Tim O'Daly was an under-gamekeeper upon Lord Powerscourt's estate, and
lived in a nice comfortable cottage, near the Dargle. He had a tidy,
thrifty, good-tempered wife, and half a dozen fine, hearty boys and
girls--the eldest nearly young men and women. Tim, himself, was honest
and industrious, and very much trusted by his master, and yet he was
not a happy man. He was _discontented_, because he was poor, and
obliged to work for a living. He longed for wealth and ease--to see
his wife ride in her carriage, and to make his sons and daughters
gentlemen and ladies. In short, he thought that riches were all that
was needed to put the O'Dalys where they deserved to be in the world,
and make them great and happy. So much did he think of these things,
that he was always on the look-out for the _Clericaune_, determined, if
ever he should see him, to catch him, and make him deliver up his
treasure.
One evening, as he was going home through the Dargle, he sat down on a
mossy stone, and fell to thinking of his hard lot, and wondering what
Providence had against the O'Dalys, that he had not been made a lord,
or at least, a rich squire.
All at once, he heard the click, click, of the _Clericaune's_ little
hammer on his lapstone! He rose softly--parted the bushes, and there
sat the wee brogue-maker, busily at work.
The next moment, Tim had him fast in his fist, and fast he held him,
till the elf showed him where his treasure was hid.
Then, after loading himself with gold and jewels, he set the fairy
free, and went home dancing and singing in a very strange and
indecorous way. The news and the treasure he brought set his sober
family wild with joy. They had a great feast and dance over it--all to
themselves, for they were grown too grand to associate with their poor
neighbors.
Then Tim went and bought a castle, a real old castle, from an
impoverished lord--with fine furniture, pictures, horses, hounds,
plate, wines, whiskey, and a famous Banshee, who lived in an old
turret, especially built for her accommodation.
Tim took his family to this castle, and set up a splendid style of
living. Nobody was troubled with work or care now, except in the
pursuit of pleasure; and yet, to poor Tim's astonishment, nobody was
happy. He was most miserable of all, for he found it hardest to get
used to rich clothes, rich food, authority, and idleness. His wife had
her carriage--but she was always driving about in it--never at home
with him. His daughters put on fine airs, with fine clothes, and
learned to despise their ignorant old father, His sons took to bad
company, drinking, rioting, and fox-chasing--and, as they did not know
much about riding, they were always getting tumbles, and breaking their
necks. His old friends were too humble to come near him in his
grandeur, and the gentry too proud to notice such a rough, vulgar
fellow, who had got rich in some sudden, suspicious way. He had hoped
that Lord Powerscourt, at least, would visit him, "for the sake of old
times, and out of neighborly feeling just,"--and Mrs. O'Daly counted
confidently on a "betther acquaintance with her Ladyship." "An' sure,"
she said, "our young folk will be mighty thick directly, and what
should hinder the young lord from taking a fancy to our Peggy? Arrah!
they would make an ilegant match, by raison of his height an' her
shortness,--an' thin, haven't they hair of the same lively shade of
red?"
But Lord Powerscourt, who had always been a kind and affable master,
seemed put upon the very tallest stilts of his dignity, when he met his
old servant now; and though he congratulated him on his good fortune,
never honored him with either a formal or friendly call--while Lady
Powerscourt and her daughters, who had often visited the cottage by the
Dargle, in times of sickness and trouble, were never seen driving up
the avenue of O'Daly Castle,--and as for the young lord, he went
abroad, about these days, and was lost to Miss Peggy O'Daly forever.
Tim's new neighbors laughed at him for his pretensions, and the
blunders his family made in "aping their betters,"--his servants
imposed on him, and there was nothing but coldness, discord, and wicked
waste in his grand old castle, so unlike the humble, happy home of the
game-keeper.
Even the Banshee, in whom he had felt so much pride, was no
consolation; for, being indignant that low-born peasants had dared to
take the place of the ancient and noble family she had so long
patronized, she did nothing but howl about the castle, every night of
her life.
At length, things got to such a desperate pass, that Tim could endure
them no longer, but took the few fairy jewels and guineas that
remained, and went with them to the place where he had caught the
_Clericaune_.
There he was again, and he looked up at Tim with a wicked twinkle in
his eye, for he knew, the rascal, what trouble unearned riches bring
upon one. Tim emptied his pockets of gold and precious stones, and
flung them at the little brogue-maker's head--crying out--
"There, take back yer dirty treasure, and bad luck to you, you spalpeen
of a fairy, for decaying a Christian!"
He threw with such force, that he flung himself off the stone--_and
that woke him!_
Yes, the capture of the _Clericaune_, his wealth, his grand castle, and
all his trouble were _a dream_. He got up and looked about him, a
little bewildered at first, but soon recollected himself, and set out
for home, a wiser and happier man than when he entered the Dargle that
afternoon.
It was late and supper was waiting for him. His good wife smiled when
he came in, and put by her sewing; his sons and daughters had all come
from their work or school, and greeted him affectionately. As he sat
down with them to their simple evening meal of bread, milk, and
potatoes, they noticed that he said grace with unusual fervor, and then
looked round upon them all with tears in his eyes.
His home was as humble as ever--but somehow, it had grown beautiful to
him, for the sunshine of _contentment_ was over every thing. His wife
was as far from riding in her carriage, and his boys and girls from
being gentlemen and ladies, as ever; but he loved them and was proud of
them for their goodness and honesty, and he felt that God had done
better for them than he could do, with all the riches in the world.
Antrim--The Giant's Causeway.