"But what's the meaning of all this work about discussions and such stuff?"
"Faith, sir, it's all thrue enough at any rate; we're to have a religious field day here in the Sessions house of Castle Cumber; the whole thing is regulated--the seconds, and bottle houlders, and all is appointed. There's the Rev. Christopher Gammon, Rev. Vesuvius M'Slug, who's powerful against Popery, the Rev. Bernard Brimstone, and the Rev.
Phineas Lucre, with many more on the side of truth. On that of Popery and falsehood there's the Rev. Father M'Stake, the Rev. Father O'Flary, the Rev. Father M'Fire, and the Rev. Nicholas O'Scorch, D.D. Dr. Sombre is to be second on our side; and Father M'Fud on the part of Popery and idolatry."
"And when is this precious spouting match to take place, you rascal?"
"Why, sir, on Monday week; and on next Sunday, sir, I'm to read my rekintation, plaise God."
"But I didn't intend that you should go to such lengths as that--however, that's your own affair."
"But, Captain ahagur, sure it's on your account I'm doin' it--won't it enable me to get the blind side of him about one or two tilings we want to come at."
"Indeed, I believe certainly, that if he has a blind side at all, it is his own hypocrisy."
"Be my soul, and it'll go hard or we'll worm out the sacret we want.
There is one tiling I'm sartin of, he thinks, now that I'm turnin' by the way, that I'm ready to desart and desave you, Captain, an' indeed he says many things of you that he ought not to' say."
"Let us hear them."
"Why, sir, he said the other day--but sorra one o' me likes to be repeatin' these things."
"Come, come, you rascal, out with it."
"He said, sir, that he feared the divil had a hard howlt o you--that was the day I brought him the last letter, sir--that your heart, Captain, was full o' desate, and damnably wicked, plase your worship, and that if you didn't improve your morals you'd go where there is--something about gnashing of teeth, your honor."
"He's a double distilled scoundrel," replied Val, bitterly, "and although I know him well, I am determined still to know him better."
"Double distilled!--ay, faith, rectified many degrees above proof; but never mind; if I don't put a spoke in his wheel, I'm not here."
"Well, never mind now, either--give the hypocritical little scoundrel this letter."
"I will, and thank you, Captain! God bless your honor, and grant you 'long to reign over us, happy and glorious, God save the king! armin.'
You see, captain, I've the right strain of loyalty in me, any how, ha, ha, ha! Throth, if I ever change in airnest, it isn't among the yallow bellies I'll go; but into his majesty's own church, Captain Val--the brave church where they have the bells, and the big blessed lookin'
bishops, and their organs and coaches; aye, faith, and where everything is dacent and jintlemanly. Sure blood alive, Captain Val, beggin'
your pardon, what's the use of a religion if it's not respectable and ginteel? What signifies a ministher of any religion, if he hasn't a fat purse in his pocket, and a good round belly before him, for that shows, plaise your worship, that religion is more than a name, any how; an'
upon my conscience--oh, holy Moses, Captain Val, if M'Slime was to hear me swearin' this way! God pardon me! how-and-ever, but upon my conscience, it isn't the religion that keeps a man poor, but the religion that puts the flesh on his bones, and keeps it there, that is the right one--aye, and not only that, but that keeps a good coat on his back, your honor, and a good pair of breeches to his posterals--for which raison, whenever I do sariously turn it'll be--but you may guess--it'll be to the only true and loyal church;--for when a man can get both fat, and loyal, and religious, all at one move, he's a confounded fool that won't become religious."
This certainly, though not intended for it, was a true and bitter comment upon the principles of such men as M'Clutchy, who considered a profane and licentious attachment to a mere Establishment as a high duty, not because that establishment was the exponent of divine truth, but of a mere political symbol, adopted by subordinate and secular aids, to bind men of the same principles together.
"Begone, you rascal, and confound your dissertation. Go and deliver the letter, as I desired you, and bring me an answer."
"Sartinly, Captain, and will have an eye about me, into the bargain. How is Captain Phil, sir, before I go?"
M'Clutchy made a motion of indignation, but could not, in the meantime, altogether repress a smile; and Darby, taking his hat with a kind of shrewd and confidential grin, ran out of the office.
Our narrative now passes to the house of Poll Doolin, which was situated in a row of cottages towards the north side of Castle Cumber. Her son Raymond and she were its only inmates, and the former was in the act of replacing a hat among the _tria juncta in uno_, which he always wore.
"Raymond," said his mother, "now that you've got your supper, you must keep house till I come back."
"Must I indeed?---why must I? answer me that, there now, that's one."
"Becase I'm goin' out on business."
"What business?--where to?--what brought Phil M'Clutchy here yestherday?--tell me that--eh?"
"Oh, I couldn't tell you that, Raymond."
"Don't do anything for Phil, he's Val's son, that keeps the blood-hounds. Ah, poor Brian, and his white head--no', he'll never waken--never waken--an' what has she now to look at! Mother, I'd give all the cocks I ever had to see him and his white head in his mother's arms again--God's curse on Val! God's curse on him! I hate him--I hate Phil--I hate all of them--don't mother; do nothing for them."
"You foolish boy, what do you know about it?--keep the house till I come back, and I'll bring you a pennyworth of tobaccy?"
"But you will go?" said Raymond.
"I must, you fool."
"Very well, then, take it out o' that--there now, that's one."
It was now drawing on towards dusk, and Poll, assuming her black bonnet, and throwing her black cloak about her shoulders, sallied out with that furtive air which always accompanies one who is conscious of something that requires concealment. Her motions always were rapid, but on this occasion she walked like one whose mind brooded lover difficulties--sometimes she went very quick, then slackened her pace, and once or twice stood still, musing with her right hand to her chin.
At length she reached the residence of Brian M'Loughlin, just after night had set it--she entered not, but glided about the house, waited, watched, listened, and peeped into the house, very like a thief that was setting the premises. Ultimately she took her stand at a particular window in the rear of the building, where she kept watch with great patience, though for what purpose it would appear very difficult to guess. Patience, however, is often rewarded, and it was so in the case before us. After about half an hour a light fell through the glass, and Poll, availing herself of the opportunity, tapped gently: at first it was not noticed, and she tapped again, somewhat louder; this was successful--a gentle voice inquired in tones more of surprise than alarm, "who is there, and what is your business!"
"A friend," said Poll.
"Poll Doolin!"
"The same, and I'm here on a case of life and death. Could you come out for a start--three minutes will do."
"Certainly not--you trifled unnecessarily with my feelings before--I will have no more mysteries. I can raise the window, however, and anything you have to say can be said where we stand." She raised the sash as she spoke. "Now," said she "what is your business, Poll?"
"Life and death, as I said," replied Poll "Do you not know that Mr.
Harman is to be tried for murder, and that the assizes will open in a few days?"
"Unfortunately I do," replied Mary, sighing deeply, "but there can be no doubt of his acquittal. Father Roche has been here, who was present, and told us how the whole circumstance occurred."
"I don't doubt that," said Poll, "but this I tell you, and this you may rely on, that hang he will, in spite of fate; he's doomed."
"Great God!" exclaimed the now terrified girl, "you chill the blood in my veins--doomed!--what do you mean, Poll?"
"M'Clutchy will have him hanged in spite of all opposition--you know his power now--he can carry everything his own way."
"I know," replied the other, "that his influence is unfortunately great, no doubt, and cruelly is it exercised; but still, I don't know that he can carry everything his own way."
"Do you know what packing a jury means?"
"Alas!" replied Mary, starting, and getting pale, "I do indeed, Poll. I have heard of it too frequently."
"What, then, has the Vulture, the blood-hound, to do, but to get twelve Orangemen upon the jury, and the work is done?"
The unhappy girl burst into tears, and wrung her hands, for, however questionable the veracity of her present informant, she knew, from the unfortunate circumstances of the country, that such corrupt influences had too frequently been exerted.