ALL'S WELL
The soul of Jem Deady was grievously perturbed. That calm and placid
philosopher had lost his equanimity. It showed itself in many ways,--in
violent abstraction at meal-times, and the ghoulish way in which he
swallowed cups of tea, and bolted potatoes wholesale; in strange
muttered soliloquies in which he called himself violent and opprobrious
names; in sacrilegious gestures towards Father Letheby's house. And
once, when Bess, alarmed about his sanity, and hearing dreadful sounds
of conflict from his bedroom, and such expressions as these: "How do you
like that?" "Come on, you ruffian!" "You'll want a beefsteak for your
eye and not for your stomach, you glutton!" when Bess, in fear and
trembling, entered the bedroom, she found her amiable spouse belaboring
an innocent bolster which, propped against the wall, did service
vicariously for some imaginary monster of flesh and blood. To all Bess's
anxious inquiries there was but one answer: "Let me alone, 'uman; I'm
half out o' my mind!" There should be a climax, of course, to all this,
and it came. It was not the odor of the steaks and onions that, wafted
across intervening gardens from Father Letheby's kitchen, precipitated
the crisis; nor the tears of Lizzie, who appeared from time to time, a
weeping Niobe, and whose distress would have touched the heart of a less
susceptible Irishman than Jem Deady; nor yet the taunts of the women of
the village, who stung him with such sarcasms as these: "Yes; Faynians
begor, with their drilling, an' their antics, an' their corporals, an'
their sergeants,--they couldn't hunt a flock of geese. Dere goes de
captain!--look at him an' his airs; and thim Dublin jackeens above in
the priest's house, atin' him out o' house and home, and not a man in
Kilronan able to lay a wet finger on 'em." But, as in all great crises,
it is the simple thing that proves the last straw, so in this. What
steaks and onions, tears and taunts, could not do, was done by an
innocent Havana, whose odors, sprung from a dainty weed, held between
the lips of one of these great representatives of Her Majesty's law, and
wafted to the senses of Jem Deady, as he bent over his cabbages in his
little garden, made him throw down his spade with something that seemed
like, and most unlike, a prayer, and rush into the house and shout:
"Tare an' houns! Flesh and blood can't stand this! Don't shpake a word,
'uman! Don't shpake a word! but get me soap, and hot wather, and a
towel, while you'd be saying thrapsticks!"
[Illustration: "Come down to Mrs. Haley's--there isn't a better dhrop
betune this and Dublin." (p. 452.)]
[Illustration: "Come on, you ruffian!"]
Bess did as she was directed; and then paused anxiously in the kitchen
to conjecture what new form her husband's insanity was taking.
Occasionally a muttered growl came from the recesses of the bedroom; and
in about a quarter of an hour out came Jem, so transformed that Bess
began to doubt her own sanity, and could only say, through her tears:--
"For the love of God, Jem, is 't yourself or your ghost?"
It certainly was not a ghost, but a fine, handsome man, over six feet
high, his hair curled, and his whiskers shining with Trotter Oil, and
his long pilot coat with the velvet collar, which he had got from Father
Laverty, and on which the merciful night, now falling, concealed the
abrasions of time. Bess looked at him with all a wife's admiration; and
then, half crying, half laughing, said:--
"And what new divilmint are ye up to now?"
Jem answered not a word. He was on the war-path. He only said
sarcastically:--
"Ye needn't expect me home to tay, Mrs. Deady. I'm taking tay with
shupparior company to-night."
An hour later there were three gentlemen in Father Letheby's parlor, who
appeared to have known each other in antenatal times, so affectionate
and confidential were they. The gentleman in the middle was sympathizing
with his brethren in the legal profession--for he had introduced himself
as the local bailiff--on their being sent down from the metropolis and
its gayeties, from their wives and children, into this remote and
forsaken village called Kilronan.
"It ain't too bad," said one, with a strong Northern accent. "A' have
bun in wuss diggins thon thus!"
[Illustration: "For the love of God, Jem, is 't yourself or your
ghost?"]
Then the conversation drifted to possible dangers. And it appeared there
was not, in Her Majesty's dominions, a more lawless and fiendish set of
ruffians than those who lurked in Kilronan. Why, what did they do in the
days of the Lague? Didn't they take his predecessor, as honest a man as
ever lived, and strip him, and nail him by the ears to his door, where
his neighbors found him in the morning? But "the poluss? the poluss?"
"Oh! they're always looking the other way. But let us get the taste of
these murderin' ruffians out o' our mout'! Come down to Mrs. Haley's.
There isn't a better dhrop betune this and Dublin."
"But the proputty? the proputty?" said the bailiffs, looking around
anxiously.
"As safe as if ye had it in yere waistcoat pockets," they were assured.
The three well-dressed gentlemen moved with easy dignity down the one
dark street of the village, piloted carefully by the central figure, who
linked his arms affectionately in his comrades', and smoked his weed
with as much dignity as if he had been born in Cuba.
"Powerful dark hole!" said one; "one mut git a blow o' a stun and nuvver
be the wiser."
"Or the prod of a pike," suggested the middle gentleman.
"Huv tha' no gaws here?" cried his neighbor.
"No. But we're thinkin' of getting up the electric light; at laste the
parish priest do be talkin' about it, and sure that's the same as havin'
it. But here we are. Now, one word! There's one ruffian here whose name
mustn't pass yere mout', or we don't know the consekinces. He's a most
consaited and outrageous ruffian, doesn't care for law or judge, or
priest or pope; he's the only one ye have to be afeard of. Listen, that
ye may remimber. His name is Jem Deady. Keep yere mouths locked on that
while ye 're here."
It was a pleasant little party in Mrs. Haley's "cosey" or "snuggery."
There was warmth, and light, and music, and the odor of rum-punch and
lemon, and the pungency of cigars, and the pleasant stimulus of
agreeable conversation. Occasionally one of the "byes" looked in, but
was promptly relegated to the taproom, at a civil distance from the
"gintlemin." By and by, however, as more charity and less exclusiveness
prevailed under the generous influences of good liquor, the "gintlemin"
requested to be allowed to show the light of their glowing faces in the
plebeian taproom; and the denizens of the latter, prompt at recognizing
this infinite condescension, cheered the gentlemen to the echo.
"'T is the likes of ye we wants down here," they cried; "not a set of
naygurs who can't buy their tay without credit."
But the local bailiff didn't seem to like it, and kept aloof from the
dissipation. Also, he drank only "liminade." It was admitted in after
years that this was the greatest act of self-denial that was recorded in
history. His comrades chaffed him unmercifully.
"Come, mon, and git out o' the blues. Whoy, these are the jolliest
fullows we uver mot."
"And there isn't better liquor in the Cawstle cellars. Here's to yer
health, missus."
So the night wore on.
But two poor women had an anxious time. These were Lizzie, who, in some
mysterious manner, persuaded herself that she was responsible for the
custody and safe keeping of the bailiffs in the eyes of the law; and if
anything happened to them she might be summoned up to Dublin, and put on
her trial on the capital charge. The other was Mrs. Deady. When eleven
o'clock struck, she expected to hear every moment the well-known
footsteps of her spouse; but no! Half-past eleven--twelve struck--and
Jem had not returned. At half-past twelve there was a peculiar
scratching sound at the back-door, and Bess opened it and dragged Jem
into her arms, whilst she poured into his face a fire of
cross-questions.
"Ax me no questions an' I'll tell ye no lies," said Jem. "Have ye
anythin' to ate?"
Bess had, in the shape of cold fat bacon. Jem set to hungrily.
"Would ye mind covering up the light in the front windy, Bess?" said
Jem.
Bess did so promptly, all the while looking at her spouse in a
distressed and puzzled manner.
"Jem," said she at length, "may the Lord forgive me if I'm wrong, but I
think ye're quite sober."
Jem nodded. A knock came to the door. It was Lizzie.
"Have ye no news of the bailiffs, Jem?"
"I have, acushla. I left them at your dure half an hour ago, and they're
now fast asleep in their warm and comfortable beds."
"They're not in our house," said Lizzie, alarmed. "Oh, Jem, Jem, what
have ye done, at all, at all?"
"I'll tell ye, girl," said Jem, emphatically. "I left the gintlemin at
your dure, shook hands wid them, bid them good-night, and came down
here. Is that thrue, Bess?"
"Every word of it," said Bess.
"Go back to your bed, alanna," said Jem, "and have pleasant dhreams of
your future. Thim gintlemin can mind theirselves."
"'T is thrue, Lizzie," said Bess. "Go home, like a good girl, and make
your mind aisy."
Lizzie departed, crying softly to herself.
"What mischief have ye done, Jem?" said Bess, when she had carefully
locked and bolted the door. "Some day ye'll be dancin' upon nothin',
I'm thinkin'."
"Nabocklish!" said Jem, as he knelt down and piously said his prayers
for the night.
The following day was Sunday and All Saints' Day besides; and Jem, being
a conscientious man, heard an early Mass; and being a constitutional
man, he strolled down to take the fresh air--down the grassy slopes that
lead to the sea. Jem was smoking placidly and at peace with himself and
the world. One trifle troubled him. It was a burn on the lip, where the
candle had caught him the night before at Mrs. Haley's, when he was
induced to relax a little, and with his hands tied behind his back,
grabbed at a rosy apple, and caught the lighted candle in his mouth. But
that was a trifle. As Jem calmly strolled along, he became suddenly
aware of a marine phenomenon; and Jem, as a profound student of natural
history, was so interested in the phenomenon that he actually took the
pipe from his mouth and studied the marvel long and carefully. About
twenty yards from where he was standing, a huge pile of rock started
suddenly from the deep--a square, embattled mass, covered by the short,
springy turf that alone can resist the action of the sea. Beside it, a
tall needle of rock, serrated and sharp, shot up. These two solitary
islands, the abode of goats and gulls, were known in local geography as
the Cow and Calf. Now the Cow and Calf were familiar to Jem Deady from
his childhood. So were the deep, hollow caves beneath. So was the angry
swirl of the tide that, parted outside the rocks, swept around in fierce
torrents, and met with a shock of strength and a sweat of foam at the
angle near the cliffs. Therefore, these things did not surprise the
calm, equable mind of Jem. But perched on the sward on the top were two
strange beings, the like of whom Jem had never seen before, and whom his
fancy now at once recognized as the mermen of fable and romance. Their
faces were dark as that of his sable majesty; their hair was tossed
wildly. But they looked the picture of despair, whereas mermen were
generally reputed to be jolly. It might be no harm to accost them, and
Jem was not shy about strangers.
"Hallo, there!" he cried across the chasm; "who the--are ye? Did ye
shwim across from ole Virginny, or did ye escape from a throupe of
Christy Minstrels?"
"You, fellow," said a mournful voice, "go at once for the poluss."
"Aisier said than done," said Jem. "What am I to say suppose the
gintlemin are not out of their warm beds?"
"Tell them that two of Her gracious Majesty's servants are here--brought
here by the worst set of ruffians that are not yet hanged in Ireland."
"And what do ye expect the police to do?" said Jem, calmly.
"To do? Why, to get a boat and tuk us out o' thus, I suppose!"
"Look at yere feet," said Jem, "and tell me what kind of a boat would
live there?"
True enough. The angry waters were hissing, and embracing, and swirling
back, and trying to leap the cliffs, and feeling with all their awful
strength and agility for some channel through which they might reach and
devour the prisoners.
By some secret telegraphy a crowd had soon gathered. One by one, the
"byes" dropped down from the village, and to each in turn Jem had to
tell all he knew about the mermen. Then commenced a running fire of
chaff from every quarter.
"Where are yere banjoes, gintlemin? Ye might as well spind the Sunday
pleasantly, for the sorra a wan o' ye will get off before night."
"Start 'Way down the Suwanee River,' Jem, and we'll give 'em a chorus."
"You're Jem Deady, I suppose," said one of the bailiffs. "Well, Deady,
remember you're a marked mon. I gut yer cherickter last night from a
gentleman as the greatest ruffian amongst all the ruffians of
Kilronan--"
"Yerra, man, ye're takin' lave of yer sinses. Is 't Jem Deady? Jem
Deady, the biggest _omadhaun_ in the village."
"Jem Deady, the greatest _gommal_[9] that ever lived."
"Jem Deady, that doesn't know his right hand from his left."
"Jem Deady, who doesn't know enough to come in out of the wet."
"Jem Deady, the innocent, that isn't waned from his mother ayet."
[Illustration: "Hallo, there!... who the ---- are ye?" (p. 457.)]
During all these compliments Jem smoked placidly. I had forgotten one of
the most serious duties of a novelist--the description of Jem's
toilette. I had forgotten to say that a black pilot coat with velvet
collar, red silk handkerchief, etc., was a veritable Nessus shirt to
Jem. So passionately fond of work was he, and so high an idea had he
conceived on the sacredness and nobleness of work, that integuments
savoring of Sabbath indolence were particularly intolerable to him. He
moved about stiffly in them, was glad to shake them off, and resume his
white, lime-stained, patched, and torn, but oh! such luxuriously easy
garments of every-day life. Then I regret to have to record an act of
supreme vanity, that might be pardonable or venial in a young lady going
to a ball or coming out in her first concert, but was simply shocking in
a middle-aged man going out to Mass on a Sunday morning. Jem Deady
actually _powdered his face_! I do not say that it was violet powder or
that he used a puff. His methods were more primitive and more
successful. He went to a pot where lime was seething, or rather had been
seething. He took up the thick lumps and crushed them into dust. He made
his face as white as if he were going to play the king in Macbeth, and
Banquo's ghost was arising; and he turned his glossy locks into a
cadaverous and premature grayness, and Bess didn't like it. She wanted
to see him only one Sunday in "his best shuit"; but Jem, unkind fellow,
would not grant her that gratification.
Where was I? Oh, yes!
Jem, nothing loth, "ruz" the "Suwanee River," and accompanying himself
on an imaginary banjo, drew tears from all eyes by singing, with mingled
pathos and regret:--
"All the world am sad and dreary
Eberywhere I roam;
Oh! darkies, how my heart grows weary,
Far from the old folks at home."
Then commenced a fresh cross-fire of chaff.
"The gintlemin in the orchaystra will now favor the company wit' a
song."
Suddenly one young rascal shouted out:--
"Begor, perhaps it's badin' ye were goin'. Don't ye know the rigulations
of the coast? If ye were caught takin' off even yere hats here without
puttin' on a badin' dress, ye'd be dragged before the Mayor and Lord
Lieutenant of Kilronan, and get six weeks' paynal servitude."
Then suddenly a bright idea seemed to dawn on these scamps. There was a
good deal of whispering, and nodding, and pointing; and at last Jem
Deady stepped forward, and in a voice full of awe and sorrow he said:--
"Wan of the byes is thinkin' that maybe ye're the same strange gintlemin
that are on a visit with the priest for the last three days, and who
were dacent enough to shtand 'dhrinks all round' last night at Mrs.
Haley's. 'Pon the vartue of yere oath, are ye?"
"We are. Und dom fools we made of ourselves."
"Now, aisy, aisy," said Jem. "Ye don't know us as yet; but sure wan good
turn desarves another."
"Ye appear to be a dacent sort of fellow," said one of the bailiffs.
"Now, look here. If ye get us 'ut of thus, we'll gev ye a pun' note, and
as much dhrink as ye can bear."
Here there was a cheer.
"The tide goes down at four o'clock," said Jem, "and thin for eight
minits there is a dhry passage across the rocks. Thin ye must run for
yere lives, and we'll be here to help ye. But how the divil did ye get
there? We never saw but a goat there afore."
"That's a matter for the Queen's Bench, my fine fellow. God help those
who brought us here!"
"Amen!" cried all devoutly, lifting their ragged hats. Then they
departed to make the needful preparation. After they had half mounted
the declivity, one was sent back.
"The gintlemin who are going to resky ye," he said, "wants to know if ye
have any conscientious objection to be brought over on the Sabbath; or
wud ye rather remain where ye are till Monday?"
He was answered with an oath, and went away sadly. He was scandalized by
such profanity. "Sich language on a Sunday mornin', glory be to God!
What is the world comin' to?"
Four o'clock came, and the entire village of Kilronan turned out to the
rescue. There were at least one thousand spectators of the interesting
proceedings, and each individual of the thousand had a remark to make, a
suggestion to offer, or a joke to deliver at the unhappy prisoners. And
all was done under an affectation of sympathy that was deeply touching.
Two constables kept order, but appeared to enjoy the fun. Now, in any
other country but Ireland, and perhaps, indeed, we may also except Spain
and France and Italy, a simple thing is done in a simple, unostentatious
manner. That does not suit the genius of our people, which tries to
throw around the simplest matter all the pomp and circumstance of a
great event, and in the evolution thereof every man, woman, and child is
supposed to have a personal interest, and a special and direct calling
to order and arrange and bring the whole proceeding to perfection. Now,
you would say, what could be simpler than to fling a rope to the
prisoners and let them walk across on the dry rocks? That's your
ignorance and your contempt for details; for no Alpine guides, about to
cross the crevasses of a dangerous glacier, with a nervous and timid
following of tourists, ever made half the preparations that Jem Deady
and his followers made on this occasion. Two stout fishermen, carrying a
strong cable, clambered down the cliff, and crossed the narrow ledge of
rock, now wet with seaweed and slippery. They might have gone down, with
perfect ease, the goat-path, sanded and gravelled, by which the bailiffs
were carried the night before; but this would not be value for a pound
and the copious libations that were to follow. They then tied the cable
around the bailiffs and around themselves, and proceeded on their
perilous journey. With infinite care they stepped on rock and seaweed,
shouting hoarse warnings to their mates; but all their warnings were not
sufficient to prevent the bailiffs from slipping and floundering in the
deep sea-water pools left by the receding tide. Somehow the rope would
jerk, or a fisherman would slip, and down all would come together.
Meanwhile hoarse shouts echoed from the gallery of spectators above.
"Pull aft there, Bill."
"Let her head stand steady to the cliff."
"Port your helm, you lubber; don't you see where you're standing for?"
"Ease her, ease her, Tim! Now let her for'ard." And so, with shouts, and
orders, and a fair sprinkling of profane adjurations, the rescuers and
the rescued were hauled up the roughest side of the cliff, until the
black visages of the bailiffs were visible. Then there was a pause, and
many a sympathetic word for the "poor min."
"Where did they come from, at all?"
"No one knows. They're poor shipwrecked furriners."
"Have they any talk?"
"Very little, except to curse."
"Poor min! and I suppose they're all drowned wet."
Whilst the rescuing party halted, and wiped the perspiration from their
brows, one said, half apologetically:--
"I am axed by these gintlemin to tell ye--ahem! that there's a rule in
this village that no credit is given, from the price of an ounce of tay
to a pound of tobakky. An' if ye'd be so plasin' as to remimber that
poun' note ye promised, an' if it is convanient and contagious to ye,
perhaps--"
One of the bailiffs fumbled at his pockets in his critical condition,
and making a round ball of the note, he flung it up the cliff side with
a gesture of disgust. Jem Deady took up the missive, opened it calmly,
studied the numbers, and put it in his pocket.
"Now, byes, a long pull, a sthrong pull, and a pull thegither!"
And in an instant the bailiffs were sprawling on the green turf. Such
cheers, such congratulations, such slapping on the back, such hip! hip!
hurrahs! were never heard before. Then the procession formed and passed
on to the village; and to the melodious strains of "God save Ireland!"
the bailiffs were conducted to Father Letheby's house. Lizzie, half
crying, half laughing with delight for having escaped arrest and capital
punishment, prepared dinner with alacrity; and then a great hush fell on
the village--the hush of conjecture and surmise. Would the bailiffs
remain or depart? Would they recognize the deep hatred of the villagers
under all the chaff and fun, or would they take it as a huge joke? The
same questioning agitated their own minds; but they decided to go for
two reasons, viz., (1) that, fresh from the conflict, they could give a
more lurid description of their adventure, and obtain larger
compensation; and (2) that whilst Jem Deady was scraping, with no gentle
hand, the oil and lampblack from their faces, that he had placed there
the evening before, he told them, confidentially, to put a hundred miles
between themselves and the villagers that night, if they did not care to
leave their measures for a coffin. And so, at six o'clock a car was
hired, and amidst a farewell volley of sarcastic cheers and
uncomplimentary epithets, they drove to catch the night-mail to Dublin.
Father Letheby promptly took possession, and found nothing wrong, except
the odor of some stale tobacco smoke.
* * * * *
Next day was All Souls', and it was with whitened lips, and with
disappointment writ in every one of his fine features, that he came up
after Mass to ask had I received any letter. Alas, no! He had pinned
his faith, in his own generous, child-like way, to Alice's prophecy, and
the Holy Souls had failed him. I went down to see Alice. She looked at
me inquiringly.
"No letter, and no reprieve," I said. "You false prophetess, you child
of Mahomet, what did you mean by deceiving us?"
She was crying softly.
"Nevertheless," she said at length, "it will come true. The Holy Souls
will never fail him. The day is not past, nor the morrow."
Oh, woman, great is thy faith!
Yet it was a melancholy day, a day of conjecture and fear, a day of sad
misgivings and sadder forebodings; and all through the weary hours the
poor priest wore more than ever the aspect of a hunted fugitive.
Next morning the cloud lifted at last. He rushed up to my house, before
he had touched his breakfast, and, fluttering one letter in the air, he
proffered the other.
"There's the bishop's seal," he cried. "I was afraid to open it. Will
you do it for me?"
I did, cutting the edges open with all reverence, as became the purple
seal, and then I read:--
Bishop's House, All Souls' Day, 187--.
I nodded my head. Alice was right.
My dear Father Letheby:--
"What?" he cried, jumping up, and coming behind my chair to read over my
shoulder.
I have just appointed Father Feely to the pastoral charge of
Athlacca, vacated by the death of Canon Jones; and I hereby appoint
you to the administratorship of my cathedral and mensal priest
here. In doing so, I am departing somewhat from the usual custom,
seeing that you have been but one year in the diocese; but in
making this appointment, I desire to mark my recognition of the
zeal and energy you have manifested since your advent to Kilronan.
I have no doubt whatever but that you will bring increased zeal to
the discharge of your larger duties here. Come over, if possible,
for the Saturday confessions here, and you will remain with me
until you make your own arrangements about your room at the
presbytery.
I am, my dear Father Letheby,
Yours in Christ,
----
"I never doubted the bishop," I said, when I had read that splendid
letter a second time. "His Lordship knows how to distinguish between the
accidents of a priestly life and the essentials of the priestly
character. You have another letter, I believe?"
"Yes," he replied, as if he were moonstruck; "a clear receipt from the
Loughboro' Factory Co. for the entire amount."
"Then Alice was right. God bless the Holy Souls!--though I'm not sure
if that's the right expression."
There never was such uproar in Kilronan before. The news sped like
wildfire. The village turned out _en masse_. Father Letheby had to stand
such a cross-fire of blessings and questions and prayers, that we
decided he had better clear out on Thursday. Besides, there was an
invitation from Father Duff to meet a lot of the brethren at an _agape_
at his house on Thursday night, when Father Letheby would be _en route_.
God bless me! I thought that evening we'd never get the little mare
under way. The people thronged round the little trap, kissed the young
curate's hand, kissed the lapels of his coat, demanded his blessing a
hundred times, fondled the mare and patted her head, until at last,
slowly, as a glacier pushing its moraine before it, we wedged our way
through a struggling mass of humanity.
"God be wid you, a hundred times!"
"And may His Blessed Mother purtect you!"
"And may your journey thry wid you!"
"Yerra, the bishop, 'oman, could not get on widout him. That's the
raison!"
"Will we iver see ye agin, yer reverence?"
Then a deputation of the "Holy Terrors" came forward to ask him let his
name remain as their honorary president.
"We'll never see a man again to lift a ball like yer reverence."
"No, nor ye'll niver see the man agin that cud rise a song like him!"
said Jem Deady.
Father Letheby had gone down in the afternoon to see Alice. Alice had
heard, and Alice was crying with lonely grief. He took up her small
white hand.
"Alice," he said, "I came to thank you, my child, for all that you have
done for me. Your prayers, your tears, but, above all, your noble
example of endurance under suffering, have been an ineffable source of
strength to me. I have wavered where you stood firm under the cross--"
"Oh! Father, don't, don't!" sobbed the poor girl.
"I must," he said; "I must tell you that your courage and constancy have
shamed and strengthened me a hundredfold. And now you must pray for me.
I dare say I have yet further trials before me; for I seem to be one of
those who shall have no peace without the cross. But I need strength,
and that you will procure for me."
"Father, Father!" said the poor girl, "it is you that have helped me.
Where would I be to-day if you had not shown me the Crucified behind the
cross?"
He laid in her outstretched hand a beautiful prayer-book; and thus they
parted, as two souls should part, knowing that an invisible link in the
Heart of Christ held them still together.
The parting with Bittra was less painful. He promised often to run over
and remain at the "Great House," where he had seen some strange things.
Nor did he forget his would-be benefactress, Nell Cassidy. He found time
to be kind to all.
What a dinner was that at Father Duff's! Was there ever before such a
tumult of gladness, such Alleluias of resurrection, such hip! hip!
hurrahs! such grand and noble speeches? The brave fellows had joined
hands, and dragged the beaten hero from the battlefield, and set the
laurels on his head. Then they all wanted to become my curates, for
"Kilronan spells promotion now, you know." But I was too wise to make
promises. As we were parting for the night, I heard Father Letheby say
to Duff:--
"I am under everlasting obligations to you. But you shall have that boat
money the moment it comes from the Insurance Office. And those
sewing-machines are lying idle over there; they may be of use to you
here."
"All right! Send them over, and we'll give you a clear receipt. Look
here, Letheby, it's I who am under obligations to you. I had a lot of
these dirty shekels accumulated since I was in Australia; and I'm
ashamed to say it, I had three figures to my credit down there at the
National Bank. If I died in that state, 't would be awful. Now I have a
fairly easy conscience, thanks again to you!"
When I reached my room that ev--morning, I was shocked and startled to
find the hour hand of my watch pointing steadily to two A.M. I rubbed
my eyes. Impossible! I held the watch to my ear. It beat rhythmically. I
shook my head. Then, as I sat down in a comfortable arm-chair, I held a
long debate with myself as to whether it was my night prayers or my
morning prayers I should say. I compromised with my conscience, and said
them both together under one formula. But when I lay down to rest, but
not to sleep, the wheels began to revolve rapidly. I thought of a
hundred brilliant things which I could have said at the dinner table,
but didn't. Such coruscations of wit, such splendid periods, were never
heard before. Then my conscience began to trouble me. Two A.M.!
two A.M.! two A.M.! I tried back through all my philosophers for an
apology. Horace, my old friend, came back from the shades of Orcus.
"Dulce est desipere in loco,"
said he. Thank you, Flaccus! You were always ready:--
"Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus,"
he cried, as he vanished into the shades. Then came Ovid,
laurel-crowned, and began to sing:--
"Somne, quies rerum, placidissime somne deorum!"
But I dismissed him promptly. Then Seneca hobbled in, old usurer as he
was, and said:--
"Commodis omnium læteris, movearis incommodis."
"Good man!" I cried; "that's just me!"
Then came dear, gentle St. Paul, with the look on his face as when he
pleaded for the slave:--
"Rejoice with them that rejoice, and weep with them that weep!"
Lastly, came my own Kempensis, who shook his head gravely at me, and
said:--
"A merry evening makes a sad morning!"
I like À Kempis; but indeed, and indeed, and indeed again, Thomas, you
are sometimes a little too personal in your remarks.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 9: A half-idiot.]