Phelim Otoole's Courtship and Other Stories Part 40

"Oh, very well, Frank, the sorra one o' me will ask you to take it agin; I only say, that if I was in your house, as you are in mine, I wouldn't break squares about a beggarly tumbler of punch."

"So much the worse, Art, I would rather you would; there, now, you have taken your third tumbler, yet you said when we sat down that you'd confine yourself to two; is that keepin' your word? I know you may call breakin' it now a trifle, but I tell you, that when a man begins to break his word in trifles, he'll soon go on to greater things, and maybe end without much regardin' it in any thing."

"You don't mane to say, Frank, or to hint, that ever I'd come to sich a state as that I wouldn't regard my word."

"I do not; but even if I did, by followin' up this coorse you'd put yourself in the right way of comin' to it."

"Throth, I'll not let this other one be lost either," he added, drawing over to him the tumbler which he had filled for his brother; "I've an addition to my family--the child an' mother doin' bravely, an' didn't taste a dhrop these seven long years; here's your health, at all events, Frank, an' may the Lord put it into your heart to marry a wife, an' be as happy as I am. Here, Madgey, come here, I say; take that whiskey an'

sugar, an' mix yourselves a jorum; it's far in the night, but no matther for that--an' see, before you mix it, go an' bring my own darlin' Art, till he dhrinks his mother's health."

"Why now, Art," began his brother, "is it possible that you can have the conscience to taich the poor boy sich a cursed habit so soon? What are you about this minute but trainin' him up to what may be his own destruction yet?"

"Come now, Frank, none of your moralizin'," the truth is, that the punch was beginning rapidly to affect his head; "none of your moralizin', throth it's a preacher you ought to be, or a lawyer, to lay down the law. Here, Madgey, bring him to me; that's my son, that there isn't the like of in Ballykeerin, any way. Eh, Frank, it's ashamed of him I ought to be, isn't it? Kiss me, Art, and then kiss your uncle Frank, the best uncle that ever broke the world's bread is the same Frank--that's a good boy, Art; come now, drink your darlin' mother's health in this gla.s.s of brave punch; my mother's health, say, long life an' happiness to her!

that's a man, toss it off at wanst, bravo; arra, Frank, didn't he do that manly? the Lord love him, where 'ud you get sich a fine swaddy as he is of his age? Oh, Frank, what 'ud become of me if anything happened that boy? it's a mad-house would hould me soon. May the Lord in heaven save and guard him from all evil and clanger!"

Frank saw that it was useless to remonstrate with him at such a moment, for the truth is, intoxication was setting in fast, and all his influence over him was gone.

"Here, Atty, before you go to bed agin, jist a weeshy sup more to drink your little sisther's health; sure Kate Sharpe brought you home a little sisther, Atty."

"The boy's head will not be able to stand so much," said Frank; "you will make him tipsy."

"Divil a tipsy; sure it's only a mere draineen."

He then made the little fellow drink the baby's health, after which he was despatched to bed.

"Throth, it's in for a penny in for a pound wid myself. I know, Frank, that--that there's something or other wrong wid my head, or at any rate wid my eyes; for everything, somehow, is movin'. Is everything movin', Frank?"

"You think so," said Frank, "because you're fast getting tipsy--if you arn't tipsy all out."

"Well, then, if I'm tip--tipsy, divil a bit the worse I can be by another tumbler. Come, Frank, here's the ould blood of Ireland--the Maguires of Fermanagh! And now, Frank, I tell you, it would more become you to drink that toast, than to be sittin' there like an oracle, as you are; for upon my sowl, you're nearly as bad. But, Frank."

"Well, Art."

"Isn't little Toal Finnigan a civil little fellow--that is--is--if he was well made. 'There never stood,' says he, 'sich a couple in the chapel of--of Aughindrumon, nor there never walked sich a couple up or down the street of Ballykeerin--that's the chat,' says he: an' whisper, Frank, ne--neither did there. Whe--where is Margaret's aiquil, I'd--I'd like to know? an' as for me, I'll measure myself across the shouldhers aginst e'er a--a man, woman, or child in--in the parish. Co--come here, now, Frank, till I me--measure the small o' my leg ag--aginst yours; or if--if that makes you afeard, I'll measure the--the ball of my leg aginst the ball of yours. There's a wrist, Frank; look at that? jist look at it."

"I see it; it is a powerful wrist."

"But feel it."

"Tut, Art, sure I see it."

"D--n it, man, jist feel it--feel the breadth of--of that bone.

Augh--that's the--the wrist; so anyhow, here's little Toal Finnigan's health, an' I don't care what they say, I like little Toal, an' I will like little Toal; bekaise--aise if--if he was the divil, as--as they say he is, in disguise--ha, ha, ha! he has a civil tongue in his head."

He then commenced and launched out into the most extravagant praises of himself, his wife, his children; and from these he pa.s.sed to the ould blood of Ireland, and the Fermanagh Maguires.

"Where," he said, "whe--where is there in the country, or anywhere else, a family that has sich blood as ours in their veins? Very well; an'

aren't we proud of it, as we have a right to be? Where's the Maguire that would do a mane or shabby act? tha--that's what I'd like to know.

Isn't the word of a Maguire looked upon as aiquil to--to an--another man's oath; an' where's the man of them that was--as ever known to break it? Eh Frank? No; stead--ed--steady's the word wid the Maguires, and honor bright."

Frank was about to remind him that he had in his own person given a proof that night that a Maguire could break his word, and commit a disreputable action besides; but as he saw it was useless, he judiciously declined then making any observation whatsoever upon it.

After a good deal of entreaty, Frank succeeded in prevailing on him to go to bed; in which, however, he failed, until Art had inflicted on him three woful songs, each immensely long, and sung in that peculiarly fascinating drawl, which is always produced by intoxication. At length, and when the night was more than half spent, he a.s.sisted him to bed--a task of very considerable difficulty, were it not that it was relieved by his receiving from the tipsy man several admirable precepts, and an abundance of excellent advice, touching his conduct in the world; not forgetting religion, on which he dwelt with a maudlin solemnity of manner, that was, or would have been to strangers, extremely ludicrous.

Frank, however, could not look upon it with levity. He understood his brother's character and foibles too well, and feared that notwithstanding his many admirable qualities, his vanity and want of firmness, or, in other words, of self-dependence, might overbalance them all.

The next morning his brother Frank was obliged to leave betimes, and consequently had no opportunity of advising or remonstrating with him.

On rising, he felt sick and feverish, and incapable of going into his workshop. The accession made to his family being known, several of his neighbors came in to inquire after the health of his wife and infant; and as Art, when left to his own guidance, had never been remarkable for keeping a secret, he made no scruple of telling them that he had got drunk the night before, and was, of course, quite out of order that morning. Among the rest, the first to come in was little Toal Finnigan, who, in addition to his other virtues, possessed a hardness of head--by which we mean a capacity for bearing drink--that no liquor, or no quant.i.ty of liquor, could overcome.

"Well," said Toal, "sure it's very reasonable that you should be out of ordher; after bein' seven years from it, it doesn't come so natural to you as it would do. Howandiver, you know that there's but the one cure for it--a hair of the same dog that bit you; and if you're afeared to take the same hair by yourself, why I'll take a tuft of it wid you, an' we'll dhrink the wife's health--my ould sweetheart--and the little sthranger's."

"Throth I believe you're right," said Art, "in regard to the cure; so in the name of goodness we'll have a gauliogue to begin the day wid, an'

set the hair straight on us."

During that day, Art was neither drunk nor sober, but halfway between the two states. He went to his workshop about two o'clock; but his journeymen and apprentices could smell the strong whiskey off him, and perceive an occasional thickness of p.r.o.nunciation in his speech, which a good deal surprised them. When evening came, however, his neighbors, whom he had asked in, did not neglect to attend; the bottle was again produced, and poor Art, the principle of restraint having now been removed, re-enacted much the same scene as on the preceding night, with this exception only, that he was now encouraged instead of being checked or reproved.

There were now only three days to elapse until the following Sabbath, on which day the child was to be baptized; one of them, that is, the one following his first intoxication with Frank, was lost to him, for, as we have said, though not precisely drunk, he was not in a condition to work, nor properly to give directions. The next he felt himself in much the same state, but with still less of regret.

"The truth is," said he, "I won't be rightly able to do any thing till afther this christenin', so that I may set down the remaindher o' the week as lost; well, sure that won't break me at any rate. It's long since I lost a week before, and we must only make up for it; afther the christenin' I'll work double tides."

This was all very plausible reasoning, but very fallacious notwithstanding; indeed, it is this description of logic which conceals the full extent of a man's errors from, himself, and which has sent thousands forward on their career to ruin. Had Art, for instance, been guided by his steady and excellent brother, or, what would have been better still, by his own good sense and firmness, he would have got up the next morning in health, with an easy mind, and a clear conscience, and been able to resume his work as usual. Instead of that, the night's debauch produced its natural consequences, feverishness and indisposition, which, by the aid of a bad proverb, and worse company, were removed by the very cause which produced them. The second night's debauch lost the following day, and then, forsooth, the week was nearly gone, and it wasn't worth while to change the system, as if it was ever too soon to mend, or as if even a single day's work were not a matter of importance to a mechanic. Let any man who feels himself reasoning as Art Maguire did, rest a.s.sured that there is an evil principle within him, which, unless he strangle it by prompt firmness, and a strong conviction of moral duty, will ultimately be his destruction.

There was once a lake, surrounded by very beautiful scenery, to which its waters gave a fine and picturesque effect. This lake was situated on an elevated part of the country, and a little below it, facing the west, was a precipice, which terminated a lovely valley, that gradually expanded until it was lost in the rich campaign country below. From this lake there was no outlet of water whatsoever, but its sh.o.r.es at the same time were rich and green, having been all along devoted to pasture.

Now, it so happened that a boy, whose daily occupation was to tend his master's sheep, went one day when the winds were strong, to the edge of the lake, on the side to which they blew, and began to amuse himself by making a small channel in the soft earth with his naked foot. This small identation was gradually made larger and larger by the waters--whenever the wind blew strongly in that direction--until, in the course of time, it changed into a deep chasm, which wore away the earth that intervened between the lake and the precipice. The result may be easily guessed.

When the last portion of the earth gave way, the waters of the lake precipitated themselves upon the beautiful and peaceful glen, carrying death and destruction in their course, and leaving nothing but a dark unsightly mora.s.s behind them. So is it with the mind of man. When he gives the first slight a.s.sent to a wrong tendency, or a vicious resolution, he resembles the shepherd's boy, who, unconscious of the consequences that followed, made the first small channel in the earth with his naked foot. The vice or the pa.s.sion will enlarge itself by degrees until all power of resistance is removed; and the heart becomes a victim to the impetuosity of an evil principle to which no a.s.sent of the will ever should have been given.

Art, as we have said, lost the week, and then came Sunday for the christening. On that day, of course, an extra cup was but natural, especially as it would put an end to his indulgence on the one hand, and his idleness on the other. Monday morning would enable him to open a new leaf, and as it was the last day--that is, Sunday was--why, dang it, he would take a good honest jorum. Frank, who had a greater regard for Art's character than it appeared Art himself had, Spoke to him privately on the morning of the christening, as to the necessity and decency of keeping himself sober on that day; but, alas! during this friendly admonition he could perceive, that early as it was, his brother was not exactly in a state of perfect sobriety. His remonstrances were very unpalatable to Art, and as a consciousness of his conduct, added to the nervousness produced by drink, had both combined to produce irritability of temper, he addressed himself more harshly to his brother than he had ever done in his life before. Frank, for the sake of peace, gave up the task, although he saw clearly enough that the christening was likely to terminate, at least so far as Art was concerned, in nothing less than a drunken debauch. This, indeed, was true. Little Toal, who drank more liquor than any two among them, and Frank himself, were the only sober persons present, all the rest having successfully imitated the example set them by Art, who was carried to bed at an early hour in the evening.

This was but an indifferent preparation for his resolution to commence work on Monday morning, as the event proved. When the morning came, he was incapable of work; a racking pain in the head, and sickness of stomach, were the comfortable a.s.surances of his inability. Here was another day lost; but finding that it also was irretrievably gone, he thought it would be no great harm to try the old cure--a hair of the dog--as before, and it did not take much force of reasoning to persuade himself to that course. In this manner he went on, losing day after day, until another week was lost. At length he found himself in his workshop, considerably wrecked and debilitated, striving with tremulous and unsteady hands to compensate for his lost time; it was now, however, too late--the evil habit had been contracted--the citadel had been taken--the waters had been poisoned at their source--the small track with the naked foot had been made. From this time forward he did little but make resolutions to-day, which he broke tomorrow; in the course of some time he began to drink with his own workmen, and even admitted his apprentices to their potations. Toal Finnigan, and about six or eight dissolute and drunken fellows, inhabitants of Ballykeerin, were his constant companions, and never had they a drinking bout that he was not sent for: sometimes they would meet in his own workshop, which was turned into a tap-room, and there drink the better part of the day. Of course the workmen could not be forgotten in their potations, and, as a natural consequence, all work was suspended, business at a stand, time lost, and morals corrupted.

His companions now availed themselves of his foibles, winch they drew out into more distinct relief. Joined to an overweening desire to hear himself praised, was another weakness, which proved to be very beneficial to his companions; this was a swaggering and consequential determination, when tipsy, to pay the whole reckoning, and to treat every one he knew.

He was a Maguire--he was a gentleman--had the old blood in his veins, and that he might never handle a plane, if any man present should pay a shilling, so long as he was to the fore. This was an argument in which he always had the best of it; his companions taking care, even if he happened to forget it, that some chance word or hint should bring it to his memory.

"Here, Barney Scaddhan--Barney, I say, what's the reckonin', you sinner?

Now, Art Maguire, divil a penny of this you'll pay for--you're too ginerous, an' have the heart of a prince."

"And kind family for him to have the heart of a prince, sure we all know what the Fermanagh Maguires wor; of coorse we won't let him pay."

"Toal Finnigan, do you want me to rise my hand to you? I tell you that a single man here won't pay a penny o' reckonin', while I'm to the good; and, to make short work of it, by the contints o' the book, I'll strike the first of ye that'll attempt it. Now!"

"Faix, an' I for one," said Toal, "won't come undher your fist; it's little whiskey ever I'd drink if I did."

"Well, well," the others would exclaim, "that ends it; howendiver, never mind, Art, I'll engage we'll have our revenge on you for that--the next meetin' you won't carry it all your own way; we'll be as stiff as you'll be stout, my boy, although you beat us out of it now."

"Augh," another would say, in a whisper especially designed for him, "by the livin' farmer there never was one, even of the Maguires, like him, an' that's no lie."

Art would then pay the reckoning with the air of a n.o.bleman, or, if he happened to be without money, he would order it to be scored to him, for as yet his credit was good.

It is wonderful to reflect how vanity blinds common sense, and turns all the power of reason and judgment to nothing. Art was so thoroughly infatuated by his own vanity, that he was utterly incapable of seeing through the gross and selfish flattery with which they plied him. Nay, when praising him, or when sticking him in for drink, as it is termed, they have often laughed in his very face, so conscious were they that it could be done with impunity.