"But, to a man like me, who hasn't had his breakfast to-day yet, how will it be sarviceable? will reading it keep off hunger or fill my stomach?"
"Ah! Darby, my friend, that is gross talk--such views of divine truth are really a perversion of the gifts of heaven. That book although it will not fill your stomach, as you grossly call it, actually will do it figuratively, which in point of fact is the same thing, or a greater--it will enable you to bear hunger as a dispensation, Darby, to which it is your duty as a Christian to submit. Nay, it will do more, my friend; it will exalt your faith to such a divine pitch, that if you read it with the proper spirit, you will pray that the dispensation thus laid on you may continue, in order that the inner man may be purged."
"Faith, and Mr. M'Slime, with great respect, if that is your doctrine it isn't your practice. The sorra word of prayer--God bless the prayers!--came out o' your lips today,'an til you laid in a good warm breakfast, and afther that, for fraid of disappointments, the very first thing you prayed for was your daily bread--didn't I hear you? But I'll tell you what, sir, ordher me my breakfast, and then I'll be spakin' to you. A hungry man--or a hungry woman, or her hungry childre' can't eat Bibles; although it is well known, God knows, that when hunger, and famine, and starvation are widin them and upon them, that the same Bible, but nothing else, is; handed to them by pious people in the shape of consolation and relief. Now I'm thinkin', Mr. M'Slime, that that is not the best way to make the Bible respected. Are you goin' to give me my breakfast, sir? upon my sowl, beggin' your pardon, if you do I'll bring the Bible home wid me, if that will satisfy you, for we haven't got e'er a one in our own little cabin."
"Sharpe, my good boy, I'll trouble you to take that Bible out of his hands. I am not in the slightest degree offended, Darby--you will yet, I trust, live to know better, may He grant it! I overlook the misprision of blasphemy on your part, for you didn't know what you said? but you will, you will.
"This is a short reply to Mr. M'Clutchy's note. I shall see him on my way to the sessions to-morrow, but I have told him so in it. And now, my friend, be assured I overlook the ungodly and carnal tenor of your conversation--we are all frail and prone to error; I, at least, am so--still we must part as Christians ought, Darby. You have asked me for a breakfast, but I overlook that also--I ought to overlook it as a Christian; for is not your immortal soul of infinitely greater value than your perishable body? Undoubtedly--and as a proof that I value it more, receive this--this, my brother sinner--oh! that I could say my brother Christian also--receive it, Darby, and in the proper spirit too; it is a tract written by the Rev. Vesuvius M'Slug, entitled 'Spiritual Food for Babes of Grace;' I have myself found it graciously consolatory and refreshing, and I hope that you also may, my friend."
"Begad, sir," said Darby, "it may be very good in its way, and I've no doubt but it's a very generous and Christian act in you to give it--espishilly since it cost you nothing--but for all that, upon my sowl, I'm strongly of opinion that to a hungry man it's a bad substitute for a breakfast."
"Ah! by the way, Darby," lending a deaf ear to this observation, "have you heard, within the last day or two, anything of Mr. M'Clutchy's father, Mr. Deaker--how he is?"
"Why, sir," replied Darby, "I'm tould he's breaking down fast, but the divil a one of him will give up the lady. Parsons, and ministers, and even priests, have all been at him; but it is useless: he curses and damns them right and left, and won't be attended by any one but her--hadn't you betther try him, Mr. M'Slime? May be you might succeed.
Who knows but a little of the 'Spiritual Food for Babes of Grace'
might sarve him as well as others. There's a case for you. Sure he acknowledges himself to be a member of the hell-fire club!"
"He's a reprobate, my friend--impenitent, hopeless. I have myself tried him, spoke with him, reasoned with him, but never was my humility, my patience, so strongly tried. His language I will not repeat--but canting knave, hypocrite, rascal attor--no, it is useless and unedifying to repeat it. Now go, my friend, and do not forget that precious tract which you have thrust so disrespectfully into your pocket."
Darby, after a shrewd wink at one of the apprentices, which was returned, passed out, and left Mr. M'Slime to the pursuit of his salvation.
In the mean time, as we authors have peculiar "privileges," as Mr.
M'Slime would say, we think if only due to our readers to let them have a peep at M'Slime's note to our friend Valentine M'Clutchy.
"My dear friend--I felt as deep an interest in the purport of your note as you yourself possibly could. The parties alluded to I appreciate precisely as you do--M'Loughlin has in the most unchristian manner assailed my character as well as yours. So has his partner in the concern--I mean Harman. But then, my friend, are we not Christians, and shall we not return good for evil? Shall we not forgive them? Some whispers, hints, very gentle and delicate have reached my ears, which I do not wish to commit to paper;--but this I may say, until I see you to-morrow, that I think your intentions with respect to M'Loughlin and Harman are premature. There is a screw loose somewhere, so to speak, that is all--but I believe, I can say, that if your father, Deaker, will act to our purposes, all will be as we could wish. This is a delicate subject, my dear friend, but still I am of opinion that if you could, by any practicable means; soften the unfortunate female who possesses such an ascendancy over him, all will be right. I would, myself, undertake the perilous task for your sake--and perilous to ordinary men I admit it would be, for she is beyond question exceedingly comely. In me this would appear disinterested, whilst in you, suspicion would become strong. Cash is wanted in the quarter you know, and cash has been refused in another quarter, and when we meet I shall tell you more about this matter. In the mean time it is well that there is no legitimate issue--but should he will his property to this Delilah, or could she be removed?--I mean to a local distance. But I shall see you to-morrow (D.V.), when we can have freer conversation upon what may be done. With humble but sincere prayers for your best wishes and welfare, I am, my dear friend,
"Thine in the bonds of Christian love,
"Solomon M'Slime.
"P. S.--As it is a principle of mine to neglect no just opportunity of improving my deceitful heart, I bought from a travelling pedlar this morning, a book with the remarkable title of 'The Spiritual Attorney, or A Sure Guide to the Other World.' I have not yet had time to look at anything but the title page, and consequently am not able to inform you which of the worlds he alludes to, ha, ha! You see, my friend, I do not think there is evil in a joke that is harmless, or has a moral end in view, as every joke ought to have.
"Thine as before,
"Sol. M'Slime."
CHAPTER IV.--Poll Doolin, the Child Cadger
--Raymond, her Son--Short Dialogue on the Times--Polls Opinion on the Causes of Immorality--Solomon is Generous--A Squire of the Old School--And a Moral Dialogue.
The next morning was that on which the Quarter Sessions of Castle Cumber commenced; and of course it was necessary for Darby O'Drive, who was always full of business on such occasions, to see M'Clutchy, in order to receive instructions touching his duties on various proceedings connected with the estate. He had reached the crossroads that ran about half-way between Constitution Cottage and Castle Cumber, when! he met, just where the road turned to M'Clutchy's, a woman named Poll Doolin, accompanied, as she mostly was, by her son--a poor, harmless, idiot, named Raymond; both of whom were well known throughout the whole parish.
Poll was a thin, sallow woman, with piercing dark eyes, and a very; gipsy-like countenance. Her dress was always black, and very much worn; in fact, everything about her was black--black stockings, black bonnet, black hair, and black kerchief. Poll's occupation was indeed a singular one, and not very creditable to the morals of the day. Her means of living were derived from the employment of child-cadger to the Foundling Hospital of Dublin. In other words, she lived by conveying illegitimate children from the places of their birth to the establishment just mentioned, which has been very properly termed a bounty for national immorality. Whenever a birth of this kind occurred, Poll was immediately sent for--received her little charge with a name--whether true or false mattered not--pinned to its dress--then her traveling expenses; after which she delivered it at the hospital, got a receipt for its delivery, and returned to claim her demand, which was paid only on her producing it. In the mean time, the unfortunate infant had to encounter all the comforts of the establishment, until it was drafted out to a charter school, in which hot-bed of pollution it received that exquisitely moral education that enabled it to be sent out into society admirably qualified to sustain the high character of Protestantism.
"Morrow, Poll," said Darby; "what's the youngest news wid you? And Raymond, my boy, how goes it wid you?"
"I don't care for you," replied the fool; "you drove away Widow Branagan's cow, an' left the childre to the black wather. Bad luck to you!"
Darby started; for there is a superstition among the Irish, that the curse of an "innocent" is one of the most unlucky that can be uttered.
"Don't curse me," replied Darby; "sure, Raymond, I did only my duty."
"Then who made you do your duty?" asked the other.
"Why, Val the Vul--hem--Mr. M'Clutchy, to be sure."
"Bad luck to him then!"
His mother, who had been walking a little before him, turned, and, rushing towards him, put her hand hastily towards his mouth, with the obvious intention of suppressing the imprecation; but too late; it had escaped, and be the consequence what it might, Val had got the exciting cause of it.
"My poor unfortunate boy," said she, "you oughtn't to curse anybody; stop this minute, and say God bless him."
"God bless who?"
"Mr. McClutchy."
"The devil bless him! ha, ha, ha! Doesn't he harry the poor, an' drive away their cows from them--doesn't he rack them an' rob them--harry them, rack them, rob them--
"Harry them, rack them, rob them, Rob them, rack them, harry them-- Harry them, rack them, rob them, Rob them, rack them, harry them."
This he sung in an air somewhat like "Judy Callahan."
"Ha, ha, ha! Oh the devil bless him! and they say a blessin' from the devil is very like a curse from God."
The mother once more put up her hands to his face, but only with the intention of fondling and caressing him. She tenderly stroked down his head, and patted his cheek, and attempted to win him out of the evil humor into which the sight of Darby had thrown him. Darby could observe, however, that she appeared to be deeply troubled by the idiot's conduct, as was evident by the trembling of her hands, and a perturbation of manner which she could not conceal.
"Raymond," she said, soothingly, "won't you be good for me, darlin'--for your own mother, my poor helpless boy? Won't you be good for me?"
"I will," said he, in a more placid voice.
"And you will not curse anybody any more?"
"No, mother, no."
"And won't you bless Mr. M'Clutchy, my dear child?"
"There's a fig for him," he replied--there's a fig for him. Now!"
"But you didn't bless him, my darlin'--you didn't bless him yet."
As she spoke the words, her eye caught! his, and she perceived that it began to gleam and kindle.
"Well no," said she hastily; "no, I won't ask you; only hould your tongue--say no more."
She again patted his cheek tenderly, and the fiery light which began to burn in his eye, died gradually away, and no other expression remained in it but the habitual one of innocence and good-nature.