The Ned M'Keown Stories Part 11

"'Jack, avourneen,' says the mother, 'sure and you war lying grunting, and groaning, and snifthering there, for all the world as if you had the cholic, and I only nudged you for fraid you war in pain.'

"'I wouldn't for a thousand guineas,' says Jack, 'that ever you wakened me, at all, at all; but whisht, mother, go into the house, and I'll be afther you in less than no time.'

"The mother went in, and the first thing Jack did was to try the rock; and, sure enough, there he found as much money as made him the richest man that ever was in the country. And what was to his credit, when, he did grow rich, he wouldn't let his cabin be thrown down, but built a fine castle on a spot near it, where he could always have it under his eye, to prevent him from getting proud. In the coorse of time, a harper, hearing the story, composed a tune upon it, which every body knows is called the 'Little House under the Hill' to this day, beginning with--

'Hi for it, ho for it, hi for it still; Och, and whoo! your sowl--hi for the little house under the hill!'

"So you see that was the way the great Magennisses first came by their wealth, and all because Jack was indistrious, and an obadient, dutiful, and tindher son to his helpless ould mother, and well he deserved what he got, _ershi misha_ (* Say I.) Your healths, Father Ned--Father Pether--all kinds of happiness to us; and there's my story."

"Well," said Father Peter, "I think that dog was nothing more or less than a downright cur, that deserved the lash nine times a day, if it was only for his want of respect to the clergy; if he had given me such insolence, I solemnly declare I would have bate the devil out of him with a hazel cudgel, if I failed to exorcise him with a prayer."

Father Ned looked at the simple and credulous curate with an expression of humor and astonishment.

"Paddy," said he to the servant, "will you let us know what the night's doing?"

Paddy looked out. "Why, your Rev'rence, it's a fine night, all out, and cleared up it is bravely."

At this moment the stranger awoke.

"Sir," said Father Ned, "you missed an amusing story, in consequence of your somnolency."

"Though I missed the story," replied the stranger, "I was happy enough to hear your friend's critique upon the dog."

Father Ned seemed embarra.s.sed; the curate, on the contrary, exclaimed with triumph--"but wasn't I right, sir?"

"Perfectly," said the stranger; "the moral you applied was excellent."

"Good-night, boys," said Father Ned--"good-night, Mr. Longinus Polysyllabus Alexandrinus!"

"Good-night, boys," said Father Peter, imitating Father Ned, whom he looked upon as a perfect model of courtesy--"Good-night, boys--good night, Mr. Longinus Polysyllabus Alexandrinus."

"Good-night," replied the stranger--"good-night, Doctor Edward Deleery; and good-night, Doctor Peter M'Clatchaghan--good-night."

When the clergymen were gone, the circle about the fire, excepting the members of Ned's family and the stranger, dispersed to their respective homes; and thus ended the amus.e.m.e.nt of that evening.

After they had separated, Ned, whose curiosity respecting the stranger was by no means satisfied, began to sift him in his own peculiar manner, as they both sat at the fire.

"Well, sir," said Ned, "barring the long play-acther that tumbles upon the big stage in the street of our market-town, here below, I haven't seen so long a man this many a day; and, barring your big whiskers, the sorra one of your honor's unlike him. A fine portly vagabone he is, indeed--a big man, and a bigger rogue, they say, for he pays n.o.body."

"Have you got such a company in your neighborhood?" inquired the stranger, with indifference.

"We have, sir," said Ned, "but, plase goodness, they'll soon be lashed like hounds from the place--the town boys are preparing to give them a chivey some fine morning out of the country."

"Indeed!--he--hem! that will be very spirited of the town boys," said the stranger dryly.

"That's a smart looking horse your honor rides," observed Ned; "did he carry you far to-day, with submission?"

"Not far," replied his companion--"only fourteen miles; but, I suppose, the fact is, you wish to know who and what I am, where I came from and whither I am going. Well, you shall know this. In the first place, I am agent to Lord Non Resident's estate, if you ever heard of that n.o.bleman, and am on my way from Castle Ruin, the seat of his Lordship's Inc.u.mbrances, to Dublin. My name you have already heard. Are you now satisfied?"

"Parfitly, your honor," replied Ned, "and I am much obliged to you, sir."

"I trust you are an honest man," said the stranger, "because for this night I am about to place great confidence in you."

"Well, sir," said his landlord, "if I turn out dishonest to you, it's more nor I did in my whole life to any body else, barring to Nancy."

"Here, then," said the stranger, drawing out a large packet, inclosed in a roll of black leather--"here is the half year's rent of the estate, together with my own property: keep it secure till morning, when I shall demand it, and, of course, it will be safe?"

"As if it was five _fadom_, under ground," replied Ned. "I will put it along with our own trifle of silver; and after that, let Nancy alone for keeping it safe, so long as it's there;" saying which, Ned secured the packet, and showed the stranger his bed.

About five o'clock the next morning their guest was up, and ordered a snack in all haste; "Being a military man," said he, "and accustomed to timely hours, I shall ride down to the town, and put a letter into the post-office in time for the Dublin mail, after which you may expect me to breakfast. But, in the meantime, I am not to go with empty pockets,"

he added; when mounting his horse at the door--"bring me some silver, landlord, and be quick."

"How much, plase your honor?"

"Twenty or thirty shillings; but, harkee, produce my packet, that I may be quite certain my property is safe."

"Here it is, your honor, safe and sound," replied Ned, returning from within; "and Nancy, sir, has sent you all the silver she has, which was One Pound Five; but I'd take it as a favor if your honor would be contint with twenty shillings, and lave me the odd five, for you see the case is this, sir, plase your honor, _she_," and Ned, with a shrewd, humorous nod, pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, as he spoke-- "she wears the ---- what you know, sir."

"Ay, I thought so," replied the stranger; "but a man of your size to be henpecked must be a great knave, otherwise your wife would allow you more liberty. Go in, man; you deserve no compa.s.sion in such an age of freedom as this. I sha'n't give you a farthing till after my return, and only then if it be agreeable to your wife."*

* Ned M'Keown was certainly a very remarkable individual, and became, in consequence of his appearance in these pages, a person of considerable notoriety during the latter years of his life. His general character, and the nature of his unsuccessful speculations, I have drawn with great truth.

There is only one point alone in which I have done him injustice, and that is in depicting him as a henpecked husband. The truth is, I had a kind of good humored pique in against Ned, and for the following reasons:--The cross-roads at which he lived formed a central point for all the youngsters of the neighborhood to a.s.semble for the purpose of practising athletic exercises, of which I, in my youth, was excessively fond. Now Ned never would suffer me to join my young acquaintances in these harmless and healthful sports, but on every occasion, whenever he saw me, he would run out with,a rod or cudgel and chase me from the scene of amus.e.m.e.nt. This, to a boy so enthusiastically devoted to such diversions as I was, often occasioned me to give him many a hearty malediction when at a safe distance. In fact, he continued this practice until I became too much of a man to run away, after which he durst only growl and mutter abuse, whilst I snapped my fingers at him. For this reason, then, and remembering all the vexatious privations of my favorite sports which he occasioned me, I resolved to turn the laugh against him, which I did effectually, by bringing him out in the character of a hen-pecked husband, which was indeed very decidedly opposed to his real one. My triumph was complete, and Ned, on hearing himself read of "in a book," waxed indignant and wrathful. In speaking of me he could not for the life of him express any other idea of my age and person than that by which he last remembered me.

"What do you think?" he would exclaim, "there's that young Carleton has put me in a book, and made Nancy leather me!"

Ned survived Nancy several years, and married another wife, whom I never saw. About twenty-five years ago he went to America, where he undertook to act as a tanner, and nearly ruined his employer. After some time he returned, home, and was forced to mend roads. Towards the close of his life, however, he contrived to get an a.s.s and cart, and became egg-merchant, but I believe with his usual success. In this last capacity, I think about two years ago, he withdrew from all his cares and speculations, and left behind him the character of an honest, bustlin, good-humored man, whom everybody knew and everybody liked, and whose harmless eccentricities many will long remember with good-humor and regret.

"Murdher!" said Ned, astonished, "I beg your honor's pardon; but murdher alive, sir, where's your whiskers?"

The stranger put his hand hastily to his face, and smiled--"Where are my whiskers? Why, shaved off, to be sure," he replied; and setting spurs to his horse, was soon out of sight and hearing.

It was nearly a month after that, when Ned and Nancy, in presence of Father Deleery, opened the packet, and. discovered, not the half-year's rent of Lord Non-Resident's estate, but a large sheaf of play-bills packed up together--their guest having been the identical person to whom Ned affirmed he bore so strong a resemblance.

SHANE FADH'S WEDDING.

On the following evening, the neighbors were soon a.s.sembled about Ned's hearth in the same manner as on the night preceding:--And we may observe, by the way, that though there was a due admixture of opposite creeds and conflicting principles, yet even then, and the time is not so far back, such was their cordiality of heart and simplicity of manners when contrasted with the bitter and rancorous spirit of the present day that the very remembrance of the harmony in which they lived is at once pleasing and melancholy.

After some preliminary chat, "Well Shane," said Andy Morrow, addressing Shane Fadh, "will you give us an account of your wedding? I'm tould it was the greatest let-out that ever was in the country, before or since."

"And you may say that, Mr. Morrow," said Shane, "I was at many a wedding myself, but never at the likes of my own, barring Tim Lannigan's, that married Father Corrigan's niece."

"I believe," said Andy, "that, too, was a dashing one; however, it's your own we want. Come, Nancy, fill these measures again, and let us be comfortable, at all events, and give Shane a double one, for talking's druthy work:--I'll stand this round."

When the liquor was got in, Shane, after taking a draught, laid down his pint, pulled out his steel tobacco-box, and, after twisting off a chew between his teeth, closed the box, and commenced the story of his wedding.

"When I was a Brine-Oge,"* said Shane, "I was as wild as an unbroken cowlt--no divilment was too hard for me; and so sign's on it, for there wasn't a piece of mischief done in the parish, but was laid at my door--and the dear knows I had enough of my own to answer for, let alone to be set down for that of other people; but, any way, there was many a thing done in my name, when I knew neither act nor part about it. One of them I'll mintion: d.i.c.k Cuillenan, father to Paddy, that lives at the cra.s.s-roads, beyant Gunpowdher Lodge, was over head and ears in love with Jemmy Finigan's eldest daughter, Mary, then, sure enough, as purty a girl as you'd meet in a fair--indeed, I think I'm looking at her, with her fair flaxen ringlets hanging over her shoulders, as she used to pa.s.s our house, going to ma.s.s of a Sunday. G.o.d rest her sowl, she's now in glory--that was before she was my wife. Many a happy day we pa.s.sed together; and I could take it to my death, that an ill word, let alone to rise our hands to one another, never pa.s.sed between us--only one day, that a word or two happened about the dinner, in the middle of Lent, being a little too late, so that the horses were kept nigh half an hour out of the plough; and I wouldn't have valued that so much, only that it was Beal Cam** Doherty that joined*** me in ploughing that year--and I was vexed not to take all I could out of him, for he was a raal Turk himself.