Chapter 22. Castle Cumber Grand Jury Room

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_ CHAPTER XXII. Castle Cumber Grand Jury Room

--A Concientious Hangman--Way to a Glebe House of More Importance than the Way to Heaven--Irish Method of Dispensing Justice--Short Debate on the Spy System--Genealogical Memoranda--Patriotic Presentments--A Riverless Bridge

We pass now, however, to the Grand Jury Room of the county, and truly as a subordinate tribunal for aiding the administration of justice, it was, at the time of which we write, one of the most anomalous exhibitions that could be witnessed. It was a long room, about thirty-six or forty feet in length, by thirty, with a fire-place at each end, and one or two at the sides. Above the chimney-piece was an oil painting of William the Third, together with a small bronze equestrian statue of the same prince, and another of George the Third. There were some other portraits of past and present jurors, presented by themselves or their friends. But there was certainly one which we cannot omit, although by whom presented, or on what occasion, we are wholly unable to inform the reader. We are inclined to think it must have been placed there by some satirical wag, who wished to ridicule the extent to which mere royalty was carried in those days, and the warmth of admiration with which its most besotted manifestations were received. The picture in question was the portrait of a pious hangman, who was too conscientious to hang any one but a Papist. They called him Jerry Giles; a little squat fellow, with a face like a triangle, a broken nose, and a pair of misplaced or ill-matched eye-brows, one of them being nearly an inch higher up the forehead than the other. Jerry, it seems, had his own opinions, one of which was, that there existed no law in the constitution for hanging a Protestant. He said that if he were to hang a Protestant felon, he would be forced to consider it in his conscience only another name for suicide; and that, with a blessing, he would string up none but such vile wretches as were out of the pale of the constitution, and consequently not entitled to any political grace or salvation whatever. And, indeed, upon the principles of the day, the portrait of Jerry was nearly as well entitled to be hung among the grand jurors as that of any one there.

Seated about a long table, covered with green baize, were a number of men, with papers before them; whilst grouped in different parts of the room were the younger persons, amusing themselves by the accidents of the last meet--if it happened to be the hunting season--or the last duel, or the last female victim to the corruption and profligacy of some of those from whom, the people were to expect justice, and their families protection. Others were whistling or humming some favorite air; and one of them, a poet, was reading a squib which he had prepared for the forthcoming election.

"Deaker, come here," said the Foreman, "you are up to everything. Here is Lucre, the parson, wants to have a presentment for a new line of road running through his glebe, or to his glebe--for I suppose it is the same thing."

"Well," replied Deaker, "and let him have it. Isn't he as well entitled to a job as any of us? What the devil--why not put a few feathers in his nest, man? The county has a broad back."

"His nest is better feathered than he deserves. He has two enormous livings, a good private fortune, and now, indeed, he must come to saddle himself upon the county in the shape of a job."

"He has rendered good service, Mr. Hartley," replied another of them; "good service to the government, sir, with every respect for your wonderful liberality and honesty."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Hartley, sternly; "do you throw out any imputation against my honor or my honesty?"

"Oh, Lord, no--by no means; I have no relish at all for your cold lead, Mr. Hartley--only that I don't think you stand the best chance in the world of being returned for Castle Cumber, sir--that is all."

"Hartley," asked another, with a loud laugh, "is it true that your cousin, on bringing a message to young Phil M'Clutchy, pulled his nose, and kicked him a posteriore round the room?"

"Ask his father, Dick," said Hartley, smiling; "I have heard he was present, and, of course, he knows best."

"I say, Vulture," inquired the other, "is it true?"

"Ay," returned old Deaker, "as true as the nose on your face. That precious Phil, was a cowardly whelp all his life--so was his father. D--n you, sirra; where did you get your cowardice? I'm sure it was not from me; that is if you be mine, which is a rather problematical circumstance; for I take it you are as likely to be the descent of some rascally turnkey or hatchman, and be hanged to you, as mine."

"Is it true, Val," persisted the former querist, "that young Hartley pulled Phil's nose?"

"We have come here for other purposes, Dick," said Val. "Certainly Phil did not wish to strike the young man in his own house, and had more sense than to violate the peace in the presence of a magistrate, and that magistrate his own father."

"How the devil did he put his comether on M'Loughlin's pretty daughter, Val?" asked another from a different part of the room.

"That," said Deaker, "is the only spirited thing I ever knew him to manage. Is it true, Val, that he was found in her bedroom?"

"It is certainly true," replied Val, with a smile of peculiar meaning; "and with her own consent too."

"That's false, Val," replied Hartley; "and you know it. That he was in her room for a couple of minutes is true; but that he was there for any purpose prejudicial to her honor, that is, with her own consent, is false. The whole thing was a cowardly trick on the part of your son, concocted by the aid of old Poll Doolin, for the purpose of injuring the girl's reputation."

"Ay," said old Deaker, "I dare say you are right, Hartley, if Poll Doolin was in it; but, d--n her, she's dangerous, even at a distance, if all that's said of her be true. I say, Spavin"--this was a nickname given to the Foreman, in consequence of a slight halt or lameness for which he was remarkable--"are we not to find bills for something, against Harman, who is about to be married to that wench."

"What," said Hartley, laughing, "is it on that account? I think if you said so Deaker, you'd not be very far from the truth."

"He murdered one of my fellows," said M'Clutchy, "one of the staunchest Protestants and loyalest men that ever was in the country; and, what is more, he did it in cold blood."

"You were not present," said Hartley, "and consequently have no right to attempt to prejudice the minds of the jury against him."

"We shall find the bills for all that," said Spavin, "the interference of such fellows in the execution of the laws must be put a stop to."

"You are right, Spavin," said Sir William; "if we can't hang him, let us send him across. He had no business to touch the hair of a blood-hound's head. Gad, Hartley, this is pretty justice, isn't it? why didn't the disloyal rascal stand and let himself be shot in obedience to the spirit of the constitution, rather than molest a blood-hound. I tell you, my good friends, that this method of managing things will bring about its own remedy yet."

"Oh, Sir William, you and Hartley would run well in a chaise together--both always for the rebels."

"Whom do you call the rebels?"

"Why the Papists, to be sure."

"No more rebels, Moore, than you are," replied Hartley--"I find a Papist as good as another man, if he's as well and as fairly treated."

"Irwin," said a large gouty man, whose legs were wrapped in flannel, "of course you've heard of Sir William's method of dispensing justice. Will that too, sir, find its own remedy--eh? ha, ha, ha; d------e, it's the most novel thing going."

"No--how is it, Anderson?"

"Why, if two neighbors chance to fall out, or have a quarrel, and if it happens also that they come to take the law of one another, as they call it, what does the worthy baronet do, do you imagine? 'Well, my good fellow,' proceeds our justice, 'you want to take the law of this man?'

"'Yes, your honor.'

"'And you want to take the law of him,' addressing the other.

"'I do, the rascal.'

"'Very well, my good friends, if you wish to get law you have come to the wrong shop for it--we deal in nothing but justice here: so if you prefer justice to law, you shall have it.'

"'Whichever your honor thinks is best for us.'

"'Very well, then; are you able to fight this man?'

"'Ha, ha, is it there you are, Sir William?' says the fellow, brightening, 'able is it! ay, and willing too.'

"'And,' says the baronet, addressing the other again, 'are you a match for him, do you think?'

"'Say no more, Sir William; only it was surely the Lord put the words into your mouth.'

"'But,' proceeds Sir W., 'mark me, if you don't both abide by this battle--if either of you, no matter which is beaten, shall attempt to get law elsewhere, upon my honor and soul, I will prosecute you both.' The justice being well furnished with a sheaf of cudgels for the purpose, selects one for each, brings them quietly to the stable yard where he lets them fight it out, each having first solemnly promised to abide the result."

"Is that true, baronet?"

"Perfectly true," replied Sir William; "but I fear that like some of your wise and impartial proceedings here, it will soon work its own cure. The business has increased so damnably--this dispensation of justice I mean--on my hands, that my stable yard resembles a fives court rather than anything else I know. The method harmonizes with their habits so beautifully, that if there is an angry word between them it is only 'd--n you, are you for Sir W.?' 'Yes, you villain step out.' They accordingly come, and as they touch their hats, I ask, well, my good fellows, what do you want now? 'Not law Sir William, but justice--the cudgels, plase your honor.' In the beginning I was in the habit of making them relate the cause of quarrel first, and then fight it out afterwards, but experience soon taught me that all this was a mere waste of time. In general now, I pass all that by; the complainants have their comfortable fight, as they say, and go home perfectly satisfied."

"Here, you secretary, what the devil are you at there? Why d-----e, it wasn't to toss half crowns with that rascal of a treasurer you came here, sir; let us get through the business, and then you may both toss off to the devil, where you'll go at last."

"Why," said the secretary, "I placed the papers all arranged in proper order before you."

"Yes, sir; I suppose you did; but who the devil can keep anything or anybody in order, in such a Babel as this? Beevor, I'll thank you to postpone the singing of your squib for the election; or take to the street when our business is over, and give it to the crowd."

"You be d----d, Spavin," replied Beevor;

"I'll finish it, if the devil was at the back door."

"Darcy," said Deaker, addressing a thin, red-faced man beside him, "I saw a pretty bit of goods in Castle Cumber market on Thursday."

"Why, Deaker," replied the other, "is it possible that with one foot and more than half your body in the grave, and your shadow in h--l, you sinner, you have not yet given up your profligacy."

"Eat, drink, and be merry, Tom, for tomorrow we die; but about this pretty bit of goods--I tried to price her, but it wouldn't do; and when I pressed hard, what do you think of the little tit, but put herself under the protection of old Priest Roche, and told him I had insulted her."

"Who is she, Deaker?" inquired a young fellow with a good deal of libertine interest.

"Ah, Bob," replied Deaker, laughing; "there you are, one of the holy triad. Here, Baronet--did you ever hear what Mad Jolly-block, their father, the drinking parson of Mount Carnal, as some one christened his residence, said of his three sons?--and that chap there's one of them."

"No; let us hear it."

"'Dan,' said the father, speaking of the eldest, 'would eat the devil; Jack,' the second, 'would drink the devil; and Bob, this chap here, 'would both eat and drink him, in the first, place, and outwit him afterwards.' That's Bob, the youngest--he there with a lip like a dropsical sausage. He has sent him here to pick up a little honesty, and much loyalty."

"And a great deal of morality," replied Bob, laughing, "from Deaker the virtuous."

"No, no," replied Deaker; "you need never leave your Reverend father's wing for that."

"Deaker, do you fleece the poor as much as ever?" replied Bob.

"Ah, you are another sweet Agent, as times go. Do you touch them at the renewals as usual?"

"Egad, Bob, I was very good at that; but there's an unmatrimonial son of mine, Val the Vulture, there, and d--me, when I look back upon my life, and compare it with his, it's enough to make me repent of my humanity, to think of the opportunities I have neglected."

"Gentlemen," observed Hartley, "it strikes me, no matter what the multiplicity of other virtues we possess, there is somehow nothing like a superabundance of shame among us; we appear to glory in our vices."

"Why confound it, Hartley," replied Deaker, "where's the use of assuming what we do not and cannot feel? Would you have me preach honesty, who am as d----d a rogue as there is here? Indeed, with the exception of that whelp of mine, I believe the greatest--but that fellow's my master."

"Nobody can quarrel with your candor, Deaker, because it's all at your own expense," said the treasurer.

"Egad, and here it is at yours, Gilburne; with the exception always of myself and my son, you are the deepest rogue here--and I am very much afraid that your securities will be of my opinion when it is too late." He laughed heartily at this; and then, as usual, took to whistling his favorite tune of the Boyne Water.

Our readers may perceive that there was among them an open, hardy scorn not only of all shame, but of the very forms of common decency and self-respect. The feelings, the habits, the practices, the distribution of jobs and of jobbings, the exercise of petty authority, party spirit, and personal resentment, all went the same way, and took the same bent; because, in point of fact, there was in this little assembly of village tyrants, no such thing as an opposition--for three or four--were nothing--no balance of feeling--no division of opinion--and consequently no check upon the double profligacy of practice and principle, which went forward under circumstances where there existed a complete sense of security, and an utter absence of all responsibility.

"Gentlemen, we are losing a great deal of time unnecessarily," observed M'Clutchy, "let us first get through the business, and afterwards we will be more at leisure for this trifling. The bills for Harman are not yet found."

"Not found," replied Spavin, "why how soft you are, Val."

"Why they are not," reiterated Val.

"And why are they not?"

"Ask Counsellor Browbeater, the hard-faced barrister, that has the right of Black Trot in the Castle, and he will tell you."

"We all know that very well, Val, no thanks to your squeamishness," observed Deaker; "the truth is, he did not wish to let him out for a reason he has," he added, winking at the rest.

"Let us hear the calendar," said Hartley, "and got through the business as quickly as we can, secretary."

"Is that Browbeater," asked Sir William, "who was engaged in the spy system a little before I returned from England--a d----d scandalous transaction."

"The spy system, Sir William, is a very useful one to government," replied Val, "and they would be devilish fools if they did not encourage it."

"That may be your opinion, Mr. M'Clutchy," said Sir William, "and your practice, for aught I know; but, permit me to say, that it is not the opinion of a gentleman, a man of honor, nor of any honest man, however humble."

"I perfectly agree with you, Sir William," said Hartley, "and I despise the government which can stoop to such discreditable treachery, for it is nothing else. The government that could adopt such a tool as this Browbeater, would not scruple to violate the sanctity either of private life or public confidence, if it suited their interest--nay, I question whether they would not be guilty of a felony itself, and open the very letters in the post-office, which are placed there under the sacred seal of public faith. However, never mind; proceed with the calendar."

"Here is the case of some of your wreckers, M'Clutchy, charged here with illegally, maliciously, and violently pulling down several houses in the village of Crockaniska--assaulting and maltreating the unoffending inhabitants."

"Halt there a moment," said Val; "rebels, every man of the said inhabitants, which I can prove. My men, who are remarkable for their Protestantism and loyalty, went upon private information--"

"More of the spy system," said Hartley, smiling.

"Mr. Hartley, you may smile, but truth is truth," replied Val; "we had private information that they had arms and rebellious papers, and the latter we have got under the thatch of their cabins."

"Private information!--still more of the spy system," repeated Hartley, smiling again.

"But not the arms?" asked Sir William.

"No, Sir William, not the arms; the rebels were too quick for us there."

"Then, they expected you it seems," observed Hartley; "and, if so, when taking away the arms, I am anxious to know why they should have been such fools as to leave the papers behind them."

"I am not here to account for their conduct, sir," replied Val, "but to state the facts as they occurred--they may, for instance, not have had time to bring them. It is not a month, for instance, since my fellows in Still hunting--and talking of that, Mr. Hartley, will you allow me to send you a couple of kegs of such stuff as is not to be had on every hill head; I offer it from pure good will, for I really regret that there should be any want of cordiality between our families."

"Our families," asked Hartley, with a look of surprise and indignation, "our families, sir! what do you mean?"

"Oh, damn it, Hartley, don't explode; I mean nothing offensive between us--then, dropping the families," said Val, fawningly, for he saw the other's nostril begin to dilate--

"And, you cowardly hound, why should you drop the families," inquired Deaker, taking fire; "do you forget, sirra, who your father was?"

"And do you forget, sirra," resumed Hartley, "who your mother is?"

"Damn it," replied Val, still with fawning good-humor, "how am I accountable for their conduct before I had existence? I neither made them as they were, nor as they are."

"Then have the modesty," said Hartley, "to forbear any allusion to them, especially in the way of comparison."

"For one of them, Hartley, I reply," said Deaker, "that he is of a better family than yourself; and don't imagine, my worthy fellow, that however you may browbeat others, you will be permitted to bully or browbeat me. I say, sir, there is better blood in my veins than ever ran through yours."

"I had no intention of bullying or browbeating any man here," replied Hartley, "much less one whose age and virtues must prevent him--"

"Not from meeting you like a man," said Deaker; "old as I am, I can yet stand my ground, or if not, d--n me, I can tie a stake to my bottom, and you may take that as a proof that I won't run away."

"Nobody suspects you for that," said the other. "Out of the long catalogue of human virtues, courage is the only one loft you, or indeed, you ever had--unless, indeed, it be the shameless and diabolical honesty of glorying in your own vices."

"Why, Hartley!" replied Deaker, "you forget, that you had more vices, and,'hammers, too, in your family, and more brass, than ever I or mine could' boast of. If the memory of that successful old tinker, your grandfather, had not passed out of your mind, you would make no allusion to vices or screws, and take care, my good hot-brained young fellow, that you don't die in your family trade, and come to the pully yet."

Hartley, who was hasty, but exceedingly good-natured, although certainly a noted duelist, now burst out into a hearty laugh, as did most of the rest.

"Deaker," said he, "there is no use in being angry with you, nor in being ashamed that my fortune was created by industry and honesty, for both of which virtues I have reason heartily to thank my good old grandfather, the hardware man, as you have for thanking the sire of your father, the worthy tailor, who had the honor of being appointed one of Peg Nicholson's knights, ha, ha, ha!"

The laughter now became general and excessive; but not one of them enjoyed, or seemed at least, to enjoy it with more good-humor than Val; who, indeed, was never known to exhibit any want of temper to his equals during his life.

"Well," said he, "ha, ha, ha! now that that breeze has blown over--about the poteen, Hartley?"

"Thanks, Val; but no poteen, if you please."

"Then, gentlemen," said Val, "to resume business; I was alluding to the seizure of a Still about a month ago near Drum Dhu, where the parties just had time to secure the Still itself, but were forced to leave the head and worm behind them; now, that I give as a fair illustration of our getting the papers, and missing the arms. Besides," said he, in a wheedling and confidential tone, addressed to a clique of his friends, the jobbers, whom he joined at the lower end of the room, "you are all aware that my fellows are staunch Orangemen, every one of them, and the government itself feels, for I have reason to know it, that it is neither politic or prudent to check the spirit which is now abroad among them; so far from that, I can tell you it is expected that we should stimulate and increase it, until the times change. The bills against these men must, therefore, be thrown out."

"I'll agree to that," said a leading man of his own party, "only on one condition. There are three of my own tenants, Papists to be sure, in for distilling poteen. Now, we must have them out, Val, for one good turn deserves another.

"But why?" inquired Val and his friends.

"Why, simply, because the poor fellows were distilling for myself," he replied; "all the apparatus were mine, and I can't think of allowing them to be transported for my own act."

"Very well, then a bargain be it," said Val, "so out they go."

Whilst every man was thus working, either for his friends or against his enemies, or not unfrequently both, Hartley, who, in point of fact, felt always anxious to do as much good as he could, addressed Sir William:

"Have you no friends in difficulty, Sir William, or who require your advocacy now? I see the jobbers are hard at work. Some working heaven and earth to wreak the vengeance of law upon their enemies; others quite as anxious to turn aside justice from their friends."

"Eh! what's that!" said Sir William, starting up; "come, Hartley, you are right; there are four of my tenants in for a fray--the M'Caffreys, and the poor devils stand no chance with such a jury as they will have. I hear them named below there--so let us join the jobbers as you say, and see if we cannot get the Bills thrown out."

"Very well," said Val, as they approached him, "the M'Caffreys go to trial."

"Sir William, excuse me," said Hartley; "will you allow me to interfere, in the first instance?"

"My dear fellow, certainly, with great pleasure, and I shall aid you as far as I can."

"Val," said Hartley, in that kind of familiar tone which he knew would go far with such a man as M'Clutchy, and which was in such accordance with his own natural good-humor--"Val, my good fellow, and the best man of business here, by the way, notwithstanding the poteen affair, I want you to stand my friend and also Sir William's here."

"How is that, Hartley?"

"There are four men in from the Mountain Bar, named M'Caffrey. Now we want to have the Bills against them ignored; and simply for a plain reason--at this season of the year any lengthy imprisonment would ruin them. It was a faction fight or something of that kind, and of course there is no feeling of a religious or party nature in it. Am I not right, Sir William?"

"Perfectly; the thing took place during my absence in England for the last few months. Had I been at home, the matter would have been peaceably decided in my own stable-yard."

"Yes," observed Val, "but it appears there was a man's life in danger."

"Yes, but, sir, his life is now out of danger."

"Well, but does not this," rejoined Val in his most serious mood, "look very like obstructing the course of justice?"

"Why, you d----d scoundrel," said the Baronet, "what, in nineteen cases out of twenty, is done at every assizes where matters connected with religion or politics are concerned, that ought not to be called obstructing the course of justice?"

"We shall return true Bills, Sir William and that is the only reply I have to make, except to thank you for your courtesy."

"Mr. M'Clutchy," said Hartley, "I know your good sense and forbearance, both of which are so creditable to you. These poor fellows will be ruined, for both you and I know what kind of jury that is to try them."

"An honest jury, Mr. Hartley," said Mr, M'Clutchy, who was now beginning to feel a little of his power--"an honest jury, Mr. Hartley."

"I give you leave to say so, Val; but, in the meantime, I will accept one favor from you, if you grant me two."

"How is that sir?" asked Val.

"Send me that poteen you spoke of, and ignore the Bills against these M'Caffreys."

"No, sir," replied Val, looking with his own peculiar beetle-browed smile at Sir William, "I shall not; for by G--, we will find true Bills against the four M'Caffreys. We might do something for humanity, Mr. Hartley; but we are not to be made fools of before our own faces."

"I do not understand you," replied Hartley.

"He is nothing but a scoundrel, as I said," returned Sir William--"that is all; a low-born scoundrel; and it is a disgrace to see such a fellow's name upon any Grand Jury list."

"Hartley," replied Spavin, "we do not wish to refuse either Sir William or you in such a matter as this; but the fact is, M'Clutchy is right. This is at bottom a party matter--a political matter, and you know it is."

"No, sir; on my own part and on Sir William's I disclaim any such knowledge."

"You know, Hartley, you are canvassing the county."

"Yes, but what has that to do with these; men or their affairs?"

"What--why you know that if we ignore the Bills against them, they will be out and ready to vote for you at the forthcoming election."

Hartley looked at him with surprise but said nothing.

"Now," he proceeded, "I will tell you what we will do. If you and Sir William pledge your words, as men of honor, that you will not accept the votes of these men, the matter you wish shall be managed."

Sir William started to his feet.

"Great God," said he, "is it not monstrous that an oath of secrecy should bind us to conceal these inquiries?"

"It is monstrous, Sir William," replied his friend; "I do believe there is not such, a scene of shameless and hardened corruption on earth, as a Grand Jury Room at the present day."

This, however, they said rather aside to each other.

"No, sir," replied Hartley to the last proposal, "neither I nor Sir William shall enter into any such shameful compromise. I felt perfectly satisfied of the slight chance of justice which these poor men had, and will have from a jury so composed as theirs I know will be; and that was the reason why I did not hesitate to try, if I could, with any effect, save them from what I now perceive is designed for them--a political punishment independent of crime."

"Never mind," said Sir William, taking him aside, "never mind, Hartley; we will be able to defeat them yet. I shall send for the prosecuting parties; get them to withdraw proceedings, and immediately fight it out in my lawn or stable-yard."

After a great deal of similar squabbling and negotiation, the gentleman at length got through the criminal calendar for the county, and with still more startling honesty and disinterestedness, entered upon the transactions of its fiscal business. Beaker, whenever he took no part in the discussions that accompanied the settlement of each question, sat reading a newspaper to the air of the Boyne Water, which he whistled from habit in a low manner that was scarcely audible, unless to some one who felt anxious to derive amusement, as several did, from the originality of the performance.

"Gentlemen," said the secretary, "here is a list of the presentments. The first is--For two miles and a quarter of a new road, running from George Ganderwell's house at the Crooked Commons, out along Pat Donnellan's little farm of the Stripe, through which it runs longitudinally; then across Jemmy league's meadow, over the Muffin Burn, then through widow Doran's garden, bisecting Darby M'Lorrinan's three acre field, afterwards entering the Glebe, and passing close to the lodge of the Rev. Phineas Lucre's avenue."

"Is there any opposition to this?" inquired the chairman.

"Read the next," said M'Clutchy, "and then we shall be the better able to see."

No. 2. "For four miles of road, commencing at the Ban Ard river, which it crosses, running through Frank Fagan's croft, along Rogues Town, over Tom Magill's Long-shot meadow, across the Sally Slums, up Davy Aiken's Misery-meerin, by Parra Rakkan's haggard, up the Dumb Hill, into Lucky Lavery's Patch, and from that right ahead to Constitution Cottage, the residence of Valentine M'Clutchy, Esq., within two hundred yards of which it joins the high road to Castle Cumber."

"Now the question is," said Val, "can both these be passed during this term?"

"Val," replied young Jollyblock, "if ever a man was afflicted with modesty and disinterestedness you are he; and well becomes me the parson, too, in his share of the job; but it's all right, gentlemen. Work away, I Say. The Parson-magistrate, and the Agent-grand-juror have set us an excellent example--ha---In.--ha! Deaker, drop whistling the Boyne Water there, and see what's going on here."

"No," said Deaker, "there never was such air composed as the Boyne Water; and my only request is, that I may die whistling it. Damn it, Jollyblock, unless a man is a good Protestant he's bad for everything else."

"But how the devil Deaker, can you call yourself a good Protestant, when you believe in nothing?"

"Why," said Deaker, "I believe that a certain set of political opinions are necessary for our safety and welfare in this world; and, I believe, that these are to be found in the Church, and that it is good Protestantism to abide by them, yes, and by the Church too, so long as she teaches nothing but politics, as she does, and acts up to them."

"And does your faith stop there?"

"How could it go farther with the lives of such men as your father and Lucre staring me in the face? Precept, Dick, is of little value when example is against it. For instance, where's the use of men's preaching up piety and religion, when their own conduct is a libel upon their doctrine? Suppose, now, there are two roads--and 'tis said there are: No. 1, leading to an imaginary region, placed above; No. 2, to another imaginary region, placed below--very good; the parson says to jon and to me, do so and so, and take the No. 1 road; but, in the meantime, he does himself the very reverse of this so and so, and takes the No. 2 road. Now, which are we to respect most, his advice or his example?"

"Let us go on," said Spavin, "perhaps there are others whose claims are as modest and disinterested; we shan't say anything about being as well founded. You secretary fellow, read away."

"Before you go any farther," said a droll-looking person named M'Small, "you must pass me a bridge over Lumlay's Leap. Our party voted you about thirty miles of roads to repair thoroughly, and you know that although you only veneered them, we said nothing."

"But," replied Val, "who ever heard of a bridge without water; and I know there's not a stream within three miles of you."

"Never mind that," replied M'Small, "let me have the bridge first, and we'll see what can be done about the water afterwards. If God in his mercy would send a wet winter next season, who knows but we might present for a new river at the January assizes."

"You must have it," said Deaker, "give M'Small the bridge, and, as he says, we'll see afterwards what can be done for a river for it."

"M'Small," said Hartley, "what if you'd get a presentment for a couple of mountain water spouts; who knows but it might answer the purpose?"

"I'm afraid," said M'Small, who, by the way, was a good deal of a humorist, "I fear, Hartley, that the jurisdiction of the grand panel would scarcely reach so high. In the meantime I shall think of it."

The bridge, however, was not only passed, but built, and actually stands to this day, an undeniable monument of the frugality and honesty of grand jurors, and the affection which they were then capable of bearing to each other, when their interests happened to be at stake, which was just four times in the year.

In the meantime, the tumultuous battle of jobs in all its noise, recrimination, and jangle of conflicting interests, and incredible selfishness commenced. There were strong mutual objections to pass the roads to Mr. Lucre and M'Clutehy, and a regular conflict between their respective partisans accordingly took place. M'Clutchy's party were absolutely shocked at the grossness and impiety of such a man as Mr. Lucre, a person of such great wealth, an absentee, a nonresident-rector, dipping his hand in the affairs of the county for the sake of a job.

His party, for he had a strong one, dwelt upon his rights as a civil officer, a magistrate, and justice of quorum--upon his sterling principles as a loyal Protestant, who had rendered very important services to the Church and the government. It was such as he, they said, who supported the true dignity and respectability of Protestantism, and it would be a scandal to refuse him a road to his glebe. Deaker groaned several times during this eulogium, and repeated his favorite text--let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die; but whether its application was designed for Lucre or himself, was not very easy--perhaps we should rather say difficult to determine.

"That is all very true," replied Val's party; "but in the meantime, it would be quite as creditable for him to pay some attention to the spiritual interests of his parish, and the condition of its tottering old church, as to be mulcting the county for a job."

"What can you know about his church," inquired Spavin, "who have never been seen in it, except on last Easter Monday, when you were candidate for the church wardenship? M'Clutehy," he added, "we all know you are a Protestant of your father's color; it's the best Protestantism that puts most into your pocket."

"And on what other principle is Lucre himself now proceeding, or has ever proceeded?" replied Val's friends--for Val himself had always a wholesome repugnance to personal discussion.

In fact, one would have imagined, on hearing Val's party declaiming against the selfishness of Lucre, that they themselves entertained a most virtuous horror against jobs and corruptions of all kinds, and had within them an actual bona fide regard for religion, in all its purity, spiritual beauty, and truth; whilst on the contrary, the Lucreites, who certainly had the worst cause, seemed to think that M'Clutchy, in preferring his own corruption to that of the parson, was guilty of a complete desertion of that sterling and mutually concessive Protestant feeling which they considered to constitute its highest principle, and absolutely to merge into the manifestation of something inimical to a Protestant government.

At length it was suggested by him of the bridge, that in order to meet the wishes of two such excellent men, and such admirable representatives of pure Protestant virtue and spirit, it would be best to pass both presentments on the present occasion, and drop or postpone some of the minor ones until next term--a suggestion which was eagerly received by both parties, inasmuch as it satisfied the rapacity of each, without giving a victory to either. This, however, was far from terminating either the business or the debates that arose out of the minor conflicting interests of the jurors. A good deal of hanging fire there was also, but given and returned in a better spirit, between. Val's friends and Lucre's.

"Why doesn't Lucre," said the former, "afford us a little more of his company in the parish?"

"Ah," replied the Lucreites, "we suppose if he gave you more of his venison and claret, he would experience less of your opposition."

"I really am afraid to go to church," said Val, who, now that the storm had passed, resumed his usual insinuating habit of light sarcasm: "I am afraid to go, lest the crazy old church, which really, between ourselves--I speak of course in a friendly way now--is in a most shameful and dangerous state, should fall upon me."

"I did not think," said M'Small, "that you had such a strong sense of your own deserts left, Val!--I have some hopes of you yet."

"Ah," said Val, "I fear that on your way to heaven, if you meet a difficulty, you will not be likely to find a grand jury to build a bridge for you across it."

"I perfectly agree with you," replied M'Small, "the face of a grand juror will be a novel sight in that direction."

"And in the other direction," observed Hartley, "no bridges will be wanted."

"Why so?" said M'Small.

"Because," he replied, "there will be such an absence of water as will render them unnecessary."

"Ay," retorted another, "but as there will be plenty of grand jurors we may do then as we did now, build the bridge without the water, and trouble ourselves no further with the consequences."

After much more conversation, partly on business, and partly on desultory topics, the quarrellings, and bickerings, and all the noisy enmities of that corrupt little world that is contained within--we should rather say, that was contained within the walls of a grand jury room, ceased; and, with the exception of one or two small matters of no consequence, everything was settled, but not so as to give general satisfaction; for there still remained a considerable number of grumblers, whose objects had been either completely lost in greater corruption, or set aside for the present.

"Here's another matter," said Spavin, "which we had better settle at once. A man here named O'Drive--Darby O'Drive--is to be appointed to the under gaolership--he is strongly recommended by Mr. Lucre, as a man that has renounced Popery."

"That's enough, Spavin," said Hartley, "that, I suppose, comprises all the virtues necessary for an under gaoler, at all events."

"You know him, M'Clutchy," said one or two of them.

"He'll make a good under gaoler," replied Val, "as there will be in Europe. Appoint him, gentlemen; you will get no such man."

"And that is just," said Sir William aside to Hartley, "all that Val's recommendation is good for."

And thus closed as much as we feel necessary to describe of that extraordinary scene--a grand jury room in the year 1804, or thereabouts. _

Read next: Chapter 23. A Rent Day

Read previous: Chapter 21. Darby's Piety Rewarded

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