If a I E) RARY OF THE UNIVERSITY Of ILLINOIS 8^3 L94r 1837 V.I ' The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN NOV 2 2 N0V18 t577 197? L161 — O-1096 RORY O'MORE: A NATIONAL ROMANCE. SAMUEL LOVER, Esq. IN THREE VOLUMES. ' There *s luck in odd numbers,' says Rory O'AIore.' FIFTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AITHOR. VOL. L LONDON: RICHARD BExNTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 183T. I ON DON : PRINTED BY SAMUEL BEVTLEV, Dorset Street, Fleet Street. ^^3 IS3 7 v./ LIST OF PLATES. VOL. I. Home (Frontispiece) The Schoolmaster Page 113 9 Molly and the Priest's dog The Tinker .... 53 272 A pleasant Situation 242 VOL. IL The domiciliary Visit (Frontispiece) Breaking it .... i A new Cure for Popery „ The Jollification .... 205 103 133 234 ^ Entering the Glen 262 ^ VOL. in. What once was Home (Frontispiece) \ The Hunt .... 189 35 '^ The Coast .... 46 ^^ Rory*s mistaken Piety ^ Farewell to the T^nd of the West 123 315 1 4 The Songs in this Work are all Copyright^ have been set to Music by the Author ^ and are published by J. Duff & Co. 65, Oxford Street, RORY O'MORE. CHAPTER I. THE COTTAGE OF RORY O'MORE, WITH SCENERY, MACHI- ^"ERY, DRESSES, AND DECORATIONS. In a retired district of the South of Ireland, near some wild hills and a romantic river, a small by-road led to a quiet spot, where, at the end of a little lane, or horeen, which was sheltered by some hazel-hedges, stood a cot- tage which in England would have been con- sidered a poor habitation, but in Ireland was absolutely comfortable, when contrasted with the wretched hovels that most of her pea- santry are doomed to dwell in. The walls were only built of mud — but then the door- VOL. I. B 2 RORY O'MORE. way and such windows as the cabin had were formed of cut stone, as was the chimney, which last convenience is of rare occurrence in Irish cabins, a hole in the roof generally serving in- stead. The windows were not glazed, it is true, but we must not expect too much gentility on this point ; and though the light may not be let in as much as it is the intention of such openings to do, yet if the wind be kept out the Irish peasant may be thankful. A piece of board— or, as Pat says, a wooden pane of glass — may occupy one square, while its neighbour may be brown paper, ornamented inside, perhaps, with a ballad setting forth how " A sailor coorted a farmer's daughther That lived convaynient to the Isle of Man," or, maybe, with a print of Saint Patrick banish- ing the sarpents — or the Virgin Mary in flaring colours, that one might take for " The king's daughther a come to town, With a red petticoat and a green gownd." But though the windows were not glazed, and there was not a boarded floor in the house, yet it was a snug cottage. Its earthen floors RORY o'MORE. $ were clean and dry, its thatched roof was sound: the dresser in the principal room was well furnished with delf ; there were two or three chairs and a good many three-legged stools — a spinning-wheel, that sure sign of peace and good conduct — more than one iron pot — more than one bed, and one of those four- posted, with printed calico curtains of a most resplendent pattern : there was a looking-glass, too, in the best bed-room, with only one cor- ner broken off and only three cracks in the middle ; and that further damage might not be done to this most valuable piece of furni- ture — most valuable I say, for there was a pretty girl in the house who wanted it every Sunday morning to see that her bonnet was put on becomingly before she went to chapel ; — that no further damage might be done, I say this inimitable looking-glass was imbedded in the wall with a frame-work of mortar round it, tastefully ornamented with cross-bars, done by the adventurous hand of Rory 0''More himself, who had a genius foj handling a B 2 4 RORY O'MORE. trowel. This came to him by inheritance, for his father had been a mason ; which accounts for the cut-stone doorway, windows, and chimney of the cottage, that Rory's father had built for himself. But when I say Rory had a genius for handling a trowel, I do not mean to say he followed the trade of his father — he did not, — it was a gift of nature which Rory left quite unencumbered by any trammels of art ; for as for line and rule, these were beneath Rory's consideration ; this the setting of the glass proved — for there was no attempt at either the perpendicular, the horizontal, or the plane; and from the last being wanting, the various portions of the glass presented different angles, so that it reflected a very distorted image of every ob- ject, and your face, if you would believe the glass, was as crooked as a ram's horn — which I take to be the best of all comparisons for crookedness. Mary O'More, however, though as innocent a girl as any in the country, did not believe that her face was very crooked : it was poor Rory who principally suffered, for he was RORY O'MORE. 5 continually giving himself most uncharitable gashes in shaving, which Rory attributed to the razor, when in fact it was the glass was in fault ; for when he fancied he was going to smoothe his upper lip, the chances were that he was making an assault on his nose, or cutting a slice off his chin. But this glass has taken up a great deal too much time — which, after all, is not uncommon : when people get before a glass, they are very likely to linger there longer than they ought. But I need not go on describing any more about the cottage, — nobody wants an inven- tory of its furniture, and I am neither an auc- tioneer nor a bailiff's keeper. I have said Rory's father was a mason. Now his mother was a widow — argal (as the grave-digger hath it), his father was dead. Poor O'More, after laying stones all his life, at last had a stone laid over him; and Rory, with filial piety, carv- ed a crucifix upon it, surmounted by the letters I. H. S. and underneath this inscription : " Pray for the sowl of Rory O'^Iore ; Re- quiescat in pace." 6 RORY o'MORE. This inscription was Rory's first effort in sepulchral sculpture, and, from his inexperience in the art, it presented a ludicrous appearance: for, from the importance Rory attached to his father's soul — or, as he had it, sowl, — he wished to make the word particularly conspicuous; but, in doing this, he cut the letters so large that he did not leave himself room to finish the word, and it became divided — the word re- quiescat became also divided : the inscription, therefore, stood as follows : RORY o'mORE. 7 You were thus called on to pray for the Sow in one corner, while the Cat was conspicuous in the other. Such was Rory's first attempt in this way, and though the work has often made others smile, poor Rory's tears had moistened every letter of it, and this humble tombstone was garland- ed with as much affection as the more costly ones of modern Pere La-Chaise: and though there were none who could read who did not laugh at the absurdity, yet they regarded Rory's feelings too much to let him be a witness of such mirth. Indeed Rory would have resent- ed with indignation the attempt to make the grave of his father the subject of laughter ; for in no country is the hallowed reverence for father and mother more observed than in Ireland. Besides, Rory was not a little proud of his name. He was taught to believe there was good blood in his veins, and that he was de- scended from the O'lSIores of Leinster. Then, an old schoolmaster in the district, whose pupil 8 RORY O'MORE. Rory had been, was constantly recounting to him the glorious deeds of his progenitors — or, as he called them, his " owld anshint anshis- thers in the owld anshint times," — and how he should- never disgrace himself by doing a dirty turn ; " Not that I ever seen the laste sign iv it in you, ma bouchal, — but there 's no know- in'. And sure the divil's busy wid us some- times, and dales in timtayshins, and lays snares for us, all as one as you'd snare a hare or ketch sparrows in a thrap ; and who can tell the minit that he might be layin"* salt on your tail onknowst to you, if you wornH smart ? — and therefore be always mindful of your an- shisthers, that wor of the highest blood in Ire- land, and in one of the highest places in it too, Dunamaise — I mane the rock of Dunamaise, and no less. And there is where Rory O'More, king of Leinsther, lived in glory time out o' mind ; and the Lords of the Pale darn't touch him — and pale enough he made them often, I go bail ; — and there he was, — like an aigle on his rock, and the dirty English afeard ^ n RORY O'MORE. 9 o' their lives to go within miles iv him, and he shut up in his castle as stout as a ram." In such rhodomontade used Phelim O'Flana- gan to flourish away, and delight the ears of Rory and Mary, and the widow no less. Phelim was a great character : he wore a scratch wig that had been built somewhere about the year One, and from its appearance might justify the notion, that Phelim 's wig-box was a dripping- pan. He had a pair of spectacles, which held their place upon his nose by taking a strong grip of it, producing thereby a snuffling pro- nunciation, increased by his taking of snuff: indeed, so closely was his proboscis em- braced by this primitive pair of spectacles, that he could not have his pinch of snuff without taking them off, as they completely blockaded the passage. They were always stuck low down on his nose, so that he could see over them when he wished it, and this he did for all distant objects; while for reading he was obliged to throw his head back to bring his eyes to bear through the glasses ; and »this, b5 10 RORY OMORE. forcing the rear of his wig downwards on the collar of his coat shoved it forward on his forehead, and stripped the back of his pate : in the former case, his eyes were as round as an owl's ; and in the other, closed nearly into the expression of disdain, or at least of great con- sequence. His coat was of grey frieze, and his nether garment of buckskin, equalling the po- lish of his wig, and surpassing that of his shoes, which indeed were not polished, except on Sunday, or such occasions as the priest of the parish was expected to pay his school a visit, — and then the polish was produced by the brogues being greased, so that the resem- blance to the wig was more perfect. Stockings he had, after a sort; that is to say, he had woollen cases for his legs, but there were not any feet to them : they were stuffed into the shoe to make believe, and the deceit was toler- ably well executed in front, where PheUm had them under his eye ; but, like Achilles, he was vulnerable in the heel — indeed, worse off than that renowned hero, for he had only one heel RORY O'MORE. ir unprotected, while poor Phelim had both. On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, Phelim had a shirt — you saw he had ; but towards the latter end of the week, from the closely- buttoned coat, and the ambuscade of a spot- ted handkerchief round his neck, there was ground for suspicion that the shirt was under the process of washing, that it might be ready for service on Sunday ; when, at mass, Phe- lim's shirt was always at its freshest. There was a paramount reason, to be sure, why Phelim sported a clean shirt in chapel on Sunday : he officiated as clerk during the ser- vice, — or, as it would be said amongst the pea- santry, he " sarved mass;" and in such a post of honour personal decency is indispensable. In this service he was assisted by a couple of boys, who were the head of his school, and enjoyed great immunities in consequence. In the first place, they were supposed, from virtue of the dignity to which they were ad- vanced, to understand more Latin than any of the rest of the boys ; and from the necessity of 12 RORY o'MORE. their being decently clad, they were of course the sons of the most comfortable farmers in the district, who could afford the luxury of shoes and stockings to their children, to enable them to act as acolites. The boys themselves seemed to like the thing well enough, as their frequent passing and repassing behind the priest at the altar, with various genuflexions, gave them a position of importance before the neighbours that was gratifying; and they seemed to be equally pleased up to one point, and to pro- ceed in perfect harmony until the ringing of a little bell, and that was the signal for a fight between them. — When I say fight, I do not mean that they boxed each other before (or rather behind) the priest, but to all intents and purposes there was a struggle who should get the bell, as that seemed the grand triumph of the day : and the little bell certainly had a busy time of it, for the boy that had it seemed endued with a prodigious accession of devo- tion ; and as he bent himself to the very earth, he rattled the bell till it seemed choking with RORY O'MORE. 13 its superabundant vibration ; while the Christi- anity of his brother acolite seemed to suffer in proportion to the piety of his rival, for he did not bow half so low, and was looking with a sidelong eye and sulky mouth at his victonous coadj utor. As for Phelim, his post of honour was robing and unrobing the priest before the altar; for in the humble little chapel where all this was wont to occur there was no vestry — the priest was habited in his vestments in the presence of his congregation. But Phelim's grand triumph seemed to be his assisting his clergy in sprin- kling the flock with holy water. This was done by means of a large sprinkling-brush, which the priest dipped from time to time in a vessel of holy water which Phelim held, and waving it to the right and left, cast it over the multi- tude. For this purpose, at a certain period, the little gate of a small area railed round the altar was opened, and forth stepped the priest, followed by Phelim bearing the holy water. Now it happened that the vessel which held it 14 RORY O'MORE. was no other than a bucket. — I do not mean this irreverently, for holy water would be as holy in a bucket as in a golden urn ; but, God forgive me ! I could not help thinking it rather queer to see Phelim bearing this great bucket of water, with a countenance indicative of the utmost pride and importance, following the priest, who advanced through the crowd, that opened and bowed before him as his reverence ever and anon turned round, popped his sprin- kling-brush into the water, and slashed it about right and left over his flock, that courted the shower, and were the happier the more they were wet. — Poor people ! if it made them happy, where was the harm of it ? A man is not considered unworthy of the blessings of the constitution of Great Britain by getting wet to the skin in the pelting rain of the equinox ; and I cannot, nor ever could see, why a few drops of holy water should exclude him. — But hang philosophy ! what has it to do with a novel ? Phelim, like a great many other hedge- RORY o'mORE. 15 schoolmasters, held his rank in the Church of Rome from his being able to mumble some scraps of Latin, which being the only language his Sable Majesty does not understand, is therefore the one selected for the celebration of the mass. How a prince of his importance could be so deficient in his education may well create surprise, particularly^ as he is so constant an inmate of our universities. Phelim's Latin, to be sure, could scarcely " shame the d — 1," though certainly it might have puzzled him. It was a barbarous jargon, and but for knowing the phrases he meant to say, no one could comprehend him. Spiritu tuo, was from his mouth, " Sper-chew chew 6," and so on. Nevertheless, it was not in chapel alone that Phelim sported his Latin^nor in his school either, where, for an additional two- pence a-week he inducted his scholars into the mysteries of the classics (and mysteries might they well be called), — but even in his social intercourse he was fond of playing the pedant and astonishing the vulggr ; and as poaching 16 piscators throw medicated crumbs into the wa- ters where they fish, so Phelim flung about his morsels of Latin to catch his gudgeons. Deri- vations were his fort; and after elucidating something in that line, he always said, " Derry wather !" and took snuff with an air of sub- limity. Or, if he overcame an antagonist in an argument, which was seldom the case, because few dared to engage with him, — but, when any individual was rash enough to encounter Phe- lim, he always slaughtered him with big words, and instead of addressing his opponent, he would turn to the company present and say, " Now I '11 make yiz all sinsible to a demon- stheration ;" and then, after he had held them suspended in wonder for a few minutes at the jumble of hard words which neither he nor they understood, he would look round the circle with a patronizing air, saying, " You persaive — q. e. d. what was to be demon- stherated !'' This always finished the argument in the RORY OMORE. 17 letter, but not in the spirit ; for Phelim, though he secured silence, did not produce persuasion : his adversary often kept his own opinion, but kept it a secret too, as long as Phelim was present ; " for how," as they themselves said when his back was turned, " could it be expected for them to argufy with him when he took to discoorsin* them out o' their common sense? — and the hoighth o' fine language it sartainly was — but sure it wouldn't stand to raison.'''' — How many a speech in higher places is worthy of the same commentary ! Perhaps I have lingered too long in detail- ing these peculiarities of Phelim ; but he was such an original, that a sketch of him was too great a temptation to be resisted : besides, as he is about to appear immediately, I wish- ed the reader to have some idea of the sort of person he was. The evening was closing as Phelim OTla- nagan strolled up the horeen leading to the widow O'More's cottage. On reaching the 18 RORY O'MORE. house, he saw the widow sitting at the door knitting. " God save you, Mrs. CMore !" said Phelim. " God save you kindly !" answered the wi- dow. " Faith, then, it's yourself is the industherous woman, Mrs. O'More, for it is working you are airly and late : and to think of your being at the needles now, and the evenin' closin' in !" " Oh, I don*t call this work," said the wi- dow ; " it is only jist to have something to do, and not be lost with idleness, that Tm keepin' my hands goin'." "And your eyes too, 'faith — and God spare them to you." " Amin, dear," said the widow. " And where is the colleen, that she isn't helpin' you .?" "Oh, she's jist gone beyant the meadow there, to cut nettles for the chickens — she '11 be in in a minit. Won't you sit down, Mr. O'Flanagan ? — you 'd betther dhraw a sate." " I'm taller standin', Mrs. O'More, — thank RORY o'mORE. 19 you all the same, ma'am. And where would Rory be ?" " Why, indeed, the Scholar wint out shoot- in', and Rory wint wid him. — It's fond of the sport he is, Mr. OTlanagan, as you know." " Thrue for you, ma'am ; — it 's hard if I wouldn't, when I sot over him for ^ve years and betther ; and hard it was to keep him undher ! for he was always fond o' sport." " But not the taste o' vice in him, Phelim dear," said the mother. " No, no, Mrs. O'More, by no manes — nothing but heart and fun in him ; but not the sign o' mischief. And why wouldn't he like to go a start with the young gintleraan a-shootin' ? — the dog and the gun is tempting to man ever since the days o' Vargil himself, who says with great beauty and discrimination, Arma virumque cano ; which manes, ' Arms, men, and dogs,' which is three things that always goes together since the world began." " Think o' that now !" said the widow : " and so Yargo used to go shootin' !" 20 RORY o'MORE. " Not exactly, Mrs. O'More, my dear : be- sides, the man's name was not Vargo, but Vargil. Yargo, Mrs. O'More, manes the Var- "God forgi' me!'" said the widow; "is it the blessed Vargin I said wint shootin' ?" and she crossed herself. " No, Mrs. O'More, my dear — by no manes. Vargo manes only vargin ; which is not blessed, without you join it to something else. But Vargil was the man''s name ; he was a great Roman pote." "Oh, the darlinT said the widow; "and was he a Roman ?" " Not as you mane it, Mrs. O'More, my dear : he was not a good Catholic — and more 's the pity, and a sore loss to him ! But he didn't know betther, for they were lost in darkness in them days, and had not the knowledge of uz. But whin I say he was a Roman, I mane he was of that famous nation — (and tarin' fel- lows they wor !) — Romatii populi, as we say, his nativity being cast in Mantua, which is RORY OMORE. 21 a famous port of that counthry, you persaive, Mrs. O^More." Here Mrs. O'More dropped her ball of worsted ; and Phelim, not wishing a word of his harangue to be lost, waited till the widow was reseated and in a state of attention again. " Mantua, I say, Mrs. O'More, a famous port of the Romani populi — the port of Man- tua — which retains to this day the honour of Vargil's nativity bein' cast in that same place, you persaive, Mrs. CMore.'*'* " Yis, yis, Mr. OTlanagan, I 'm mindin' you, sir. Oh, what a power o' larnin' you have I Well, well, but it 's wondherful ! — and sure I never heerd afore of any one bein' born in a portmantia."*^ " Oh ! ho, ho, ho ! Mrs. O'More ! No, my dear ma*am," said Phelim laughing, " I didn't say he was born in a portmantia : I said the port of Mantua, which was a territorial posses- sion, or domain, as I may say, of the Romani populi, where Vargil had his nativity cast, — that is to say, was born.*' 22 RORY O'MORE. *' Dear, dear ! what knowledge you have, Mr.O'Flanagan ! — and no wondher you'd laugh at me ! But sure, no wondher at the same time, when I thought you wor talkin' of a portmantia, that I would wondher at a child bein' sent into the world in that manner." " Quite nath'ral, Mrs. O'More, my dear — quite nathVal," said Phelim. " But, can you tell me " " To be sure I can,*' said Phelim : " what is it ?^' " I mane, would you tell me, Mr. OTla- nagan, is that the place portmantias comes from ?^' " Why, indeed, Mrs. O'More, it is likely, from the derry wation, that it is : but, you see, these is small thrifles o* histhory that is not worth the while o' great min to notice; and by raison of that same we are left to our own conjunctures in sitch matthers.'"* " Dear, dear ! Well — but, sir, did that gin- tleman you wor talkin' about go a shootin** — that Mr. Varjuice?" RORY o'more. 23 « Vargil, Mrs. O'More— Var-gil," said Phe- lim with authority. " I beg his pard'n and yours, sir." ** No offince, Mrs. O'More. Why, ma'am, as for goin' shootin', he did not — and for var- rious raisons : guns was scarce in thim times, and gunpowdher was not in vogue, but was, by all accounts, atthributed to Friar Bacon pos- teriorly." " Oh, the dirty divils !" said the widow, " to fry their bacon with gunpowdher! — that bates all I ever heerd." Phelim could not help laughing outright at the widow''s mistake, and was about to explain, but she was a little annoyed at being laughed at, and Rory O'More and the Scholar, as he was called, having returned at the moment, she took the opportunity of retiring into the house, and left Phelim and his explanation and the sportsmen all together. 24f RORY o'MORE. CHAPTER II. SHOWING HOW A JOURNEY MAY BE PERFORMED ON A GRIDIRON WITHOUT GOING AS FAR AS ST. LAURENCE. The arrival of Rory O'More and the Scho- lar having put an end to the colloquy of the widow and Phelim O'Flanagan, the reader may as well be informed, during the pause, who the person is already designated under the title of " the Scholar." It was some weeks before the opening of our story that Rory O'More had gone to Dublin, for the transaction of some business connected with the lease of the little farm of the widow — if the few acres she held might be dignified with that name. There was only some very subordinate person on the spot to whom any communication on the subject could be made ; RORY o'more. 25 for the agent, following the example of the lord of the soil, was an absentee from the pro- perty as well as his employer ; — the landlord residing principally in London, though deriv- ing most of his income from Ireland, and the agent living in Dublin, making half-yearly visits to the tenantry, who never saw his face until he came to ask them for their rents. As it happened that it was in the six months' interregnum that the widow wished to arrange about her lease, she sent her son to Dublin for the purpose — " For what ""s the use," said she, ** of talking to that fellow that ""s down here, who can never give you a straight an- swer, but goes on with his gosther, and says he'll write about it, and will have word for you next time ; and so keeps you goin* hither and thither, and all the time the thing is just where it was before, and never comes to any- thing ? — So, Rory dear, in God's name go off yourself and see the agint in Dublin, and get the rights o' the thing out of his own mouth." So Rory set out for Dublin, not without plenty VOL. I. c 26 RORY o'more. of cautions from his mother to take care of himself in the town, for she heard it was " the dickens' own place ; and I 'm towld they 're sich rogues there, that if you sleep with your mouth open, they '11 stale the teeth out o' your head." ^* Faix, and maybe they 'd find me like a weasel asleep," answered Rory — " asleep with my eyes open : and if they have such a fancy for my teeth, maybe it 's in the shape of a bite they 'd get them." For Rory had no small notion of his own sagacity. The wonders of Dublin gave Rory, on his return, wide field for descanting upon, and made his hearers wonder in turn. But this is not the time nor place to touch on such matters. Suffice it here to say, Rory trans- acted his business in Dublin satisfactorily; and having done so, he mounted his outside place on one of the coaches from town, and found himself beside a slight, pale, but rather handsome young gentleman, perfectly free from anything of that repulsive bearing which RORY O'MORE. 27 sometimes too forcibly marks the distinction between the ranks of parties that may chance to meet in such promiscuous society as that which a public conveyance huddles together. He was perfectly accommodating to his fellow- travellers while they were shaking themselves down into their places, and on the journey he conversed freely with Rory on such sub- jects as the passing occurrences of the road suggested. This unaffected conduct won him ready esteem and liking from his humble neigh- bour, as in such cases it never fails to do : but its effect was heightened by the contrast which another passenger afforded, who seemed to consider it a great degradation to have a per- son in Rory's condition placed beside him ; and he spoke in an offensive tone of remark to the person seated at the other side, and quite loud enough to be heard, of the assurance of the lower orders, and how hard it was to make low fellows understand how to keep their distance. To all this, Rory, with a great deal of tact, never made any reply, and to a casual c 2 28 RORY o'mORE. observer would have seemed not to notice it ; but to the searching eye of his pale compa- nion, there was the quick and momentary quiver of indignation on the peasant's lip, and the compression of brow that denotes pain and anger, the more acute from their being con- cealed. But an occasion soon offered for this insolent and ill-bred fellow to make an open aggression upon Rory, which our hero return- ed with interest. After one of the stoppages on the road for refreshment, the passengers resumed their places, and the last to make his reappearance was this bashaw. On getting up to his seat, he said, " Where 's my coat ?" To this no one made any answer, and the question was soon repeated in a louder tone : " Where 's my coat .'"' " Your coat, is it, sir ?'*'* said the coachman. <« Yes — my coat ; do you know anything of it.?" " No, sir," said the coachman : " maybe you took it into the house with you." RORY O'MORE. 29 " No, I did not : I left it on the coach. — And by the bye," said he, looking at Rory, " you were the only person who did not quit the coach — did you take it ?*" "Take whatT^ said Rory with a peculiar emphasis and intonation on the what. " My coat,"' said the other with extreme effrontery. " I Ve a coat o' my own,'" said Rory with great composure. *' That 's not an answer to my question,"' said the other. " I think you ought to be glad to get so quiet an answer,'' said Rory. " I think so too," said the pale traveller. " 1 did not address my conversation to you, sir," said the sw^aggering gentleman. '* If you did, sir, you should have been lying in the middle of the road, now," was the taunting rejoinder. At this moment, a waiter made his appear- ance at the door of the inn, bearing the miss- 30 RORY o'mORE. ing coat on his arm ; and handing it up to the owner, he said, " You left this behind you in the parlour, sir." The effect was what any one must anticipate : indignant eyes were turned on all sides upon the person making so wanton an aggression, and he himself seemed to stagger under the evidence against him. He scarcely knew what to do. After much stammering, and hemming and hawing, he took the coat from the waiter, and turning to Rory, said, " I see — I forgot — I thought that I left it on the coach ; — but — a I see 'twas a mistake.""* " Oh, make no apologies,"" said Rory ; " we were both undher a mistake."" " How both ?"' said the Don. " Why, sir," said Rory, " you mistuk me for a thief, and I mistuk you for a gin tie- man."" The swaggerer could not rally against the laugh this bitter repartee made against him, and he was effectually silenced for the rest of the journey. RORY o'MORE. 31 Indeed, the conversation soon slackened on all sides, for it began to rain : and it may be remarked, that under such circumstances tra- vellers wrap up their minds and bodies at the same time ; and once a man draws his nose inside the collar of his great-coat, it must be something much above the average of stage- coach pleasantry which will make him poke it out again — and spirits invariably fall as um- brellas rise. But neither great-coats nor umbrellas were long proof against the torrents that soon fell, for tliese were not the days of Macintosh and India rubber. Have you ever remarked, that on a sudden dash of rain the coachman immediately begins to whip his horses ? So it was on the present occasion ; and the more it rained, the faster he drove. Splash they went through thick and thin, as if velocity could have done them any good ; and the rain, one might have thought, was vying with the coachman, — for the faster he drove, the faster it seemed to rain. 32 RORY o'more. At last the passengers seated on the top began to feel their seats invaded by the flood that deluged the roof of the coach, just as they entered a town where there was change of horses to be made. The moment the coach stopped, Rory O'More jumped off, and said to the coachman, " I'll be back with you be- fore you go ; — but don't start before I come :"" and away he ran down the town. " Faix, that *s a sure way of being back before I go I" said the driver: "but you'd betther not delay, my buck, or it 's behind Til lave you.**'' While change was being made, the passen- gers endeavoured to procure wads of straw to sit upon, for the wet became more and more inconvenient ; and at last all was ready for start- ing, and Rory had not yet returned. The horn was blown, and the coachman's patience was just worn out, when Rory hove in sight, splashing his way through the middle of the street, flourishing two gridirons over his head. RORY o'more. 33 " Here I am," said he, panting and nearly exhausted : " 'faith, I 'd a brave run for it !" " Why, thin, what the dickens do you want here with gridirons ?'' said the coachman. "Oh, never mind," said Rory ; "jist give me a wisp o' sthraw, and God bless you," said he to one of the helpers who was standing by ; and having got it, he scrambled up the coach, and said to his pale friend, " Now, sir, we '11 be comfortable." " I don't see much likelihood of it," said his fellow-traveller. " Why, look what I 've got for you," said Rory. " Oh, that straw will soon be sopped with rain, and then we '11 be as badly off as before." " But it 's not on sthraw I'm depindin'," said Rory ; " look at this !" and he brandished one of the gridirons. " I have heard of stopping the tide with a pitchfork," said the traveller, smiling, " but never of keeping out rain with a gridiron." " Faith, thin, I'll show you how to do that c 5 34 RORY OMORE. same," said Rory. " Here — sit up — clap this gridiron nndher you, and you '11 be undher wather no longer. Stop, sir, stay a minit — don't sit down on the bare bars, and be makin' a beefstake o' yourself ; here 's a wisp o' sthraw to put betune you and the cowld iron — and not a dhryer sate in all Ireland than the same gridiron." The young traveller obeyed, and while he admired the ingenuity, could not help laughing at the whimsicality of the contrivance. " You see I 've another for myself," said Rory, seating himself in a similar manner on his second gridiron : " and now," added he, " as far as the sates is consarned, it may rain till doomsday." Away went the coach again ; and for some time after resuming the journey, the young traveller was revolving the oddity of the fore- going incident in his mind, and led by his train of thought to the consideration of na- tional characteristics, he came to the conclu- sion that an Irishman was the only man under RORY O'xMORE. 35 the sun who could have hit upon so strange an expedient for relieving them from their difficulty. He was struck not only? by the originality of the design and the* promptness of the execution, but also by the good-nature of his companion in thinking of him on the occasion. After these conclusions had passed through his own mind, he turned to Rory, and said, " What was it made you think of a grid- iron ?" " Why, thin, I '11 tell you," said Rory. " I promised my mother to bring a present to the priest from Dublin, and I could not make up my mind rightly what to get all the time I was there. I thought of a pair o' top-boots ; for indeed, his reverence's is none of the best, and only you know them to be top-boots, you would not take them to be top-boots, bekase the bot- toms has been put in so often that the tops is wore out intirely, and is no more like top- boots than my brogues. So I wint to a shop in Dublin, and picked out the purtiest pair 36 RORY O'MORE. o' top-boots 1 could see ; — whin I say purty, I don't mane a flourishin' ' taarin' pair, but sitch as was fit for a priest, a respectable pair o' boots ; — and«with that, I pulled out my good money to pay for thim, whin jist at that minit, remembering the thricks o' the town, I be- thought o' myself, and says I, ' I suppose these are the right thing?* says I to the man. — ' You can thry them,' says he. — ' How can I thry them ?' say^s I.—' Pull them on you,' says he.—' Throth, an' I'd be sorry,' says I, 'to take sitch a liberty with thim,' says I. — ' Why, aren't you goin' to ware thim ?' says he. — ' Is it me ?' says I. ' Me ware top-boots ? Do you think it 's takin' lave of my sinses I am ?' says I. — ' Then what do you want to buy them for ?' says he. — ' For his reverence, Father Kinshela,' says I. ' Are they the right sort for him .?' — ' How should I know ?' says he. — ' You 're a purty boot-maker,' says I, ' not to know how to make a priest's boot!' — 'How do I know his size ?^ says he. — ' Oh, don't be comin' RORY o'more. 37 off that a- way 5' says I. ' There 's no sitch great differ betune priests and other min !' " " I think you were very right there," said the pale traveller. " To be sure, sir," said Rory ; " and it was only jist a come off for his own ignorance. — * Tell me his size,* says the fellow, ' and I '11 fit him.' — ' He 's betune five and six fut,' says I. — ' Most men are,' says he, laughin' at me. He was an impidint fellow. — ' It 's not the five, nor six, but his two feet I want to know the size of,' says he. So I persaived he was jeerin' me, and says I, ' Why, thin, you disre- spectful vagabone o' the world, you Dublin jackeen ! do you mane to insinivate that Father Kinshela ever wint barefutted in his life, that I could know the size of his fut,' says I ; and with that I threw the boots in his face. ' Take that,' says I, ' you dirty thief o' the world ! you impidint vagabone of the world ! you ignorant citizen o' the world !' And with that 1 left the place?" 38 RORY o'more. The traveller laughed outright at the ab- surdity of Rory's expectation that well-fitting boots for all persons were to be made by in- tuition, " 'Faith, I thought it would plaze you," said Rory. " Don't you think I sarved him right ?" " You astonished him, I dare say." " I '11 engage I did. Wanting to humbug me that way, taking me for a nath'ral bekase I come from the counthry !" " Oh, I 'm not sure of that," said the travel- ler. " It is their usual practice to take mea- sure of their customers." " Is it, thin ?" " It really is." " See that, now !" said Rory with an air of triumph. " You would think that they wor cleverer in the town than in the counthry ; and they ought to be so, by all accounts ; — but in the regard of what I towld you, you see, we 're before them intirely." " How so ?" said the traveller. RORY o'more. 39 " Arrah ! bekase they never throuble people in the counthry at all with takin' their measure; but you jist go to a fair, and bring your fut along with you, and somebody else dhrives a cartful o' brogues into the place, and there you sarve yourself; and so the man gets his money and you get your shoes, and every one 's plazed. Now, isn't that betther than sitch botches as thim in Dublin, that must have the measure, and keep you waitin' ? while in the counthry there's no delay in life, but it's jist down with your money and off with your brogues !" " On with your brogues, you mean ?" said the traveller. " No, indeed, now !" said Rory ; " you 're out there. Sure we wouldn't be so wasteful as to put on a bran new pair o' brogues to go lickin' the road home ? — no, in throth ; we keep them for the next dance we 're goin' to, or maybe to go to chapel of a Sunday." " And if you don't put them on, how can you tell they fit you ?" " Oh, they 're all alike !" 40 RORY O'MORE. " But what would you do, when you wanted to go to your dance, if you found your brogues were too small ?" " Oh, that niver happens. They 're all fine aisy shoes." ^' Well, but if they prove too easy ?" " That 's aisy cured," said Rory : " stuff a thrifle o' hay into them, like the MuUingar heifers." " MuUingar heifers !" said the traveller, rather surprised by the oddity of the expres- sion. " Yes, sir,"' said Rory ; " did you niver hear of the MuUingar heifers ?'' '* Never." " Why, you see, sir, the women in West- meath, they say, is thick in the legs, God help them, the craythurs ! and so there 's a saying again thim, ' You 're beef to the heels, like a MulUngar heifer.' " " Oh ! I perceive."" " Yes, sir, and it 's all on account of what I towld you about the hay." RORY o'MORE. 41 *' How ?*" said the traveller. " Why, there 's an owld joke you may take a turn out of, if you like, whin you see a girl that 's thick in the fetlock — you call afther her and say, ' Young woman !' She turns round, and then says you, ' 1 beg your pardon, ma^am, but I think you Ve used to wear hay in your shoes.' Thin, if she 's innocent, she '11 ask * Why ^ — and thin you 11 say, ' Be- kase the calves has run down your legs to get at it."" " I see," said the stranger ;^* that is, if she's innocent." " Yis, sir — simple I mane; but that seldom happens, for they 're commonly up to you, and 'cute enough." " Now, in case she's not innocent, as you say T'' said the traveller. " 'Faith ! maybe it 's a sharp answer you '11 get thin, or none. It 's as like as not she may say, ' Thank'ee, young man, my calf doesn't like hay, and so you're welkim to it yourself.'''* 42 KORY O'MORE. " But all this time," said the traveller, " you have not told me of your reasons for getting the gridirons." " Oh ! wait a bit,'' said Rory ; " sure it 's that I 'm comin' to. Where's this I was?" " You were running down the MuUingar girls' legs," said the traveller. " I see you 're sharp at an answer yourself, sir," said Rory. " But what I mane is, where did I lave off tellin' you about the present for the priest ? — wasn't it at the bootmaker's shop ? — yes, that was it. Well, sir, on laving the shop, as soon as I kem to myself afther the fel- low's impidince, I begun to think what was the next best thing I could get for his reverence ; and with that, while I was thinkin' about it, I seen a very respectable owld gintleman goin' by, with the most beautiful stick in his hand I ever set my eyes on, and a goolden head to it that was worth its weight in goold ; and it gev him such an iligant look altogether, that says I to myself, ' It 's the very thing for Father Kinshela, if I could get sitch another.' And so RORY o'more. 48 I wint lookin' about me every shop I seen as I wint by, and at last, in a sthreet they call Dame Sthreet — and, by the same token, I didn't know why they called it Dame Sthreet till I ax'd ; and I was towld they called it Dame Sthreet bekase the ladies were so fond o' walkin' there ; — and lovely craythurs they wor f and I can't b'lieve that the town is such an onwhole- some place to live in, for most o' the ladies I seen there had the most beautiful rosy cheeks I ever clapt my eyes upon — and the beautiful rowlin' eyes o' them ! Well, it was in Dame Sthreet, as I was sayin', that I kem to a shop where there was a power o' sticks, and so I wint in and looked at thim ; and a man in the place kem to me and ax'd me if I wanted a cane? ' No,' says I, ' I don't want a cane; it's a stick I want,' says I. ' A cane, you mane^ says he. * No,' says I, ' it 's a stick ' — for I was detarmined to have no cane, but to stick to the stick. ' Here 's a nate one,' says he. ' I don't want a nate one,' says I, ' but a responsible one,' says I. ' Faith !' says he, ' if 44 RORY o'more. an Irishman's stick was responsible, it would have a great dale to answer for' — and he laughed a power. I didn't know myself what he meant, but that's what he said." " It was because you asked for a responsible stick," said the traveller. *' And why wouldn't I," said Rory, " when it was for his reverence I wanted it ? Why wouldn't he have a nice-lookin', respectable,* responsible stick .f'" " Certainly," said the traveller. " Well, I picked out one that looked to my likin' — a good substantial stick, with an ivory top to it — for I seen that the goold-headed ones was so dear I couldn't come up to them ; and so says I, ' Give me a howldo' that,' says I — and I tuk a grip iv it. I never was so surprised in my life. I thought to get a good, brave hand- ful of a solid stick, but, my dear, it was well it didn't fly out o' my hand a'most, it was so light. ' Phew !' says I, ' what sort of a stick * Responsible is always applied by the Irish peasantry in the sense of respectable. RORY O'MORE. 45 is this ?* ' I tell you it 's not a stick, but a cane,' savs he. ' 'Faith ! I b'lieve you,** says I. ' You see how good and light it is,' says he. Think o' that, sir ! — to call a stick good and light — as if there could be any good in life in a stick that wasn't heavy, and could sthreck a good blow ! ' Is it jokin' you are .^' says I. « Don't you feel it yourself.?' says he. ' Throth, I can hardly feel it at all,' says I. ' Sure that 's the beauty of it,' says he. Think o' the igno- rant vagabone ! — to call a stick a beauty that was as light a'most as a bulrush ! ' And so you can hardly feel it !' says he, grinnin'. ' Yis, in- deed,' says I ; ' and what 's worse, I don't think I could make any one else feel it either.' ' Oh! you want a stick to bate people with !' says he. ' To be sure,' says I ; ' sure that 's the use of a stick.' * To knock the sinses out o' people !' says he, grinnin' again. ' Sartinly,' says I, * if they 're saucy' — lookin' hard at him at the same time. ' Well, these is only walkin'- sticks,' says he. ' Throth, you may say runnin- sticks,' says I, ' for you daren't stand before 46 any one with sich a thraneen as that in your fist .' ' Well, pick out the heaviest o"* them you plaze,"* says he ; ' take your choice/ So I wint pokin** and rummagin' among thim, and, if you believe me, there wasn't a stick in their whole shop worth a kick in the shins — divil a one !" " But why did you require such a heavy stick for the priest ?*" " Bekase there is not a man in the parish wants it more,"" said Rory. " Is he so quarrelsome, then ?" asked the traveller. " No, but the greatest o** pacemakers," said Rory. " Then what does he want the heavy stick for ?" " For wallopin' his flock, to be sure,"" said Rory. " Walloping V"" said the traveller, choking with laughter. " Oh ! you may laugh," said Rory ; " but, 'pon my sowl ! you wouldn't laugh if you wor RORY O MORE. 47 undher his hand, for he has a brave heavy one, God bless him and spare him to us !" " And what is all this walloping for ?" " Why, sir, whin we have a bit of a fight, for fun, or the regular faction one, at the fair, bis reverence sometimes hears of it, and comes av coorse/"* " Good God V said the traveller in real astonishment, " does the priest join the bat- tle ?" " No, no, no, sir ! I see you 're quite a sthranger in the counthry. The priest join it ! — Oh ! by no manes. But he comes and stops it ; and, av coorse, the only way he can stop it is, to ride into thim, and wallop thim all round before him, and disparse thim — scatther thim like chaff before the wind ; and it 's the best o' sticks he requires for that same." " But might he not have his heavy stick on purpose for that service, and make use of a lighter one on other occasions ?" " As for that matther, sir," said Rory, 48 RORY O MORE. " there 's no knowin* the minit he might want it, for he is often necessiated to have recoorse to it. It might be, going through the village, the public-house is too full, and in he goes and dhrives thim out. Oh ! it would delight your heart to see the style he clears a public-house in, in no time !" " But wouldn't his speaking to them an- swer the purpose as well ?" " Oh no ! he doesn't like to throw away his discoorse on thim ; and why should he ? — he keeps that for the blessed althar on Sun- day, which is a fitter place for it : besides, he does not like to be sevare on us." " Severe !" said the traveller in surprise ; " why, haven't you said that he thrashes you round on all occasions ?" " Yis, sir ; but what o' that ? — sure that 's nothin'to his tongue — his words is like swoords or razhors, I may say : we 're used to a lick of a stick every day, but not to sich language as his reverence sometimes murthers us with whin we displaze him. Oh ! it's terrible, so RORY o'more. 49 it is, to have the weight of his tongue on you ! Throth ! I 'd rather let him bate me from this till to-morrow, than have one angry word from him." " I see, then, he must have a heavy stick," said the traveller. " To be sure he must, sir, at all times ; and that was the raison I was so particular in the shop ; and afther spendin"* over an hour — would you Vlieve it ? — divil a stick I could get in the place fit for a child, much less a man — all poor contimptible things ; and so the man I was talkin' to says to me at last, ' It 's odd that in all these sticks there is not one to plaze you."* * You know nothin' about it,' says I. ' You 'd betther be off, and take up no more o' my time,' says he. ' As for your time,' says I, ' I'd be sorry to idle anybody ; but in the regard of knowin' a stick, I '11 give up to no man,' says I. ' Look at that !' says I, howld- in' up my own purty bit o' blackthorn I had in my fist. ' Would you compare your owld batther'd stick,' says he, — (there was a few VOL. I. D 50 RORY O'MORE. chips out of it, for it is an owld friend, as you may see,) — ' would you compare it,"* says he, ' to this ? ' — howldin' up one of his bulrushes. ' By gor,' says I, ' if you like to thry a turn with me, I '11 let you know which is the best !' says I. ' You know nothin' about it,' says he — ^ this is the best o' sugar canes/ ' By my sowl, thin !' says I, ' you '11 get no sugar out o' this, I promise you ! — but at the same time, the divil a sweeter bit o' tim- ber in the wide world than the same black- thorn — and if you 'd like to taste it you may thry.' ' No,' says he ; ' I'm no happy cure,"* — (or somethin' he said about cure.) ' Thin if you're not aisy to cure,' says I, ' you'd bet- ther not fight ;"* which is thrue — and some men is unwholesome, and mustn't fight by raison of it — and, indeed, it 's a great loss to a man who hasn't flesh that ''s aisy to hale." " I ''m sure of it," said the traveller. " But about the gridiron .?" " Sure I 'm tellin' you about it," said Rory ; RORY o'mORE. 51 " only I 'm not come to it yet. " You see," continued he, " I was so disgusted with them shopkeepers in Dublin, that my heart was fairly broke with their ignorance, and I seen they knew nothin' at all about what I wanted, and so I came away without anything for his reverence, though it was on my mind all this day on the road; and comin' through the last town in the middle o' the rain, I thought of a gridiron." " A very natural thing to think of in a shower of rain," said the traveller. " No, 't wasn't the rain made me think of it — I think it was God put a gridiron in my heart, seein' that it was a present for the priest I intended ; and when I thought of it, it came into my head, afther, that it would be a fine thing to sit on, for to keep one out of the rain, that was ruinatin* my cordheroys on the top o' the coach ; so I kept my eye out as we dhrove along up the sthreet, and sure enough what should I see at a shop half way down the d2 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS HBRARY 52 RORY o'MORE. town but a gridiron hanging up at the door ! and so I went back to get it." " But isn't a gridiron an odd present ? — hasn''t his reverence one already ?" " He had, sir, before it was bruk, — but that ''s what I remembered, for I happened to be up at his place one day, sittin' in the kitchen, when Molly was brilin' some mate an it for his reverence ; and while she jist turned about to get a pinch o' salt to shake over it, the dog that was in the place made a dart at the gridiron on the fire, and threwn it down, and up he whips the mate, before one of us could stop him. With that Molly whips up the gridiron, and says she, ' Bad luck to you, you disrespectful baste! would nothin' sarve you but the priest''s dinner?' and she made a crack o' the gridiron at him. ' As you have the mate, you shall have the gridiron too,' says she ; and with that she gave him such a rap on the head with it, that the bars flew out of it, and his head RORY o'more. 53 went through it, and away he pulled it out of her hands, and ran off with the gridiron hangin' round his neck like a necklace — and he went mad a'most with it; for though a kettle to a dog's tail is nath'rel, a grid- iron round his neck is very surprisin' to him ; and away he tatthered over the counthry, till there wasn't a taste o' the gridiron left together." " So you thought of supplying its place?" said the traveller. " Yes, sir," said Rory. *' I don't think I could do betther." " But what did you get two for ?" said the traveller. " Why, sir, when I thought of how«good a sate it would make, I thought of you at the same time." " That was very kind of you," said the tra- veller, " more particularly as I have done no- thing to deserve such attention." " You'll excuse me there, sir, if you plaze," 54 RORY o'more. said Rory ; " you behaved to me, sir, like a gintleman, and the word of civility is never thrown away." " Every gentleman, I hope," said the tra- veller, " would do the same." " Every rale gintleman, certainly," said Rory, — "but there's many o' them that calls themselves gintlemen that doesn't do the like, and it 's the stiff word they have for us, and the hard word maybe — and they think good clothes makes all the differ, jist as if a man hadn't a heart undher a frieze coat." *' I 'm sorry to hear it," said the traveller; " but I hope such conduct is not common." " Throth there 's more of it than there ought to be," said Rory. " But thim that is the con- thrairy is never losers by it — and so by me and you, sir, — and sure it's a dirty dog I'd be, to see the gintleman beside me sittin' in wet, that gave me a share of his paraplew, and the civil word, that is worth more — for the hardest rain only wets the body, but the hard word cuts the heart.' RORY O MORE. 55 " I have reason to be obliged to you," said the traveller, " and I assure you I am so ; but I should like to know what you '11 do with the second gridiron." " Oh, I'll engage I'll find use for it," said Rory. " Why, indeed," said the traveller, " from the example you have given of your readiness of invention, I should not doubt that you will, — for certainly, you have made, on the pre- sent occasion, a most original application of the utensil." " 'Faith, I daar say," said Rory, " we are the first mortials wor ever on a gridiron." " Since the days of Saint Laurence," said the traveller. " Why, used Saint Larrance, God bless him ! sit on a gridiron ?" said Rory. " No," said the traveller ; "but he Was broiled upon one." " Oh the thieves o' the world to brile him ! — and did they ate him afther, sir ?" " No, no,*" said the traveller, — '' they otili/ 56 RORY o'more. broiled him. But I thought you good Catho- lics all knew about the martyrs ?" " And so we do, sir, mostly ; — but 1 never heerd of Saint Larrance afore ; or if I did, I'm disremembered of it." " But you do know about most of them, you say ?" " Oh ! sartinly, sir. Sure I often heer'd how Saint Stephen was hunted up and down ; which is the raison we begin to hunt always on Saint Stephen's Day." " You forget there, too," said the traveller : " Saint Stephen was stoned." " To be sure, sir, — sure I know he was: didn't I say they run afther him throwin' stones at him, the blackguards ! till they killed him—huntin' him for his life ? — Oh, thin but wasn't it a cruel thing to be a saint in thim haythen times, to be runnin' the world over, the poor marchers, as they might well be called?" " Yes," said the traveller ; " those were days of trial to the saints." RORY o'more. 57 " 'Faith, I go bail they never gave them any thrial at all," said Rory, " but jist murther- ed them without judge or jury, the vaga- bones ! — though, indeed, for the matther o* that, neither judge or jury will do a man much good while there 's false witnesses to be had to swear what they 're paid for, and maybe the jury and the judge only too ready to b'lieve them ; and maybe a boy is hanged in their own minds before he 's put on his thrial at all, unless he has a good friend in some great man who doesn't choose to let him die." " Is it possible," asked the traveller, " that they manage matters here in this way ?" " To be sure they do, sir ; — and why wouldn't a gintleman take care of his people if it was plazin' to him ?" " It is the laws and not the gentleman should be held in respect," said the traveller: " the poor man's life should never depend upon the rich man's pleasure." 1)5 58 RORY o'more. CHAPTER III. A PEEP INTO IRELAND FORTY YEARS AGO. HINTS FOR CHARGING JURIES. EVERY LANDLORD HIS OWN LAW- GIVER. PRIDE OF BIRTH. A JOCULAR PRINCE ON FOOT, AND A POPULAR PEER ON HORSEBACK. A TRAIN of musing, on the traveller's part, rapidly succeeded his last remark ; and as he went jolting- along unconsciously over the wretched road, he was mentally floundering through the deep ruts of political specula- tion, and looking forward, through the warm haze which a young imagination flings round its objects, to that happier time when Ireland should enjoy a loftier position than that im- plied by what Rory O'More had said. But, alas ! instead of this brilliant advent, blood and crime, and all the fiercer passions that degrade human nature, making man more RORY o'more, 59 like a demon than a human being, were the futurity which Ireland was doomed to expe- rience ; and while the enthusiasm of the young traveUer looked forward to the heights where his imagination enthroned his country's for- tunes, he overlooked and saw not the valley of blood that lay between. And forty years (almost half a century) have passed away since the young enthusiast indulged in his vision, and still is Ireland the theme of fierce discussion. It was Rory O'More's remark upon the na- ture of j udicial trials in Ireland that had start- ed the traveller on his train of musing. An Irishman by birth, he had long been absent from his native land, and was not aware of its internal details ; and that such a state of feud- ality as that implied by Ror^'s observation could exist in Ireland, while England enjoyed the fullest measure of her constitution, might well surprise him : — but so it was. The period to which this relates was 1797, when distrust, political prejudice, and religious 60 RORY O'MORE. rancour, were the terrible triumvirate that as- sumed dominion over men's minds. In such a state of things, the temple of justice could scarcely be called a sanctuary, and shelter was to be found rather beneath the mantle of per- sonal influence than under the ermine of the judge. Even to this day, in Ireland, feudal in- fluence is in existence; but forty years ago, it superseded the laws of the land. So much was this the case, that it is worth recording an anecdote of the period which is fact : the names it is unnecessary to give. A certain instance of brutal assault, caus- ing loss of life, had occurred, so aggravated in its character that the case almost amounted to murder, and the off'ender, who stood his trial for the offence, it was expected, would be sen- tenced to transportation, should he escape the forfeiture of his life to the law. The evidence on his trial was clear and convincing, and all attempts at defence had failed, and the persons assembled in the court anticipated a v^dict of guilty on the heaviest counts in the indict- RORY O MORE. 61 ment. The prosecution and defence had clos- ed, and the judge had nearly summed up the evidence, and was charging the jury directly against the prisoner, when a bustle was per- ceived in the body of the court. The judge ordered the crier to command silence, and that officer obeyed his commands without pro- ducing any eflPect. The judge was about to direct a second and more peremptory command for silence, when a note was handed up to the bench, and the judge himself, instead of issuing his command for silence, became silent himself, and perused the note with great attention. He pursued his charge to the jury no further, but sent up a small slip of paper to the foreman, who forthwith held some whispered counsel with his brother jurors ; and when their heads, that had been huddled together in consultation, separated, and they resumed their former posi- tions, the judge then continued his address to them thus. — " I Have endeavoured to point out to you, gentlemen of the jury, the doubts of this case, 62 RORY o'more. but I do not think it necessary to proceed any further ; — I have such confidence in your dis- crimination and good sense, that I now leave the case entirely in your hands : — if you are of opinion that what you have been ptit in pos- session of in the prisoner''s favour counter- balances the facts sworn to against him, you will of course acquit him— and any doubts you have, I need not tell you should be thrown into the scale of mercy. It is the proud pre-emi- nence, gentlemen, of our criminal laws — laws, gentlemen, which are part and parcel of the glorious constitution, that is the wonder and the envy of surrounding nations, that a pri- soner is to have the benefit of every doubt ; and therefore, if you think proper, of course you will find the prisoner not guilty." '• Certainly, my lord," said the foreman of the jury, " we are of your lordship's opinion, and we say not guilty." The fact was, the great man of the dis- trict where the crime had been committed, whose serf the prisoner was, had sent up his RORY o'more. 63 compliments to the judge and jury, stating the prisoner to be a most useful person to him, and that he would feel extremely obliged if they would acquit him. This ruffian was a sort of bold, sporting, dare-devil charac- ter, whose services in breaking-in dogs, and attending his master and his parties on wild mountain-shooting and fishing excursions, were invaluable to the squire, and human life, which this fellow had sacrificed, was nothing in the scale when weighed against the squire's diver- sion. This will scarcely be credited in the present day, nevertheless it is a fact. Another occurrence of the time shows the same disregard of the law ; though the case is by no means so bad, inasmuch as the man was only taken up for an offence, but was not tried — he was only rescued to save him that trouble. He had committed some offence which entitled him to a lodging in the county gaol, and was ac- cordingly taken into custody by the proper authorities ; but, as the county town was too distant to send him to at once, he was handed 64 RORY o'more. over to the care of a military detachment that occupied a small village in the neighbourhood. To the little barrack-yard or guard-house of this outpost he was committed ; but he did not remain there long, for his mountain friends came down in great numbers and carried him off in triumph, having forced the barracks. The moment the colonel of the regiment, a detachment of which occupied the post, re- ceived intelligence of the circumstance, he marched the greater part of his men to the place, vowing he would drag the prisoner who had been committed to the care of his troops from the very heart of his mountains, and that neither man, woman, nor child should be spared who dared to protect him from cap- ture. While the colonel, who was an English- man, was foaming with indignation at this contempt of all order displayed by the Irish, Mr. French waited upon him and asked him to dinner. The English colonel said, he would be most happy at any other time, but at pre- sent it was impossible ; — that if he could. RORY o'more. 65 he would neither eat, drink, nor sleep till he had vindicated the laws. " Pooh, pooh ! My dear sir,'' said Mr. French, " it is all very well to talk about the laws in England, but they know nothing about them here." " Then it 's time, sir, they should be taught," said the colonel. " Well, don't be in a hurry, at least, my dear sir," said Mr. French. " I assure you the poor people mean no disrespect to the laws ; it is in pure ignorance they have made this mistake." " Mistake !" said the colonel. " 'Pon my soul ! nothing more," said Mr. French ; " and if you think to make them wise at the point of the bayonet, you '11 find yourself mistaken : you '11 have the whole coun- try in an uproar, and do no good after all; for once these fellows have given you the slip, you might as well go hunt after mountain- goats." " But, consistently with my duty, sir — " 66 RORY O MORE. " Your duty will keep till to-morrow, colo- nel dear, and you '11 meet three or four other magistrates, as well as me, at my house, who will tell you the same that I have done. You'll be wiser to-morrow, depend upon it : — so come home with me to dinner." The colonel, who was a man of deliberation, rode home with Mr. French, who talked him over as they went along : — " You see, my dear sir, how is it possible you should know the people as well as we do ? Believe me, every landlord knows his own tenantry best, and we make it a point here never to interfere with each other in that particular. Now, the fel- low they took away from your men " " Curse them !" said the colonel. " Keep yourself cool, my dear colonel. That fellow, for instance — now he is one of Blake's men : and if Blake wants the fellow to be hanged, he ""ll send him in to you." " Send him in ! — why, sir, if my regiment could not keep the rascal, what chance has Mr. Blake of making him prisoner .^" RORY OMORE. bt " I said nothing, colonel, of making him prisoner : I said, and still say, that if Blake wants him to be hanged, he 11 send him in.''' " Do you mean to say, my good sir, that he '11 desire him to come in and be hanged ?'* " Precisely." " And will he come ?"*' " Most undoubtedly, if Blake desires him." The colonel dined with Mr. French that day : the day following the regiment was marched back to head-quarters — and Blake did Jiot send in his man to be hanged. So much for feudality ! But the young traveller knew not these facts, and he was awakened from the reverie in which he was indulging by the blowing of a long tin horn, announcing the arrival of the coach at a dirty little town, where it was to stop for the night. It drove up to what was call- ed a hotel, round the door of which, though still raining heavily, a crowd of beggars stood, so thick, that the passengers could hard- ly press their way through them into the 68 house ; and while they were thus struggling for admittance, obstreperous prayers assailed their ears on all sides, in horrid discord and strange variety — for their complaints and their blessings became so jumbled together as to produce a ludicrous effect. There were blind and lame, broken bones, widows and orphans, &c. &c. " Pity the blind i and may you never see — " " To-morrow morning won't find me alive if you don't relieve — " " The guard will give me something, your honour, if you 11 only bid him — " " Be quiet, you divil ! and don't taze the gintleman ! Sure he has — " " Three fatherless childher — "" " And broke his two legs — " " That is stone blind—" " And met a dhreadful accident ! — and* sure the house fell on him, and he *s lyin' undher it these three weeks without a bit to ate, but — " " Three fatherless childher and a dissolute widow — " RORY o'more. 69 " Lying on the broad of her back, with no- thing on her but — " " The small-pox, your honour !" " For Heaven's sake ! let me pass," said the young traveller, who had a horror of the small- pox ; and pressing through the crowd that environed him into the house, he entered the first room he saw, and suddenly closed the door behind him. As s