--Hycy Disclaims Sobriety--Ahadarra's in for it.
One day about a month after Mrs. M'Mahon's funeral, Harry Clinton was
on his way to Jemmy Burke's, when he met Nanny Peety going towards
Ballymacan.
“Well, Nanny,” he inquired, “where are you bound for, now?”
“To the post-office with a letter from Masther Hycy, sir. I wanted him
to tell me who it was for, but he would not. Will you, Mr. Clinton?” and
she held out the letter to him as she spoke.
Clinton felt a good deal surprised to see that it was addressed to his
uncle, and also written in a hand which he did not recognize to be that
of Hycy Burke.
“Are you sure, Nanny,” he asked, “that this letter was written by Mr.
Hycy?”
“Didn't I see him, sir?” she replied; “he wrote it before my eyes a
minute before he handed it to me. Who is it for, Mr. Clinton?”
“Why are you so very anxious to know, Nanny?” he inquired.
“Sorra thing,” she replied, “but curiosity--a woman's curiosity, you
know.”
“Well, Nanny, you know, or ought to know, that it would not be right in
me to tell you who the letter is for, when Mr. Hycy did not think proper
to do so.”
“True enough, sir,” she replied; “an I beg your pardon, Mr. Clinton, for
asking you; indeed it was wrong in me to tell you who it came from even,
bekaise Mr. Hycy told me not to let any one see it, only jist to slip it
into the post-office unknownst, as I passed it; an' that was what made
me wish to know who it was goin' to, since the thruth must be tould.”
Clinton in turn now felt his curiosity stimulated as to the contents
of this mysterious epistle, and he resolved to watch, if possible, what
effect the perusal of it might have on his uncle, otherwise he was never
likely to hear a syllable that was contained in it, that worthy relative
being, from official necessity, a most uncommunicative person in all his
proceedings.
“I wonder,” observed Clinton, “that Mr. Hycy would send to any one a
letter so slurred and blotted with ink as that is.”
“Ay, but he blotted it purposely himself,” replied Nanny, “and that too
surprised me, and made me wish to know what he could mane by it.”
“Perhaps it's a love-letter, Nanny,” said Clinton, laughing.
“I would like to know who it is to, at any rate,” said the girl; “but
since you won't, tell me, sir, I must try and not lose my rest about it.
Good-bye, Mr. Clinton.”
“Good-bye, Nanny;” and so they started.
Young Clinton, who, though thoughtless and fond of pleasure, was not
without many excellent points of character, began now to perceive,
by every day's successive intimacy, the full extent of Hycy Burke's
profligacy of morals, and utter want of all honorable principle.
Notwithstanding this knowledge, however, he felt it extremely difficult,
nay, almost impossible, to separate himself from Hycy, who was an
extremely pleasant young fellow, and a very agreeable companion when
he pleased. He had in fact gained that personal ascendancy over him, or
that licentious influence which too many of his stamp are notorious for
exercising over better men than themselves; and he found that he could
not readily throw Hyoy off, without being considerably a loser by the
act.
“I shall have nothing to do with his profligacy,” said he, “or his want
of principle, and I shall let him know, at all events, that I will not
abide by the agreement or compromise entered into between us some time
since at his father's. He shall not injure an honest man for me, nor
shall I promise him even neutrality with respect to his proposal for my
sister, whom I would rather see dead a hundred times than the wife of
such a fellow.”
The next morning, about half an hour before breakfast, he told his uncle
that he was stepping into town and would bring him any letters that
might be for him in the post-office. He accordingly did so, and received
two letters, one Hycy's and the other with the crest and frank of the
sitting member for the county, who was no other than young Chevydale.
His uncle was at breakfast when he handed them to him, and we need
hardly say that the M.P. was honored by instant attention. The
Still-hound read it over very complacently. “Very well,” he exclaimed;
“very well, indeed, so far. Harry, we must be on the alert, now the
elections are approaching, and Chevydale will be stoutly opposed, it
seems. We must work for him, and secure as many votes as we can. It
is our interest to do so, Harry,--and he will make it our interest
besides.”
“Has principle nothing to do with it, sir?”
“Principle! begad, sir,” retorted the uncle, “there's no such thing as
principle--lay that down as a fact--there's no such thing in this world
as principle.”
“Well, but consistency, uncle. For instance, you know you always vote on
the Tory side, and Chevydale is a Liberal and an Emancipator.”
“Consistency is all d--d stuff, Harry, as principle. What does it mean?
why that if a man's once wrong he's always to be wrong--that is just the
amount of it. There's Chevydale, for instance, he has a brother who is a
rank Tory and a Commissioner of Excise, mark that; Chevydale and he play
into each other's hands, and Chevydale some of these days will sell the
Liberals, that is, if he can get good value for them. If I now vote on
the Tory side against Chevydale, his brother, the Tory Commissioner,
will be my enemy in spite of all his Toryism; but if I vote and exert
myself for Chevydale, the Liberal, I make his Tory of a brother my
friend for life. And now, talk to me about principle, or consistency
either.”
His nephew could not but admit, that the instances adduced by his uncle
were admirably calculated to illustrate his argument, and he accordingly
pursued the subject no further.
“Ay!” exclaimed the Still-hound, “what d--d scrawl have we got here? Ay,
ay, why this is better than I expected.”
“What is better, uncle?” said the nephew, venturing an experiment.
“Why,” replied the sagacious old rascal, “for you to mind your business,
if you have any, and to let me mind mine, without making impertinent
inquiries, Master Harry.” With these words he went and. locked up both
letters in his desk. As we, however, possess the power of unlocking his
desk, and reading the letter to boot, we now take the liberty of laying
it in all its graphic beauty and elegance before our readers--
“To MISTHER KLINTON, SIR:
“Af you go this nite bout seven clocks or thereaway, you'd find a
Still-Hed an' Worm At full work, in they tipper End iv The brown Glen in
Ahadarra. Sir, thrum wan iv Die amstrung's Orringemen an' a fren to the
axshize.”
The gauger after breakfast again resumed the conversation as follows:--
“Have you changed your mind, Harry, regarding the Excise? because if you
have I think I may soon have an opportunity of getting you a berth.”
“No, sir, I feel an insurmountable repugnance to the life of a
Still--hem.”
“Go on, man, to the life of a Still-hunter. Very well. Your father's
death last year left you and your sister there dependent upon me, for
the present at least; for what could a medical man only rising into
practice, with a, family to support and educate, leave behind him?”
“Unfortunately, sir, it is too true.”
“In the mean time you may leave 'unfortunate' out, and thank God that
you had the shelter of my roof to come to; and be on your knees, too,
that I was a bachelor. Well, I am glad myself that I had and have a home
for you; but still, Harry, you ought to think of doing something for
yourself; for I may not live always, you know, and beside I am not rich.
You don't relish surgery, you say?”
“I can't endure it, uncle.”
“But you like farming?”
“Above every other mode of life.”
“Very well, I think it's likely I shall have a good farm to put you into
before long.”
“Thank you, uncle. You may rest assured that both Maria and myself are
fully sensible of the kindness we have experienced at your hands.”
“Small thanks to me for that. Who the devil would I assist, if not my
brother's orphans? It is true, I despise the world, but still we must
make our use of it. I know it consists of only knaves and fools. Now, I
respect the knaves; for if it were'nt for their roguery, the world would
never work; it would stand still and be useless. The fools I despise,
not so much because they are fools, as because they would be knaves if
they could; so that, you see I return again to my favorite principle of
honesty. I am going to Ballymacan on business, so good-bye to you both.”
“Uncle,” said his nephew, “one word with you before you go.”
“What is it?”
“Would you suffer me to offer you a word of advice, and will you excuse
me for taking such a liberty with a man of your experience?”
“Certainly, Harry, and shall always feel thankful to any one that gives
me good advice.”
“If this is not good advice, it is at least well intended.”
“Let us hear it first, and then we shall judge better.”
“You say you will procure me a farm. Now, uncle, there is one thing
I should wish in connection with that transaction, which is, that you
would have no underhand--hem!--no private understanding of any kind with
Mr. Hycy Burke.”
“Me a private understanding with Hycy Burke! What in the devil's name
has put such a crotchet as that into your head?”
“I only speak as I do, because I believe you have received a private
communication from him.”
“Have I, faith! If so I am obliged to you--but I am simply ignorant of
the fact you mention; for, with my own knowledge', I never received a
line from him in my life.”
“Then I must be wrong,” replied Harry; “that is all.”
“Wrong! Certainly you are wrong. Hycy Burke, I am told, is a compound
of great knave and gross fool, the knavery rather prevailing. But how is
this? Are not you and he inseparable?”
“He is a companion, uncle, but not a friend in the true sense--nor,
indeed, in any sense of that word. I spoke now, however, with reference
to a particular transaction, and not to his general character.”
“Well, then, I have no underhand dealings with him, as you are pleased
to call them, nor ever had. I never to my knowledge received a line from
him in my life; but I tell you that if he comes in my way, and that I
can make use of him, I will. Perhaps he may serve us in the Elections.
Have you anything else to ask?”
“No sir,” replied Harry, laughing. “Only I hope you will excuse me for
the liberty I took.”
“Certainly, with all my heart, and you shall be always welcome to take
the same liberty. Good-bye, again.”
Clinton now felt satisfied that Hycy's letter to his uncle was an
anonymous one, and although he could not divine its contents, he
still felt assured that it was in some way connected with the farm
transaction, or at all events detrimental to Bryan M'Mahon. He
consequently resolved to see Hycy, against whom, or rather against
whose principles he was beginning to entertain a strong repugnance, and
without any hesitation to repudiate the engagement he had entered into
with him.
He found Hycy at home, or rather he found him in conversation with Bat
Hogan behind his father's garden.
“What was that ruffian wanting with you, Hycy, if it's a fair question?”
“Perfectly,” said Hycy, “from you; but not in sooth from your worthy
uncle.”
“How is that?”
“Simply, he wants to know if I'd buy a keg of Poteen which, it seems, he
has to sell. I declined because I have a sufficiently ample stock of it
on hands.”
“My uncle,” said Clinton, prefers it to any other spirits; indeed, at
home he never drinks any other, and whenever he dines, thanks those who
give it the preference.”
“Come in, and let us have a glass of poteen grog, in the mean time,”
said Hycy, “for it's better still in grog than in punch. It's a famous
relish for a slice of ham; but, as the Scotch say, baith's best.”
Having discussed the grog and ham, the conversation went on.
“Hycy,” proceeded his companion, “with respect to that foolish
arrangement or bargain we made the other night, I won't have anything
to say or do in it. You shall impoverish or ruin no honest man on my
account. I was half drunk or whole drunk, otherwise I wouldn't have
listened to such a proposal.”
“What do you mean?” said Hycy, with a look of very natural surprise, and
a pause of some time, “I don't understand you.”
“Don't you remember the foolish kind of stipulation we entered into with
reference to M'Mahon's farm, of Ahadarra, on the one hand, and my most
amiable (d--n me but I ought to be horsewhipped for it) sister on the
other?”
“No,” replied Hycy, “devil a syllable. My word and honor, Harry.”
“Well, if you don't, then, it's all right. You didn't appear to be
tipsy, though.”
“I never do, Harry. In that respect I'm the d--dest, hypocritical rascal
in Europe. I'm a perfect phenomenon; for, in proportion as I get drunk
in intellect, I get sober both in my carriage and appearance. However,
in Heaven's name let me know the bargain if there was one?”
“No, no,” replied his friend, “it was a disgraceful affair on both
sides, and the less that's said of it the better.”
By some good deal of persuasion, however, and an additional glass
of grog, he prevailed on Clinton to repeat the substance of the
stipulation; on hearing which, as if for the first time, he laughed very
heartily.
“This liquor,” he proceeded, “is a strange compound, and puts queer
notions into our head. Why if there's an honest decent fellow in Europe,
whom I would feel anxious to serve beyond another, next to yourself,
Harry, it is Bryan M'Mahon. But why I should have spoken so, I can't
understand at all. In the first place, what means have of injuring
the man? And what is stronger still, what inclination have I, or could
have--and what is still better--should have?”
“I do assure you it did not raise you in my opinion.”
“Faith, no wonder, Harry, and I am only surprised you didn't speak to me
sooner about it. Still,” he proceeded, smiling, 'there is one portion
of it I should not wish to see cancelled--I mean your advocacy with Miss
Clinton.”
“To be plain with you, Hycy, I wash my hands out of that affair too; I
won't promise advocacy.”
“Well neutrality?”
“The truth is, neither neutrality nor advocacy would avail a rush.
I have reason to think that my sister's objections against you are
insuperable.”
“On what do they rest?” asked the other.
“They are founded upon your want of morals,” replied Clinton.
“Well, suppose I reform my morals?”
“That is, substitute hypocrisy for profligacy; I fear, Hycy, the
elements of reformation are rather slight within you.”
“Seriously, you do me injustice; and, besides, a man ought not to be
judged of his morals before marriage, but after.”
“Faith, both before and after, in my opinion, Hycy. No well-educated,
right-minded girl would marry a man of depraved morals, knowing him to
be such.”
“But I really am not worse than others, nor so bad as many. Neither
have I the reputation of being an immoral man. A little wild and
over-impulsive from animal spirits I may be, but all that will pass off
with the new state. No, no, d--n it, don't allow Miss Clinton to imbibe
such prejudices. I do not say that I am a saint; but I shall settle down
and bring her to church very regularly, and hear the sermon with most
edifying attention. Another glass of grog?”
“No, no.”
“But I hope and trust, my dear Harry, that you have not been making
impressions against me.”
“Unquestionably not. I only say you have no chance whatever in that
quarter.”
“Will you allow me to try?” asked Hycy.
“I have not the slightest objection,” replied the other, “because I
know how it will result.”
“Very well,--thank you even for that same, my dear Harry; but, seriously
speaking, I fear that neither you nor I are leading the kind of lives we
ought, and so far I cannot quarrel with your sister's principles. On
the contrary, they enable me to appreciate her if possible still more
highly; for a clear and pure standard of morals in a wife is not only
the best fortune but the best security for happiness besides. You might
stop and dine?”
“No, thank you, it is impossible. By the way, I have already spoiled my
dinner with that splendid ham of yours. Give me a call when in town.”
Hycy, after Clinton's departure, began to review his own position. Of
ultimately succeeding with Miss Clinton he entertained little doubt. So
high and confident was his vanity, that he believed himself capable of
performing mighty feats, and achieving great successes, with the fair
sex,--all upon the strength of having destroyed the reputation of two
innocent country girls. Somehow, notwithstanding his avowed attachment
for Miss Clinton, he could not help now and then reverting to the
rich beauty and magnificent form of Kathleen Cavanagh; nor was this
contemplation of his lessened by considering that, with all his
gentlemanly manners, and accomplishments, and wealth to boot, she
preferred the clod-hopper, as he called Bryan M'Mahon, to himself.
He felt considerably mortified at this reflection, and the more
especially, as he had been frequently taunted with it and laughed at
for it by the country girls, whenever he entered into any bantering
conversation. A thought now struck him by which he could, as he
imagined, execute a very signal revenge upon M'Mahon through Kathleen,
and perhaps, ultimately upon Kathleen herself, if he should succeed
with Miss Clinton; for he did not at all forgive Kathleen the two public
instances of contempt with which she had treated him. There was still,
however, another consideration. His father had threatened to bring home
his brother Edward, then destined for the church, and altogether to
change his intentions in that respect. Indeed, from the dry and caustic
manner of the old man towards him of late, he began to entertain
apprehensions upon the subject. Taking therefore all these circumstances
into consideration, he resolved in any event to temporize a little, and
allow the father to suppose that he might be prevailed upon to marry
Kathleen Cavanagh.
In the course of that evening, after dinner, while his father and he
were together and his mother not present, he introduced the subject
himself.
“I think, Mr. Burke, if I remember correctly, you proposed something
like a matrimonial union between the unrivalled Katsey Cavanagh and the
accomplished Hycy.”
“I did, God forgive me.”
“I have been thinking over that subject since.”
“Have you, indeed,” said his father; “an' am I to make Ned a priest or a
farmer?” he asked, dryly.
“The church, I think, Mr. Burke, is, or ought to be, his destination.”
“So, after all, you prefer to have my money and my property, along wid
a good wife, to your brother Ned--Neddy I ought to call him, out of
compliment to you--ha! ha! ha!”
“Proceed, Mr. Burke, you are pleased to be facetious.”
“To your brother Ned--Neddy--having them, and maybe along wid them the
same, wife too?”
“No, not exactly; but out of respect to your wishes.
“What's that?” said the old man, staring at him with a kind of comic
gravity--“out of respect to my wishes!”
“That's what I've said,” replied the son. “Proceed.”
His father looked at' him again, and replied, “Proceed yourself---it was
you introduced the subject. I'm now jack-indifferent about it.”
“All I have to say,” continued Hycy, “is that I withdraw my ultimate
refusal, Mr. Burke. I shall entertain the question, as they say; and
it is not improbable but that I may dignify the fair Katsey with the
honorable title of Mrs. Burke.”
“I wish you had spoken a little sooner, then,” replied his father,
“bekaise it so happens that Gerald Cavanagh an' I have the match between
her and your brother Ned as good as made.”
“My brother Ned! Why, in the name of; all that's incredible, how could
that be encompassed?”
“Very aisily,” said his father, “by the girl's waitin' for him. Ned is
rather young! yet, I grant you; he's nineteen, however, and two years
more, you know, will make him one-and-twenty--take him out o' chancery,
as they say.”
“Very good, Mr. Burke, very good; in that case I have no more to say.”
“Well,” pursued the father, in the same dry, half-comic, half-sarcastic
voice, “but what do you intend to do with yourself?”
“As to that,” replied Hycy, who felt that the drift of the conversation
was setting in against him, “I shall take due time to consider.”
“What height are you?” asked the father, rather abruptly.
“I can't see, Mr. Burke, I really can't see what my height has to do
with the question.”
“Bekaise,” proceeded the other, “I have some notion of putting you into
the army. You spoke of it wanst yourself, remimber; but then there's an
objection even to that.”
“Pray, what is the objection, Mr. Burke?”
“Why, it's most likely you'd have to fight--if you took to the milintary
trade.”
“Why, upon my word, Mr. Burke, you shine in the sarcastic this evening.”
“But, at any rate, you must take your chance for that. You're a fine,
active young fellow, and I suppose if they take to runnin' you won't be
the last of them.”
“Good, Mr. Burke--proceed, though.”
“An accordingly I have strong notions of buying you a corplar's or
a sargent's commission. A good deal of that, however, depends upon
yourself; but, as you say, I'll think of it.”
Hycy, who could never bear ridicule, especially from the very man whom
he attempted to ridicule most, bounced up, and after muttering something
in the shape of an oath that was unintelligible, said, assuming all his
polite irony:--
“Do so, Mr. Burke; in the mean time I have the pleasure of wishing you a
very good evening, sir.”
“Oh, a good-evening, sir,” replied the old fellow, “and when you come
home from the wars a full non-commissioned officer, you'll be scowerin'
up your halbert every Christmas an' Aisther, I hope; an' telling us long
stories--of all you killed an' ate while you were away from us.”
Harry Clinton, now aware that the anonymous letter which his uncle had
received that morning was the production of Hycy, resolved to watch the
gauger's motions very closely. After a great deal of reflection upon
Hycy's want of memory concerning their bargain, and upon a close
comparison between his conduct and whole manner on the night in
question, and his own account of the matter in the course of their last
interview, he could not help feeling that his friend had stated a gross
falsehood, and that the pretended want of recollection was an ingenious
after-thought, adopted for the purpose of screening himself from the
consequences of whatever injury he might inflict upon Bryan M'Mahon.
“Harry,” said his uncle, as nine o'clock approached, “I am going upon
duty tonight.”
“In what direction, sir? may I ask.”
“Yes, you may, but I'm not bound to tell you. In this instance, however,
there is no necessity for secrecy; it is now too late to give our
gentleman the hard word, so I don't care much if I do tell you. I am
bound for Ahadarra.”
“For Ahadarra--you say for Ahadarra, uncle?”
“I do, nephew.”
“By heavens, he is the deepest and most consummate scoundrel
alive,” exclaimed Harry; “I now see it all. Uncle, I wish to God you
would--would---I don't know what to say.”
“That's quite evident, nor what to think either. In the mean time the
soldiers are waiting for me in Ballymacan, and so I must attend to my
duty, Harry.”
“Is it upon the strength of the blotted letter you got this morning,
sir, that you are now acting”?”
“No, sir; but upon the strength of a sure spy dispatched this day to the
premises. I am a little too shrewd now, Master Harry, to act solely upon
anonymous information. I have been led too many devil's dances by it in
my time, to be gulled in my old age on the strength of it.”
He immediately prepared himself for the excursion, mounted his horse,
that was caparisoned in a military saddle, the holsters furnished with a
case of pistols, which, with a double case that he had on his person and
two daggers, constituted his weapons of offence and defence.
Their path lay directly to the south for about two miles. Having
traversed this distance they reached cross-roads, one of which branched
towards the left and was soon lost in a rough brown upland, into
which it branched by several little pathways that terminated in little
villages or solitary farmer's houses. For about two miles more they were
obliged to cross a dark reach of waste moor, where the soil was strong
and well capable of cultivation. Having avoided the villages and more
public thoroughfares, they pushed upward until they came into the black
heath itself, where it was impossible that horses could travel in such
darkness as then prevailed; for it was past ten o'clock, near the close
of December. Clinton consequently left his horse in the care of two
soldiers on a bit of green meadow by the side of Ahadarra Lough--a small
tarn or mountain lake about two hundred yards in diameter. They then
pushed up a long round swelling hill, on the other side of which was
a considerable stretch of cultivated land with Bryan M'Mahon's new and
improved houses at the head of it. This they kept to their right until
they came in sight of the wild but beautiful and picturesque Glen of
Althadhawan, which however was somewhat beyond the distance they had to
go. At length, after breasting another hill which was lost in the base
of Cullimore, they dropped down rapidly into a deep glen through which
ran a little streamlet that took its rise not a quarter of a mile above
them, and which supplied the apparatus for distillation with soft clear
water. This they followed until near the head of the glen, where, in a
position which might almost escape even a gauger's eye, they found the
object of their search.
Tumbled around them in all directions were a quantity of gigantic
rocks thrown as it were at random during some Titanic war-fare or
diversion--between two of which the still-house was built in such a way,
that, were it not for the smoke in daylight, it would be impossible
to discover it, or at all events, to suppose that it could be the
receptacle of a human being.
On entering, Clinton and his men were by no means surprised to find
the place deserted, for this in fact was frequently the case on such
occasions. On looking through the premises, which they did by the light
of a large fire, they found precisely that which had been mentioned in
Hycy's letter--to wit, the Still, the Head, and the Worm; but with the
exception of an old broken rundlet or two, and a crazy vessel of wash
that was not worth removing, there was nothing whatsoever besides.
The Still was on the fire half filled with water, the Head was on the
Still, and the Worm was attached to the Head precisely as if they were
in the process of distillation.
“Ay,” said Clinton, on seeing how matters stood, “I think I understand
this affair. It's a disappointment in one sense--but a sure enough card
in another. The fine is certain, and Ahadarra is most undoubtedly in for
it.”