud never
 
 404 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 lave it, an' it wouldn't be my business, you know, to 
 clear up your character, but the conthrary. As for 
 Biddy, the poor fool, I did all in my power to prevint 
 her bein' fond o' me, but ever since we two lived wid 
 the ould miser, somehow she couldn't." 
 
 For some time before he had proceeded thus far, 
 there was felt by those who carried their fair charge, 
 a slight working of her whole body, especially of the 
 arms, and in a moment, Flanagan, who walked a 
 little in advance of her, with his head bent down, 
 that he might not be put to the necessity of speaking 
 loud, suddenly received, right upon his nose, such 
 an incredible facer as made the blood spin a yard out 
 of it. 
 
 " May all the curses af heaven an' hell blast you, 
 for a cowardly, thraicherous, parjured stag — why 
 you black-hearted informer, see now what you've 
 made by your cunnin'. Well, we hope you'll keep 
 your word — won't I make a purty mother, an' won't 
 we be as happy as the day's long, espishilly when 
 heaven sends us a family! "Why you rap of hell, 
 aren't you a laughin-stock this minute ? An' to go 
 to take away my name too — an' to lave the guilt of 
 some other body's thraichery on me, that you knewn 
 in your burnin' sowl to be innocent — me, a poor girl 
 that has only my name an' good character to carry 
 me through the world. Oh, you mane spirited, re- 
 vengeful dog, for you're not a man, or you'd not go 
 to take sich revinge upon a woman, an' all for sayin' 
 an' puttin' it out on you, what I ever an' always will
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 405 
 
 do, that you stray to hang Connor O'Donovan, 
 knowin' that it was yourself did the crime the poor 
 boy is now sufferin' for. Ha ! may the sweetest an' 
 bitterest of bad luck both meet upon you, you villin! 
 Amin, I pray this night!" 
 
 The scene that followed this discovery, and the 
 unexpected act which produced it, could not, we 
 think, be properly described by either pen or pencil. 
 Flanagan stood with his hands alternately kept to his 
 nose, from which he flung away the blood, as it 
 sprung out in a most copious stream. Two-thirds, 
 indeed we might say three-fourths, of his party were 
 convulsed with suppressed laughter, nor could they 
 prevent an occasional cackle from being heard, when 
 forcibly drawing in their breath, in an effort not to 
 offend their leader. The discovery of the mistake 
 was, in itself, extremely ludicrous, but when the 
 home truths, uttered by Biddy, and the indescribable 
 bitterness caused by the disappointment, joined to 
 the home blow, were all put together, it might be 
 said that the darkness of hell itself was not so black 
 as the rage, hatred, and thirst of vengeance which at 
 this moment consumed Bartle Flanagan's heart. He 
 who had laid his plans so artfully, that he thought 
 failure, in securing his prize impossible, now not 
 only to feel that he was baffled by the superior cun- 
 ning of a girl, and made the laughing-stock of his 
 own party, who valued him principally upon his 
 ability in such matters; but in addition to this, to 
 have his heart and feelings torn, as it were, out of
 
 406 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 his body, and flung down before him and his con- 
 freres in all their monstrous deformity, and to be 
 jeered at, moreover, and despised, and literally cuffed 
 by the female who outreached him — this was too 
 much; all the worst passions within him were fired, 
 and he swore in his own heart a deep and blasphe- 
 mous oath, that Biddy Nulty never should part from 
 him unless as a degraded girl. 
 
 The incident we have just related happened so 
 quickly, that Flanagan had not time to reply a single 
 word, and Biddy followed up her imprecation by a 
 powerful effort to release herself. 
 
 " Let me home this minnit, you villin," she con- 
 tinued; " now that you find yourself on the wrong 
 scent — boys, don't hould me, nor back that ruffin in 
 his villany." 
 
 " Hould her like hell," said Bartle, " an' tie her 
 up wanst more ; we'll gag you too, my lady — ay will 
 we. Take away your name ! Dhar Chriestha y I'll 
 take care you'll carry shame upon your face from this 
 night to the hour of your death. Characther indeed! 
 — ho, by the cross I'll lave you that little of that 
 will go far wid you." 
 
 " Maybe not," replied Biddy; " the same God 
 that disappointed you in hangin' Connor O'Dono- 
 ^an 
 
 " Damn you," said he, " take that ;" and as he 
 spoke he struck the poor girl a heavy blow in the 
 cheek, which cut her deeply, and for a short time 
 rendered her speechless.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 407 
 
 " Bartle," said more than one of them, " that's 
 onmanly, an' it's conthrary to the regulations." 
 
 " To perdition wid the regulations ! Hasn't the 
 vagabone drawn a pint o' blood from my nose already 
 — look at that," he exclaimed, throwing away a hand- 
 ful of the warm gore — " devil saize her, look at that. 
 
 Ho be the " He made another onset at the yet 
 
 unconscious girl as he spoke, and would have inflicted 
 still further punishment upon her, were it not that 
 he was prevented. 
 
 " Stop," said several of them, " if you wor over 
 us fifty times, you won't lay another finger on her; 
 that's wanst for all, so be quiet." 
 
 " Are yez threatenin' me," he asked furiously, but 
 in an instant he changed his tone — " Boys dear," 
 continued the wily but unmanly villain — " boys clear, 
 can yez blame me ? — disappointed as I am by this — 
 by this — ha! anhien na sthreepa* — I'll — " but again 
 he checked himself, and at length burst out into a 
 bitter fit of weeping. — " Look at this," he proceeded, 
 throwing away another handful of blood, " I've lost 
 a quart of it by her!" 
 
 " Be the hand of my body," said one of them in 
 a whisper, "he's like every coward, it's at his own 
 blood he's cryin'; be the vartue o' my oath that man's 
 not the thing to depind on." 
 
 " Is she tied an' gagged ?" he then inquired. 
 
 " She is," replied those who tied her. " It was 
 very asy done, Bartle, afther the blow you hot her." 
 
 * Ha ! you daughter of a prostitute !
 
 408 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " It wasn't altogether out of ill-will I hot her 
 aither," he replied, " although, boys dear, you know 
 how she vexed me, but you see, the thruth is, she'd 'a 
 given us a great dale o' throuble in gettin' her quiet." 
 
 " An' you tuck the right way to do that," they 
 replied ironically; and then added, " Bartle Flanagan, 
 you may thank the oaths we took, or be the crass, a 
 single man of us wouldn't assist you in this consarn, 
 afther your cowardly behaver to this poor girl. Takin' 
 away the Bodagh's daughter was another thing ; you 
 had betther let the girl go home." 
 
 Biddy had now recovered, and heard this sugges- 
 tion with joy, for the poor girl began to entertain 
 serious apprehensions of Flanagan's revenge and 
 violence, if left alone with him; she could not speak, 
 however, and those who bore her quickened their 
 pace at his desire, as much as they could. 
 
 " No," said Bartle, artfully, " I'll keep her pri- 
 soner anyhow for this night. I had once a notion of 
 marryin' her — an' may be — as I am disappointed in 
 the other — but, we'll think of it. Now we're at the 
 horses, an' we'll get an faster." 
 
 This was indeed true. After the journey we have 
 just described, they had at length got out of the 
 boreen, where, in the corner of a field, a little to the 
 rigbt, two horses, each saddled, were tied to the 
 branch of a tree. They now made a slight delay 
 until their charge should be got mounted, and were 
 collected in a group on the road, when a voice called 
 out, " Who goes there ?"
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 409 
 
 " A friend to the guard ?" 
 
 " Good morrow !" 
 
 " Good morrow momin' to you." 
 
 " What Age are you in ?" 
 
 " The end of the fifth." 
 
 " All right," said Bartle aloud; " now boys," he 
 whispered to his own party, " we must tell them 
 good-humouredly to pass on — that this is a runaway 
 — jist a girl we're bringin' off wid us, an' to hould a 
 hard cheek* about it. You know we'd do as much 
 for them." 
 
 Both parties now met, the strangers consisting 
 of about twenty men. 
 
 " Well, boys," said the latter, "what's the fun V s 
 
 " Devil a thing but a girl we're helpin' a boy to 
 take away. What's your own sport ?" 
 
 "Begorra we were in luck to-night; we got as 
 purty a double-barreled gun as ever you seen, an' a 
 case o' murdherin' fine pistols." 
 
 "Success, ould heart! that's right; w' ell be able 
 to stand the heretics a tug whin the ' Day ' 
 comes." 
 
 "Which of you is takin' away the girl, boys?" 
 inquired one of the strangers. 
 
 " Begad, Bartle Flanagan, since there's no use in 
 hidin' it when we're all 'up' as we ought to be." 
 
 " Bartle Flanagan," said a voice — "Bartle Flana- 
 gan, is it ? An' who's the girl ?" 
 
 * To keep it secret.
 
 410 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Blur an' agers, Alick Nulty, don't be too curious. 
 She comes from Bodagh Buie's." 
 
 Biddy, on hearing the voice of her brother, made 
 another violent effort, and succeeded in partially 
 working the gag out of her mouth — she screamed 
 faintly, and struggled with such energy that her 
 hands again became loose, and in an instant the gag 
 was wholly removed. 
 
 "Oh, Alick, Alick, for the love o' God save me 
 from Flanagan ! it's me, your sisther Biddy, that's in 
 it; save me, Alick, or I'll be lost: he has cut me to 
 the bone wid a blow, an' the blood's pourin' from me." 
 
 Her brother flew to her, "Whisht, Biddy, don't be 
 afeard," he exclaimed. "Boys," said he, "let my 
 party stand by me; this is the way Bartle Flanagan 
 keeps his oath."* 
 
 " Secure Bartle," said Biddy, " he robbed Bodagh 
 Buie's house, an' has the money about him." 
 
 The horses were already on the road, but in conse- 
 quence of both parties filling up the passage in the 
 direction which Bartle and his followers intended 
 taking, the animals could not be brought through 
 them without delay and trouble, even had there been 
 no resistance offered to their progress. 
 
 "A robber too !" exclaimed Nulty, "that's more 
 of his parjury to'ards uz. Bartle Flanagan, you're a 
 thraitor, and you'll get a thraitor's death afore you're 
 much ouldher. He's not fit to be among us," added 
 
 * One of the clauses of the Ribbon oath was, not to injure 
 or maltreat the wife or sister of a brother Ribbonman.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 411 
 
 Alick, addressing himself to both parties, "an' the 
 thrnth is, if we don't hang or settle him, he'll some 
 day hang us." 
 
 "Bartle's no thraitor," said Mulvathei., but he's 
 a thraitor that says he is." 
 
 The coming reply was interrupted by " Boys, good 
 night to yez;" and immediately the clatter of a 
 horse's feet was heard stumbling and floundering 
 back along the deep stony boreen. " Be the vestments 
 he's off," said one of his party; " the cowardly villin's 
 off wid himself the minnit he seen the appearance of 
 danger." 
 
 "Sure enough, the baddhrop's in him," exclaimed 
 several on both sides. " But what he manes now I 
 dunna ?" "It'll be only a good joke to-morrow wid 
 him," observed one of them—" but, boys, we must 
 think how to manage him; I can't forgive him for 
 the cowardly blow he hot the poor colleen here, an' 
 for the same rason I didn't draw the knot so tight 
 upon her as I could a' done." 
 
 "Was it you that nipped my arm ?" asked Biddy. 
 
 " Faix you may say that, an' it was to let you 
 know that let him say as he would, afther what we 
 seen of him to-night, we wouldn't allow him to thrate 
 you badly — widout marryin' you first." 
 
 The night having been now pretty far advanced, 
 the two parties separated in order to go to their 
 respective homes — Alick taking Biddy under his 
 protection to her master's. As the way of many 
 belonging to each lodge lay in the same direction,
 
 412 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 they were accompanied, of course, to the turn that 
 led up to the Bodagh's house. Biddy, notwith- 
 standing the severe blow she had got, related the 
 night's adventure with much humour, dwelling 
 upon her own part in the transaction with singular 
 glee. 
 
 "There's some thraicherous villain in the Bo- 
 dagh's," said she, "be it man or woman; for what 'ud 
 you think but the hall-door was left lyin' to only — 
 neither locked nor boulted. But indeed, any how, 
 it was the start was taken out o' me whin Ned 
 M'Cormick — that you wor to meet in our kitchen, 
 Alick — throth, I won't let Kitty Loivry wait up for 
 you so long another time." — She added this to throw 
 the onus of the assignation ofT her own shoulders, and 
 to lay it upon those of Alick and Kitty. " But any 
 how, I had jist time to throw her clothes upon me 
 and to get into her bed. Be me sowl but I acted 
 the fright and sickness in style. I wasn't able to 
 spake a word, you persave, till we got far enough 
 from the house to give Miss Oona time to hide 
 herself. Oh, thin the robbin' villin, how he put the 
 muzzle of his gun to the lock of Miss Oona's desk, 
 whin he couldn't get the key, an blewn it to pieces, 
 an' thin he took every farden he could lay his hands 
 upon." 
 
 She then detailed her own feelings during the 
 abduction, in terms so ludicrously abusive of Flanagan, 
 that those who accompanied her were exceedingly 
 amused; for although what she said was strongly
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 413 
 
 provocative of mirth, yet the chief cause of laughter 
 lay in the vehement sincerity with which she spoke, 
 and in the utter unconsciousness of uttering any- 
 thing that was calculated to excite a smile. There is, 
 however, a class of such persons, whose power of 
 provoking laughter consists in the utter absence of 
 humour. Those I speak of never laugh either at 
 what they say themselves, or at what any one else may 
 say; but they drive on right a-head with an inverted 
 originality that is perfectly irresistible.
 
 414 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 We must now beg the reader to accompany them to 
 the Bodagh's, where a scene presented itself for which 
 they were scarcely prepared, On approaching the 
 house they could perceive by the light glittering from 
 the window chinks that the family were in a state of 
 alarm; but at this they were not surprised; for such 
 a commotion in the house after what had occurred, 
 was but natural. They went directly to the kitchen 
 door, however, and rapped. 
 
 "Who is there ?" said a voice within. 
 
 "It's Biddy; for the love o' God make haste, 
 Kitty, an' open." 
 
 " What Biddy are you ? I won't open." 
 
 " Biddy Nulty. You know me well enough, 
 Kitty; so make haste an' open. Alick, mark my 
 words," said she, in a low voice to her brother, 
 "Kitty's the very one that practised the desate this 
 night — that left the hall-door open. Make haste, 
 Kitty, I say." 
 
 "I'll do no sich thing indeed," replied the other; 
 "it was you left the hall-door open to night, an' I 
 hear you spakin' to fellows outside. I have too much 
 regard for my masther's house an' family to let 
 you or a)iy one else in to-night. Come in the mornin'." 
 
 " Folly me, Alick," said Biddy, " folly me."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 415 
 
 She went immediately to the hall-door, and gave 
 such a single rap with the knocker as brought more 
 than Kitty to the spot. 
 
 " Who's there," inquired a voice which she and 
 her brother at once knew to be Ned M'Cormick's. 
 
 " Ned, for the love o' God let me an' Alick 
 in," she replied; "we got away from the netarnal 
 villin." 
 
 Instantly the door was opened, and the first thing 
 Ned did was to put his arms about Biddy's neck 
 and — we were going to say kiss her. 
 
 " Saints above," said he, "what's this ?" on seeing 
 that her face was dreadfully disfigured with blood. 
 
 "Nothing to signify," she replied; "but thanks 
 be to God we got clane away from the villin; or be the 
 Paudheren Partha, the villin it was that got clane 
 away from huz. How is Miss Oona ?" 
 
 "She went over to a neighbour's house for safety," 
 replied Ned, smiling, "an' will be back in a few 
 minutes; but who do you think, above all men in the 
 five quarthers o' the earth, we have got widin 1 
 Guess now." 
 
 " Who ?" said Biddy ; " why, I dunna, save — but 
 no, it couldn't." 
 
 " Faix, but it could though," said Ned, mistaking 
 her as the matter turned out. 
 
 "Why vick na hoiah, no! Connor O'Donovan 
 back ! Oh ! no, no, Ned ; that 'ud be too good news 
 to he thruc."
 
 416 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 The honest lad shook his head with an expression 
 of regret that could not be mistaken as the exponent 
 of a sterling heart. And yet, that the reader may 
 perceive how near a-kin the one circumstance was to 
 the other in his mind, we have only to say, that 
 whilst the regret for Connor was deeply engraven on 
 his features, yet the expression of triumph was as 
 clearly legible as if his name had not been at all 
 mentioned. 
 
 "Who then, Ned?" said Alick. "Who the 
 dickens is it ?" 
 
 "Why, divil resave the other than Bar tie Flanagan 
 himself — secured — and the constables sent for — an' 
 plase the Saver he'll be in the stone jug afore 
 his head gets grey any how, the black-hearted villin." 
 
 It was even so ; the circumstances accounting for 
 it are very simple. Flanagan having mounted one of 
 the horses, made the best of his way from what he 
 apprehended was likely to become a scene of deadly 
 strife. Such was the nature of the road, however, 
 that any thing like a rapid pace was out of the 
 cpiestion. When he had got over about half the 
 boreen he was accosted in the significant terms of 
 the Ribbon pass-word of that day. 
 
 " Good morrow." 
 
 " Good morrow mornin' to you ;" 
 
 " Arrah what Age may you be, neighbour ?" 
 
 Now the correct words were, " What Age are we 
 in?" but they were often slightly changed, some-
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 417 
 
 times through ignorance, and sometimes from design, 
 as in the latter case less liable to remark when 
 addressed to persons not up. " In the end of the 
 Fifth," was the reply. 
 
 " An' if you wor shakin' hands wid a friend how 
 would you do it ? Or stay — all's right so far — but 
 give us a grip of your Jham dhas (right hand)." 
 
 Flanagan, who apprehended pursuit, was too 
 cautious to trust himself within reach of any one 
 coming from the direction in which the Bodagh 
 lived. He made no reply, therefore, to this, but 
 urged his horse forward, and attempted to get clear 
 of his catechist. 
 
 " JDhar Dhea! it's Flanagan," said a voice, which 
 was that of Ned M'Cormick; and the next moment 
 the equestrian was stretched in the mud, by a heavy 
 blow from the butt of a carbine. Nearly a score 
 of men were immediately about him; for the party 
 he met on his return were the Bodagh' s son, his 
 servants, and such of the cottiers as lived near enough 
 to be called up to the rescue. On finding himself 
 secured, he lost all presence of mind, and almost all 
 consciousness of his situation. 
 
 "I'm gone," said he; "I'm a lost man; all Europe 
 can't save my life. Don't kill me, boys; don't kill 
 me; I'll go wid yez quietly — oidy if I am to die, let 
 me die by the laws of the land." 
 
 " The laws of the land!" said John O'Brien; "Oh, 
 little, Bartle Flanagan, you respected them. You 
 needn't be alarmed now — you are safe here — to the 
 
 t2
 
 418 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 laws of the land we will leave you; and by them you 
 must stand or fall." 
 
 Bartle Flanagan, we need scarcely say, was well 
 
 guarded until a posse of constables should arrive to 
 
 take him into custody. But in the mean time a 
 
 large and increasing party sat up in the house of the 
 
 worthy Bodagh ; for the neighbours had been alarmed 
 
 and came flocking to his aid. 'Tis true, the danger 
 
 was now over; but the kind Bodagh, thankful in his 
 
 heart to the Almighty for the escape of his daughter, 
 
 would not let them go without first partaking of his 
 
 hospitality. His wife, too, for the same reason, was 
 
 in a flutter of delight; and as her heart was as Irish 
 
 as her husband's, and consequently as hospitable, so 
 
 did she stir about and work, and order right and left 
 
 until abundant refreshments were smoking on the 
 
 table. Nor was the gentle and melancholy Una 
 
 herself, now that the snake was at all events scotched, 
 
 averse to show herself among them — for so they 
 
 would have it. Biddy Nulty had washed her face; 
 
 and notwithstanding the poultice of stirabout which 
 
 her mistress with her own hands applied to her 
 
 wound, she really was the most interesting person 
 
 present, in consequence of her heroism during the 
 
 recent outrage. After a glass of punch had gone 
 
 round, she waxed inveterately eloquent, indeed so 
 
 much so that the mourner, the colleen dhas dhun, 
 
 herself was more than once forced to smile, and in 
 
 some instances fairly to laugh at the odd grotesque 
 
 spirit of her descriptions.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 419 
 
 " The rascal was quick," said the Bodagh; "but 
 upon my credit, Biddy, you were a pop afore him for 
 all that. Divil a thing I, or John, or the others 
 could do wid only one gun an' a case o' pistols 
 against so many — still we would have fought life or 
 death for poor Una, any how. But, Biddy here, 
 good girl, by her cleverness and invintion saved us 
 the danger, an' maybe was the manes of savin' some 
 of our lives or theirs. God knows I'd have no relish 
 to be shot myself," said the pacific Bodagh, "nor 
 would I ever have a day or night's pace if I had the 
 blood of a fellow-crathur on my sowl — upon my sowl 
 I wouldn't." 
 
 " But, blood alive, masther, what could I 'a done 
 only for Ned M'Cormick, that gave us the hard 
 word ?" said Biddy, anxious to transfer the merit of 
 the transaction to her lover. 
 
 "Well, well, Bid," replied the Bodagh, "maybe 
 neither Ned nor yourself will be a loser by it. If 
 you're bint on layin' your heads together, we'll find 
 you a weddin' present, any way." 
 
 " Bedad, sir, I'm puzzled to know how they got in 
 so asy," said Ned. 
 
 "Tbat matter remains to be cleared up yet," 
 said John. "There is certainly treachery in the 
 camp, somewbere." 
 
 " I am cock sure the hall-door was not latched," 
 said Duffy; "for they had neither stop nor stay 
 at it." 
 
 " There is a villiny among us sartinly," observed
 
 420 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 Mrs. O'Brien; "for as heaving is above me, I locked 
 it wid my own two hands this blessed night." 
 
 "I thought it might be wid the kay, Bridget," 
 said the Bodagh, laughing at his own easy joke; 
 "for you see, doors is generally locked wid kays — ha! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 " Faix, but had Oona been tuck away to-night 
 wid that vag o' the world, it's not laughin' you'd 
 be." 
 
 " God, he sees, that's only thruth, too, Bridget," 
 he replied; " but still there's some rogue about the 
 place that opened the door for the villins." 
 
 " Dar ma chuirp, I'll hould goold I'll put the sad- 
 dle on the right horse in no time," said Biddy. 
 " Misthress, will you call Kitty Lowry, ma'am, i' you 
 plase ; I'll do every thing above boord; no behind 
 backs for me ; blazes to the one alive hates foul play 
 more nor I do." 
 
 We ought to have observed that one of Biddy's 
 peculiarities was a more than usual readiness at letting 
 fly, and not unfrequently at coining, an oath; and as 
 her character presented a strange compound of sim- 
 plicity and cleverness, honesty and adroitness, her 
 master and mistress, and fellow-servants were fre- 
 quently amused by this unfeminine propensity. For 
 instance, if Una happened to ask her, "Biddy, did 
 you iron the linen V 
 
 Her usual reply was " No, blast the iron, miss, I 
 hadn't time." Of course the family did every thing in 
 their power to discourage such a practice; but on this
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 421 
 
 point they found it impossible to reform her. Kitty 
 Lowry's countenance, when she appeared, certainly 
 presented strong indications of her guilt; but still there" 
 was a hardness of outline about it which gave promise 
 at the same time of the most intrepid assurance. 
 Biddy, on the other hand, was brimful of consequence ; 
 and a sense of authority on finding that the judicial 
 power was on this occasion entrusted chiefly to her 
 hands. She rose up when Kitty entered, and stuck 
 a pair of red formidable fists with great energy into 
 her sides. 
 
 "Pray, ma'am," said she, "what's the raison you 
 refused to let me in to-night, afther gettin away wid 
 my life from that netarnal blackguard, Bartle Flana- 
 gan — what's the raison I say, ma'am, that you kep 
 me out after you knewn who was in it V* 
 
 There was here visible a slight vibration of the 
 head, rather gentle at the beginning, but clearly 
 prophetic of ultimate energy, and an unequivocal 
 determination to enforce whatever she might say 
 with suitable action, even hi its widest sense. 
 
 " An' pray, ma'am," said the other — for however 
 paradoxical it may appear — it is an established case 
 that in all such displays between women, politeness 
 usually keeps pace with scurrility; — "an' pray, 
 ma'am," replied Kitty, "is it to the likes o' you 
 we're to say our catechis ?" 
 
 Biddy was resolved not to be outdone in politeness, 
 and replied — 
 
 "Af you plase, ma'am," with a courtesy.
 
 422 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Lord project us! what will we hear next I worl- 
 dlier! Well, ma'am?" Here her antagonist stood 
 evidently waiting for the onset. 
 
 " You'll hear more than '11 go down your back 
 pleasant afore I've done wid you, ma'am." 
 
 " Don't be makin' us long for it in the mane time, 
 Miss Biddy." 
 
 " You didn't answer my question, Miss Kitty. Why 
 did you refuse to let me in to-night?" 
 
 " For good raisons — bekase I hard you collogin' 
 an' whisperin' wid a pack o' fellows 'ithout." 
 
 "An' have you the brass to say so, knowin' that 
 it's false, an' a lie into the bargain ?" (Head energe- 
 tically shaken.) 
 
 " Have I the brass, is it ? I keep my brass in my 
 pocket, ma'am, not in my face, like some of our 
 friends." (Head shaken in reply to the action dis- 
 played by Kitty.) 
 
 This was a sharp retort; but it was very well 
 returned. 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," replied Biddy, " if it's faces 
 you're spakin about, I know you're able to outface 
 me any day; but whatever' s in my face, there's no 
 desate in my heart, Miss Lowry. Put that in your 
 pocket." (One triumphant shake of the head at the 
 conclusion.) 
 
 "There's as much in your heart as 'ill shame your 
 face yet, Miss Nulty. Put that in yours." (Another 
 triumphant shake of the head in return.) 
 
 " Thank God," retorted Biddy, "none o' my friends
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 423 
 
 ever knewn what a shamed face is. I say, madam, 
 noneo' my family iver wore a shamed face. Thiguu 
 thu shin ?" (Do you understand that ?) 
 
 This, indeed, was a bitter hit; for the reader must 
 know that a sister ofLowry's had not passed through 
 the world without the breath of slander tarnishing 
 her fair fame. 
 
 " Oh, it's well known your tongue's no scandal, 
 Biddy." 
 
 " Thin that's more than can be sed o' yours, 
 Kitty." 
 
 "If my shisther met wid a misfortune, it was many a 
 betther woman's case than ever you'll be. Don't shout 
 till you get out o' the wood, ma'am. You dunna 
 what's afore yourself. Any how it's not by lettin'' 
 fellows into the masther's kitchen whin the familv's 
 in bed, an' dhrinkin' whiskey wid them, that'll get 
 through the world wid your character safe. * * * 
 An' you're nothin' but a barge, or you'd not dhraw 
 down my shisther's name that never did you an ill 
 turn, whatever she did to herself, poor girl!" 
 
 " An' do you dar' for to call me a barge ? * * * 
 Blast your insurance ! be this an' be that for a farden 
 I'd malivogue the devil out o' you." 
 
 " We're not puttin it past you, madam; you're 
 blaggard enough to fight like a man ; but we're not 
 goin' to make a blaggard an' a bully of ourselves, in 
 the mane time." 
 
 The comersation of which we are giving a very 
 imperfect report, was garnished by both ladies with
 
 424 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 sundry vituperative epithets, which it would be in- 
 consistent with the dignity of our history to record. 
 
 "That's bekase you haven't the blood of a hen in 
 vou * * * sure we j cnow w j iat y QU are | -g ut 
 
 howld! be me sowl, you're doiri me for all that. Ah, 
 ha! I see where you'r ladin' me; but it won't do, 
 Miss Kitty Lowry. I'll bring you back to the cate- 
 chis agin. You'd light the sthraw to get away in 
 the smoke; but you're worth two gone people yet, 
 dhough." 
 
 " Worth half a dozen o' you, any day." 
 "Well, as we're both to the fore, we'll soon see 
 that. How did you know, my lady, that the mas- 
 ther's hall-door was left open to-night ? — Answer me 
 that, on the nail!" 
 
 This was what might be very properly called a 
 knockdown blow; for if the reader but reflects a 
 moment he will see that Kitty, on taxing her antago- 
 nist after her rescue, with leaving it open, directly 
 betrajed herself, as there was and could have been 
 no one in the house cognizant of the fact at the time, 
 unless the guilty person. With this latter exception, 
 Dandy Duffy was the only individual aware of it, and 
 from whom the knowledge of it could come. Kitty, 
 therefore, by her over anxiety to exculpate herself 
 from a charge which had not been made, became the 
 unconscious instrument of disclosing the fact of her 
 having betrayed trust. 
 
 This trying query, coming upon her unexpectedly 
 as it did, threw her into palpable confusion. Her
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 425 
 
 face became at once suffused with a deep scarlet hue, 
 occasioned by mingled shame and resentment, as was 
 quite evident from the malignant and fiery glare 
 which she turned upon her querist. 
 
 " Get out," she replied; " do you think I'd think 
 it worth my while to answer the likes o' you? I'd 
 see you farder than I could look first. You, indeed ! 
 faugh! musha bad luck to your impidence!" 
 
 "Oh, i' youplaise, ma'am," said Biddy, dropping 
 a courtsey, that might be well termed the very pink 
 of politeness — "we hope you'll show yourself a bet- 
 ther Christhin than to be ignorant o' your catechis. 
 So, ma'am, if it 'ud be plasin' to you afore the com- 
 pany, maybe you'd answer it." 
 
 " "Who made you my misthress, you blaggard 
 flipe ? who gave you authority to ax me sich ques- 
 tins?" replied the other. "A fellow sarvant like 
 myself! to the divil I pitch you. You, indeed! Faix, 
 it's well come up wid the likes o' you to ballyrag over 
 me!" 
 
 " Well, but, ma'am dear, will you answer — that is 
 i' you plase, for sure we can't forget our manners 
 you know — will you jist answer what I axed you? 
 Oh, be me sowl, you'r face condimns you, my lady," 
 said Biddy, abruptly changing her tone; "it does, 
 you yolla Mulotty, it does. You bethrayed the 
 masther's house, an' Miss Oona, too, you villin o' 
 blazes. If you could see your face now — your guilty 
 face." 
 
 The spirit of her antagonist, being that of a
 
 426 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 woman, could bear no more. The last words were 
 scarcely uttered, when Lowry made a spring like a 
 tigress at her opponent, who, however, received 
 this onset with a skill and intrepidity worthy of Pen- 
 thesilea herself. They were immediately separated, 
 but not until they had twisted and twined about one ' 
 another two or three times, after which, each dis- 
 played, by way of trophy, a copious handful of hair 
 that had changed proprietorship during their brief 
 but energetic conflict. In addition to this, there 
 were visible on Kitty's face five small streams of liquid 
 gore, which, no doubt, would have been fond to cor- 
 respond with the red expanded talons of her antago- 
 nist. 
 
 John O'Brien then put the question seriously to 
 Lowry, who, now that her blood was up, or probably 
 feeling that she had betrayed herself, declined to 
 answer at all. 
 
 " I'll answer nottin' I don't like," she replied; 
 "an' I'll not be ballyragged by any one — not even 
 by you, Misther John; an' what's more, I'll lave the 
 sarvice at the skriek o' day to-morrow. I wouldn't live 
 in the house wid that one; my life 'udn't be safe 
 undher the wan roof wid her." 
 
 "Thin you'll get no correcther from any one 
 here," said Mrs. O'Brien; "for indeed any way, 
 there was never a minute's pace in the kitchhn/ since 
 you came into it." 
 
 " Divil cares," she replied, with a toss of her 
 head; "if I don't, I must only live widout it, and 
 will, I hope."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 427 
 
 She then flounced out of the room, and kept grumb- 
 ling in an insolent tone of voice, until she got to her 
 bed. Dandy Duffy then detailed all the circumstances 
 he had witnessed, by which it appeared unquestionable 
 that Kitty Lowry had been aware of Flanagan's 
 design, and was consequently one of his accomplices. 
 This in one sense was true, whilst in another and 
 the worst they did her injustice. It is true that 
 Bartle Flanagan pretended affection for her, and con- 
 trived on many occasions within the preceding five 
 months, that several secret meetings should take 
 place between them, and almost always upon a Sun- 
 day, which was the only day she had any opportunity 
 of seeing him. He had no notion, however, of 
 entrusting her with his secret. In fact, no man 
 could possibly lay his plans with deeper design or 
 more ingenious precaution for his own safety, than 
 Flanagan. Having gained a promise from the cre- 
 dulous girl to elope with him on the night in ques- 
 tion, he easily induced her to leave the hall door 
 open. His exploit, however, having turned out so 
 different in its issue from that which Kitty expected, 
 she felt both chagrined and confounded, and knew 
 not at first whether to ascribe the abduction of Biddy 
 Nulty to mistake or design; for, indeed, she was not 
 ignorant of Flanagan's treacherous conduct to the 
 sex — no female having ever repulsed him, whose 
 character he did not injure whenever he could do so 
 with safety. Biddy's return, however, satisfied her 
 that Bartle must have made a blunder of some kind,
 
 428 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 or he would not have taken away her fellow-servant 
 instead of herself; and it was the bitterness which 
 weak minds always feel when their own wishes hap- 
 pen to be disappointed, that prompted her resent- 
 ment against poor Biddy, who was unconsciously its 
 object. Flanagan's primary intention was still, how- 
 ever, in some degree effected, so far as regarded the 
 abduction. The short space of an hour gave him 
 time to cool and collect himself sufficiently to form 
 the best mode of action under the circumstances. 
 He resolved, therefore, to plead mistake, and to 
 produce Kitty Lowry to prove that his visit that night 
 to the Bodagh's house was merely to fulfil their 
 mutual promise of eloping together. 
 
 But there was the robbery staring him in the face; 
 and how was he to manage that? This, indeed, 
 was the point on which the accomplished villain felt, 
 by the sinking of his heart, that he had overshot 
 his mark. When he looked closely into it, his whole 
 frame became cold and feeble from despair, the hard 
 paleness of mental suffering settled upon his face, 
 and his brain was stunned by a stupor which almost 
 destroyed the power of thinking. 
 
 All this, however, availed him not. Before twelve 
 o'clock the next day informations had been sworn 
 against him, and at the hour of three, he found 
 himself in the very room which had been assigned 
 to Connor O'Donovan, sinking under a double charge 
 of abduction and robbery. 
 
 And now once more did the mutability of public
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 429 
 
 feeling and opinion become apparent. No sooner had 
 fame spread abroad the report of Flanagan's two- 
 fold crime, and his imprisonment, than those very 
 people who had only a day or two before inferred 
 that Connor O'Donovan was guilty, because his ac- 
 cuser's conduct continued correct and blameless, now 
 changed their tone, and insisted that the hand of 
 God was visible in Flanagan's punishment. Again 
 were all the dark traits of his character dragged 
 forward and exposed; and this man reminded that 
 man, as that man did some other man, that he had 
 said more than once that Bartle Flanagan would 
 be hanged for swearing away an innocent young 
 man's life. Such, however, without reference to 
 truth or justice, is public opinion among the great 
 body of the people, who are swayed by their feelings 
 only instead of their judgment. The lower public 
 will, as a matter of course, feel at random upon 
 every thing, and like a fortune-teller, it will for that 
 reason, and for that only, sometimes be found on 
 the right side. From the time which elapsed between 
 the period of Baltic's imprisonment and that of his 
 trial, many strange circumstances occurred in con- 
 nexion with it, of which the public at large were 
 completely ignorant. Bartle was now at the mercv 
 of a man who was looked upon with a spirit of de- 
 testation and vengeance by those illegal confederacies 
 with which he had uniformly declined to associate 
 himself. Flanagan's party, therefore, had now only 
 two methods of serving him, one was intimidation,
 
 430 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 and. the other a general subscription among the 
 various lodges of the district, to raise funds for his 
 defence. To both of these means they were resolved 
 to have recourse. 
 
 Many private meetings they held among them- 
 selves upon those important matters, at which 
 Dandy Duffy and Ned M'Cormick attended, as 
 was their duty; and well was it for them that the 
 part they took in defeating Bartle Flanagan, and 
 serving the Bodagh and his family, was unknown to 
 their confederates. To detail the proceeding of their 
 meetings, and recount the savage and vindictive 
 ferocity of such men, would be paying the taste and 
 humanity of our readers a bad compliment. It is 
 enough to sav that a fund was raised for Flanagan's 
 defence, and a threatening notice written to be posted 
 on the Bodagh Buie's door — of which elegant pro- 
 duction the following is a literal copy : — 
 
 " Buddha Bee — You 'ave wan iv our boys in — 
 for abjection an' rubbry — an' it seems is resolved to 
 parsequte the poor boy at the nuxt 'Shizers — now 
 dhis is be way av a dalikit hint to yew an' yoors that 
 af butt wan spudh av his blud is spiled in quense- 
 quence av yewr parsequtn im as the winthers' comin' 
 on an' the wether gettin cowld an' the long knights 
 settin' in yew may as well prepare yewr coughin an' 
 not that same remimber you've a praty dother an' 
 may no more about her afore your much oulder. 
 
 "Simon Pether Starlight."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 431 
 
 This and several others of the same class were 
 served upon the Bodagh, with the intention of intimi- 
 dating him from the prosecution of Flanagan. They 
 had, however, quite mistaken their man. The Bo- 
 dagh, though peaceable and placable, had not one 
 atom of the coward in his whole composition. On 
 the contrary, he was not only resolute in resisting 
 what he conceived to be oppressive or unjust, but he 
 was also immoveably obstinate in any thing wherein 
 he fancied he had right on his side. And even had 
 his disposition been inclined to timidity or pliancy, 
 his son John would have used all his influence to 
 induce him to resist a system which is equally 
 opposed to the laws of God and of man, as well as to 
 the temporal happiness of those who are slaves to the 
 terrible power which, like a familiar devil, it exercises 
 over its victims, under the hollow promise of protec- 
 tion. 
 
 As the Bodagh and his son took the usual legal 
 steps to forward the prosecution, it was but natural 
 that they should calculate upon the evidence of 
 Dandy Duffy, Ned M'Cormick, and Alick Nulty. 
 John O'Brien accordingly informed them on the very 
 night of the outrage, that his father and himself would 
 consider them as strong evidences against Bartle Fla- 
 nagan, and call upon them as such. This informa- 
 tion placed these young men in a position of incre- 
 dible difficulty and danger. They knew not exactly 
 at that moment how to proceed, consistently with the 
 duty which they owed to society at large, and that
 
 43:2 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 which was expected from them by the dark combina- 
 tion to which they were united. M'Cormick, how- 
 ever, begged of John O'Brien not to mention their 
 names until the day after the next, and told him that 
 if he could understand their reason for this request, 
 he would not hesitate to comply with it. 
 
 O'Brien, who suspected the true cause of their 
 reluctance, did not on this occasion press them far- 
 ther, but consented to their wishes, and promised 
 not to mention their names as even indirectly con- 
 nected with the outrage, until the time they had 
 specified had elapsed. 
 
 In the course of the following day Nogher M'Cor- 
 mick presented himself to the Bodagh and his son, 
 neither of whom felt much difficulty in divining the 
 cause of his visit. 
 
 " Well," said Nogher, after the first usual civilities 
 had passed, " glory be to God, gintlemen, this is 
 desperate fine weather for the season — barrin' the 
 wet." 
 
 John smiled, but the plain matter-of-fact Bodagh 
 replied, 
 
 " Why, how the devil can you call this good wea- 
 ther, neighbour, when it's raining for the last week, 
 night and day '. " 
 
 " I do call it good weather for all that," returned 
 Nogher, " for you ought to know that every weather 
 is good that God sends." 
 
 " Well," said the Bodagh, taken aback a little by 
 Nogher's piety, " there's truth in that too. You are 
 right, neighbour."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 433 
 
 " I am right," said Nogher, "an' it's nothin' else 
 than a sinful world to say that this is bad weather, or 
 that that's bad weather — bekase, as the Scripthur 
 says, • to be to the man that's '" 
 
 " But pray," interrupted John, " what's your 
 business with my father and me V 
 
 Nogher rubbed dowu his chin very gravely and 
 significantly. 
 
 " Why," said he, " somethin' for your own good, 
 gintlemin." 
 
 " Well, what is that 1" said John, anxious to bring 
 him to the point as soon as possible. 
 
 " The truth, gintlemin, is this — I am an ould man, 
 an' I hope that I never was found to be any thing else 
 than an honest one. They're far away this day that 
 could give me a good carrecthur; two o' them, any how 
 I'll never forget — Connor an' his mother; but I'll 
 never see them agin ; an' the ould man too, I never 
 could hate him, in regard of the love he bore his son. 
 Long, long was the journey he tuck to see that son, 
 an', as he tould me the day he wint into the ship, to 
 die in his boy's arms; for he said heaven wouldn't be 
 heaven to him if he died any where else." 
 
 Nogher' s eyes filled as be spoke, and we need 
 scarcely say that neither the Bodagh nor his son 
 esteemed him the less for his attachment to Connor 
 O'Donovan and his family. 
 
 " The sooner I end the business I came about to- 
 day," said he, " the betther. You want my son Ned, 
 Daudy Duff}-, an' Alick Nulty, to join in giving evi- 
 
 v
 
 434 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 deuce against blaggard Bartle Flanagan. Now, the truth 
 is, gintlemen, you don't kuow the state of things in the 
 country. If they come into a coorto' justice aginsthim, 
 their lives wont be worth a traneen. It's aginst their 
 oath, I'm tould, as Ribbonmen, to prosecute one ano- 
 ther; and from hints I resaved, I'm afeard they can't 
 do it, as I said, barrin' at the risk o' their lives." 
 
 " Father," said John, " as far as I've heard, he 
 speaks nothing but truth." 
 
 "I believe he does too," rejoined the Bodagh, 
 " an' by my sowl I'll be bound he's an honest man — 
 upon my credit I think you are, M'Cormick." 
 
 " I am thankful to you, sir," said Nogher. 
 
 " I'm inclined to think further," said John, " that 
 we have proof enough against Flanagan without 
 them." 
 
 " Thin if you think so, John, God forbid that we'd 
 be the manes of bringin' the young men into throuble. 
 All I'm sorry for is, that they allowed themselves to 
 be hooked into sich a dark and murdherin' piece of 
 villany. 
 
 " I know, sir, it's a bad business," said Nogher, 
 " but it can't be helped now; no man's safe that wont 
 join it." 
 
 " Faith and I won't, for one," replied the Bodagh, 
 " not but they sent many a threat to me. Any thing 
 aginst the laws o' the counthry is bad, and never 
 ends but in harm to them that's consarned in it." 
 
 " God forbid," further observed his son, "that ever 
 the day should come when the government of the
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 435 
 
 country will shamefully and basely truckle to those 
 agitating politicians, who, spiritual or otherwise, 
 keep alive such murderous combinations for their own 
 personal purposes. That day will be an unhappy day 
 to the loyal Catholic and the loyal Protestant, who 
 may wish to rest contented under those laws which 
 are adequate to their protection, if firmly and impar- 
 tially administered. M'Cormick," added the son, 
 " villain as Flanagan is, we shall let him once more 
 loose upon society, sooner than bring the lives of 
 your son and the two other young men into jeopardy. 
 Such, unhappily is the state of the country, and we 
 must submit to it.'' 
 
 " I thank you, sir," said Nogher. "The truth is, 
 the 're sworn, it seems, not to prosecute one another, 
 let whatever may happen; an' any one of them that 
 breaks that oath — God knows I wish they'd think of 
 other oaths as much as they do of it — barrin' a stag 
 that's taken up, an' kep' safe by the government, is 
 sure to get his wages well ped." 
 
 " Saj' no more, M'Cormick," said the Bodagh's 
 inestimable son, " say no more. No matter how this 
 may terminate, we shall not call on them as evidences. 
 It must lie so, father," he added, " and God help the 
 country in which the law is a dead letter, and tbe 
 passions and bigoted prejudices of disaffected or sedi- 
 tious men, the active principles which impress their 
 vindictive horrors upon society. Although not myself 
 connected with these men, I know their oath, and — 
 but I say no more. M'Cormick, your friends are
 
 436 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 safe; we shall not, as I told you, call upon them, be 
 the result what it may; better that one guilty should 
 escape, than that three innocent persons should 
 suffer." 
 
 Nogher again thanked him, and having taken up bis 
 hat, was about to retire, when he paused a moment, 
 and, after some consideration with himself, said — 
 addressing the son — 
 
 " You're a scholar, sir, an' — but maybe I'm savin' 
 what I oughtn't to say — but sure, God knows, it's all 
 verv well known long ago." 
 
 "What is it, M'Cormick ?" asked John, "speak 
 out plainly; we will not feel offended." 
 
 " Twas only this, sir," continued Nogher, " I'm 
 an unlarned man ; but he woidd write to yov, maybe — 
 I mane Connor — an' if he did, I'd be glad to hear 
 — but I hope I don't offxnd you, sir. You wouldn't 
 think of me, may be, although many and many's the 
 time I nursed him on these knees, an' carried him 
 about in these arms, and he cried — ay, as God is my 
 judge, he cried bittherly — when, as he said, at the 
 time — ' Nogher, Nogher, my affectionate friend, I'll 
 never see you more.' " 
 
 Jchn O'Brien shook him cordially by the haud, 
 and rep'ied — " I will make it a point to let you know 
 any thi ig that our family may bear from him." 
 
 "An' if you write to him, sir, just in a single line, 
 — to sav that the affectionate ould friend never 
 forgot him." 
 
 " That, too, shall be done," replied John — " you 
 mav rest assured of it."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 43/ 
 
 The Bodagh, whose notions in matters of delicacy 
 and feeling were rough but honest, now rang the bell 
 with an uncommon, nay, an angry degree of vio- 
 lence. 
 
 " Get up some spirits here, an' don't be asleep. 
 You must take a glass of whiskey before you go," he 
 said, addressing Nogher. 
 
 " Sir," replied Nogher, " I'm in a hurry home, 
 for I'm off o' my day's work." 
 
 " By the hand of my body but you must," rejoined 
 the Bodagh, " and what's your day's wages ?" 
 
 " Ten pence." 
 
 " There's half-a-crown ; an' I tell you more, you 
 must come and take a cot-tack undher me, and you'll 
 find the change for the betther, never fear." 
 
 In point of fact it was so concluded, and Nogher 
 left the Bodagh's house with a heart thankful to 
 Providence that he had ever entered it.
 
 438 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XIX, 
 
 The day of Flanagan's trial, however, now ap- 
 proached, and our readers are fully aware of the 
 many chances of escaping justice which the existence 
 of Ribbonism in the country opened to him, notwith- 
 standing his villauy. As some one, however, says in a 
 play — in that of Othello, we believe — " God is above 
 all," so might Flanagan have said on this occasion. 
 The evidence of Biddy Nulty, of some of the other 
 servants, and of the Bodagh, who identified several of 
 the bank notes, was quite sufficient against him, with 
 respect to the robbery. Nor was any evidence adduced 
 of more circumstantial weight than Kitty Lowry's, who, 
 on being satisfied of Flanagan's designs against Una, 
 and that she herself was consequently no more than 
 Ins dupe, openly acknowledged the part she had 
 taken in the occurrences of the night on which the 
 outrages were committed. This confession agreed so 
 well with Bartle's character for caution and skill in 
 every thing he undertook, that his object in persuad- 
 ing her to leave the hall-door open was not only clear 
 but perfectly consistent with the other parts of his 
 plan. His crime was a capital one; and when fame once 
 more had proclaimed abroad that Bartle Flanagan was 
 condemned to be hanged for robbing Bodagh Buie, 
 they insisted still more strongly that the sentence- 
 was an undeniable instance of retributive justice.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 439 
 
 Striking indeed was the difference between his 
 deportment during the trial, and the manly fortitude 
 of Connor O'Donovan, when standing under as heavy 
 a charge at the same bar. The moment he entered 
 the dock, it was observed that his face expressed all 
 the pusillanimous symptoms of the most unmanly 
 terror. His brows fell, or rather hung over his eyes, 
 as if all their muscular power had been lost — giving 
 to his countenance not only the vague sullenness of 
 irresolute ferocity, but also, as was legible in his dead 
 small eye, the cold calculations of deep and cautious 
 treachery; nor was his white haggard cheek a less 
 equivocal assurance of Ins consummate cowardice. 
 Many eyes were now turned upon him; for we need 
 scarcely say that his part in a case, which created 
 so much romantic interest as the conviction of Connor 
 O'Donovan, and the history it developed of the mu- 
 tual affection which subsisted between him and Una, 
 was by no means forgotten. And even if it had, his 
 present appearance and position would, by the force 
 of ordinary association, have revived it in the minds 
 of many then present. 
 
 Deprived of all moral firmness, as he appeared to 
 be, on entering the dock, yet as the trial advanced, 
 it was evident that his heart and spirits were sinking 
 still more and more, until at length his face, in con- 
 sequence of its ghastliness, and the involuntary hang- 
 ing of his eye-brows, indicated scarcely any other 
 expression than that of utter helplessness, or the 
 feeble agony of a mind so miserably prostrated, as to
 
 440 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 be hardly conscious of the circumstances around 
 him. This was clearly obvious when the verdict of 
 " guilty" was uttered in the dead silence which pre- 
 vailed through the court. No sooner were the words 
 pronounced than he looked about him wildly, and 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " What's that ? what's that ? Oh, God !— sweet 
 Jasus ! — sweet Jasus ! " 
 
 His lips then moved for a little, and he was ob- 
 served to mark his breast privately with the sign of 
 the cross; but in such a manner as to prove that the 
 act was dictated by the unsettled incoherency of 
 terror, and not by the promptings of piety or reli- 
 gion. 
 
 The judge now put on the black cap, and was about 
 to pronounce the fatal sentence, when the prisoner 
 shrieked out, " Oh, my Lord — my Lord, spare me. 
 Oh, spare me, for I'm not fit to die. I daren't meet 
 God." 
 
 "Alas!" exclaimed the judge, "unhappy man, 
 it is too often true, that those who are least prepared 
 to meet their Almighty Judge, are also the most 
 reckless in the perpetration of those crimes which are 
 certain, ere long, to hurry them into his presence. 
 You find now, that whether as regards this life or the 
 next, he who observes the laws of his religion and 
 his country, is the only man who can be considered, 
 in the true sense of the word, his own friend; and 
 there is this advantage in his conduct, that whilst he 
 is the best friend to himself, it necessarily follows,
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 441 
 
 that he must be a benefactor in the same degree to 
 society at large. To such a man the laws are a secu- 
 rity, and not, as in your case, and in that of those 
 who resemble you, a punishment. It is the wicked 
 only who hate the laws, because they are conscious 
 of having provoked their justice. In asking me to 
 spare your life, you are aware that you ask me for 
 that which I cannot grant. There is nothing at all 
 in your case to entitle you to mercy ; and if by the 
 life you have led, you feel that you are unfit to die, 
 it is clear upon your own principles, and by the use 
 you have made of life, that you are unfit to live." 
 
 He then proceeded to exhort him in the usual 
 terms, to sue for reconciliation with an offended God, 
 through the merits and sufferings of Christ. After 
 which he sentenced him to be executed on the fifth 
 day from the close of the assizes. On hearing the 
 last words of the judge he clutched the dock at which 
 he stood with a convulsive effort; — his hands and 
 arms, however, became the next moment relaxed, 
 and he sank down in a state of helpless insensibility. 
 On reviving he found himself in his cell, attended 
 by two of the turnkeys, who felt now more alarmed 
 at his screams and the horror which was painted on 
 his face, than by the fainting fit from which he had 
 just recovered. It is not our design to dwell at much 
 length upon the last minutes of such a man ; but we 
 will state briefly, that, as might be expected, he left 
 nothing unattempted to save bis own life. On the 
 day after his trial, he sent for the sheriff, and told 
 
 i -'
 
 442 FARDOROUGHA, THE MISER; OR, 
 
 him, that provided life were granted him by the go- 
 vernment, he could make many important disclosures, 
 and give very valuable information concerning the 
 state and prospects of Ribbonism in the country, 
 together with a long list of the persons who were 
 attached to it in that parish. The sheriff told him 
 that this information, which might under other cir- 
 cumstances have been deemed of much value by 
 government, had already been anticipated by another 
 man, during the very short period that elapsed since 
 his conviction. There was nothing which he could 
 now disclose, the sheriff added, that he himself was 
 not already in possession of, even to the rank which 
 he, Flanagan, was invested with among them, and 
 the very place where he aud they had held their last 
 meeting. But, independently of that, he proceeded, 
 it is not usual for government to pardon the prin- 
 cipals in any such outrage as that for which you have 
 been convicted. I shall, however, transmit your 
 proposal to the chief secretary, who may act in the 
 matter as he thinks proper. 
 
 In the mean time his relatives and confederates 
 were not idle outside, each party having already 
 transmitted a petition to Dublin Castle in his behalf. 
 That of his relations contained only the usual melan- 
 choly sentiments, and earnest entreaties for mercy 
 which are to be found in such documents. The 
 memorial, however, of his confederates was equally 
 remarkable for its perverted ingenuity, and those un- 
 lucky falsehoods which are generally certain to defeat 
 the objects of those who have recourse to them.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 443 
 
 It went to say, " That petitioners feared very much 
 that the country was in a dangerous state in conse- 
 quence of the progressive march of Ribbonism in 
 part of that parish, and in many of the surrounding 
 districts. That the unhappy prisoner had for some 
 time past made himself peculiarly obnoxious to this 
 illegal class of persons; and that he was known in the 
 country as what is termed " a marked man" ever 
 since he had the courage to prosecute, some 
 time ago, one of their most notorious leaders, by 
 name Connor O'Donovan, of Lisuamona; who was, 
 at the period of writing that memorial, a convict 
 during life in New South Wales for a capital White- 
 boy offence. 
 
 " That said Connor O'Donovan, having seduced the 
 affections of a young woman named Una O'Brien, 
 daughter of a man called Michael O'Brien, otherwise 
 Bodagh Buie, or the Yellow Churl, demanded her in 
 marriage from her father and family, who unani- 
 mously rejected his pretensions. Upon which, insti- 
 gated by the example and practice of the dark com- 
 bination of which he was so distinguished a leader, 
 he persuaded memorialist, partly by entreaties, but 
 principally by awful and mysterious threats, to join 
 him in the commission of this most atrocious crime. 
 That from the moment he had been forced into the 
 participation of such an act, his conscience could not 
 permit him to rest night or day; and he consequently 
 came forward boldly and fearlessly, and did what he 
 considered his duty to God and his country.
 
 444 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " That in consequence of this conscientious act, 
 O'Donovan, the Ribbon ringleader, was capitally con- 
 victed; but through the interest of some leading 
 gentlemen of the parish, who were ignorant of his 
 habits and connections, the sentence was, by the 
 mercy of government, commuted to transportation 
 for life. 
 
 "That upon his banishment from the country, the 
 girl whose affections he had seduced, became de- 
 ranged for some time; but after her recovery, ex- 
 pressed, on many occasions, the most bitter deter- 
 mination to revenge upon petitioner the banishment 
 of her lover; and that the principal evidence upon 
 which petitioner was convicted, was hers-* and that 
 of a girl named Bridget Nulty, formerly a servant 
 in his father's house, and known to have been 
 O'Donovan' s paramour. 
 
 " That this girl, Bridget Nulty, was taken into 
 O'Brien's family at the suggestion of his daughter 
 Una, who was ignorant of her guilt; and that she 
 and Bridget Nulty, aided by another female servant 
 of O'Brien's, named Kitty Lowry, formed the con- 
 spiracy of which petitioner is unhappily the victim." 
 
 It then proceeded to detail how the conspiracy 
 which Una O'Brien and the two females she had 
 taken in as accomplices, was carried into effect; all 
 of which was done with singular tact and ingenuity; 
 
 * This was a falsehood, inasmuch as Una, having been 
 concealed in another room, could give and did give no evidence 
 that any way affected his life.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 44") 
 
 every circumstance being made to bear a character 
 and design diametrically opposed to the truth. It con- 
 cluded by stating " that great exultation had been 
 manifested by the Ribbonmen of that parish, who, 
 on the night of petitioner's conviction lit bonfires in 
 several parts of the neighbourhood, fired shots, 
 sounded horns, and displayed other symptoms of 
 great rejoicing ; and hoped his Excellency would, 
 therefore, interpose his high prerogative, and pre- 
 vent petitioner from falling a sacrifice to a conspiracy 
 on the one hand, and the resentment of a traitorous 
 confederacy on the other; and all this only for having 
 conscientiously and firmly served the government of 
 the country." 
 
 Our readers need not be surprised at the ingenuity 
 of this plausible petition, for the truth is that before 
 government supported any system of education at all 
 in Ireland, the old hedge schoolmasters were almost 
 to a man, office-bearers and leaders in this detestable 
 system. Such men, and those also who were de- 
 signed for the priesthood, with here and there an 
 occasional poor scholar, were uniformly the petition 
 writers, and indeed, the general scribes of the little 
 world in which they lived. In fact, we have abun- 
 dance of public evidence to satisfy us, that persons 
 of considerable literary attainments have been con- 
 nected with Ribbonism in all its stages. 
 
 This fine writing, however, was unfortunate! y 
 counteracted in consequence of the information 
 already laid before the sheriff by no less a personage
 
 446 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 than Rousin Redhead, who, fearing alike the treachery 
 and enmity of his leader, resolved thus to neutralise 
 any disclosures Flanagan should happen to make. 
 But lest this might not have been sufficient to exhibit 
 the character of that document, the proposal of Bartle 
 himself to make disclosures was transmitted to the 
 secretary of state by the same post; so that both 
 the conflicting statements reached that gentleman, 
 pari passu, to his no small astonishment. 
 
 Had Flanagan's confederates consulted him, he 
 would of course have dissuaded them from sending 
 any petition at all, or at least, only such as he could 
 approve of, but such is the hollowness of this bond, 
 and so little confidence is placed in its obligation, 
 that when any of its victims happens to find him- 
 self in a predicament similar to Flanagan's, his 
 companions without lead such a life of terror, and 
 suspicion, and doubt, as it would be difficult to de- 
 scribe. But when, as in Bartle's case, there exists a 
 strong distrust in his firmness and honesty, scarcely 
 one can be found hardy enough to hold any commu- 
 nication with him. This easily and truly accounts 
 for the fact of their having got this petition written 
 and sent to government in his name. The conse- 
 quence was, that his own communication gave the 
 lie to theirs, and on the day previous to that named 
 for his execution, his death-warrant reached the 
 sheriff, who lost no time in apprizing him of his 
 unhappy fate. 
 
 This was a trying task to that humane and amiable 
 gentleman, who had already heard of the unutterable
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 44/ 
 
 tortures which the criminal suffered from the horror 
 of approaching death, and the dread of eternity ; for 
 neither by penitence nor even remorse, was he in the 
 slightest degree moved. 
 
 "To die!" said he, staggering back; " to be in 
 etarnity tomorrow; to have to face God before twelve 
 o'clock ! tarrible ! tarrible ! tarrible ! Can no one 
 save me ? To die tomorrow ! — tarrible ! —tarrible ! — 
 Oh that I could sink into the earth! that the ground 
 'ud swally me!" 
 
 The sheriff advised him to be a man, and told him 
 to turn to God, who, if he repented, would in no wise 
 cast him out. " Act," said he, "as O'Donovan did, 
 whom you yourself prosecuted, and placed in the 
 very cell in which you now stand." 
 
 " Connor O'Donovan," he exclaimed, " he might 
 well bear to die ; he was innocent ; it was I that burned 
 Bodoffh Bides haggard ; he had neither act nor part 
 in it no more than the child unborn. I swore away 
 his life out of revinge to his father, an' jealousy of 
 himself about Una O'Brien. Ob, if I had as little 
 to answer for now as he, I could die— die! Sweet 
 Jasus, an' must I die tomorrow— be in the flames of 
 hell afore twelve o'clock! tarrible ! tarrible!" 
 
 It was absolutely, to use his own word, "terrible" 
 to witness the almost superhuman energy of his 
 weakness. On making this last disclosure to the 
 sheriff, the latter stepped back from a feeling of in- 
 voluntary surprise and aversion, exclaiming as he 
 did it,
 
 -4-18 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Oh God forgive you, unhappy and guilty man; 
 you have much, indeed, to answer for; and, as I 
 said before, I advise you to make the most of the 
 short time that is allotted to you, in repenting and 
 seeking pardon from God." 
 
 The culprit heard him not, however, for his whole 
 soul was fearfully absorbed in the contemplation of 
 eternity, and punishment, and death. 
 
 " Sir," said the turnkey, " that's the way he's 
 runnin' about the room almost since his thrial; not, 
 to be sure, altogether so bad as now, but clappin' his 
 bands, an' screamin', an' groanin', that it's frightful 
 to listen to him. An' his dhrames, sir, is worse. 
 God, sir, if you'd hear him asleep, the hair would 
 stand on your head; indeed, one of us is ordered to 
 be still with him." 
 
 " It is right," replied the sheriff, who, after recom- 
 mending him to get a clergyman, left him, and with 
 his usual promptness and decision, immediately wrote 
 to the secretary of state, acquainting him with Fla- 
 nagan's confession of his own guilt, and Connor 
 O'Donovans innocence of the burning of O'Brien's 
 haggard; hoping at the same time, that government 
 would take instant steps to restore O'Donovan to his 
 country and his friends. 
 
 Soon after the sheriff left him, a Roman Catholic 
 clergyman arrived, for it appeared that against the 
 priest who was chaplain to the jail, he had taken an 
 insurmountable prejudice, in consequence of some 
 fancied resemblance he supposed him to bear to the
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 449 
 
 miser's son. The former gentleman spent that night 
 with him, and after a vast deal of exertion and diffi- 
 culty, got him so far composed, as that he attempted 
 to confess to him, which, however, he did only in a 
 hurried and distracted manner. 
 
 But how shall we describe the scene, and we have 
 it from more than one or two witnesses, which pre- 
 sented itself, when the hour of his execution drew 
 nigh. His cries and shriekings were distinctly heard 
 for a considerable distance among the dense multitudes 
 which were assembled to witness his death; thus 
 giving to that dreadful event a character of horror so 
 deep and gloomy, that many persons finding them- 
 selves unable to bear it, withdrew from the crowd, 
 and actually fainted on hearing the almost superna- 
 tural tones of his yells and bowlings within. 
 
 In the mean time, the proceedings in the press- 
 room were of a still more terrific description. He 
 now resembled the stag at bay; his strength became 
 more than human. On attempting to tie his hands, 
 five men were found insufficient for the woeful task. 
 He yelled, and flung them aside like children, but 
 made no attempt to escape, for in truth, he knew not 
 what he did. The sheriff, one of the most powerful 
 and athletic men to be found in a province, was 
 turned about and bent like an osier in his hands. 
 His words, when the fury of despair permitted his 
 wild and broken cries to become intelligible, were now 
 for life — only life upon any terms; and again did he 
 bowl out his horror of death, hell, and judgment. 
 Never was such a scene perhaps witnessed.
 
 450 FARDOROTJGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 At length his hands were tied, and they attempted 
 to get him up to the platform of death, but to their 
 amazement he was once more loose, and flying to the 
 priest, he clasped him with the grip of Hercules. 
 
 " Save me, save me," he shouted. " Let me live. 
 I can't die. You're puttin' me into hell's fire. How 
 can I face God? Ho, it's tarrible, it's tarrible, 
 it's damnable ! Life, life, life — only life, oh, only 
 life !" 
 
 As he spoke he strained the reverend gentleman to 
 his breast and kissed him, and shouted with a wild- 
 ness of entreaty, which far transcended in terror the 
 most outrageous paroxysms of insanity. 
 
 "I will not lave the priest," shrieked he; " so 
 long as I stay with him I'll be so long out of the 
 punishments of etarnity — out of hell's fire ! I will 
 stick to you. Don't — don't put me away, but have 
 pity on me. No — I'll not go, I'll not go." 
 
 Again he kissed the priest's lips, cheeks, and fore- 
 head, and still clung to him with fearful violence, until 
 at last his hands were finally secured beyond the possi- 
 bility of his again getting them loose. He then 
 threw himself upon the ground, and still resisted, 
 with a degree of muscular strength altogether unac- 
 countable in a person even of his compact and rather 
 athletic form. His appearance upon the platform 
 will long be remembered by those who had the ques- 
 tionable gratification of witnessing it. It was the 
 struggle of strong men dragging a strong man to the 
 most frightful of all precipices — Death. When he
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 451 
 
 was seerwby the people in the act of being forced with 
 such violence to the drop, they all moved, like a 
 forest agitated by a sudden breeze, and uttered that 
 strange murmur, composed of many passions, which 
 can only be heard where a large number of persons 
 are congregated together under the power of some- 
 thing that is deep and thrilling in its interest. At 
 length after a struggle for life, and a horror of death 
 possibly unprecedented in the annals of crime, he 
 was pushed upon the drop, the spring was touched, 
 and the unhappy man passed shrieking into that 
 eternity which he dreaded so much. His death was 
 instantaneous, and after hanging the usual time, his 
 body was removed to the gaol; the crowd began to 
 disperse, and in half an hour the streets and 
 people presented nothing more than their ordinary 
 aspect of indifference to every thing but their own 
 
 affairs.* 
 
 Such and so slight, after all, is the impression 
 which death makes upon life, when the heart and 
 domestic affections are not concerned. 
 
 * We have only to say, that W— ra C— k, Esq. of L— sb— e, 
 sheriff of the county of D — n, and those who officially attended, 
 
 about four years ago, the execution of a man named M -y, 
 
 at the gaol of D— np — k, for a most heinous murder, will, 
 should they happen to see this description, not hesitate to de- 
 clare that it falls far, far short of what they themselves witnessed 
 upon this " terrible" occasion. There is nothing mentioned 
 here which did not then occur, but there is much omitted.
 
 ■452 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER: OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 And now, gentle and patient reader, — for well, 
 indeed, has thy patience been tried, during the pro- 
 gress of this tantalizing narrative — we beg to assure 
 thee, that unless thou art so exquisitely tender- 
 hearted as to mourn over the fate of Bartle Flanagan, 
 the shadows which darkened the morning and noon 
 of our story have departed, and it's eve will be dewy, 
 and calm, and effulgent. 
 
 Flanagan's execution, like any other just and ne- 
 cessary vindication of the laws, was not without its 
 usual good effect upon the great body of the people; 
 for although we are not advocates for a sanguinary 
 statute-book, neither are we the eulogists of those 
 who, with sufficient power in their hands, sit calmly 
 and serenely amidst scenes of outrage and crime, in 
 which the innocent suffer by the impunity of the 
 guilty. Fame, who is busy on such occasions, soon 
 published to a far distance Flanagan's confession of 
 having committed the crime for which O' Donovan 
 was punished. John O'Brien had it himself from 
 the sheriff's lips, as well as from a still more authen- 
 tic statement written by the priest who attended him, 
 and signed by the unhappy culprit's hand, in the 
 presence of that gentleman, the governor of the goal, 
 and two turnkeys. The sheriff now heard from 
 O'Brien, for the first time, that O'Donovan's parents, 
 having disposed of all their property, followed him to
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 453 
 
 New South Wales, a circumstance by which he was 
 so much struck at the moment, that he observed to 
 O'Brien, 
 
 " Do you not think it the duty of government, 
 considering all the young man and his parents have 
 suffered by that rascal's malice, to bring the whole 
 family back at its own expense ? For my part, aware 
 as I am of the excellent disposition of the Chief Se- 
 cretary, I think if we ask them it will be done." 
 
 " Our bestplan, perhaps," replied John, " is to get 
 a memorial to that effect signed by those who sub- 
 scribed to the former one in his behalf. I think it is 
 certainly necessary, for, to tell you the truth, I doubt 
 whether they are in possession of funds sufficient for 
 the expenses of so long a journey." 
 
 " I know," said the sheriff, " that there is little 
 
 time to be lost, for S ," naming the governor of 
 
 the gaol, " tells me that the next convict ship sails 
 in a fortnight. We must, therefore, push forward 
 the business as rapidly as we can." 
 
 Well and truly did they keep their words, for we 
 have the satisfaction of adding, that on the seventh 
 day from the date of that conversation, they received 
 a communication from the Castle, informing them 
 that after having taken the peculiar hardships of 
 O'Donovan's singular case into mature consideration, 
 they deemed the prayer of the memorial such as they 
 felt pleasure in complying with; and that the colonial 
 secretary had been written to, to take the proper 
 steps for the return of the young man and his parents 
 to their own countrp at the expense of government.
 
 154 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 This was enough, and almost more than O'Brien 
 expected. He had now done as much as could he 
 done for the present, and nothing remained but to 
 await their arrival with hope and patience. In truth 
 the prospect that now presented itself to the Bodagh's 
 family was one in which, for the sake of the beloved 
 Una, they felt a deep and overwhelming interest. 
 Ever since Connor's removal from" the country her 
 spirits had become gradually more and more de- 
 pressed. All her mirth and gaiety had abandoned 
 her; she disrelished reading ; she avoided company; 
 she hardly ever laughed, but on the contrary 
 indulged in long fits of bitter grief, while upon her 
 solitary rambles. Her chief companion was Biddy 
 Nulty, whom she exempted from her usual employ- 
 ment, whenever she wished that Connor should be 
 the topic of their conversation. Many a time have 
 they strolled together through the garden, where Una 
 has often stood, and, pointing to the summer-house 
 where the acknowledgments of their affection were 
 first exchanged, said to her humble companion — 
 
 " Biddy, that is the spot where he first told me 
 that he loved me, and where I first acknowledged 
 my love to him." 
 
 She would then pull out from her heart the locket 
 which contained his rich brown hair, and after kissing 
 it, sit and weep on the spot which was so dear to her. 
 
 Biddy's task was to recount to the unhappy 
 sirl such anecdotes as she remembered of him; and 
 as these were all to his advantage, we need scarcely
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA 4o."> 
 
 say that many an entertainment of tins kind she was 
 called upon to furnish to her whose melancholy enjoy- 
 ment was now only the remembrance of him, and 
 of what he had once been to her. 
 
 " I would have been in a convent long before now, 
 Biddy," said she, a few days before Flanagan's trial, 
 " but I will not leave my father and mother, because 
 I know they could not live without me. My brother 
 John has declined Maynooth, lest I should feel me- 
 lancholy for want of some person to amuse me and to 
 cheer me; and now I feel that it would be an 
 ungrateful return I should make if I entered a con- 
 vent, and left my parents without a daughter whom 
 they love so well, and my brother without a sister on 
 whom he doats." 
 
 " Well, Miss," replied Biddy, " don't be cast 
 down; for my part I'd always hope the best. Who 
 knows, Miss, but a betther lafe may be turned up 
 vet ? I'd hould a naggin that God nivir intinded an 
 innocent creature like you to spind the rest of your 
 life in sadness and sorrow, as you're doin". Always 
 hope for the best." 
 
 " Ah, Biddy," she replied, "you don't know what 
 you speak of. His sentence is one that can never be 
 changed; and as for hoping for the best, how can I 
 do that, Biddy, when I know that I have no ' best' to 
 hope for. He was my best in this world; but he is 
 gone. Now go in, Biddy, and leave me to myself 
 for a little. You know how I love to be alone." 
 
 " May God in heaven pity you, Miss Oona," ex- 
 claimed the poor girl, whilst the tears gushed from her
 
 '456 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 eyes, "as I do this day ! Oh, keep up your heart, 
 Miss, darlin' ; for while there's life there's hope." 
 
 Little did she then dream, however, that hope 
 would be so soon restored to her heart, or that the 
 revolution of another year should see her waiting with 
 trembling delight for the fulness of her happiness. 
 
 On the evening previous to Bartle Flanagan's exe- 
 cution, she was pouring out tea for her father and 
 mother, as was usual, when her brother John came 
 home on his return from the assizes. Although the 
 smile of affection with which she always received 
 him lit up her dark glossy eyes, yet he observed that 
 she appeared unusually depressed, and much more 
 pale than she had been for some time past. 
 
 " Una, are you unwell, dear ?" he asked, as she 
 handed him a cup of tea. 
 
 She looked at him with a kind of affectionate re- 
 proof in her eyes, as if she wondered that he should 
 be ignorant of the sorrow which preyed upon her. 
 
 "Not in health, John," she replied; "but that 
 man's trial, and the many remembrances it has 
 stirred up in my mind have disturbed me. I am 
 very much [cast down, as you may see. Indeed, to 
 speak truth, and without disguise, I think my heart 
 is broken. Every one kuows that a breaking heart 
 is incurable." 
 
 "You take it too much to yourself, alanna dhas" 
 said her mother; " but you must keep up your spirits, 
 darlin' — time will work wondhers." 
 
 " With me, mother, it never can." 
 
 " Una," said John, with affected gravity, " you
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 457 
 
 have just made two assertions, which I can prove to 
 be false." 
 
 She looked at him with surprise. 
 
 "False, dear John!" 
 
 "Yes false, dear Una; and I will prove it, as I 
 said. In the first place, there is a cure for a break- 
 ing heart; and in the next place time mil work 
 wonders, even with you." 
 
 "Well," she said, assuming a look of sickly cheer- 
 fulness, " I should be very ungrateful, John, if I did 
 not smile for you, even when you don't smile yourself, 
 after all the ingenious plans you take to keep up my 
 spirits." 
 
 " My dear girl," replied John, " I will not trifle 
 with you; I ask you now to be firm, and say whether 
 you are capable of hearing good news." 
 
 " Good news to me! I hope I am, John." 
 
 " Well, then, I have to inform you that this day 
 l'artle Flanagan has confessed that it was not Connor 
 O' Donovan who burned our haggard, but himself. 
 The sheriff has written to inform the government, 
 so that we will have Connor back again with a name 
 and character unsullied. 
 
 She looked at him for a moment, then at her 
 parents; and her cheek still got paler, and after a 
 slight pause she burst out into a vehement and irre- 
 pressible paroxysm of grief. 
 
 " John, is this true?" enquired his father. 
 
 " Vic na hoiah ! John — blessed mother — thrue ? 
 — but is it, John? is it ?" 
 
 x
 
 458 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 " Indeed it is, mother — the villain, now that 
 he has no hope of his life, confessed it this day." 
 
 "God knows, darlin'," exclaimed the Bodagh's 
 warm-hearted wife, now melting into tears herself, 
 "it's no wondher you should cry tears of joy for this. 
 God wouldn't be above us, a cushla oge machree, or 
 he'd siud brighter days before your young and inno- 
 cent heart." 
 
 Una could not speak, but wept on ; the grief she 
 felt, however, became gradually milder in its cha- 
 racter, until at length her violent sobbings were 
 hushed; and although the tears still flowed, they 
 flowed in silence. 
 
 " We will have him back, sartinly," said the 
 Bodagh; "don't cry, dear, we'll have him here agin 
 with no desateful villin to swear away his life." 
 
 " I could die now," said the noble-minded girl; 
 " I think I could die now, without ever seeing him. 
 His name is cleared and will be cleared; his charac- 
 ter untainted; and that is dearer to me even than 
 his love. Oh, I knew it; I knew it," she fervently 
 exclaimed; "and when all the world was against 
 him, I was for him; I and his own mother — for we 
 were the two that knew his heart best." 
 
 "Well," said John, smiling, " if I brought you 
 gloomy news once, I believe I brought you pleasant 
 news twice. You remember when I told you he was 
 not to die." 
 
 " Indeed, John dear, you are the best brother that 
 ever God blessed a sister with; but I hope this is 
 not a dream. Oh, can it be possible ? and when
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 459 
 
 awake in the morning will it be to the sorrowful 
 heart I had yesterday? I am bewildered. After 
 this who should ever despair in the goodness of 
 God, or think that the trial he sends but for a time 
 is to last always." 
 
 " Bridget," said the gracious Bodagh, " we must 
 have a glass of punch; an' upon my reputaytion, 
 Oona, we'll drink to his speedy return." 
 
 " Troth, an' Oona will take a glass herself, this 
 night," added her mother; " an' thanks be to 
 Goodness she'll be our colleen dhas dhun agin — won't 
 you have a glass, asthore machree?" 
 
 " I'll do any thing that any of you wishes me, 
 mother," replied Una. 
 
 She gave, as she uttered the words, a slight sob, 
 which turned their attention once more to her; but 
 they saw at once, by the brilliant sparkle of her eyes, 
 that it was occasioned by the unexpected influx of 
 delight and happiness which were accumulating 
 round her heart. 
 
 "Mother," she said, "will you make the punch 
 
 for them, to-night ? I cannot rest till I let poor 
 
 Biddy Nulty know what] has happened. Cleared!" 
 
 he added exultingly, "his name and character 
 
 cleared!" 
 
 The beautiful girl then left the room, and short 
 as was the space which elapsed since she heard her 
 brother's communication, they could not help being 
 struck at the light clastic step with which she tripped 
 out of it. Brief, however, as the period was, she 
 had time to cast aside the burthen of care which had
 
 460 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 pressed her down, and changed her easy pace to the 
 slow tread of sorrow. 
 
 " God help our poor colleen dhas," exclaimed her 
 mother, "but she's the happy crature, this night." 
 
 " And happy will the hearth be where her light 
 will shine," replied her father, quoting a beautiful 
 Irish proverb to that effect. 
 
 " The ways of Providence are beautiful when seen 
 aright or understood," said her brother; "she was 
 too good to be punished, but not too perfect to be 
 tried. Their calamitous separation will enhance the 
 value of their affection for each other when they meet; 
 for pure and exalted as her love for Connor is, yet I 
 am proud to say that Connor is worthy of her and it." 
 
 That night her mother observed that Una spent 
 a longer time than usual at her devotions, and on 
 looking into her room when passing, she saw her 
 on her knees, and heard her again sobbing with the 
 grateful sense of a delighted heart. She did not 
 again address her, and they all retired to happier 
 slumbers than they had enjoyed for many a night. 
 
 Our readers have already had proofs of Una's 
 consideration, generosity, and uncommon delicacy. 
 Her conduct at the approach of her lover's trial, and 
 again when he was about to leave her and his country 
 for ever, they cannot, we are sure, have forgotten. 
 When her brother had shewn the official communi- 
 cation from the Castle, in which government expressed 
 its intention of bringing Connor and his parents 
 home at its own expense, the Bodagh and his wife, 
 knowing that the intended husband of their daughter
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 461 
 
 possessed no means of supporting her, declared, in 
 order to remove any shade of anxiety from her mind, 
 that O'Donovan, after their marriage, should live with 
 themselves, for they did not wish, they said, that 
 Una should be separated from them. This was 
 highly gratifying to her, but beyond her lover's 
 welfare, whether from want of thought or otherwise, 
 it is not easy to say, she saw that their sympathy did 
 not extend. This troubled her, for she knew how 
 Connor loved his parents, and how much any want 
 of comfort they might feel would distress him. She 
 accordingly consulted with her ever-faithful confidant, 
 John, and begged of him to provide for them at her 
 own expense a comfortable dwelling, and to furnish 
 it as near as might be practicable to the manner in 
 which their former one had been furnished. She also 
 desired him to say nothing to their parents about 
 this, "for I intend," she added, "to have a little 
 surprise for them all." 
 
 About the time, therefore, when the vessel in which 
 they were to arrive was expected, a snug, well fur- 
 nished house, convenient to the Bodagh's, amply 
 stored with provisions, and kept by a daughter of 
 Nogher M'Cormick's, awaited them. Nothing that 
 could render them easy was omitted, and many things 
 also were procured in the shape of additional comforts 
 to which they had not been accustomed before. 
 
 At length the arrival of the much-wished-for vessel 
 was announced, and John O'Brien, after having 
 agreed to let Una know by letter where the Bodagh's 
 car should meet them, mounted the day coach, and 
 
 x 2
 
 462 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 proceeded to welcome home his future brother-in-law, 
 prepared at the same time, to render both to him 
 and his parents whatever assistance they stood in 
 need of, either pecuniar}' or otherwise, after so long 
 and so trying a voyage. 
 
 The meeting of two such kindred spirits may be 
 easily conceived. There were few words wasted be- 
 tween them, but they were full of truth and sincerity. 
 
 " My noble fellow," said O'Brien clasping Connor's 
 hand, " she is at home with a beating heart and a 
 happy one, waiting for you." 
 
 " John," replied the other fervently, " the wealth 
 of the universe is below her price. I'm not worthy 
 of her, except in this, that I could shed my heart's 
 dearest blood to do her good." 
 
 " Little you know of it yet," said the other, smiling 
 significantly, " but you will soon." 
 
 It appeared that Fardorougha's wife had borne 
 the hardships of both voyages better than her hus- 
 band, who, as his son sensibly observed, had been 
 too much worn down before by the struggle between 
 his love for him and his attachment to his money. 
 
 " His care is now nearly over," said Connor, with 
 a sigh. " Indeed he is so far gone that I don't know 
 how to lave him, while I'm providin' a home for him 
 to die in." 
 
 " That is already done," replied O'Brien, "Una did 
 net forget it. They have a house near ours furnished 
 with every thing that can contribute to their comfort." 
 
 Connor, on hearing this, paused, and his cheek 
 became pale and red alternately with emotion — his
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 463 
 
 nerves thrilled, and a charm of love and pleasure dif- 
 fused itself over his whole being. 
 
 " There is no use in speaking," he exclaimed ; 
 " love her more than I do I cannot." 
 
 In consequence of Fardorougha's illness they were 
 forced to travel by slower and shorter stages than 
 they intended. O'Brien, however, never left them; 
 for he knew that should the miser die on the way, 
 they would require the presence and services of a 
 frieud. In due time, however, they reached the place 
 appointed by John for the car to meet them ; and ere 
 many hours had passed, they found themselves once 
 more in what they could call their own home. From 
 the miser's mind the power of observing external 
 nature seemed to have been altogether withdrawn; 
 he made no observation whatever upon the appear- 
 ance and novelty of the scene to which he was 
 conveyed, nor of the country through which he 
 passed; but when put to bed he covered himself 
 with the bed-clothes, and soon fell into a slumber. 
 
 " Connor," said his mother, " your father's now 
 asleep, an' won't miss you; lose no time, thin, in goin' 
 to see her; an may God strinthen you both for such 
 a meetin' !" 
 
 lie and O'Brien accordingly went. 
 
 The Bodagh was out, but Una and her mother were 
 sitting in the parlour, when the noise of a jaunting- 
 car was heard driving up to the door; Una involunta- 
 rily looked out of the window, and seeing two persons 
 she started up, and putting her hands together, hys- 
 terically exclaimed, " Oh, mother, dear mother, assist
 
 464 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR 
 
 me, assist me — he's here." Her mother caught 
 her in her arms; and at the same moment Connor 
 rushed in. Una could only extend her arms to 
 receive him ; he clasped her to his heart, and she 
 sobbed several times rapidly, and ihen her head sank 
 upon his bosom. 
 
 Her mother and brother were both weeping. 
 
 Her lover looked down upon her, and as he hung 
 over the beautiful and insensible girl, the tears 
 which he shed copiously bedewed her face. After a 
 few minutes she recovered, and her brother, with his 
 usual delicacy, beckoned to his mother to follow him 
 out of the room, knowing that the presence of a 
 third person is always a restraint upon the interchange 
 of even the tenderest and purest affection. Both, there- 
 fore, were then left together; and we, in like manner, 
 must allow that delicious interview to be sacred only 
 to themselves, and unprophaned by the gaze and 
 presence of a spectator. 
 
 The Bodagh and Mrs. O'Brien were highly gratified 
 at the steps their children had taken to provide for the 
 comfort of Fardorougha and his wife. The next day 
 tbe whole family paid them a visit, but on seeing the 
 Miser, it was clear that his days were numbered. 
 During the most vigorous and healthy period of his 
 life, he had always been thin and emaciated; but now, 
 when age, illness, the severity of a six months' voyage, 
 and, last of all, the hand of death, left their wasting 
 traces upon his person, it would indeed be difficult to 
 witness any image of penury more significant of its 
 spirit. We must, however, do the old man justice.
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 465 
 
 Since the loss of his money, or rather since the trial 
 and conviction of his son, or probably since the ope- 
 ration of both events upon his heart, he had seldom, 
 if ever, by a single act or expression, afforded any 
 proof that his avarice survived, or was able to main- 
 tain its hold upon him, against the shock which 
 awakened the full power of a father's love. 
 
 About ten o'clock, a.m., on the fourth day after 
 their arrival, Connor, who had ran over to the 
 Bodagh's, was hurriedly sent for by his mother, who 
 desired Nelly M'Cormick to say that his father inces- 
 santly called for him, and that he must not lose 
 a moment in coming. He returned immediately 
 with her, and found the old man reclining in bed, 
 supported by his wife, who sat behind him. 
 
 " Is my boy comin ?" he said, in a thin, wiry, 
 worn voice, but in words which, to any person near 
 him, were as distinct almost as ever: — "is my boy 
 Connor comin' V 
 
 "I am here, father,' replied Connor, who had 
 just entered the room ; " sure I am always with you." 
 
 " You are, you are," said he, " you were ever 
 an' always good. Give me your hand, Connor." 
 
 Connor did so. 
 
 " Connor, darlin," he proceeded, "don't be like me. 
 I loved money too much; I set my heart on it, an' 
 you know how it was taken away from me. The 
 priest yestherday laid it upon me, out of regard to my 
 reignin' sin, as he called it, to advise you, afore I'd 
 die, aginst lovin' the wealth o' this world too much." 
 
 " I hope I never will, father. Your own misfor- 
 tune ought to be a warnin' to me."
 
 -166 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER; OR, 
 
 "Ay, you may say that; it's I indeed that was 
 
 misfortunate; but it was all through P , an' that 
 
 nest o' robbers, the Isle o' Man." 
 
 " Don't think of him or it now, my dear father, 
 — don't be discomposin' your mind about them." 
 
 "He was a villin' — a deep villin'; but that's not 
 the thing. Your mother was spakin' to the priest 
 about masses for my sowl. Now, Connor, I know 
 tbat they'll take far less than they'll ax. I know 
 that; for I remember batin' clown Father Fogarty 
 myself, from two-an'- sixpence a mass to a shillin' — 
 it was for my own father's sowl, an' I saved the price 
 of a pair o' shoes by it, and had the same number o' 
 masses sed still. That was makin' a bargin' the right 
 way." 
 
 Connor and his mother exchanged a melancholy 
 glance, and the latter, who, on witnessing his frame 
 of mind, could not help shedding bitter tears, said to 
 him — 
 
 " Fardorougha dear, Fardorougha asthore machree, 
 won't you be guided by me ? You're now on your 
 death-bed, an' think of God's marcy — it's that you 
 stand most in need of. Sure, avoumeen, if you had 
 all the money you ever had you couldn't bring a 
 penny of it where you're goin'." 
 
 "Well, but I'm givin' Connor an advice that'll 
 sarve him. Sure I'm not biddin' him to set his heart 
 on it, for I tould the priest I wouldn't; but is that 
 any raison why he'd not save it 1 I didn't tell the 
 priest that I wouldn't bid him do that." 
 
 "Father," said Connor, "for the love of God 
 put these thoughts out of your head and mind."
 
 THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. 46" 
 
 " So, Connor dear," proceeded the old man, not 
 attending to him; "in makin' a bargain wid the 
 priest bate him down, or he'll do you, an' in makin' 
 any bargain, Connor, be sure to make as hard 
 a one as you can ; but for all that be honest, an' 
 never lind a penny o' money widout intherest and 
 good security." 
 
 " I think he's wandherin'," whispered his mother. 
 "Oh grant it may be so, marciful Jasus, this day!" 
 
 " Honor ahagur." 
 
 " Well darlin', what is it ? ' 
 
 " There's another thing that throubles me — I niver 
 knew what it was to feel myself far from my own till 
 now." 
 
 " How is that, dear ?" 
 
 "My bones won't rest in my own counthry ; I 
 won't sleep wid them that belong to me. How will I 
 die in a sthrange grave, an' in a far land ? Oh will no 
 one bring me back to my own !" 
 
 The untutored sympathies of neither wife nor son 
 could resist this beautiful and affecting trait of 
 nature, and the undying love of one's own land, 
 emanating as it did, so unexpectedly, from a heart 
 otherwise insensible to the ordinary tendernesses of life. 
 
 " Sure you are at home, avourneen," said Honor; 
 an' will rest wid your friends and relations that have 
 gone before you.' 
 
 " No," said he, " I'm not : I'm far away from them ; 
 but now I feel more comforted; I have one wid me 
 that's dearer than them all. Connor and I will slee 
 together; won't we, Connor V
 
 468 FARDOROUGHA THE MISER. 
 
 This affectionate transition from every other 
 earthly object to himself, so powerfully smote the 
 son's heart, that he could not reply. 
 
 "What ails him, Connor ?" said his wife. "Help 
 me to keep up his head — Saver above !" 
 
 Connor raised his head, but saw at a glance that 
 the last struggle in the old man's heart was over. 
 The miser was no more. 
 
 Little now remains to be said. The grief for old 
 age, though natural, is never abiding. The miser did 
 sleep with his own; and after a decent period allotted 
 to his memory, need we say that our hero and hero- 
 ine, if we may be permitted so to dignify them, were 
 crowned in the enjoyment of those affections which 
 were so severely tested, and at the same time so 
 worthy of their sweet reward. 
 
 Ned M'Cormick and Biddy Nulty followed their 
 example, and occupied the house formerly allotted to 
 Fardorougha and his wife. John O'Brien, afterwards 
 married and the Bodagh, reserving a small but compe- 
 tent farm for himself, equally divided his large hold- 
 ings between his son and son-in-law. On John's 
 moiety, he built a suitable house; but Una and her 
 husband, and Honor, all live with themselves, and 
 we need scarcely say, for it is not long since we spent 
 a week with them, that the affection of the old 
 people for their grand-children, is quite enthusiastic, 
 and that the grand-children, both boys and girls, 
 are worthy of it. 
 
 THE END. /
 
 ~75 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 & W2770 
 DFn 1 7 19fD 
 
 pERPdiP 
 
 FEM***? 
 
 10m-9,'66(G5925s4)
 
 h3* 
 
 m 
 
 3 1158 01169 148 
 
 PR 
 
 Vtl6 
 
 F22 
 
 | 
 
 PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE 
 
 - j 
 
 THIS BOOK CARD 
 
 um 
 
 HI!! 
 
 
 =o 
 
 University Research Library 
 
 1