Chapter 12. Interview Between Darby And Mr. Lucre

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_ CHAPTER XII. Interview between Darby and Mr. Lucre

--Darby feels Scriptural, and was as Scripturally treated--Mr. Lucre's Christian Disposition towards Father M'Cabe--A few Brands offer Themselves to be Plucked from the Burning--Their Qualification, for Conversion, as stated by Themselves.

Mr. Lucre, like almost every Protestant rector of the day, was a magistrate, a circumstance which prevented Mr. Clement from feeling any surprise at seeing a considerable number of persons, of both sexes, approaching the glebe. He imagined, naturally enough, that they were going upon law business, as it is termed--for he knew that Mr. Lucre, during his angel visits to Castle Cumber, took much more delight in administering the law than the gospel, unless, when ready made, in the shape of Bibles. When Darby, also, arrived, he found a considerable number of these persons standing among a little clump of trees in the lawn, apparently waiting for some person to break the ice, and go in first--a feat which each felt anxious to decline himself, whilst he pressed it very strongly upon his neighbor. No sooner had Darby made his appearance than a communication took place between him and them, in which it was settled that he was to have the first interview, and afterwards direct the conduct and motions of the rest. There was, indeed, a dry, knowing look about him, which seemed to imply, in fact, that they were not there without some suggestion from himself.

Darby was very well known to Mr. Lucre, for whom he had frequently acted in the capacity of a bailiff; he accordingly entered with something like an appearance of business, but so admirably balanced was his conduct on this occasion, between his usual sneaking and servile manner, and his privileges as a Christian, that it would be difficult to witness anything so inimitably well managed as his deportment. One circumstance was certainly strongly in his favor; Father M'Cabe had taken care to imprint with his whip a prima facie testimony of sincerity upon his countenance, which was black, and swollen into large welts by the exposition of doctrinal truth which he had received at that gentleman's hands. Lucre, on seeing him, very naturally imagined he was coming to lodge informations for some outrage committed on him either in the discharge of his duty as bailiff, or, for having become a convert, a fact with which he had become acquainted from the True Blue.

"Well, O'Drive," said he, "what is the matter now? you are sadly abused--how came this to pass?"

Darby first looked upwards, very like a man who was conscientiously soliciting some especial grace or gift from above; his lips moved as if in prayer, but he was otherwise motionless--at length he ceased--drew a lone breath, and assumed the serenity of one whose prayer had been granted. The only word he uttered that could possibly be at all understood, was amen; which he pronounced lowly, but still distinctly, and in as unpopish a manner as he could.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he replied, "but now my heart's aisier--I hope I have overcome that feeling that was an me--I can now forgive him for the sake of the spread o' the gospel, and I do."

"What has happened your face?--you are sadly abused!"

"A small taste o' parsecution, sir, which the Lord put into Father M'Cabe's horsewhip--heart I mane--to give me, bekaise I renounced his hathenism, and came into the light o' thruth--may He be praised for it!" Here followed an upturning of the eyes after the manner of M'Slime.

"Do you mean to tell me, O'Drive, that this outrage has been committed on you by that savage priest, M'Cabe?"

"It was he left me as you see, sir--but it's good to suffer in this world, especially for the thruth. Indeed I am proud of this face," he continued, blinking with a visage so comically disastrous at Mr. Lucre, that had that gentleman had the slightest possible perception of the ludicrous in his composition, not all the gifts and graces that ever were poured down upon the whole staff of the Reformation Society together, would have prevented him from laughing outright. "Of course you are come," pursued Lucre, "to swear information against this man?"

"I have prayed for it," said Darby in a soliloquy, "and I feel that it has been granted. Swear information, sir?--I'll strive and do betther than that, I hope; I must now take my stand by the Bible, sir; that will be the color I'll hoist while I live. In that blessed book I read these words this mornin', 'love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and parsecute you.' Sir, when I read these words, I felt them slidin' into my heart, and I couldn't help repeatin' them to myself, ever since--and, even when Father M'Cabe was playin' his whip about my ears, I was as hard at work prayin' for his sowl."

This, we have no doubt, was perfectly true, only we fear that our blessed convert forgot to state the precise nature and object of the prayer in question, and to mention whether it was to the upper or lower settlement he consigned the soul alluded to. This Christian spirit of Darby's, however, was by no means in keeping with that of Mr. Lucre, who never was of opinion, in his most charitable of moods, that the gospel should altogether supersede the law. On this occasion, especially, he felt an acuteness of anxiety to got the priest within his power, which the spirit of no gospel that ever was written could repress. M'Cabe and he had never met, or, at least, never spoke; but the priest had, since the commencement of the new movement, sent him a number of the most ludicrous messages, and transmitted to him, for selection, a large assortment of the most comical and degrading epithets. Here, then, was an opportunity of gratifying his resentment in a Christian and constitutional spirit, and with no obstacle in his way but Darby's inveterate piety. This, however, for the sake of truth, he hoped to remove, or so modify, that it would not prevent him from punishing that very disloyal and idolatrous delinquent.

"Those feelings, O'Drive, are all very good and creditable to you, and I am delighted indeed that you entertain them--but, in the meantime, you owe a duty to society greater than that which you owe to yourself. This man, this priest--a huge, ferocious person I understand he is--has latterly been going about the parish foaming and raging, and seeking whom he can horsewhip."

"That's thruth, sir, poor dark hathen--an', sir--jist beggin' your pardon for one minute, half a minute, sir--you know we're desired when an inimy strikes us upon one cheek to turn the other to him; well, as I said, sir, I found myself very Scriptural this whole day, so when he hit me the first welt on this cheek, I turns round the other, an' now look at the state it's in, sir--but that's not all, sir, he tuck the hint at once, and gave it to me on both sides, till he left me as you see me. Still, sir, I can forgive him, and I have done it."

"That, as I said, reflects great credit on your principles--but, in the meantime, you can still retain these principles and prosecute him. Your lodging informations against him does not interfere with your own personal forgiveness of him at all--because it is in behalf of, and for the safety of society that you come forward to prosecute now."

Darby, who in point of fact had his course already taken, shook his head and replied, falling back upon the form of M'Slime's language as much as he could--

"I feel, sir," he replied, "that I'm not permitted."

"Permitted!" repeated the other. "What do you menu?"

"I'm not permitted from above, sir, to prosecute this man. I'm not justified in it."

"Quite ridiculous, O'Drive, where did you pick up this jargon of the conventicle--but that reminds me, by the by--you are not a convert to the Established Church. You belong to the Dissenters, and owe your change of opinions to Mr. M'Slime."

"If I don't belong to the Established Church now, sir," replied Darby, "I won't be long so."

"Why," inquired the other, "are you not satisfied with the denomination of Christians you have joined?"

"M'Slime, sir, converted me--as you say--but I've great objections--and between you and me, I, fear it's not altogether safe for any man to take his religion from an attorney."

A smile, as much as he could condescend to, passed over the haughty, but dignified features of Mr. Lucre.

"O'Drive," said he, "I did not think you possessed so much simplicity of character as I perceive you do--but touching the prosecution of this man--you must lodge information, forthwith. You shall bring the warrant to Mr. M'Clutchy who will back it, and put it into the hands of those who will lose little time in having it executed."

"I am sorry, sir, that my conscience doesn't justify me in doin' what you wish."

"What do you mean by conscience, sir?" asked the other, getting warm, "if you have a conscience you will have no scruple in punishing a man who is an open enemy to truth, to the gospel, and to the spread of it through a benighted land. How can you reconcile it to your conscience to let such a man escape."

"Simply by forgiving him, sir--by lettin' the great, big, ignorant hathen, have the full benefit of a gospel forgiveness. That's what I mean, sir, and surely it stands to sense that I couldn't prosecute him wid these feelin's, barrin' I'd go against the Word."

"O'Drive," said Lucre, evidently mortified at Darby's obstinacy, "one of two things is true; either you are utterly ignorant, perhaps, with every disposition to know them, of the sanctions and obligations of religion, or you are still a Papist at heart, and an impostor. I tell you, sir, once more, that it is upon religious grounds that you ought to prosecute this wild priest; because in doing so, you render a most important service to religion and morality, both of which are outraged in his person. You ought to know this. Again, sir, if you are a Protestant, and have thoroughly cast Popery from your heart, you must necessarily be a loyal man and a good subject; but if you refuse to prosecute him, you can be neither the one nor the other, but a Papist and an impostor, and I've done with you. If Mr. M'Clutchy knew, sir, that you refused to prosecute a priest for such a violent outrage upon your person, I imagine you would not long hold the situation of bailiff under him."

Darby looked into the floor like a philosopher solving a problem. "I see, sir," said he, "I see--well--you have made that clear enough sartinly; but you know, sir, how could you expect such deep raisoning upon these subjects from a man like me. I see the duty of it now clearly; but, when, sir, on the other hand if I prosecute him, what's to become of me? Will you, sir, bear my funeral expenses?"

"Every penny, O'Drive," replied the other, eagerly. "Tut," he exclaimed, checking himself, "I--I--I thought you meant the expenses of the prosecution."

"It's much the same, sir," replied Darby, "the one will be sure to follow the other. You know the state the country's in now, sir, and how the people on both sides are ready to skiver one another about this religion, and rents and tithes, and dear knows what besides. As it is, sir," he proceeded, "you see that I dursn't walk the road without these," and he produced the pistols as he spoke, "but what chance, sir, would I have if I prosecuted a priest? Why, my life wouldn't be worth two hours' purchase."

Mr. Lucre himself could not help feeling and admitting the truth of this, but as he could devise no plan to obviate the dangers alluded to, he still scrupled not to urge the prosecution.

"Sir," said Darby starting, as if a gleam of light had shot across his brain, "a thought has just struck me, and I hope it was something from above that sent it. If there was any kind of situation, sir, that I could fill, and that would keep me in a place of safety where the hathens couldn't get at me, everything would be right; and be the same token, sir, now that I think of it, isn't the under gaoler-ship of Castle Cumber vacant this minute."

Lucre who, in fact, had set his heart on prosecuting and punishing the priest, would have gladly made Darby governor of the best gaol in his majesty's dominions, rather than lose this opportunity of effecting his purpose.

"Rest contented, O'Drive," he replied, "you shall have it--I pledge myself that you shall have it. My influence is sufficient for much more than so paltry a trifle as that. And now for the informations."

"Ah, sir," replied the other, "that wouldn't mend the matter a bit. Let it go once abroad that I swore them, and I'd never see to-morrow night. No, sir, if you wish him properly prosecuted,--and I think I ought to know how to do it, too;--but if you wish him properly punished, place me first out of harm's way--out o' the reach o' the hathens; put me into the situation before we take a single step in the business, then I'll be safe and can work in it to some purpose."

"It shall be done," said Lucre, "and I will go about it presently, but in the mean time the matter rests as it is. If what you say is true, and I believe it is, your own safety depends upon your silence."

"Not a breath," replied Darby; "and now, sir, about what brought me here--I wanted to say that I'd wish 'to read' upon Sunday next."

"What do you mean?" asked Lucre.

"Why, sir, as I said, I don't like to take my religion from an attorney--and I'm afeard, besides, that he's not altogether orthybox, in regard that he hinted once that God was ------; but, indeed I disremember his words, for it wasn't aisy to hould them when you got them."

"He, of course, is a Fatalist and Predestinarian," said Lucre; "but what is this you were about to say?"

"Why, sir, that I'd wish publicly to read my recompensation in your church on Sunday next."

"And why in my church?" asked the proud parson, who felt his vanity touched, not by anything Darby had yet said, but by the indescribable expression of flattery which appeared in his face.

"Why, sir," he replied, "bekase it's given out on all hands that there's no end to your larnin'--that it's wondherful the books you wrote--and as for your preachin', that it 'ud make one think themselves in heaven, hell, or purgatory, accordin as you wished."

"Very well, O'Drive, very well indeed," exclaimed Lucre, caught on his weakest side by this artful compliment; "but you must forget purgatory--however I can conceive that it was the mere force of habit that prompted you to utter it. Well, then, you shall read your recantation on Sunday, since you wish it--there will be about a dozen or two others, and you had better attend early. Good-day, O'Drive!"

"Plaise your honor," said Darby, who never could be honest to both parties, "there's a batch o' convarts outside waitin' to see you, but between you and me, I think you had as well be on your guard wid some o' them, I know what they want."

"And pray, what is that, O'Drive?"

"Why, thin, for fraid I may be doin' the crathurs injustice, sir, I won't say; only jist take my hint, any how. Good mornin' kindly, sir!"

As Darby passed the group we have alluded to, he winked at them very knowingly, "go up," said he, "go up I say:--may be I didn't give yez a lift since, and mark me, huld to the five guineas a head, and to be provided for aftherwards. Paddy Cummins do you go up, I say--bannath lath!"

Paddy went up, and in a few minutes a ragged, famine-wasted creature entered with his old caubeen between his hands, and after having ducked down his head, and shrugged his shoulders alternately, stood with an abashed look before Mr. Lucre.

"Well, my good man, what is your business with me?"

To this the countryman prepared to reply,--first, by two or three additional shrugs; secondly, by raising his right elbow, and pulling up all that remained of the collar of his tattered cothamore, or great coat, after which he gave a hem.

"Have you no tongue, my good fellow?"

A shrug--"hem--why, sir, but that was a great sarmon you praiched on last Sunda', plaise you honor. Faitha, sir, there was mighty fine discoorsin' in it about rail-ligion?"

"O! the sermon--did you hear it, my good man?"

"Faitha, sir, I was there sure enough, in spite o' Father M'Cabe, an' all."

"Sit down, my good friend, sit down--well, you attended the sermon, you say--pray how did you like it?"

"Faitha, sir, sure nobody could dislike it bedad, sir, we're all greatly disappointed wid the priests afther hearin' it--it was wondherful to hear, the deep larnin' you brought forrid, sir, against them, an' our church in gineral. Begad myself was mightily improved by it."

"Don't swear, though--well you were improved by it, you say--pray what is your name?"

"I'm one Paddy Cummins, sir, a shister's son of--"

"Well, Cummins, I'm very happy to hear that you were edified, and happier still that you had sense to perceive the side upon which truth lay."

"Faitha, thin, your reverence, I seen that widout much throuble; but, sure they say, sir, there's to be a power of us turnin' over to yez."

"I hope so, Cummins--we are anxious that you should see the errors of the creed you so ignorantly profess, and abandon them."

"Sure enough, sir--dad, sir, your ministhers is fine men, so you are--then you're so rich, sir, plaise your honor--they do be sayin', sir, that the reverend gintlemen of your church have got a great deal of money among them somehow, in regard that it 'ud be needful to help poor crathurs that 'ud turn, and keep them from the parsecution, sir."

"Cummins, my good friend, allow me to set you right. We never give a penny of money to any one for the sake of bringing him over to our church; if converts come to us it must be from conviction, not from interest."

"I see, sir--but sure I'm not wantin' the promise at all, your honor--sure I know you must keep yourselves clear anyway--only the five guineas a head that I'm tould is to be given."

"Five guineas a head!--pray who told you so?"

"Faitha, sir, I couldn't exactly say, but every one says it. It's said we're to get five guineas a head, sir, and be provided for afther; I have nine o' them, sir, eight crathurs and Biddy herself--she can't spake English, but, wid the help o' God, I could consthre it for her. Faith, she'd make a choice Prodestan, sir, for wanst she takes a thing into her head the devil wouldn't get it out. As for me, I don't want a promise at all, your reverence, barrin' that if it 'ud be plaisin' to you, jist to lay your forefinger along your nose--merely to show that we undherstand one another--it 'ud be as good to me as the bank. The crathur on the breast, your reverence, we'd throw in as a luck penny, or dhuragh, and little Paddy we give at half price."

"Did you hear all this?"

"Faitha, then, we did, sir--and sure, as you don't like to have the thing known, I can keep my tongue atween my teeth as well as e'er a convart livin'--an' as for Biddy, by only keepin' her from the dhrink, she's as close as the gate of heaven to a heretic. Bedad, sir, this new light bates everything."

"My good friend, Cummins, I tell you I have no money to give,--neither is there anything to be given,--for the sake of conversion--but, if your notions of your own religion are unsettled, put yourself under Lord ------'s chaplain; and, if, in the due course of time, he thinks you sufficiently improved to embrace our faith, you and your family may be aided by some comforts suitable to your condition."

Cummins' face lengthened visibly at 'an intimation which threw him so far from his expectations; the truth being, that he calculated upon receiving the money the moment he read his recantation. He looked at Mr. Lucre again as significantly as he could--gave his head a scratch of remonstrance--shrugged himself as before--rubbed his elbow--turned round his hat slowly, examined its shape, and gave it a smarter set, after which he gave a dry hem and prepared to speak.

"I'll hear nothing further on the subject," said the other, "withdraw."

Without more ado Cummins slunk out of the room, highly disappointed, but still not without hopes from Lord ------, to whom, or his chaplain, he resolved to apply. In the meantime he made the best of his way home to his starving wife and children, without having communicated the result of his visit to those who were assembled at the glebe house.

He had scarcely left the hall door when another claimant for admission presented himself in the person of a huge, tattered fellow, with red, stiff hair standing up like reeds through the broken crown of his hat, which he took off on entering. This candidate for Protestantism had neither shoe nor stocking on him, but stalked in, leaving the prints of his colossal feet upon the hall through which he passed.

"Well, friend, what is wrong with you?--why did'nt you rub your filthy feet, sir, before you entered the room? You have soiled all my carpet."

"I beg your honor's parding," said the huge fellow; "I'll soon cure that." Having said which he trotted up to the hearth-rug, in which, before Lucre had time even to speak, by a wipe from each foot, he left two immense streaks of mud, which we guess took some hard scrubbing to remove. "Now, your honor, I hope I'll do."

Lucre saw it was useless to remonstrate with him, and said, with more temper than could be expected--

"Man, what's your business?"

"I come, sirra,"--this man had a habit of pronouncing sir as sirra, which he could never overcome--"to tell your reverence to enther me down at wanst."

"For what purpose should I enter you down?"

"For the money, sirra; I have seven o' them, and we'll all go. You may christen us if you wish, sirra. 'Deed I'm tould we must all be christened over agin, an' in that case, maybe it 'ud be plaisin' to you to stand godfather for me, yourself, your reverence."

"What do you mean?--but I suppose I understand you."

"I mean, sirra, to become a Protestan--I an' my family, I'm Nickey Feasthalagh, that was in on suspicion o' the burnin' of Nugent's hay; and by them five crasses I was as innocent of that as the child onborn, so I was. Sure they couldn't prove an me, becoorse I came out wid flying colors, glory be to God! Here I am now, sir, an' a right good Prodestan I'll make when I come to understand it. An' let me whisper this, sirra, I'll be dam useful in fairs and markets to help the Orangemen to lick ourselves, your honor, in a skrimmage or party fight, or anything o' that kidney."

"I am sorry, Nick Fistula, as you say your name is--"

"Mickey, sirra."

"Well, Nickey, or Nick, or whatever it may be, I am sorry to say that you won't do. You are too great an ornament to your own creed ever to shine in ours. I happen to know your character--begone."

"Is Misthre Lucre widin?" asked a third candidate, whose wife accompanied him--"if he is, maybe you'd tell him that one Barney Grattan wishes to have a thrifle o' speech wid his honor."

"Come in," said the servant with a smile, after having acquainted his master.

The man and his wife accordingly entered, having first wiped their feet as they had been ordered.

"Well, my good man, what's your business."

"Rosha, will you let his honor know what we wor spakin' about? She'll tell you, sir."

"Plaise your honor," said she, "we're convarts."

"Well," said Mr. Lucre, "that is at least coming to the point. And pray, my good woman, who converted you?"

"Faix, the accounts that's abroad, sir, about the gintleman from Dublin, that's so full of larnin', your reverance, and so rich, they say."

"Then it was the mere accounts that wrought this change in you?"

"Dhamnu orth a Rosha, go dhe shin dher thu? " said the husband in Irish; for he felt that the wife was more explicit than was necessary. "Never heed her, sir; the crathur, your reverence, is so through other, that she doesn't know what she's sayin', especially spakin' to so honorable a gentleman as your reverence."

"Then let us hear your version, or rather your conversion."

"Myself, sir, does be thinkin' a great deal about these docthrines and jinnyologies that people is now all runnin' upon. I can tell a story, sir, at a wake, or an my kailee wid a, neighbor, as well as e'er a man in the five parishes. The people say I'm very long headed all out, and can see far into a thing. They do, indeed, plaise your reverence."

"Very good."

"Did you ever hear about one Fin M'Cool who was a great buffer in his day, and how his wife put the trick upon a big bosthoon of a giant that came down from Munster to bother Fin? Did you ever hear that, sir?"

"No; neither do I wish to hear it just now."

"Nor the song of Beal Derg O'Donnel, sir, nor the 'Fairy River,' nor 'the Life and Adventures of Larry Dorneen's Ass,' plaise your reverence."

"No--but I wish you would allow your wife to relate your business here."

"Well, sir, the people say I'm very longheaded, and can see far into a thing--"

"But, my good man, I care not what the people say--tell your story briefly."

"--An' can see far into a thing, your reverence, becaise I'm long-headed. All longheaded people, sir, is cute, an' do you know why they're cute, sir? No, you don't, but I'll tell you--bekaise they're long-headed. Now, sir, what 'ud you think to turn Roman Catholic awhile till I'd malivogue you in arguin' Scripture?--I want to prove to you, sir, that I'm the boy that understands things."

"What's your business with me?"

"Will you thry it, sir, and you'll see how I'll sober you to your heart's delight."

"What brought your husband to me, my good woman?"

"Bhe dha husth; fag a rogarah lumsa."

"He's comin' to it, plaise your reverence," said the wife.

"Well, sir, so you see, bein' given to deep ways of thinkin' o' my own, I had many bouts at arguin' Scripthur--as every longheaded man has, of coorse--an' yestherday meetin' wid Brian Broghan, the mealman--him that keeps it up on the poor, sir--he challenged me, but, in three skips of a Scotch Gray, I sacked him cleaner than one of his own meal bags, and dusted him afterwards:--'so,' says he, misther Grattan, see what it is to be long-headed."

"It's worse," observed Lucre, "to be long-winded. Come to an end, sir."

"'Long-headed,' says he, 'an', of coorse you'll be takin' the money,' says Brougham; 'what money?' says I. 'Why, the five guineas,' says he, 'that the Biblemen is givin' to every one that will turn wid them, he happens to be long-headed--but otherwise, not a penny.' So, sir, myself, you see, havin' the intention to come over long afore for fraid yez might think it was for the money I am doin' it. But is there such a thing, sir?"

"Not a penny, and so you may tell your friends."

"Well, but, sir, grantin' that, still you'll acknowledge that I'm long-headed."

"No, only long-winded."

"Not long-headed, then?"

"No, certainly not."

"Damnu orth a veehone bradagh! come Rosha. Not long-headed! troth it's a poor religion to depind on--an' I'll make a show of it yet, if I'm spared. Come, woman alive."

Honest Barney was the last but one who was honored by a hearing, though not the last by a score of those who expected it, and, sooth to say, the appearance of that one threw the whole proceedings into such exquisite ridicule, that we cannot resist the temptation of giving his claims and arguments a place among the rest. The convert in question was no other than our old friend Raymond-na-hattha, or Raymond of the hats; who, moved by the example of others, and only possessed of a dim notion of the cause that brought them together, came among them from that vague motive of action which prompts almost every creature like him to make one in a crowd, wherever it may assemble. The mind of poor Raymond was of a very anomalous character indeed; for his memory, which was wonderful, accumulated in one heterogeneous mass, all the incidents in which he had ever taken any part, and these were called out of the confusion, precisely as some chord of association happened to be struck in any conversation which he held. For this reason he sometimes uttered sentiments that would have come with more propriety from the lips of a philosopher than a fool, and again fell to the level of pure idiotism, so singular were his alternations from sense to nonsense. Lucre's porter, himself a wag, knew perfectly well what was going forward, and, indeed, took very considerable delight in the movement. When Raymond presented himself, the porter, to whom he was very well known, determined, for the joke's sake, that he should have the honor of an interview as well as the rest. Lucre, as we said, being but seldom at Castle Cumber, was ignorant of Raymond's person and character, and, indeed, we may add, that he stood in a position precisely similar with respect to almost every one of his own flock. When Raymond entered, then, he was addressed in much the same terms as the others.

"Well, friend, what is your business?--

"John, admit no more, and let the carriage come round--are you a convert also?"

"Yes, I am; what have you to give me?"

"A pure and peaceful religion, my friend."

"Where is it?"

"In this book--this is the Word of God, that preacheth peace and salvation to all."

"Has Val M'Clutchy this book?"

"Of course he has--it is not to be supposed that so able and staunch a friend of Protestantism, of the religion of the state, could be without this book, or ignorant of it."

Raymond put it tip to his nose, and after seeming to smell it, said, with a strong shudder, "how did you do this among you? How did you do it?--look at it--see, see, it's dripping wid blood--here's murder on this page, there's starvation on that--there's the blood-hounds huntin'--look, sir, look at the poor creature almost worn down, makin' his way to hide, but he can't; they have him, they have him--see how they drag him, as if he was, a--ay, drag, drag, he's yours now, he's yours--whip and scourge, whip and scourge--more blood, more blood--and this is it, this--don't you see it, sir, comin' down in drops when I hould it up that way!"

"My good friend, you are certainly in liquor--your language is that of a man strongly affected by drink."

"And this is it," Raymond proceeded; "look at this page, that's not the one the blood is on; no, no, there's nothing here but madness. Ah!" said he, lowering his voice to a tone of deep compassion, "sure she's mad; they killed Hugh O'Began, and they killed the two sons, and then she went mad.--So, you see, there it is now--on that page there's blood, and, on this one,--with the big letter on it, there's madness. Then agin comes the Turnin' out. How would you like to walk three long, dreary miles, in sleet, and frost, and snow, havin' no house to go to--wid thin breeches to your bottom, an' maybe a hole in them--widout shoe or stockin' on your hooves--wid a couple of shiverin', half starved, sick childre, tied by an ould praskeen to your back, an' you sinkin' wid hunger all the time?--ay, and the tail o' your old coat blown up behind every minute, like a sparrow before the wind!--Eh, how would you like it?"

Lucre still stuck to the hypothesis of liquor, and accordingly went and rang the porter's bell, who immediately appeared.

"John," said his master, "I desire you will immediately show this man out--he is so scandalously affected with liquor, that he knows not the purport of his own language."

John approached his master with a face of awful tenor:--"for God's sake, sir," said he, "don't say a word that might cross him, sure he's the great madman, Raymond-na-hattha. Just sit still, and let him take his own way, and he'll do no harm in life; appear to listen to him, and he'll be like a child--but, if you go to harshness, he'd tear you, and me, and all that's in the house, into minced meat."

Once more did Lucre's countenance lose its accustomed hue; but, on this occasion, it assumed the color of a duck egg, or something between a bad white and a bad blue; "my good friend," said he, "will you please to take a seat--John, stay in the room." This he said in a whisper.

"There," proceeded Raymond, who had been busily engaged in examining the pages of the Bible, "there is the page where that's on--the puttin' out in the clouds and storm of heaven--there it is on that page. Look at the ould man and the ould woman there--see them tremblin'. Don't cry--don't cry; but they are--see the widow there wid her orphans--there's a sick boy in that house, and a poor sick girl in that other house--see, they're all cryin'--all cryin'--for they must go out, and on sich a day! All that, now, is upon these two other pages, bekaise, you see, no one page would hould all that. But see here--here's a page wid only one side of it covered--let vis see what's on it. Oh, ay--here's the poor craythur's childre, wid the poor father and the poor mother; but they have the one cow to give milk to moisten their bit. Ha--ha--look again, there she goes off to the pound! Don't cry, poor helpless crathers; but how can you help cryin' when your poor mother's cryin'. That's a bitther thing, too, and it's on this page--see--that--that--that's it I've between my fingers--look at it--'how wet it is wid the poor craythur's tears; but there's no blood here--no, no--nothing but tears. Oh, here--see here--a page as big as the rest, bat wid nothing on it. Ay, I know that--that's an empty farm that nobody dare take, or woe be to them. But here--I seen him "--here he shuddered strongly--"I seen him! His father and mother were both standing undher him--that was the worst of all. It's in this page. He was only one-and-twenty, and the eyes he had; but how did it happen, that although they hanged him, every one loved him? I seen his father and the poor mother looking up to the gallows where he stood, and then she fainted, and she then got sick, and poor ould Brian has nobody now but himself; and all that's on this page." Here poor Raymond shed tears, so completely was he overpowered by the force of his own imaginings. He again proceeded--"And the poor white-headed son. What wouldn't the poor mother give to have his white head to look at? but he will never waken--he will never waken more. What's the name o' this book?" he inquired of Mr. Lucre.

"My excellent and most intelligent friend," replied that gentleman, in atone of meekness and humility that would have shamed an apostle; "my most interesting friend, the name of that book in the Bible."

"The Bible! oh yes; but am I doin' it right?" he inquired; "am I puttin' the explanation to it as I ought? Sure they all oxplain it, and it's only fair that Raymond should show his larnin' as well as any of them. Let us see, then--murdher and bloodshed, hangin' and starvin', huntin', purshuin, whippin', cowld and nakedness, hunger and sickness, death and then madness, and then death agin, and then damnation! Did I explain it?"

"Perfectly, my friend--nothing can do better."

"Well, then, think of it; but these aren't my explanations--but I know who puts them to that bad book! Don't they take all I said out of it? They do; and, sure, don't you see the poor people's blood, and tears, and everything upon it; sure all I said is in it. Here," he exclaimed, shuddering, "take it away, or may be it'll make me as wicked as the rest of you. But, after all, maybe it's not the fault of the book, but of the people." It would indeed be difficult to find a more frightful comment upon the crimes and atrocities which have been perpetrated in this divided country, in the name, and under the character of religion, than that which issued, with a kind of methodical incoherency, from the lips of Raymond-na-hattha. When he had concluded, Mr. Lucre, having first wiped the big drops of perspiration from his forehead, politely asked him if there was anything he could do for him.

"Oh, ay," said he; "but first bring me a lump of good mate, and a quart of portlier."

"You shall have it, my excellent friend. John, ring the bell. You are a very interesting person, Mr.--Mr.--

"Raymond-na-hattha, sir."

"Mr. Raiment--very interesting, indeed. (Good God! am I to run the risk of being-strangled in my own house by a madman!) Oh--here, Alick; bring up some cold meat and a bottle of porter. Anything to make you comfortable, my good sir."

"I only want to see if all's right, sir," said Raymond, "and I'll tell you by and by." This was followed by a look of most pitiable distress from Lucre to his servant, John.

Raymond no sooner saw the cold beef and bread laid down, together with a bottle of porter, than he commenced an exhibition, which first, awoke Mr. Lucre's astonishment, next his admiration, and lastly his envy. Raymond's performance, however, was of that rare description which loses by too frequent practice, and is only seen to advantage when the opportunities for exhibition are few. Three mortal pounds having at length disappeared, together with the greater part of a quartern loaf, and two bottles of porter, for Raymond had made bold to call for a second, he now wiped his mouth with the cuff of his coat first, and afterwards, by way of a more delicate touch, with the gathered palm of his hand; then, looking at Mr. Lucre, who sat perspiring with terror in his gorgeous easy chair, our readers may judge of the ease it just then communicated to that reverend gentleman, when he said, "It's all right enough, sir."

"I'm delighted to hear it," replied Mr. Lucre, applying the sudariolum once more with a very nervous and quivering hand to his forehead:

"Is there anything else in which I can serve you, my good sir?"

"Yes, there is--all's right, I've now made the thrial, and it will do--I want to borrow the loan of your religion till the new praties comes in."

"You shall have it, my worthy sir--you shall have it, with very great pleasure."

"The raison why I came to you for it," said Raymond, who, evidently in this joke, had been put up by some one, "was bekaise I was tould that it's as good as new with you--'seldom used lasts long,' you know--but, such as it is, I'll borry it for--ah, there now, that's one; all right, all right," pointing to the fragments of the meat and bread--"I wouldn't ax betther; so, till the praties comes in, mind I'll take care of it; and, if I don't bring it back safe, I'll bring you a betther one in it's place." He then nodded familiarly to Mr. Lucre, and left the house. The latter felt as if he breathed new life once more, but he could not so readily pardon the man for admitting him.

"What is the reason, sir," he asked, his face reddening, "that you suffered that formidable madman to get into the house?"

"Why, sir," replied the porter, "when I opened the door, he shot in like a bolt; and, as for preventing him after that, if I had attempted it, he'd have had me in fragments long ago. When he's not opposed, sir, or crossed, he's quiet as a lamb, and wouldn't hurt a child; but, if he's vexed, and won't get his own way, why ten men wouldn't stand him."

"Take care that he shall never be admitted here again," said his master; "I really am quite disturbed and nervous by his conduct and language, which are perfectly unintelligible. Indeed I am absolutely unwell--the shock was awful, and to occur on such a day, too--I fear my appetite will be very much affected by it--a circumstance which would be distressing beyond belief. Stop--perhaps it is not yet too late--ask Francis is the venison down, and, if not, desire him not to dress it to-day--I am out of appetite, say."

John went, and in a couple of minutes returned, "Francis says it's down, sir, for some time," replied the man, "and that it must be dressed to-day, otherwise it will be spoiled."

"And this is owing to you, you scoundrel," said his master in a rage, "owing to your neglect and carlessness--but there is no placing dependence upon one of you. See, you rascal, the position in which I am--here is a delicious haunch of venison for dinner, and now I am so much agitated and out of order that my appetite will be quite gone, and it will be eaten by others before my face, while I cannot touch it. For a very trifle I would this moment discharge you from my service, and without a character too."

"I am very sorry, sir, but the truth--"

"Begone, you scoundrel, and leave the room, or I shall use the horse-whip to you."

John disappeared, and this great and zealous prop of Protestantism walked to and fro his study, almost gnashing his teeth from the apprehension of not having an appetite for the haunch of venison. _

Read next: Chapter 13. Darby's Brief Retirement From Public Life

Read previous: Chapter 11. Darby And Solomon At Prayer

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