--A Controversial Discussion, together with the Virtues it Produced
Our readers may recollect that Darby in his pleasant dialogue with
Father M'Cabe, alluded to a man named Bob Beatty, as a person afflicted
with epilepsy. It was then reported that the priest had miraculously
cured him of that complaint; but, whether he had or not, one thing, at
least, was certain, that he became a Roman Catholic, and went regularly
to mass. He had been, in fact, exceedingly notorious for his violence as
an Orangeman, and was what the people then termed a blood-hound, and the
son of a man who had earned an unenviable reputation as a Tory hunter;
which means a person who devoted the whole energies of his life, and
brought all the rancour of a religious hatred to the task of pursuing
and capturing such unfortunate Catholics as came within grasp of penal
laws. Beatty, like all converts, the moment he embraced the Roman
Catholic creed, became a most outrageous opponent to the principles of
Protestantism. Every Orangeman and Protestant must be damned, and it
stood to reason they should, for didn't they oppose the Pope? Bob, then,
was an especial protege of Father M'Cabe's, who, on his part, had very
little to complain of his convert, unless it might be the difficulty
of overcoming a habit of strong swearing which had brought itself so
closely into his conversation, that he must either remain altogether
silent, or let fly the oaths. Another slight weakness, which was rather
annoying to the priest too, consisted in a habit Bob had, when any way
affected with liquor, of drinking in the very fervor of his new-born
zeal, that celebrated old toast, “to hell with the Pope!” These,
however, were but mere specks, and would be removed in time, by inducing
better habits. Now, it so happened, that on the day in question, Bob was
wending his way to Father M'Cabe's, to communicate some matter connected
with his religious feelings, and to ask his advice and opinion.
“How confoundedly blind the world is,” thought Bob, “not to see that
Popery--” he never called it anything else--“is the true faith! Curse
me but Priest M'Cabe is a famous fellow!--Zounds, what an Orangeman he
would make!--he's just the cut for it, an' it's a thousand pities he's
not one--but!--what the hell am I sayin?' They say he's cross and
ill-tempered, but I deny it--isn't he patient, except when in a
passion? and never in a passion unless when provoked; what the d--l more
would they have? I know I let fly an oath myself of an odd time (every
third word, good reader), but, then, sure the faith is never injured by
the vessel that contains it. Begad, but I'm sorry for my father, though,
for, as there's no salvation out o' Popery, the devil of it is, that
he's lost beyond purchase.”
In such eccentric speculations did Bob amuse himself, until, in
consequence of the rapid pace at which he went, he overtook a
fellow-traveller, who turned out to be no other than our friend Darby
O'Drive. There was, in fact, considering the peculiar character of these
two converts, something irresistibly comic in this encounter. Bob knew
little or nothing of the Roman Catholic creed; and, as for Darby, we
need not say that he was thoroughly ignorant of Protestantism. Yet,
nothing could be more certain--if one could judge by the fierce
controversial cock of Bob's hat, and the sneering contemptuous
expression of Darby's face, that a hard battle, touching the safest way
of salvation, was about to be fought between them.
Bob, indeed, had of late been anxious to meet Darby, in order, as he
said, to make him “show the cloven foot, the rascal;” but Darby's ire
against the priest was now up; and besides, he reflected that a display
of some kind would recommend him to the Reformationists, especially,
he hoped, to Mr. Lucre, who, he was resolved, should hear it. The two
converts looked at each other with no charitable aspect. Darby was about
to speak, but Bob, who thought there was not a moment to be lost, gave
him a controversial facer before he had time to utter a word:--“How many
articles in your church?”
[Illustration: PAGE 233-- How many articles in your church?]
“How many articles in my church! There's one bad one in your church more
than ought to be in it, since they got you:--but can you tell me how
many sins cry to heaven for vengeance on you, you poor lost hathen?”
“Don't hathen me, you had betther; but answer my question, you rascally
heretic.”
“Heretic inagh! oh, thin, is it from a barefaced idolather like you that
we hear heretic called to us! Faith, it's come to a purty time o' day
wid us!”
“You're a blessed convart not to know the Forty-nine articles of your
fat establishment!”
“And I'll hould a wager that you don't know this minute how many
saikerments in your idolathry. Oh, what a swaggerin' Catholic you are,
you poor hair-brained blackguard!”
“I believe you found some convincin' texts in the big purse of the Bible
blackguards--do you smell that, Darby?”
“You have a full purse, they say, but, by the time Father M'Cabe takes
the price of your trangressions out of it--as he won't fail to do--take
my word for it, it'll be as lank as a stocking without a leg in it--do
you smell that, Bob ahagur?”
“Where was your church before the Reformation?”
“Where was your face before it was washed?”
“Do you know the four pillars that your Church rests upon? because if
you don't, I'LL tell you--it was Harry the aigth, Martin Luther, the
Law, and the Devil. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Ah, what a purty
boy you are, and what a deludin' face you've got.”
“So the priest's doin' you--he's the man can pluck a fat goose, Bob.”
“Don't talk of pluckin' geese--you have taken some feathers out o' the
Bible blades, to all accounts. How do you expect to be saved by joining
an open heresy?”
“Whisht, you hathen, that has taken to idolathry bekase Father M'Cabe
made an ass of you by a thrick that every one knows. But I tell you to
your brazen face, that you'll be worse yet than ever you were.”
“You disgraced your family by turnin' apostate, and we know what for.
Little Solomon, the greatest rogue unhanged, gave you the only grace you
got or ever will get.”
“Why, you poor turncoat, isn't the whole country laughin' at you,
and none more than your own friends. The great fightin' Orangeman and
blood-hound turned voteen!--oh, are we alive afther that!”
“The blaggard bailiff and swindler turned swadler, hopin' to get a
fatter cut from the Bible blades, oh!”
“Have you your bades about you? if you have, I'll throuble you to give
us a touch of your Padareen Partha. Orange Bob at his Padareen Partha!
ha, ha, ha.”
“You know much about Protestantism. Blow me, but it's a sin to see such
a knavish scoundrel professing it.”
“It's a greater sin, you Orange omad-hawn, to see the likes o' you
disgracin' the bades an' the blessed religion you tuck an you.”
“You were no disgrace, then, to the one you left; but you are a burnin'
scandal to the one you joined, and they ought to kick you out of it.”
In fact, both converts, in the bitterness of their hatred, were
beginning to forget the new characters they had to support, and to glide
back unconsciously, or we should rather say, by the force of conscience,
to their original creeds.
“If Father M'Cabe was wise he'd send you to the heretics again.”
“If the Protestants regarded their own character, and the decency of
their religion, they'd send you back to your cursed Popery again.”
“It's no beef atin' creed, anyway,” said Darby, who had, without knowing
it, become once more a staunch Papist, “ours isn't.”
“It's one of knavery and roguery,” replied Bob, “sure devil a thing one
of you knows only to believe in your Pope.”
“You had betther not abuse the Pope,” said Darby, “for fraid I'd give
you a touch o' your ould complaint, the fallin' sickness, you know, wid
my fist.”
“Two could play at that game, Darby, and I say, to hell with him--and
the priests are all knaves and rogues, every one of them.”
“Are they, faith,” said Darby, “here's an answer for that, anyhow.”
“Text for text, you Popish rascal.”
A fierce battle took place on the open highway, which was fought with
intense' bitterness on both sides. The contest, which was pretty equal,
might, however, have been terminated by the defeat of one of them,
had they been permitted to fight without support on either side; this,
however, was not to be. A tolerably large crowd, composed of an equal
number of Catholics and Protestants, collected from the adjoining
fields, where they had been at labor, immediately joined them. Their
appearance, unhappily, had only the effect of renewing the battle.
The Catholics, ignorant of the turn which the controversy had taken,
supported Bob and Protestantism; whilst the Protestants, owing to a
similar mistake, fought like devils for Darby and the Pope. A pretty
smart skirmish, in fact, which lasted more than twenty minutes, took
place between the parties, and were it not that their wives, sisters,
daughters, and mothers, assisted by many who were more peaceably
disposed, threw themselves between them, it might have been much more
serious than it was. If the weapons of warfare ceased, however, so did
not their tongues; there was abundance of rustic controversy exchanged
between them, that is to say, polemical scurrility much of the same
enlightened character as that in the preceding dialogue. The fact of
the two parties, too, that came to their assistance, having mistaken the
proper grounds of the quarrel, reduced Darby and Bob to the necessity
of retracing their steps, and hoisting once more their new colors,
otherwise their respective friends, had they discovered the blunder they
had committed, would, unquestionably, have fought the battle a second
time on its proper merits. Bob, escorted by his Catholic friends, who
shouted and huzza'd as they went along, proceeded to Father M'Cabe's;
whilst Darby and his adherents, following their example, went towards
M'Clutchy's, and having left him within sight of Constitution Cottage,
they returned to their labor.
We have already said, that neither M'Clutchy nor M'Slime was at all a
favorite with Darby. Darby was naturally as avaricious, and griping, and
oppressive as either of them; and as he was the principal instrument of
their rapacity and extortion, he deemed it but fair and just that they
should leave him at least a reasonable share of their iniquitous gains.
They were not, however, the gentlemen to leave much behind them, and
the upshot was, that Darby became not only highly dissatisfied at their
conduct towards him, but jealous and vigilant of all their movements,
and determined to watch an opportunity of getting them both into
his power. M'Slime's trick about M'Clutchy's letter first awoke his
suspicions, and the reader is already acquainted with the dexterous
piece of piety by which he secured it. Both letters now were in his
possession, or at least in a safe place; but as he had not yet read
them, he did not exactly know what line of conduct or deportment to
assume. Then, how face M'Clutchy without M'Slime's answer? Darby,
however, was fertile, and precisely the kind of man who could, as they
sav, kill two birds with one stone. He had it;--. just the very thing
that would serve every purpose. Accordingly, instead of going to
M'Clutchy's at all, he turned his steps to his own house; tied an old
stocking around his head, got his face bandaged, and deliberately took
to his bed in a very severe state of illness. And, indeed, to tell the
truth, a day or two in bed was not calculated to do him the least harm,
but a great deal of good; for what, between the united contributions of
Father M'Cabe and Bob Beatty, he was by no means an unfit subject for
the enjoyment of a few days' retirement from public life.