Though it is clear the serious events in the O'Grady family had not
altered Master Ratty's propensities in the least, the case was far
different with Gustavus. In that one night of suffering which _he_ had
passed, the gulf was leaped that divides the boy from the man; and the
extra frivolity and carelessness which clung from boyhood up to the age
of fifteen was at once, by the sudden disrupture produced by events,
thrown off, and as singular a ripening into manhood commenced.
Gustavus was of a generous nature; and even his faults belonged less
to his organisation than to the devil-may-care sort of education he
received, if education it might be called. Upon his generosity the
conduct of Edward O'Connor beside the grave of the boy's father had
worked strongly; and though Gustavus could not give his hand beside the
grave to the man with whom his father had engaged in deadly quarrel, yet
he quite exonerated Edward from any blame; and when, after a night more
sleepless than Gustavus had ever known, he rose early on the ensuing
morning, he determined to ride over to Edward O'Connor's house to
breakfast, and commence that friendship which Edward had so solemnly
promised to him, and with which the boy was pleased; for Gustavus was
quite aware in what estimation Edward was held; and though the relative
circumstances in which he and the late Squire stood prevented the boy
from “caring a fig” for him, as he often said himself, yet he was
not beyond the influence of that thing called “reputation,” which so
powerfully attaches to and elevates the man who wins it; and the price
at which Edward was held in the country influenced opinion even in
Neck-or-Nothing Hall, albeit though “against the grain.” Gustavus had
sometimes heard, from the lips of the idle and ignorant, Edward sneered
at for being “cruel wise,” and “too much of a schoolmaster,” and fit for
nothing but books or a boudoir, and called a “piano man,” with all the
rest of the hackneyed dirt which jealous inferiority loves to fling at
the heights it cannot occupy; for though--as it has been said--Edward,
from his manly and sensible bearing, had escaped such sneers better than
most men, still some few there were to whom his merit was offensive.
Gustavus, however, though he sometimes heard such things, saw with his
own eyes that Edward could back a horse with any man in the country--was
always foremost in the chace--could bring down as many brace of birds as
most men in a day--had saved one or two persons from drowning; and if he
did all these things as well as other men, Gustavus (though hitherto too
idle to learn much himself) did not see why a man should be sneered
at for being an accomplished scholar as well. Therefore he had good
foundation for being pleased at the proffered friendship of such a man,
and remembering the poignancy of Edward's anguish on the foregoing eve,
Gustavus generously resolved to see him at once and offer him the
hand which a nice sense of feeling made him withhold the night before.
Mounting his pony, an hour's smart riding brought him to Mount Eskar,
for such was the name of Mr. O'Connor's residence.
It was breakfast-time when Gustavus arrived, but Edward had not yet left
his room, and the servant went to call him. It need scarcely be said
that Edward had passed a wretched night; reaching home, as he did, weary
in mind and body, and with feelings and imagination both overwrought, it
was long before he could sleep; and even then his slumber was disturbed
by harassing visions and frightful images. Spectral shapes and things
unimaginable to the waking senses danced and crawled and hissed about
him. The torch flared above the grave, and that horrid coffin, with the
name of the dead O'Grady upon it, “murdered sleep.” It was dawn before
anything like refreshing slumber touched his feverish eyelids, and he
had not enjoyed more than a couple of hours of what might be called
sleep, when the servant called him; and then, after the brief oblivion
he had obtained, one may fancy how he started when the first words he
heard on waking were, “Mister O'Grady is below, sir.”
Edward started up from his bed and stared wildly on the man, as he
exclaimed, with a look of alarm, “O'Grady! For God's sake, you don't say
O'Grady?”
“'Tis Master Gustavus, sir,” said the man, wondering at the wildness of
Edward's manner.
“Oh, the boy!--ay, ay, the boy!” repeated Edward, drawing his hands
across his eyes and recovering his self-possession. “Say I will be down
presently.”
The man retired, and Edward lay down again for some minutes to calm the
heavy beating of his heart which the sudden mention of that name had
produced; that name so linked with the mental agony of the past night;
that name which had conjured up a waking horror of such might as to
shake the sway of reason for a time, and which afterwards pursued its
reign of terror through his sleep. After such a night, fancy poor Edward
doomed to hear the name of O'Grady again the first thing in the morning,
and we cannot wonder that he was startled.
A few minutes, however, served to restore his self-possession; and he
arose, made his toilet in haste, and descended to the breakfast-parlour,
where he was met by Gustavus with an open hand, which Edward clasped
with fervour and held for some time as he looked on the handsome face
of the boy, and saw in its frank expression all that his heart could
desire. They spoke not a word, but they understood one another; and that
moment commenced an attachment which increased with increasing intimacy,
and became one of those steadfast friendships which are seldom met with.
After breakfast Edward brought Gustavus to his “den,” as he called a
room which was appropriated to his own particular use, occupied with
books and a small collection of national relics. Some long ranges of
that peculiar calf binding, with its red label, declared at once the
contents to be law and by the dry formal cut of the exterior gave little
invitation to reading. The very outside of a law library is repulsive;
the continuity of that eternal buff leather gives one a surfeit by
anticipation, and makes one mentally exclaim in despair, “Heavens! how
can any one hope to get all that into his head?” The only plain honest
thing about law is the outside of the books where it is laid down--there
all is simple; inside all is complex. The interlacing lines of the
binder's patterns find no place on the covers; but intricacies abound
inside, where any line is easier found than a straight one. Nor gold
leaf nor tool is employed without, but within how many fallacies are
enveloped in glozing words; the gold leaf has its representative in
“legal fiction;” and as for “_tooling_” there's plenty of that!
Other books, also, bore external evidence of the nature of their
contents. Some old parchment covers indicated the lore of past ages;
amidst these the brightest names of Greece and Rome were to be found,
as well as those who have adorned our own literature, and implied
a cultivated taste on the part of the owner. But one portion of the
library was particularly well stored. The works bearing on Irish history
were numerous, and this might well account for the ardour of Edward's
feelings in the cause of his country; for it is as impossible that a
river should run backwards to its source, as that any Irishman of a
generous nature can become acquainted with the real history of his
country, and not feel that she has been an ill-used and neglected land,
and not struggle in the cause of her being righted. Much _has_ been done
in the cause since the days of which this story treats, and Edward was
amongst those who helped to achieve it; but much has still to be done,
and there is glorious work in store for present and future Edward
O'Connors.
Along with the books which spoke the cause of Ireland, the mute
evidences, also, of her former glory and civilisation were scattered
through the room. Various ornaments of elegant form, and wrought in the
purest gold, were tastefully arranged over the mantel-piece; some, from
their form, indicating their use, and others only affording matter of
ingenious speculation to the antiquary, but all bearing evidence of
early civilisation. The frontlet of gold indicated noble estate, and
the long and tapering bodkin of the same metal, with its richly enchased
knob or pendent crescent, implied the robe it once fastened could have
been of no mean texture, and the wearer of no mean rank. Weapons were
there, too, of elegant form and exquisite workmanship, wrought in that
ancient bronze, of such wondrous temper that it carries effective edge
and point. The sword was of exact Phoenician mould; the double-eyed
spear-head, formed at once for strength and lightness, might have served
as the model for a sculptor in arming the hand of Minerva. Could these
be the work of an uncultivated people? Impossible! The harp, too, was
there, that unfailing mark of polish and social elegance. The bard and
barbarism could never be coeval. But a relic was there, exciting still
deeper interest--an ancient crosier, of curious workmanship, wrought
in the precious metals and partly studded with jewels; but few of the
latter remained, though the empty collets showed it had once been costly
in such ornaments. Could this be seen without remembering that the light
of Christianity first dawned over the western isles _in Ireland?_ that
_there_ the Gospel was first preached, _there_ the work of salvation
begun?
There be cold hearts to which these touching recollections do not
pertain, and they heed them not; and some there are, who, with a
callousness which shocks sensibility, have the ignorant effrontery to
ask, “Of what use are such recollections?” With such frigid utilitarians
it would be vain to argue; but this question, at least, may be put in
return:--Why should the ancient glories of Greece and Rome form a large
portion of the academic studies of our youth?--why should the evidences
of _their_ arts and _their_ arms be held precious in museums, and
similar evidences of ancient cultivation be despised because they
pertain to another nation? Is it because they are Irish they are held
in contempt? Alas! in many cases it is so--ay, and even (shame to say)
within her own shores. But never may that day arrive when Ireland shall
be without enough of true and fond hearts to cherish the memory of
her ancient glories, to give to her future sons the evidences of her
earliest western civilisation, proving that their forefathers were not
(as those say who wronged and therefore would malign them) a rabble
of rude barbarians, but that brave kings, and proud princes, and wise
lawgivers, and just judges, and gallant chiefs, and chaste and lovely
women were among them, and that inspired bards were there to perpetuate
such memories!
Gustavus had never before seen a crosier, and asked what it was. On
being informed of its name, he then said, “But what _is_ a crosier?”
“A bishop's pastoral staff,” said Edward.
“And why have you a bishop's staff, and swords, and spears, hung up
together?”
“That is not inappropriate,” said Edward. “Unfortunately, the sword and
the crosier have been frequently but too intimate companions. Preaching
the word of peace has been too often the pretext for war. The Spaniards,
for instance, in the name of the gospel, committed the most fearful
atrocities.”
“Oh, I know,” said Gustavus, “that was in the time of bloody Mary and
the Armada.”
Edward wondered at the boy's ignorance, and saw in an instant the source
of his false application of his allusion to the Spaniards. Gustavus had
been taught to vaguely couple the name of “bloody Mary” with everything
bad, and that of “good Queen Bess” with all that was glorious; and the
word “Spanish,” in poor Gusty's head, had been hitherto connected with
two ideas, namely, “liquorice” and the “Armada.”
Edward, without wounding the sensitive shame of ignorant youth, gently
set him right, and made him aware he had alluded to the conduct of the
Spaniards in America under Cortes and Pizarro.
For the first time in his life Gustavus was aware that Pizarro was a
real character. He had heard his grandmamma speak of a play of that
name, and how great Mr. Kemble was in Rollo, and how he saved a child;
but as to its belonging to history, it was a new light--the utmost Gusty
knew about America being that it was discovered by Columbus.
“But the crosier,” said Edward, “is amongst the most interesting of
Irish antiquities, and especially belongs to an Irish collection, when
you remember the earliest preaching of Christianity in the western isles
was in Ireland.”
“I did only know that,” said the boy.
“Then you don't know why the shamrock is our national emblem?”
“No,” said Gustavus, “though I take care to mount one in my hat every
Patrick's day.”
“Well,” said Edward, anxious to give Gustavus credit for _any_ knowledge
he possessed, “you know at least it is connected with the memory of St.
Patrick, though you don't know why. I will tell you. When St. Patrick
first preached the Christian faith in Ireland, before a powerful chief
and his people, when he spoke of one God, and of the Trinity, the chief
asked how one could be in three. St. Patrick, instead of attempting a
theological definition of the faith, thought a simple image would best
serve to enlighten a simple people, and stooping to the earth he plucked
from the green sod a shamrock, and holding up the trefoil before them
he bade them there behold one in three. The chief, struck by the
illustration, asked at once to be baptised, and all his sept followed
his example.”
“I never heard that before,” said Gusty. “'T is very beautiful.”
“I will tell you something else connected with it,” said Edward.
“After baptising the chief, St. Patrick made an eloquent exhortation
to the assembled multitude, and in the course of his address, while
enforcing his urgent appeal with appropriate gesture, as the hand which
held his crosier, after being raised towards heaven, descended again
towards the earth, the point of his staff, armed with metal, was
driven through the foot of the chief, who, fancying it was part of the
ceremony, and but a necessary testing of the firmness of his faith,
never winced.”
“He was a fine fellow,” said Gusty. “And is that the crosier?” he added,
alluding to the one in Edward's collection, and manifestly excited by
what he had heard.
“No,” said Edward, “but one of early date, and belonging to some of the
first preachers of the gospel amongst us.”
“And have you other things here with such beautiful stories belonging to
them?” inquired Gusty, eager for more of that romantic lore which youth
loves so passionately.
“Not that I know of,” answered Edward “but if these objects here had
only tongues, if every sword, and belt, and spear-head, and golden
bodkin, and other trinket could speak, no doubt we should hear stirring
stories of gallant warriors and their ladye-loves.”
“Aye, that would be something to hear!” exclaimed Gusty.
“Well,” said Edward, “you may have many _such_ stories by reading the
history of your country; which if you have not read, I can lend you
books enough.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Gusty; “I should like it so much.”
Edward approached the book-shelf and selected a volume he thought the
most likely to interest so little practised a reader; and when he turned
round he saw Gusty poising in his hand an antique Irish sword of bronze.
“Do you know what that is?” inquired Edward.
“I can't tell you the name of it,” answered Gusty, “but I suppose it was
_something to stick a fellow_.”
Edward smiled at the characteristic reply, and told him it was an
antique Irish sword.
“A sword?” he exclaimed. “Isn't it short for a sword?”
“All the swords of that day were short.”
“When was that?” inquired the boy.
“Somewhere about two thousand years ago.”
“Two thousand years,” exclaimed Gusty, in surprise. “How is it possible
you can tell this is two thousand years old?”
“Because it is made of the same metal and of the same shape as the
swords found at Cannae, where the Carthaginians fought the Romans.”
“I know the Roman history,” said Gusty, eager to display his little bit
of knowledge; “I know the Roman history. Romulus and Remus were educated
by a wolf.” Edward could not resist a smile, which he soon suppressed,
and continued:--“Such works as you now hold in your hand are found _in
quantities_ in Ireland, and seldom anywhere else in Europe, except in
Italy, particularly at Cannae, where some thousands of Carthaginians
fell; and when we find the sword of the same make and metal in places
so remote, it establishes a strong connecting link between the people of
Carthage and of Ireland, and at once shows their date.”
“How curious that is!” exclaimed Gusty; “and how odd I never heard it
before! Are there many such curious things you know?”
“Many,” said Edward.
“I wonder how people can find out such odd things,” said the boy.
“My dear boy,” said Edward, “after getting a certain amount of
knowledge, other knowledge comes very fast; it gathers like a
snowball--or perhaps it would be better to illustrate the fact by a
milldam. You know, when the water is low in the milldam, the miller
cannot drive his wheel; but the moment the water comes up to a certain
level it has force to work the mill. And so it is with knowledge; when
once you get it up to a certain level, you can 'work your mill,' with
this great advantage over the milldam, that the stream of knowledge,
once reaching the working level, never runs dry.”
“Oh, I wish I knew as much as you do,” exclaimed Gusty.
“And so you can if you wish it,” said Edward.
Gusty sighed heavily, and admitted he had been very idle. Edward told
him he had plenty of time before him to repair the damage.
A conversation then ensued, perfectly frank on the part of the boy,
and kind on Edward's side to all his deficiencies, which he found to
be lamentable, as far as learning went. He had some small smattering of
Latin; but Gustavus vowed steady attention to his tutor and his studies
for the future. Edward, knowing what a miserable scholar the tutor
himself was, offered to put Gustavus through his Latin and Greek
himself. Gustavus accepted the offer with gratitude, and rode over
every day to Mount Eskar for his lesson; and, under the intelligent
explanations of Edward, the difficulties which had hitherto discouraged
him disappeared, and it was surprising what progress he made. At the
same time he devoured Irish history, and became rapidly tinctured with
that enthusiastic love of all that belonged to his country which he
found in his teacher; and Edward soon hailed, in the ardent neophyte,
a noble and intelligent spirit redeemed from ignorance and rendered
capable of higher enjoyments than those to be derived merely from
field sports. Edward, however, did not confine his instructions to
book-learning only; there is much to be learned by living with the
educated, whose current conversation alone is instructive; and Edward
had Gustavus with him as constantly as he could; and after some time,
when the frequency of Gusty's visits to Mount Eskar ceased to excite any
wonder at home, he sometimes spent several days together with Edward, to
whom he became continually more and more attached. Edward showed great
judgment in making his training attractive to his pupil: he did not
attend merely to his head; he thought of other things as well; joined
him in the sports and exercises he knew, and taught him those in which
he was uninstructed. Fencing, for instance, was one of these; Edward was
a tolerable master of his foil, and in a few months Gustavus, under his
tuition, could parry a thrust and make no bad attempt at a hit himself.
His improvement in every way was so remarkable, that it was noticed by
all, and its cause did not long remain secret; and when it _was_ known,
Edward O'Connor's character stood higher than ever, and the whole
country said it was a lucky day for Gusty O'Grady that he found such
a friend. As the limits of our story would not permit the intercourse
between Edward and Gustavus to be treated in detail, this general sketch
of it has been given; and in stating its consequences so far, a peep
into the future has been granted by the author, with a benevolence
seldom belonging to his ill-natured and crafty tribe, who endeavour to
hoodwink their docile followers as much as possible, and keep them in
a state of ignorance as to coming events. But now, having been so
indulgent, we must beg to lay hold of the skirts of our readers and pull
them back again down the ladder into the private still, where Bridget
pulled back Andy very much after the same fashion, and the results of
which we must treat of in our next chapter.