WHAT HAPPENED TO LITTLE EUGENE O'CLERY.
Fortune now began to smile on Paul O'Clery, and to make amends for the
long course of ill usage to which she had subjected himself and his
kindred. He had not only enjoyed the sympathy of friends, and his
talents had not only gained him the good will and respect of his
superiors and classfellows, but he now unexpectedly found himself in
possession of a handsome sum of money, the fruit of the honest industry
of his parents. The true Catholic training which Paul received from his
very infancy taught him the impropriety of immoderate joy or gladness,
and the severe trials of the last few years had chastened his naturally
hilarious and pleasant mind to a temper of habitual calm and reserve
bordering on melancholy. It must be confessed, in this instance,
however, that his spirit felt unusually buoyant and glad, as he
returned, under present circumstances, to the scene of his late trials
and humiliation.
There are few persons born, however propitious the position of their
horoscope, who have not, some time or other, to experience the feeling
attendant on a transition from an inferior condition to one of more
respect and honor. It will not, therefore, be difficult to imagine what
were the sentiments of our young hero on his return from the south, on
this occasion. He was a slave; he is now a freeman. He was a menial; he
is now a gentleman. He was the subject on which the hypocrite and the
impostor sought to try the success of their well-taught deceptions; now,
his virtues, his manners, and his success are in the mouths of all men;
and those who plotted against his soul are ready to do homage to his
accomplishments. When St. Patrick, the apostle of Ireland, returned to
the house of his former master, who held him in slavery,--the glorious
prelate and saint to the hut of the slave,--what must have been the
feelings of his exalted and inspired soul? Not those of hatred, vanity,
or earthly exultation, but those of charity, thanksgiving, and apostolic
zeal, if not those of gratitude, to his pagan master. Kindred to these
was the mental exultation of Paul O'Clery, on approaching the valley of
R---- Creek, the scene of the most meritorious part of his life, and
still the novitiate of those who were the most dear to him on earth.
He determined not only to redeem his sister and brothers, by paying the
customary sum for whatever clothing and board they had received, but
resolved, as soon as possible, to have them placed in a suitable
educational establishment. Bridget was already free, and by right
entitled to something handsome in remuneration of the services she had
rendered in the family in which she was so long a menial; but Paul was
determined that she should not only refuse accepting what was to fall to
her share, and what in justice she could claim, but said every thing
should be paid for--board, lodging, and even her "_common-school_"
education. "This last item," he said, "was not of the most choice
description,--that is, the 'common-school' learning,--but such as it is
I am unwilling to accept it gratuitously." He had come to the same
conclusion regarding Patrick and Eugene. O, it was on account of these
latter children, principally, that Paul rejoiced and thanked God that
restitution had been made of the stolen money; for he had a burden of
care and anxiety on his mind on account of these two children. It was so
difficult a work, especially as himself could not be with them, to save
young boys like them from the contagious vice so prevalent in this
country; and, above all, so hard to preserve young boys in the
atmosphere of your "common schools." Bridget might be said to be safe,
for she could remove to a better and more Christian neighborhood, or
return to her friends in the old country; but Patrick, and, above all,
Eugene, who were in the hands of utter strangers, how were they to be
saved from the universal corruption, when deprived of the continual
guardianship of their faithful brother? These were the considerations,
and not the sole recovery of the money restored to him, that contributed
to the increase of the joy, and gratitude, and thanksgiving in the heart
of Paul that now pervaded it. Alas! that this joy and these pleasant
anticipations of future prospects were of such short duration!
In order to understand the following statement of facts in relation to
the fate of poor Eugene O'Clery, it is necessary here to observe that,
just after Paul had, by means of the support received from his convert
friends in Vermont, been enabled to enter college, a gentleman, who
stated that he took a great interest in Paul, from what he learned from
the Rev. Mr. Strongly about him, wrote him a long letter.
The burden of the epistle was, that the writer was a minister, with
views not far removed from those of the Rev. Mr. Strongly, the convert
to the Catholic church; that he had heard a good deal about Paul and his
trials and success; that he lately visited at Mr. Reuben Prying's, where
his two little brothers now remained; that he pitied them, but
especially the younger, for that they lacked the opportunity of a better
and more _Catholic_ education; that, in fine, he, Dr. Dilman, if Paul
consented, would take the younger, Eugene, with him into the city, where
his education could be attended to, and where he, at least, might be
saved from the influence of the barbarous mannerism and irreligious
taint of these country "common schools." His reverence the doctor
furthermore added, that Mr. Prying had no objection to the arrangement
he proposed, and that he had conquered the repugnance that Mrs. Prying
had to the separation of the brothers by the very flattering terms on
which he offered _to do_ for the child.
In a postscript of this letter, it was stated by this veracious
_Christian minister_, as he signed himself, that he would send Paul
quarterly or monthly bulletins of Eugene's progress in science and
virtue, and, above all, that his faith should not be tampered with in
the slightest.
The effect of such an artful piece of diplomacy may be easily
conceived. The bait of the parson took, and Paul was for once
overreached. The unsuspecting youth took this gentleman to be a
clergyman of the same stamp with his friends Rev. Messrs. Strongly and
H----. And the fact that Parson Dilman was acquainted with the former
honorable men, was enough to throw Paul off his guard. The parson's
talk, too, about "_Catholic education_," and the "barbarous" common
schools, served still to deceive, not only Paul, but even the professors
of the college to whom the epistle of Parson Dilman was submitted for
advice and direction.
Paul was enthusiastic in the praise of his two reverend convert friends
in Vermont, (who were the only two Protestant parsons he intimately knew
before or after conversion,) and hence, when questioned by the
professors about what he might know of his correspondent, he answered
that he knew nothing; but the fact of his intimacy and acquaintance with
the ex-parsons Strongly and H----, his friends and patrons, was "a good
sign of his honesty and honor." The shrewd Jesuit professors smiling at
the poor child's credulous and confiding disposition, told him that, as
he had such an opinion of the worth and honor of the fraternity of
dominies, he might commit his brother to the charge of one, and
especially as he stood in very great danger to his faith and morals
where he was at present. His situation might be ameliorated, but could
not be much worse; but the good fathers declined taking the
responsibility of giving a decision on the subject.
"The letter promised what was fair and honorable, but there might be
deception," said they.
"Deception, reverend fathers!" said Paul. "I can't suspect any such
thing in one so intimate with my dearest and best friends, the converted
clergymen in Vermont."
"Well," said the sons of Ignatius, whose wise experience had taught them
to have little faith in heretical parsons, "you can use your own
discretion, my child."
Paul, acting on the impulse of his own feelings, thinking it would be a
rash judgment in him to suspect evil design in one who professed himself
favorable to Catholicity, and, besides, was of the same sentiments in
religion, or nearly the same, with his convert friends in Vermont,
immediately wrote in answer to Dr. Dilman, consenting to have Eugene go
with him. But there was to be no legal binding in the matter, and honor
was to be the only bond under which his younger brother was to be held
bound.
The day now arrived for Eugene to part--alas! that it should be
forever--from the society of his brother and sister. At first, some
opposition was made by Patrick and Bridget; but when shown the letter of
their brother Paul, they were reconciled to what they thought the
temporary separation. Eugene himself was calmed, and his sorrow turned
into joy, by being told that he was going towards where Paul was, and
that, like enough, he would meet him on his way.
"Can I see Paul there?" said he, drying the tears that stood in his
eyes.
"Sartain you can. Don't you like that, Bob?" said Reuben, who was in
the plot with Dilman.
"Well, I'll go, then," said the child. "Good by, Bid; good by, Pat. You
stay there till Paul and I come to see ye."
All the household of Reuben embraced Eugene, and made him some little
present, before he set out. An abundance of tears were shed by young and
old, as the melancholy and thoughtful face of Eugene was seen by them
for the last time.
Truth compels us to say a word or two in reference to the antecedents of
this reverend doctor of Presbyterianism into whose _protection_ this
innocent lamb was taken. Dr. Dilman was about sixty years old at this
time; and after having lived in some manner with his first wife for near
thirty years, had lately taken out a bill of divorce by law against the
"old woman," to make room for a young _religious lady_ in his reverend
bed. During his long life, he had changed his creed no less than nine
times. He was first an Episcopalian; but having been refused ordination
in that sect, on account of some peccadilloes of his youth, he joined
the Methodists, from whom he received conversion and a call. Being a man
of undoubted talent, and thinking the Methodists were too slow in
promoting him, he became a Baptist. His next hop was to the
Universalists, whom, because he found too penurious, he deserted for the
Congregationalists, from whom he got a call to a southern pro-slavery
church, where, after amassing considerable wealth in cash and "human
chattels," he resigned his charge, came to the north again to recruit
his sinking constitution, and, after trying two or three other minor
sects, he settled down an old-school anti-slavery Presbyterian. Poor
man! his star has gone down now, and his memory will soon be forgotten;
but the anecdotes and tales that his extraordinary life illustrated will
not be forgotten for generations to come. The passage in his study,
through which he used to admit his "Cressida" from a secret door
communicating with his "basement church," is now shown as a specimen of
his skill. The transformations and metamorphoses he used to undergo,
like Jupiter of old, in order to pass unobserved to the retreats of his
"Europas," on the sides and on the summits of the classically-sounding
hills of the city of his ministry,--all these things, and more, are
known to the poorest retailers of interesting stories and anecdotes. In
a word, he was as impure as Caligula, as cruel as Nero or Calvin
himself, and as violent as Luther or John Knox.
Yet it is a melancholy fact in connection with, and illustrative of, the
spirit of the Protestantisms of the United States, that for twenty years
and more, with all this guilt, with all the crimes in the calendar on
his head, with the full knowledge of all his sins of impurity,
hypocrisy, intolerance, and cruelty to his wife, this _reverend
gentleman_ was the most popular, well-supported, and _respected_
minister in the whole state in which he resided. He was a good preacher,
an eloquent expounder of the word, a smart man; that was enough.
Protestantism could not afford to lose him now, when she was so spare of
the giants to which she owes her existence.
This was the Rev. Dr. Dilman who took Eugene under his care about whom
Reuben Prying remarked, after he had left the house, that the doctor was
a "real smart man." "Your church, Murty," said he, "can't scare up such
a grand preacher as that. Did you hear that lecture he delivered last
winter against Popery? He is an honor to our church, I can tell you."
"Why so?" said Murty; "what has he done that you esteem him so high?"
"Nothin', but bein' so eloquent and talented, and able to address such a
feeling prayer _to his hearers_."
"Bless you, I know one much more talented than ever he will be," said
Murty.
"I guess not, Murty," said he, shaking his head; "who is it?"
"Why, the devil," said Murty, "beats him all to pieces. Your parson only
opposes the pope, you say; whereas the devil opposes both the pope and
the Almighty. What is any of your ministers to great 'Ould Harry'? I bet
you are beat now. Ha! ha! ha!" said the Irishman, laughing.
"You are a curious feller, Murty," said Mr. Prying.
"Am I not right?" said Murty. "You praise your minister, _not_ because
he is good, charitable, humane, chaste, or pious, (all which he possibly
may be,) but solely because he is talented or endowed with genius. Well,
then, I tell you this gains him no merit, for he received this gift from
God. He may abuse it; and, at any rate, the devil, the very enemy of
God, is endowed with more genius than he and all the Protestant parsons
living put together. I think this is fair _arguing_, Mr. Prying, don't
you?"
"Let's drop it, Murty," said Mr. Prying, not liking to hear any more of
such "arguing," particularly as the children were present, and seemed
much to enjoy the home-spun comparison between the Dominie Dilman and
"Old Harry." This was the first time they were observed to laugh since
the departure of poor Eugene.
Meanwhile, poor Eugene arrived in the city of the parsonage of his
reverend protector, where he was received with apparent affection by
that gentleman's wife. During the first three days after his arrival,
several of the "saints," male and female, of the doctor's church, came
to see the new acquisition, as well as to congratulate the parson on the
success of his plan. The little orphan was flattered, caressed, and
encouraged by the promise of nice clothes and other presents. And it
would be unnatural to expect that the innocent heart of a child of his
age, now between eight and nine years, could remain insensible to the
caresses and favors bestowed. The little lad felt quite content; nay, a
gradual sunshine began to spread over the calm melancholy of his angelic
face.
They first imposed on the child by telling him that his reverend
protector was the priest. He believed it for some time; but when, after
two weeks were elapsed, he was permitted to go to church, he was
perfectly surprised at "the quare way the priest said mass." He saw no
candles lighted on the altar. He heard no little bell rung at various
parts of the service. He saw no persons "bless themselves" there,
either. "I suppose," said he to himself, "they would not tell a lie; but
that was a very strange mass I was at to-day."
Friday came round soon after, and then little Eugene learned where he
stood. Then he saw what hypocrites the self-styled priest, his wife, and
all in his house were. He had perceived his reverence help himself
plentifully to fat meat; and Eugene was invited to eat it himself, but
declined, saying, "I would be a Protestant if I eat meat on Friday; and
I fear ye are all here Protestants." A suppressed laugh was all that his
remark could elicit from these worthies whose gluttony gave him such
scandal.
Eugene's eyes were further opened by some boys at school, who laughed
heartily at his expense when he asked about the "strange mass" that he
had heard on Sunday.
"What mass?" said they; "sure it is only the Popish priests that offer
mass, and it is a wicked thing to go to mass."
The poor child, on seeing the snare laid for him, burst into tears and
wept aloud, calling for his brother Paul by name, and crying, "O woe!
woe! woe!"
The school madam was attracted by the lamentable cries of the lad, and,
learning the cause of them, reprimanded the impudent boys, and tried to
console him. Her attempts were, however, in vain. The child seeing
himself sold and betrayed, his candid soul fell back to its former
melancholy, and he drooped under the weight of the injustice of which he
was the victim.
From that day forward he refused to attend either the night prayers of
the "false priest," or to go to any of his meetings, and to the hour of
his death this resolution could never be shaken by all the wiles of his
persecutors. Several new arts and schemes were tried to vanquish his
resolution, but all to no purpose. He was alternately coaxed and
threatened, but all attempts either to flatter or force him proved
ineffectual. He was several times locked up in a dark room, which was
the terror of a young nephew of the parson, who was in the house, but
which had far less terror for this young confessor than the smiles of
his false friends. He was heard by young Sam, who often went to the door
of the dread prison, chanting his favorite hymn, thus:--
"Ave Maria! hear the prayer
Of thy poor, helpless child;
Beneath thy sweet, maternal care,
Preserve me undefiled."
And when spoken to through the keyhole, he answered that he was not a
bit afraid of "Spookes," and that there was plenty of light for him to
say his prayers. Even the parson himself, in company with his wife, went
to listen at the door of where their prisoner was confined, and for a
moment their hard hearts even were softened by the sweet, plaintive
chant of the "Ave Maria."
"Are you sorry for your disobedience, now, Eugene?" said the parson;
"and will you attend prayers and meeting when you are told?"
"I can't promise to do what would displease God, and what my brother
Paul and the priest told me not to do, sir," said the child.
"Don't you know, Eugene, the priest is a wicked man, and the Lord will
punish you in a dark dungeon, darker than that room you are in, if you
do not do what I tell you?" added the persecuting parson.
All this talk was lost on poor Eugene, who continued chanting his little
hymn, or repeating the "Hail Mary" and "Holy Mary," for his father and
mother's souls. In a word, after a series of whippings, confinements,
and scoldings, after compelling him either to eat flesh on Friday, or
fast all day without any other food, Parson Dilman, out of sheer shame,
gave him up, and confessed himself vanquished by the Catholic child. He
did not give him up for good, however, but, by way of making more sure
of his victim, he sent him out into the country, to undergo the
treatment of a more zealous and perfect disciplinarian than himself.
This pious Christian was no other than Shaw Gulvert, who was known to be
a prodigy of sanctity, and had a world of zeal in reconciling obstinate
heretics, or pagans, (as he called all but his own sect,) to the true
standard of old Presbyterianism. He could boast of having most of the
Old Testament by heart, making a prayer or "asking a blessing" of one
hour's duration in the delivery; and by these virtues, and others he
knew how to practise, every person who lived in his house, or came
within the influence of his zeal, was sure "to get religion in no time."
'Tis true, he met some unlucky converts, and one or two very obstinate
Papists whom he did not convert at all; but he soon despatched and
discharged these latter. And he was especially mortified at the conduct
of one Tipperary man, named Burk, who had the audacity to bring the
priest to say mass in a house which the latter rented from him. The
house has ever since been locked up, the pious Christian, Mr. Shaw
Gulvert, preferring to let it rot and totter in ruin, rather than run
the risk of having a Catholic tenant, who, like Burk, would be wicked
enough to allow the priest inside the threshold.
This is the gentleman who is intrusted with the conversion of poor
Eugene O'Clery, the Irish emigrant orphan; and he set about the work in
right earnest fashion.