Chapter 9. A Dialogue, Exhibiting Singular Principles Of Justice

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_ CHAPTER IX. A Dialogue, exhibiting Singular Principles of Justice

--Solomon's Tracts and Triumph--A Sincere Convert--Darby's Views of Religion--Poll Doolin's Honesty--Solomon's Christian Generosity to a Man in Difficulty--M'Loughlin and his Family.

The extraordinary scene which we have just detailed as occurring in the mountain hut, took place on Saturday morning and about twelve on the subsequent Monday, the following dialogue passed between honest Val! and his son, Philip the graceful.

"That was a most unlucky accident that happened Harpur on Saturday," said Val, dryly, and looking with a good deal of significance at the other.

"Unlucky," said Phil, "faith and honor, my good father, I don't know what to think."

"You don't, Phil!" replied Val; "why, what the deuce could you deem more unlucky than to be shot stone dead, without a moment's notice."

Phil's color went a little at the bare notion of such a fate; but on observing an expression of peculiar complacency lurking in his father's eye, it returned again, and after a little assurance settled down into its original hue.

"To himself certainly," said Phil, "it was a bad business; no one can deny that."

"But, my excellent son, Phil, it may turn out a very lucky incident for us in the mean time. He is, Phil, a wise man in this world who can turn the misfortunes or crimes of others to his own advantage. There is Harman for instance, Phil; now I believe you are not excessively attached to him."

"I hate him as I do hell," replied Phil.

"Very good--you hate him as you do hell--well, on the other hand, there is M'Loughlin, his partner in the manufactory, and his joint lessee in their farm--now I hate him as I do--I was about to say the devil--but I feel loth to render that misrepresented gentleman an injustice--that is, if there be such a gentleman--which, with my worthy father, I much doubt. Don't you think now it is a fortunate thing that we can indict Harman for Harpur's murder. I really think, and it is said, he murdered him. We would include the priest in the indictment as accessory, but that might be attended with personal danger--and the less real danger we incur the better for ourselves."

"Faith and honor, father, that doctrine's worthy of an oracle--as, indeed, most of what you say is."

"But mark me, Phil; our object is simply his ruin, not his death. Let us beggar M'Loughlin and him, and drive them out of the country. No--no--not the death of either of them; on the contrary, I should wish them to live, if it was only that they might feel my revenge--and that I knew they felt it. I would not hang them if I could, for my own sake." He got pale, ground his teeth, knit his black beetle brow, and exhibited the diabolical cast of features for which he was remarkable whenever his evil passions began to stir in his heart.

"Now," said he to Phil, "keep a close mouth above all things, for we must proceed with caution. I have here a letter from Lord Cumber, in which, at my private suggestion, he declines to renew their leases. Indeed, on serious consideration, I have recently advised him to grant no renewals, except in cases where every reliance can be placed upon the principles of the parties. The want of a lease is a very wholesome restriction on the conduct of our enemies. M'Slime opposes me in this, because he cannot pocket as much as usual; but though I cannot readily break with him, still, I trust, that in a short time I shall be able to turn his flank in a manner for which he is but little prepared. I have reason to think he is tampering with O'Drive--in fact O'Drive told me as much--O'Drive, however, is at work for me, although honest Solomon does not suspect him. The pious attorney, who is bestowing more of his attention to religion than ever, has got bitten by the Conversion mania, and thinks he will be charged with a neglect of his gifts, as he calls them, unless he can produce a live convert actually made by his own hands. I accordingly suggested to O'Drive to consult him on some religious scruples that he is supposed to have felt from the perusal of a tract written by M'Slime himself.

"Why," said Phil, "are you not aware that he gave me three or four dozen of them for gratuitous distribution, as he calls it. Yes, it is called 'The Religious Attorney,' being a reconcilement between honesty and law, or a blessed union between light and darkness; by Solomon M'Slime, attorney at law.

"Which tract," continued Val, "was written for the sole purpose of recommending himself to the notice of the religious world aforesaid, more, by the way, as an attorney than as a Christian. And a very good speculation it proved, for, whereas he was then scarcely able to make both ends meet by mere professional roguery, and dressed in a black gown--which you know he always wears in court--yet he no sooner threw the cloak of religion over that, than he advanced rapidly--and the consequence is that he is now privately a usurious discounter of bills."

"Faith and honor, now, father, do you,tell me so?"

"It's a fact, Philip, my son, and what is more--but the truth is, that neither he nor I can afford to quarrel with each other."

"Why, father? what's that 'more' you were going to add?"

"At this present time, Phil, it must bo secret--but it is arranged between him and me, that he is to succeed Harman in Beleveen; whilst you are to come in for M'Loughlin's holding."

"For which I shall have the pleasure,to drink your health to-night, my old boy--upon my honor and soul you are an excellent old cock, and I'm very proud of you."

"Go ahead, Phil; no nonsense. But stay, are those fellows of mine come yet?--I shall receive their informations, and have Harman in the stone jug before night. It is a bad case of murder committed upon a man in the execution of the law, do you see, Phil, and consequently I cannot take bail."

"No, certainly not, captain--as Darby says, certainly not, plaise your worship--ha, ha!"

"Come, Phil, keep quiet; it is now time that operations should seriously commence. I have gained most of my points, thank--Valentine M'Clutchy, at all events. I am head agent; you are my Deputy-master of an Orange Lodge--a Magistrate, and write J.P. after my name--Captain and Paymaster in the Castle Cumber cavalry, and you lieutenant; and though last, not least, thanks to my zeal and activity in the Protestant cause, I am at length a member of the Grand Panel of the county. Phil, my boy, there is nothing like religion and loyalty when well managed, but otherwise--"

"They are not worth a feather," replied Phil; "right, captain--there's an oracle again."

"And, Phil, my son; what is there wrong in this? In fact there is scarcely a better capital to trade on than religion and loyalty. You know what I mean, Phil;--not the things, if there be such things, which I must beg leave to doubt; but that principle which causes one man to hate another, in proportion to its influence over him."

"Ay," said Phil, "just as you and I, who have not got a touch of religion in our whole composition, have the character of being two of the staunchest Protestants in the county."

"Yes," replied the father, "and in this case the fiction is as good and better than the truth. The fiction, Phil, under which our religion appears is our own interests--no, I am wrong--the fiction under which our interest appeal's is our religion--that is the way of it; and the truth is, Phil, that ninety-nine men out of every hundred will go ninety-nine miles for their interests, before they will go one for either religion or truth--that's the way of it, too. However, pass that--now about Poll Doolin and the hint I gave you?"

"Why, you know at that time matters were not ripe for it. Don't you remember telling me so yourself?"

"I do, but I speak of your present intentions."

"Faith, my present intentions would be to marry the girl, Papist though she be, if I could; but as that's out of the question, I will now follow up your hint."

"Then you had better see Poll, and go on with it. Are you aware, besides, that the concern is tottering?"

"The manufactory! No--is that possible?"

"It is a fact; but you know not how honest Solomon and I have been at work. It is tottering, Lieutenant M'Clutchy, and in a short time you will see what you shall see."

"Well," said Phil, "so far everything is turning out very fortunate for us--but I think, Captain, that you are one of those men who are born under what they call a lucky planet;--eh? old boy?"

"Well, I think so; but in the meantime see Poll Doolin, and after that pay a visit to my father. The old scoundrel is upon his last legs, and there can be no harm in paying him some attention now. You are not a favorite of his; so smooth him down as much as you can. I don't myself expect that he will remember either of us in his will; but, as he is hasty and capricious, it is difficult to say what effect a favorable impression might have upon him."

"Neither are you a favorite with Isabel, or Jezabel, as he calls her."

"No, I made a bad move there--but, after all, what did I, or rather, what could I lose by neglecting her? Did she not succeed in banishing every one of his relatives from about him? It was neither her interest nor her inclination to keep in with his friends:--go and see him, at all events; reconnoitre, and report accordingly--and now if these fellows are come let them be sent in."

Phil accordingly withdrew to follow up his own speculations, and in a few minutes our friends, who so bravely distinguished themselves in the widow's cabin, entered the office. Val, like most men of his class and experience, was forced to undergo strong contests between the vanity occasioned by his success in life, and his own shrewd sense and acute perception of character. Whenever he could indulge that vanity without allowing its gratification to be perceived by others, he always did so; but if he happened to have a person to deal with, whom he suspected of a sufficiently keen penetration, his own sagacity always checked its display. No man ever puzzled him so thoroughly as O'Drive, who so varied and timed his flattery, as to keep him in a state of perpetual alternation between a perception of the fellow's knavery, and a belief in his simplicity of heart. On one occasion he would exclaim to himself or Phil, "This O'Drive is a desperate knave,--it's impossible that he can be honest;" and again, "Well, well; there is too much simplicity there, too much truth unnecessarily told, to allow me to consider that poor devil a rogue--no, he is honest." The consequence was, that Darby flattered him, and he relished it so strongly because he did not imagine it was intentional, that Darby understood his weak points, in that respect, better than any man living. This, in a country where the people are shrewd observers in general, could scarcely be supposed to escape their observation; nor did it. Darby's manner was so naturally imitated by others, that even the keen and vigilant Valentine M'Olutchy was frequently over-reached without being at all conscious of the fact.

When the men of the Castle Cumber corps came in, they found their captain sitting, or rather lolling, in a deep-seated arm-chair, dressed in a morning-gown and red morocco slippers. He was, or appeared to be, deeply engaged over a pile of papers, parchments, and letters, and for about a minute raised not his head. At length he drew a long breath, and exclaimed in a soliloquy--"just so, my lord, just so; every man that scruples to support the Protestant interests will meet no countenance from you;--'nor shall he, Mr. M'Clutchy, from you, as my representative,' you add--'and I beg you'"--he went on to road a few lines further--"'to transmit me the names and capacities of all those who are duly active on my property in suppressing disturbance, convicting criminals, and preserving the peace; especially those who are remarkable for loyal and constitutional principles; such are the men we will cherish, such are the men we must and ought to serve.' It is very true, my lord, it is very true indeed, and--oh! my friends, I beg your pardon! I hadn't noticed you--oh, dear me! how is this? why I didn't imagine you had been so sadly abused as all this comes to--this is dreadful, and all in resisting the king's warrant against the murderer. But how did it happen that this Harman murdered our poor friend Harpur?"

"Harpur is done for, captain, sure enough; there's no doubt of that."

"Well, it's one comfort that we live in a country where there is justice, my friends. Of course you will prosecute him for this diabolical murder; I sent for you to receive your informations, and we shall lodge him in gaol before night."

"I would rather prosecute that Blackguard Rimon-a-hattha," said a man, whose head was awfully swollen, and bound up with a handkerchief, "Rimon, Captain, is the greatest rascal of the two--he is, by, Japurs."

"Yes, but is he not an idiot, Johnston? In point of law he is only a fiction, and cannot be prosecuted."

"Fiction, Captain! Sowl, I don't know what you call a fiction--but if I'm guessin' properly, hell to the much of it was in his blows--look at how my head is, and I wish you could see my ribs, plase your worship."

"Well but let us come to the most important matter first--and before I go further, my friends and brothers, I would just throw out for your satisfaction, a few observations that I wish to impress upon you. Recollect that in this business, and in every business like it, you must have the pleasure at least of reflecting that you have now a magistrate who will see that all due care is taken of your interests--who will accompany your proceedings step by step, and see that all is as it ought to be. That is not partiality, my dear friends; that is not favor nor affection, nor leaning to you; no, nor--ha, ha, ha, leaning from you, either, my friends."

"Long life to your worship! Long life to you, Captain! You're the right sort, and no mistake."

"M'Dowel, what detained you from your lodge on Thursday night."

"I was buying a springer in Hush fair, and didn't get home in time, your worship."

"Well, M'Dowel, mark-me,--I neither can, nor will, overlook neglect in these matters. The man that neglects them wilfully, is a man I won't depend upon--and two of your neighbors were absent from parade on Wednesday week. Now, it's really too bad to expect that I, or any other gentleman in the country, will exert ourselves so strenuously to sustain and extend our own principles, or! to speak plainly, to keep them up--to maintain our ascendancy,--if we cannot reckon upon the earnest and cordial support of those for whose sake we take all this trouble--upon my honor it's a shame."

"It is a shame, Captain, and I say here's one," placing his hand upon his heart, "of the right kidney. By the holy William, there is."

"We're all so, your worship," replied Sharpe, "and sure every one knows it--but, plaise your honor, what's to be done about Harman?"

"Why, prosecute him for the murder of course."

"But then," said one of them, "sure Harman didn't murder him, Captain--among ourselves, it was all accident."

M'Clutchy seemed surprised at this, and after hearing their individual opinions, which indeed, conflicted very much, some positively asserting that he did, and others that he did not, murder the man, he began to view the matter in a somewhat different and more cautious light. He mused for some time; however, and after a second and more deliberate investigation, finding that there were two for the murder and only one against it, he at length took their informations, resolving to bring the matter to trial at all hazards. The warrant for Harmon's apprehension was accordingly issued, and entrusted to a dozen of the most resolute fellows in his corps; who so far enabled our magistrate to fulfil his intention, that they lodged his enemy in the county prison that very night.

The next morning, when reading the papers, our Captain was not a little surprised at reading in one of them an advertisement to the following effect:

"To the public--found, in the office of Mr. Solomon M'Slime, a Bank of Ireland Note, of large amount. The person losing it may have it by giving a proper description of same, and paying the expenses of this advertisement. N. B.--It is expected, as the loser of the note must be in affluent circumstances, that he will, from principles of Christian sympathy, contribute, or enable some Christian friend to contribute, a moderate donation to some of our greatest public charities. Thus will that which at the first view appears to be serious calamity, be made, under Him, a blessing and a consolation, not only to the wealthy individual who lost the money, but to some of our destitute fellow creatures. This, however, is not named as a condition, but merely as a suggestion offered from motives of benignity and duty.

"Also, just published, The Religious Attorney; being a reconcilement between Honesty and Law; or a blessed Union between Light and Darkness. By S. M'S. Tenth Thousand.

"Also, in the Press, and will soon be published, done up neatly in foolscap, and rogue's binding for cheapness, by the same author, The Converted Bailiff; being designed as a companion to The Religious Attorney. These productions need not be sought for with any of the profane booksellers of the city; but only at the Religious Depositories, or at those godly establishments in Sackville street and College green."

This, however, was not all. In a different column appeared the following; which, however, did not surprise M'Clutchy:

"Glorious Triumph of Religious Truth.

"In another part of our paper, our readers will perceive in an advertisement, an additional proof, if such were necessary, of the strong integrity of that ornament of his profession, both as an Attorney and Christian, Mr. Solomon M'Slime. This gentleman, whilst he devotes himself, with a pure and guileless heart, to the extensive practice which his high principles and great skill have gained him in his profession, does not neglect the still higher and more important interests of himself and his fellow creatures. It is a gracious thing to know that a spirit of deep and earnest inquiry is now abroad, by which hundreds are, under God, brought from darkness to light--from the gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity, out into the freedom of perfect day. Verily there is a new Reformation abroad--the strongholds of Popery are fast falling one after another. In the neighborhood of Mount-starve-'em, the spirit has been poured out most abundantly; and this manifestation is the more gracious, when we reflect that the dreadful famine which now prevails throughout the country, has been made (always under Him) the precious but trying means of bringing the poor benighted creatures to taste the fruits of a better faith. Nothing, indeed, can equal the bounty of that excellent nobleman, Lord------, who supplies beef and blankets--Bibles and bread--to those who may be likened to the multitude that were fed so miraculously in the wilderness--that is to say, who followed the good shepherd for his doctrine, and were filled with bread. Mr. M'Slime, who has within his own humble sphere not been inactive, can boast at least of having plucked one brand out of the burning, in the person of Darby O'Drive, the respectable bailiff of Valentine M'Clutchy, Esq., the benevolent agent of the Castle Cumber estate--to which Mr. M'Slime himself is law agent. It is understood that on next Sabbath (D.V.) Mr. O'Drive will make a public profession of his faith--or, in other words, "that he will recant the errors of Popery, and embrace those of Protestantism."* The merit of his conversion is due--but merit there is none--to Mr. M'Slime, or rather to his two very popular and searching tracts, called, 'Spiritual Food for Babes of Grace,' and 'The Religious Attorney,' which he had placed for perusal in Mr. O'Drive's hands. Mr. O'Drive now declares himself a Babe of Grace, and free from the bonds of sin; or, as he more simply, but truthfully and characteristically expresses it--a beautiful specimen indeed of his simplicity of views--'he is replevined from the pound of human fraility--no longer likely to be brought to the devil's auction, or knocked down to Satan as a bad bargain.'--For ourselves, we cannot help thinking that this undoubted triumph of religious truth, in the person of Darby O'Drive, is as creditable to the zeal of Mr. M'Slime, as it is to his sincerity. Encouraged by this great success, Mr. M'Slime, seconded by several of our leading controversialists, has succeeded in getting up a polemical discussion, on the merits of the Protestant and Popish creeds. The particulars have not been decided upon, but they shall probably appear in an early number of our paper. In the meantime we are authorized by Mr. Darby O'Drive to issue a formal challenge to any Popish and idolatrous bailiff in Ireland, to discuss with him the relative powers, warrants, processes, triumphs, conflagrations, and executions of their resspective churches."

* This expression has been attributed to Faulkner, the printer of Swift's works; but it is much more likely that it belongs to the Dean himself.

He had scarcely finished this characteristic paragraph, when O'Drive's knock, as usual, was heard, and in a few minutes the redoubted champion and challenger entered. There was a knavish demureness about him, and a kind of comic solemnity in his small, cunning gray eye, that no painter could copy.

"Why, you scoundrel," said Val, "you're overdoing the thing altogether; is it possible that M'Slime is such a spooney as not to see through you?"

"Ah, Captain, you don't make any allowance for my simplicity; sure you know, sir, I must grow young and innocent, if I'm to become a babe of grace, your worship."

"But what's the meaning of all this work about discussions and such stuff?"

"Faith, sir, it's all thrue enough at any rate; we're to have a religious field day here in the Sessions house of Castle Cumber; the whole thing is regulated--the seconds, and bottle houlders, and all is appointed. There's the Rev. Christopher Gammon, Rev. Vesuvius M'Slug, who's powerful against Popery, the Rev. Bernard Brimstone, and the Rev. Phineas Lucre, with many more on the side of truth. On that of Popery and falsehood there's the Rev. Father M'Stake, the Rev. Father O'Flary, the Rev. Father M'Fire, and the Rev. Nicholas O'Scorch, D.D. Dr. Sombre is to be second on our side; and Father M'Fud on the part of Popery and idolatry."

"And when is this precious spouting match to take place, you rascal?"

"Why, sir, on Monday week; and on next Sunday, sir, I'm to read my rekintation, plaise God."

"But I didn't intend that you should go to such lengths as that--however, that's your own affair."

"But, Captain ahagur, sure it's on your account I'm doin' it--won't it enable me to get the blind side of him about one or two tilings we want to come at."

"Indeed, I believe certainly, that if he has a blind side at all, it is his own hypocrisy."

"Be my soul, and it'll go hard or we'll worm out the sacret we want. There is one tiling I'm sartin of, he thinks, now that I'm turnin' by the way, that I'm ready to desart and desave you, Captain, an' indeed he says many things of you that he ought not to' say."

"Let us hear them."

"Why, sir, he said the other day--but sorra one o' me likes to be repeatin' these things."

"Come, come, you rascal, out with it."

"He said, sir, that he feared the divil had a hard howlt o you--that was the day I brought him the last letter, sir--that your heart, Captain, was full o' desate, and damnably wicked, plase your worship, and that if you didn't improve your morals you'd go where there is--something about gnashing of teeth, your honor."

"He's a double distilled scoundrel," replied Val, bitterly, "and although I know him well, I am determined still to know him better."

"Double distilled!--ay, faith, rectified many degrees above proof; but never mind; if I don't put a spoke in his wheel, I'm not here."

"Well, never mind now, either--give the hypocritical little scoundrel this letter."

"I will, and thank you, Captain! God bless your honor, and grant you 'long to reign over us, happy and glorious, God save the king! armin.' You see, captain, I've the right strain of loyalty in me, any how, ha, ha, ha! Throth, if I ever change in airnest, it isn't among the yallow bellies I'll go; but into his majesty's own church, Captain Val--the brave church where they have the bells, and the big blessed lookin' bishops, and their organs and coaches; aye, faith, and where everything is dacent and jintlemanly. Sure blood alive, Captain Val, beggin' your pardon, what's the use of a religion if it's not respectable and ginteel? What signifies a ministher of any religion, if he hasn't a fat purse in his pocket, and a good round belly before him, for that shows, plaise your worship, that religion is more than a name, any how; an' upon my conscience--oh, holy Moses, Captain Val, if M'Slime was to hear me swearin' this way! God pardon me! how-and-ever, but upon my conscience, it isn't the religion that keeps a man poor, but the religion that puts the flesh on his bones, and keeps it there, that is the right one--aye, and not only that, but that keeps a good coat on his back, your honor, and a good pair of breeches to his posterals--for which raison, whenever I do sariously turn it'll be--but you may guess--it'll be to the only true and loyal church;--for when a man can get both fat, and loyal, and religious, all at one move, he's a confounded fool that won't become religious."

This certainly, though not intended for it, was a true and bitter comment upon the principles of such men as M'Clutchy, who considered a profane and licentious attachment to a mere Establishment as a high duty, not because that establishment was the exponent of divine truth, but of a mere political symbol, adopted by subordinate and secular aids, to bind men of the same principles together.

"Begone, you rascal, and confound your dissertation. Go and deliver the letter, as I desired you, and bring me an answer."

"Sartinly, Captain, and will have an eye about me, into the bargain. How is Captain Phil, sir, before I go?"

M'Clutchy made a motion of indignation, but could not, in the meantime, altogether repress a smile; and Darby, taking his hat with a kind of shrewd and confidential grin, ran out of the office.

Our narrative now passes to the house of Poll Doolin, which was situated in a row of cottages towards the north side of Castle Cumber. Her son Raymond and she were its only inmates, and the former was in the act of replacing a hat among the tria juncta in uno, which he always wore.

"Raymond," said his mother, "now that you've got your supper, you must keep house till I come back."

"Must I indeed?---why must I? answer me that, there now, that's one."

"Becase I'm goin' out on business."

"What business?--where to?--what brought Phil M'Clutchy here yestherday?--tell me that--eh?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell you that, Raymond."

"Don't do anything for Phil, he's Val's son, that keeps the blood-hounds. Ah, poor Brian, and his white head--no', he'll never waken--never waken--an' what has she now to look at! Mother, I'd give all the cocks I ever had to see him and his white head in his mother's arms again--God's curse on Val! God's curse on him! I hate him--I hate Phil--I hate all of them--don't mother; do nothing for them."

"You foolish boy, what do you know about it?--keep the house till I come back, and I'll bring you a pennyworth of tobaccy?"

"But you will go?" said Raymond.

"I must, you fool."

"Very well, then, take it out o' that--there now, that's one."

It was now drawing on towards dusk, and Poll, assuming her black bonnet, and throwing her black cloak about her shoulders, sallied out with that furtive air which always accompanies one who is conscious of something that requires concealment. Her motions always were rapid, but on this occasion she walked like one whose mind brooded lover difficulties--sometimes she went very quick, then slackened her pace, and once or twice stood still, musing with her right hand to her chin. At length she reached the residence of Brian M'Loughlin, just after night had set it--she entered not, but glided about the house, waited, watched, listened, and peeped into the house, very like a thief that was setting the premises. Ultimately she took her stand at a particular window in the rear of the building, where she kept watch with great patience, though for what purpose it would appear very difficult to guess. Patience, however, is often rewarded, and it was so in the case before us. After about half an hour a light fell through the glass, and Poll, availing herself of the opportunity, tapped gently: at first it was not noticed, and she tapped again, somewhat louder; this was successful--a gentle voice inquired in tones more of surprise than alarm, "who is there, and what is your business!"

"A friend," said Poll.

"Poll Doolin!"

"The same, and I'm here on a case of life and death. Could you come out for a start--three minutes will do."

"Certainly not--you trifled unnecessarily with my feelings before--I will have no more mysteries. I can raise the window, however, and anything you have to say can be said where we stand." She raised the sash as she spoke. "Now," said she "what is your business, Poll?"

"Life and death, as I said," replied Poll "Do you not know that Mr. Harman is to be tried for murder, and that the assizes will open in a few days?"

"Unfortunately I do," replied Mary, sighing deeply, "but there can be no doubt of his acquittal. Father Roche has been here, who was present, and told us how the whole circumstance occurred."

"I don't doubt that," said Poll, "but this I tell you, and this you may rely on, that hang he will, in spite of fate; he's doomed."

"Great God!" exclaimed the now terrified girl, "you chill the blood in my veins--doomed!--what do you mean, Poll?"

"M'Clutchy will have him hanged in spite of all opposition--you know his power now--he can carry everything his own way."

"I know," replied the other, "that his influence is unfortunately great, no doubt, and cruelly is it exercised; but still, I don't know that he can carry everything his own way."

"Do you know what packing a jury means?"

"Alas!" replied Mary, starting, and getting pale, "I do indeed, Poll. I have heard of it too frequently."

"What, then, has the Vulture, the blood-hound, to do, but to get twelve Orangemen upon the jury, and the work is done?"

The unhappy girl burst into tears, and wrung her hands, for, however questionable the veracity of her present informant, she knew, from the unfortunate circumstances of the country, that such corrupt influences had too frequently been exerted.

"Don't you know," added Poll, "that the thing can be done? Isn't the sheriff himself an Orangeman--isn't the sub-sheriff an Orangeman--isn't the grand jury Orange, aren't they all Orange through other?"

"I believe so, indeed," said Mary, still weeping bitterly, "and there is, I fear, little or no hope."

"Well, but," replied Poll, "what if I could give you hope?"

"You, Poll, what can you mean? You!"

"Yes, me," said Poll, "poor as I stand here now."

"Well, but how?"

"Through them that can turn old Val the Vulture round their finger. What do you think brought me here--or who do you think sent me? Don't you know that I have no raison to like a bone in the skin of one o' your family, and that it's more, of coorse, to plaise others than myself that I'm here; but, over and above that, you, Miss M'Loughlin, never offended or injured me, and I'm willin' to sarve you in this business, if you will sarve yourself."

"But, how--but, how?" replied the distracted girl, "only tell me how?"

"There is one, and only one, that can twist Val round his finger, and in this same business is willing to do so--and that one is his own son, Phil."

Mary stood for a moment without even breathing; indeed, she exhibited strong symptoms of disgust at his very name.

"He is a person I detest," she replied, "beyond any human creature."

"That may be," said Poll, "but still he can save the man that is to be your husband; and that's what you ought to think of--the time is short now, and the loss of a day may ruin all. Listen Miss M'Loughlin:--Mr. Phil desired me to say to you, that if you will allow him a few minutes' conversation with you behind the garden, about dusk or a little after it, he'll satisfy you that he can and will save him--but it must be on the condition of seeing you, as I say."

"Let him be generous," she replied, "and impose no such condition."

"He won't interfare on any other terms," replied Poll; "he knows, it seems, that you have an unfavorable opinion of him, and he wishes to prove to you that he doesn't desarve it."

Mary paused for some time, and appeared very much distressed. I fear, thought she, it is selfish in me to think of my own feelings, or to have a moment's hesitation in sacrificing them to his safety. It is certainly a disgusting task to meet this man; but what ought I not to do, consistent with conscious rectitude of motive, to save my dear Harman's life, for I fear the circumstances come to that.

"Well, then, Poll, if I meet this man, mark me, it is solely for the purpose of striving to save Mr. Harman's life; and observe, because Mr. M'Clutchy is ungenerous enough to make my meeting him the condition of his interference."

"That," said Poll, "is for yourself to consider; but surely you would be a strange girl, if you refused to meet him for such a purpose. That would be a quare way of showing your love to Mr. Harman."

"I shall meet him, then," said Mary, "at the stile behind the garden; and may God direct and protect me in what I purpose!"

Poll gave no amen, to this, as it might be supposed she would have done, but simply said--

"I'm glad, Miss M'Loughlin, that you're doin' what you are doin'. It'll be a comfort maybe to yourself to reflect on it hereafther. Good night, Miss."

Mary bade her good night, and after closing the shutters of her room which she had come to do, retired; and with an anxious heart returned to the parlor.

M'Loughlin's family consisted of three sons and but one daughter, Mary, with whom our readers are already acquainted. The eldest, James, was a fine young man of twenty-three; the second, Tom, was younger than Mary, who then was entering her twenty-first; and the youngest, called Brian, after his father, was only eighteen. The honest fellow's brow was clouded with a deep expression of melancholy, and he sat for some time silent after Mary's return to the parlor. At length he said in a kind of soliloquy--

"I wish, Raymond-na-hattha, you had been behind the Slievbeen Mountains that bitter morning you came for James Harman!"

"If he had," said Tom, "poor James wouldn't be where he is to-night."

"But I hope, father," said Mary, in a voice which though it trembled a little, yet expressed a certain portion of confidence--"I hope as it was an accident, that there will not be any serious risk."

"I would be sorry to take any hope out of your heart that's in it, Mary; but, still, I can't forget that Val the Vulture's his bitterest enemy--and we all know what he's capable of doing. His son, too, graceful Phil, is still worse against him than the father, especially ever since Harman pulled his nose for what he said of Mary here. Did I ever mention it to you?"

"No, sir," replied Mary, coloring without exactly knowing why, "you never did."

"I was present," said young Brian, "but it wasn't so much for what he said, for he got afraid, but the way he looked."

"The scoundrel," said James, indignantly, "well Brian--"

"'Twas at the Ball Alley," proceeded the young fellow, "in Castle Cumber; Mary was passing homewards, and Phil was speaking to long Tom Sharpe, father to one of the blood-hounds. 'That's a purty girl,' said Sharpe, 'who is she?' 'Oh,' says Phil, 'an acquaintance of mine--but I can say no more honor bright,' and he winked one of his squinting eyes as he spoke. James Harman who was standing behind him stepped forward, 'but I can say more,' said he, 'she's daughter to Brian M'Loughlin, and no acquaintance of yours--and what is more, never will be; ay, and what is more,' said James, 'here's a proof of it;' and as he spoke he pulled Phil's proboscis, and then wiped his fingers in his purty face. 'Now, you cowardly scoundrel,' he added, 'let that teach you not to speak of any respectable female in such a tone, or to claim an acquaintance where you have it not.'"

"Never mind, my good fellow," said Phil, "I'll make you smoke for this."

"You know where I'm to be found," said James, "and your remedy too; but you haven't the spirit to take it like a man--and so I leave you with the white feather in your cap."

This anecdote for various reasons distressed Mary beyond relief. It increased her detestation of young M'Clutchy to the highest possible pitch, and rendered the very thought of him doubly odious to her heart. Her understanding became bewildered, and for a while she knew not what she said or did. Taking a candle and attempting to conceal her agitation, she withdrew again to her own room, where she sat for nearly half an hour endeavoring to shape her tumultuous thoughts into something of clearness and order.

M'Loughlin's brow, however, after her departure, still remained clouded. "Misfortunes they say," said he, "never come single; here is our lease out, and we will not get a renewal notwithstanding the fine we offered--and to mend the matter some good friend has spread a report that the firm of M'Loughlin and Harman is unsafe. Our creditors are coming down upon us fast--but it's the way of the world, every one striving to keep himself safe. If these men were not set upon us by some coward in the dark there would be neither loss nor risk to them nor to us; but if they press on us out of the usual course, I fear we won't be able to stand it. Then poor Harman, too! heighonee!" After some further conversation, in which it was clear that M'Clutchy's and M'Slime's manoeuvres had begun to develop themselves, Mary rejoined them. Her countenance on her return was evidently more composed, and impressed with a more decided, perhaps we should say, determined character. She had made her mind up. M'Clutchy, junior, was no doubt one of the most detastable of men, but as she knew that she hated him, and felt a perfect consciousness of all that was truthful, and pure, and cautious in herself, she came once more to the resolution of sacrificing her own disgust to the noble object of saving her lover. Besides, it was by no means an unreasonable hope on her part; for such was the state of party and political feeling at the time, that wiser and more experienced heads would have calculated rightly, and calculated as she did.

"Father," said she, on returning to the parlor, "don't be cast down too much about Harman--I think, considering everything, that his case is far from being hopeless. There is Father Roche--as for poor Mary O'Regan, in consequence of her insanity, she unfortunately can be of no use--and one of the blood-hounds are against the two others. Now, two to two, is surely strong evidence in his favor."

She did not, however, make the slightest allusion to the grounds on which she actually did rest her hope--that is to say, on Phil's influence over his father.

M'Loughlin was glad to see that her spirits were so much more improved than they had been; and so far from uttering anything calculated, to depress them, he appeared to feel much more easy in his mind than before--and, perhaps, actually did so.

"Well," said he to his wife, who was a woman of few words but deep feeling; "Kathleen, will you see that we get a glass of punch--the boys and I; there can be no harm surely in drinking a ------; but it's time enough to drink it when we see the liquor before us. Mary, avourneen, as you are activer than your mother, will you undertake that duty?--do, avillish machree."

In a few minutes Mary quietly but actively had the decanter, sugar, and hot water before them; and Brian, having mixed a tumbler for himself, and shoved the materials over to his two eldest boys, resumed the conversation.

"Come, boys; are you mixed?"

"All ready, sir."

"Well, here's that James Harman may triumph over his enemies!"

This was drank, we need not say, with an anxious and sincere heart.

"Do you know now," said M'Loughlin, "that I think there's a very great difference between little M'Slime, and that Vulture of hell, M'Clutchy. The little fellow came riding past to-day, and seeing me in the field, he beckoned to me:--

"'I hope,' says he, 'that certain reports, which I was sorry to hear of, are unfounded?'

"'What reports, Mr. M'Slime?' says I to him.

"'Why,' said he, 'it is not out of idle curiosity that I make the inquiry, but I trust from better and more Christian motives;' and, upon my conscience, the little fellow turned up his eyes towards heaven, in a way that would shame Father Roche himself. Faith, if there wasn't truth there, I don't know where you could get it. 'The reports I speak of,' says he, 'touch the solvency of your firm.'

"'Able to pay fifty shillings in a pound,' said I, not willing to encourage the outcry.

"'I'm delighted to hear it,' says generous little Solomon; 'but all I have to say is, that if it had been otherwise, or should it actually be otherwise, so far as a few hundred pounds go, you may draw upon a man--a sinner--a frail mortal and an unworthy--named Solomon M'Slime. This,' he went on, 'is not mere worldly friendship, Mr. M'Loughlin, that promises much until the necessity arrives, and then do all such promises flee as it were into the wilderness. No, my friend,' says the warm-hearted little saint, 'no my friend, these offers are founded not on my own strength, so to say, but upon those blessed precepts, Mr. M'Loughlin, which teach us to love our neighbors as ourselves--and to do unto others even as we wish they should do unto us.' He squeezed my hand, and whispered in my ear--'As far as three hundred pounds go, should you require it, rely on me; but harkee,' says he, 'and now,'--well, here's his health--'and now,' says he, 'and now,'--oh! I knew he was in earnest--'and now,' says he, 'one word with you--I trust--I hope, I may say, that I am a Christian man, who would not speak aught against my neighbor; but this, out of a principle of Christian kindness, I will say;--beware of Valentine M'Clutchy. It is known there!' said he, pointing his finger, and turning up his eyes to heaven--'it is known there from what motives I speak this. I am glad I saw thee--peace be with thee--farewell, and do not despise or overlook my services, or my poor sinful offers.'"

"Now," said the simple-minded but upright and unsuspicious man, "I do say that was no every-day offer. I would be glad to hear M'Clutchy make such an offer to any man--for which reason here's little Solomon's health once more, and long life to him!" _

Read next: Chapter 10. A Dutiful Grandson And A Respectable Grandmother

Read previous: Chapter 8. Poverty And Sorrow

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