passed, but Peter was not paid, nor was his clever debtor seen at mass,
or in the vicinity of the shebeen-house, for many a month afterwards--an
instance of ingratitude which mortified his creditor extremely. The
latter, who felt that it was a take in, resolved to cut short all hopes
of obtaining credit from them in future. In about a week after the
foregoing hoax, he got up a board, presenting a more vigorous refusal
of score than the former. His friends, who were more in number than he
could have possibly imagined, on this occasion, were altogether wiped
out of the exception. The notice ran to the following effect:--
“Notice to the Public, _and to Pether Connell's friends in
particular_.--Divil resave the morsel of credit will be got or given in
this house, while there is stick or stone of it together, barrin' them
that axes it has the ready money.
“Pettier X his mark Connell,
“Ellish X her mark Connell.”
This regulation, considering everything, was a very proper one. It
occasioned much mirth among Peter's customers; but Peter cared little
about that, provided he made the money.
The progress of his prosperity, dating it from so small a beginning, was
decidedly slow. He owed it principally to the careful habits of Ellish,
and his own sobriety. He was prudent enough to avoid placing any sign in
his window, by which his house could be known as a shebeen; for he was
not ignorant that there is no class of men more learned in this species
of hieroglyphics than excisemen. At all events, he was prepared for
them, had they come to examine his premises. Nothing that could bring
him within the law was ever kept visible. The cask that contained the
poteen was seldom a week in the same place of concealment, which was
mostly, as we have said, under ground. The tobacco was weighed and
subdivided into small quantities, which, in addition to what he carried
in his pocket, were distributed in various crevices and crannies of
the house; sometimes under the thatch; sometimes under a dish on the
dresser, but generally in a damp place.
When they had been about two or three years thus employed, Peter, at the
solicitation of the wife, took a small farm.
“You're stout an' able,” said she; “an' as I can manage the house widout
you, wouldn't it be a good plan to take a bit o' ground--nine or
ten acres, suppose--an' thry your hand at it? Sure you wor wanst the
greatest man in the parish about a farm. Surely that 'ud be dacenter nor
to be slungein' about, invintin' truth and lies for other people, whin
they're at their work, to make thim laugh, an you doin' nothin' but
standin' over thim, wid your hands down to the bottom o' your pockets?
Do, Pether, thry it, avick, an' you'll see it 'ill prosper wid us, plase
God?'
“Faix I'm ladin' an asier life, Ellish.”
“But are you ladin' a dacenter or a more becominer life?”
“Why, I think, widout doubt, that it's more becominer to walk about like
a gintleman, nor to be workin' like a slave.”
“Gintleman! Musha, is it to the fair you're bringin' yourself? Why, you
great big bosthoon, isn't it both a sin an' a shame to see you sailin'
about among the neighbors, like a sthray turkey, widout a hand's turn to
do? But, any way, take my advice, avillish,--will you, aroon?--an' faix
you'll see how rich we'll get, wid a blessin'?”
“Ellish, you're a deludher!”
“Well, an' what suppose? To be sure I am. Usen't you be followin' me
like a calf afther the finger?--ha, ha, ha!--Will you do my biddin',
Pether darlin'?”
Peter gave her a shrewd, significant wink, in contradiction to what he
considered the degrading comparison she had just made.
“Ellish, you're beside the mark, you beauty; always put the saddle on
the right horse, woman alive! Didn't you often an' I often swear to me,
upon two green ribbons, acrass one another, that you liked a red head
best, an' that the redder it was you liked it the betther?”
“An' it was thruth, too; an' sure, by the same a token, whore could
I get one half so red as your own? Faix, I knew what I was about! I
wouldn't give you yet for e'er a young man in the parish, if I was a
widow to-morrow. Will you take the land?”
“So thin, afther all, if the head hadn't been an me, I wouldn't be a
favorite wid you?--ha, ha, ha!”
“Get out wid you, and spake sinse. Throth, if you don't say aither ay or
no, I'll give myself no more bother about it, There we are now wid some
guineas together, an'--Faix, Pettier, you're vexin' me!”
“Do you want an answer?”
“Why, if it's plasin' to your honor, I'd have no objection.”
“Well, will you have my new big coat made agin Shraft?” (* Shrovetide)
“Ay, will I, in case you do what I say; but if you don't the sarra
stitch of it 'll go to your back this twelvemonth, maybe, if you vex me.
Now!”
“Well, I'll tell you what: my mind's made up--I will take the land; an'
I'll show the neighbors what Pether Connell can do yit.”
“Augh! augh! mavoumeen, that you wor! Throth I'll fry a bit o' the bacon
for our dinner to-day, on the head o' that, although I didn't intind to
touch it till Sunday. Ay, faix, an' a pair o' stockins, too, along wid
the coat; an' somethin' else, that you didn't hear of yit.”
Ellish, in fact, was a perfect mistress of the science of wheedling;
but as it appears instinctive in the sex, this is not to be wondered at.
Peter himself was easy, or rather indolent, till properly excited by
the influence of adequate motives; but no sooner were the energies that
slumbered in him called into activity, than he displayed a firmness of
purpose, and a perseverance in action, that amply repaid his exertions.
The first thing he did, after taking, his little farm, was to prepare
for its proper cultivation, and to stock it. His funds were not,
however, sufficient for this at the time. A horse was to be bought, but
the last guinea they could spare had been already expended, and this
purchase was, therefore, out of the question. The usages of the small
farmers, however, enabled him to remedy this inconvenience. Peter made
a bargain with a neighbor, in which he undertook to repay him by an
exchange of labor, for the use of his plough and horses in getting
down his crop. He engaged to give him, for a stated period in the slack
season, so many days' mowing as would cover the expenses of ploughing
and harrowing his land. There was, however, a considerable portion
of his holding potato-ground; this Peter himself dug with his spade,
breaking it as he went along into fine mould. He then planted the
seed--got a hatchet, and selecting the best thorn-bush he could find,
cut it down, tied a rope to the trunk, seized the rope, and in this
manner harrowed his potato-ground. Thus did he proceed, struggling to
overcome difficulties by skill, and substituting for the more efficient
modes of husbandry, such rude artificial resources as his want of
capital compelled him to adopt.
In the meantime, Ellish, seeing Peter acquitting himself in his
undertaking with such credit, determined not to be outdone in her
own department. She accordingly conceived the design of extending her
business, and widening the sphere of her exertions. This intention,
however, she kept secret from Peter, until by putting penny to penny,
and shilling to shilling, she was able to purchase a load of crockery.
Here was a new source of profit opened exclusively by her own address.
Peter was astonished when he saw the car unloaded, and the crockery
piled in proud array by Ellish's own hands.
“I knew,” said she, “I'd take a start out o' you. Faix, Pether, you'll
see how I'll do, never fear, wid the help o' Heaven! I'll be off to the
market in the mornin', plase God, where I'll sell rings around me * o'
them crocks and pitchers. An' now, Pether, the sarra one o' me would do
this, good or bad, only bekase your managin' the farm so cleverly. Tady
Gormley's goin' to bring home his meal from the mill, and has promised
to lave these in the market for me, an' never fear but I'll get some o'
the neighbors to bring them home, so that there's car-hire saved. Faix,
Pether, there's nothin' like givin' the people sweet words, any way;
sure they come chape.”
* This is a kind of hyperbole for selling a grout
quantity.
“Faith, an' I'll back you for the sweet words agin any woman in the
three kingdoms, Ellish, you darlin'. But don't you know the proverb,
'sweet words butther no parsnips.'”
“In throth, the same proverb's a lyin' one, and ever was; but it's not
parsnips I'll butther wid 'em, you gommoch.”
“Sowl, you butthered me wid 'em long enough, you deludher--devil a lie
in it; but thin, as you say, sure enough, I was no parsnip--not so soft
as that either, you phanix.”
“No? Thin I seldom seen your beautiful head without thinkin' of a
carrot, an' it's well known they're related--ha, ha, ha!--Behave,
Pether--behave, I say--Pether, Pether--ha, ha, ha!--let me alone! Katty
Hacket, take him away from me--ha, ha, ha!”
“Will ever you, you shaver wid the tongue that you are? Will ever you, I
say? Will ever you make delusion to my head again--eh?”
“Oh, never, never--but let me go, an' me go full o' tickles! Oh, Pether,
avourneen, don't, you'll hurt me, an' the way I'm in--quit, avillish!”
“Bedad, if you don't let my head alone, I'll--will ever you?”
“Never, never. There now--ha, ha, ha!--oh, but I'm as wake as wather wid
what I laughed. Well now, Pether, didn't I manage bravely--didn't I?”
“Wait till we see the profits first, Ellish--crockery's very tindher
goods.”
“Ay!--just wait, an'I'll engage I'll turn the penny. The family's risin'
wid us.”--
“Very thrue,” replied Peter, giving a sly wink at the wife--“no doubt of
it.”
“--Kisin' wid us--I tell you to have sinse, Pether; an' it's our duty to
have something for the crathurs when they grow up.”
“Well, that's a thruth--sure I'm not sayin' against it.”
“I know that; but what I say is, if we hould an, we may make money.
Everything, for so far, has thruv wid us, God be praised for it. There's
another thing in my mind, that I'll be tellin' you some o' these days.”
“I believe, Ellish, you dhrame about makin' money.”
“Well, an' I might do worse; when I'm dhramin' about it, I'm doin' no
sin to any one. But, listen, you must keep the house to-morrow while I'm
at the market. Won't you, Pether?”
“An' who's to open the dhrain in the bottom below?”
“That can be done the day afther. Won't you, abouchal?”
“Ellish, you're a deludher, I tell you. Sweet words;--sowl, you'd
smooth a furze bush wid sweet words. How-an-ever, I will keep the house
to-morrow, till we see the great things you'll do wid your crockery.”
Ellish's success was, to say the least of it, quite equal to, her
expectations. She was certainly an excellent wife, full of acuteness,
industry, and enterprise. Had Peter been married to a woman of a
disposition resembling his own, it is probable that he would have sunk
into indolence, filth, and poverty, these miseries might have soured
their tempers, and driven them into all the low excesses and crimes
attendant upon pauperism. Ellish, however, had sufficient spirit to act
upon Peter's natural indolence, so as to excite it to the proper pitch.
Her mode of operation was judiciously suited to his temper. Playfulness
and kindness were the instruments by which she managed him. She knew
that violence, or the assumption of authority, would cause a man who,
like him, was stern when provoked, to react, and meet her with an
assertion of his rights and authority not to be trifled with. This she
consequently avoided, not entirely from any train of reasoning on the
subject; but from that intuitive penetration which taught her to know
that the plan she had resorted to was best calculated to make him
subservient to her own purposes, without causing him to feel that he was
governed.
Indeed, every day brought out her natural cleverness more clearly. Her
intercourse with the world afforded her that facility of understanding
the tempers and dispositions of others, which can never be acquired
when it has not been bestowed as a natural gift. In her hands it was
a valuable one. By degrees her house improved in its appearance, both
inside and outside. From crockery she proceeded to herrings, then to
salt, in each of which she dealt with surprising success. There was,
too, such an air of bustle, activity, and good-humor about her that
people loved to deal with her. Her appearance was striking, if not
grotesque. She was tall and strong, walked rapidly, and when engaged
in fair or market disposing of her coarse merchandise, was dressed in a
short red petticoat, blue stockings, strong brogues, wore a blue cloak,
with the hood turned up, over her head, on the top of which was a man's
hat, fastened by a, ribbon under her chin. As she thus stirred about,
with a kind word and a joke for every one, her healthy cheek in full
bloom, and her blue-gray eye beaming with an expression of fun and
good-nature, it would be difficult to conceive a character more
adapted for intercourse with, a laughter-loving people. In fact, she
soon became a favorite, and this not the less that she was as ready to
meet her rivals in business with a blow as with a joke. Peter witnessed
her success with unfeigned pleasure; and although every feasible
speculation was proposed by her, yet he never felt that he was a mere
nonentity when compared to his wife. 'Tis true, he was perfectly capable
of executing her agricultural plans when she proposed them, but his own
capacity for making a lucky hit was very limited. Of the two, she was
certainly the better farmer; and scarcely an improvement took place in
his little holding which might not be traced to Ellish.
In the course of a couple of years she bought him a horse, and Peter was
enabled, to join with a neighbor, who had another. Each had a plough
and tackle, so that here was a little team made up, the half of which
belonged to Peter. By this means they ploughed week about, until their
crops were got down. Peter finding his farm doing well, began to feel a
kind of rivalship with his wife--that is to say, she first suggested
the principle, and afterwards contrived to make him imagine that it was
originally his own.
“The sarra one o' you, Pettier,” she exclaimed to him one day, “but's
batin' me out an' out. Why, you're the very dickins at the farmin', so
you are. Faix, I suppose, if you go an this way much longer, that
you'll be thinkin' of another farm, in regard that we have some guineas
together. Pettier, did you ever think of it, abouchal?”
“To be sure, I did, you beauty; an' amn't I in fifty notions to take
Harry Neal's land, that jist lies alongside of our own.”
“Faix, an' you're right, maybe; but if it's strivin' again me you are,
you may give it over: I tell you, I'll have more money made afore this
time twelvemonth than you will.”
“Arrah, is it jokin' you are? More money? Would you advise me to take
Harry's land? Tell me that first, you phanix, an' thin I'm your man!”
“Faix, take your own coorse, avourneen. If you get a lase of it at a
fair rint, I'll buy another horse, any how. Isn't that doin' the thing
dacent'?”
“More power to you, Ellish! I'll hold you a crown, I pay you the price
o' the horse afore this time twelvemonth.”
“Done! The sarra be off me but done!--an' here's Barny Dillon an' Katty
Hacket to bear witness.”
“Sure enough we will,” said Barny, the servant.
“I'll back the misthress any money,” replied the maid.
“Two to one on the masther,” said the man. “Whoo! our side o' the house
for ever! Come, Pether, hould up your head, there's money bid for you!”
“Ellish, I'll fight for you ankle deep,” said Katty--“depind your life
an me.”
“In the name o' goodness, thin, it's a bargain,” said Ellish; “an' at
the end o' the year, if we're spared, we'll see what we'll see. We'll
have among ourselves a little sup o' tay, plase goodness, an' we'll be
comfortable. Now, Barny, go an' draw home thim phaties from the pits
while the day's fine; and Katty, a colleen, bring in some wather, till
we get the pig killed and scalded--it'll hardly have time to be good
bacon for the big markets at Christmas. I don't wish,” she continued,
“to keep it back from them that we have a thrifle o' money. One always
does betther when it's known that they're not strugglin'. There's Nelly
Cummins, an' her customers is lavin' her, an' dalin' wid me, bekase
she's goin' down in business. Ay an', Pether, ahagur, it's the way o'
the world.”
“Well but, Ellish, don't you be givin' Nelly Cummins the harsh word, or
lanin' too heavily upon her, the crathur, merely in regard that she is
goin' down. Do you hear, acolleen?”
“Indeed I don't do it, Pether; but you know she has a tongue like a
razor at times, and whin it gets loose she'd provoke St. Pether himself.
Thin she's takin' to the dhrink, too, the poor misfortunate vagabone!”
“Well, well, that's no affair o' yours, or mine aither--only don't be
risin' ructions and norrations wid her. You _threwn_ a jug at her the
last day you war out, an' hot the poor ould Potticary as he was passin'.
You see I hard that, though you kept it close from me!--ha, ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha, ha!--why you'd split if you had seen the crathur whin he fell
into Pether White's brogue-creels, wid his heels up. But what right
had she to be sthrivin' to bring away my customers afore my face? Ailey
Dogherty was buying a crock wid me, and Nelly shouts over to her from
where she sot like a queen on her stool, 'Ailey,' says she, 'here's a
betther one for three fardens less, an' another farden 'ill get you a
pennorth o' salt.' An', indeed, Ailey walks over, manely enough, an'
tuck her at her word. Why, flesh an' blood couldn't bear it.”
“Indeed, an' you're raal flesh and blood, Ellish, if that's thrue.”
“Well, but consarnin' what I mintioned awhile agone--hut! the poor mad
crathur, let us have no more discoorse about her--I say, that no one
ever thrives so well as when the world sees that they are gettin' an,
an' prosperin'; but if there's not an appearance, how will any one know
whether we are prosperin' or not, barrin' they see some sign of it about
us; I mane, in a quiet rasonable way, widout show or extravagance. In
the name o' goodness, thin, let us get the house brushed up, an' the
outhouses dashed. A bushel or two of lime 'ill make this as white as
an egg widin, an' a very small expinse will get it plastered, and
whitewashed widowt. Wouldn't you like it, avourneen? Eh, Pether?”
“To be sure I'd like it. It'll give a respectful look to the house and
place.”
“Ay, an' it'll bring customers, that's the main thing. People always
like to come to a snug, comfortable place. An', plase God, I'm thinkin'
of another plan that I'll soon mintion.”
“An' what may that be, you skamer? Why, Ellish, you've ever and always
some skam'e or other in that head o' yours. For my part, I don't know
how you get at them.”
“Well, no matter, acushla, do you only back me; just show me how I ought
to go on wid them, for nobody can outdo you at such things, an' I'll
engage we'll thrive yit, always wid a blessin' an us.”
“Why, to tell God's thruth, I'd bate the devil himself at plannin' out,
an' bringin' a thing to a conclusion--eh, you deludher?”
“The sarra doubt of it; but takin' the other farm was the brightest
thought I seen wid you yit. Will you do it, avillish?”
“To be sure. Don't I say it? An' it'll be up wid the lark wid me. Hut,
woman, you don't see the half o' what's in me, yet.”
“I'll buy you a hat and a pair o' stockins at Christmas.”
“Will you, Ellish? Then, by the book, I'll work like a horse.”
“I didn't intind to tell you, but I had it laid out for you.”
“Faith, you're a beauty, Ellish. What'll we call this young chap that's
comin', acushla?”
“Now, Pether, none o' your capers. It's time enough when the thing
happens to be thinkin' o' that, Glory be to God!”
“Well, you may talk as you plase, but I'll call him Pether.”
“An' how do you know but he'll be a girl, you omadhawn?”
“Murdher alive, ay, sure enough! Faith, I didn't think o' that!”
“Well, go up now an' spake to Misther Eccles about the land; maybe
somebody else 'ud slip in afore us, an' that wouldn't be pleasant.
Here's your brave big coat, put it an; faix, it makes a man of
you--gives you a bodagh* look entirely; but that's little to what you'll
be yet, wid a blessin'--a Half-Sir, any way.”
* This word is used in Ireland sometimes in a good and
sometimes in a bad sense. For instance, the peasantry
will often say in allusion to some individual who may
happen to be talked of, “Hut! he's a dirty bodagh;” but
again, you may hear them use it in a sense directly the
reverse of this; for instance, “He's a very dacent
man, and looks the bodagh entirely.” As to the “Half
sir,” he stands about half-way between the bodagh and
the gentleman, Bodagh--signifying churl--was applied
originally as a term of reproach to the English
settlers.
In fact, Ellish's industry had already gained a character for both
herself and her husband. He got credit for the assiduity and activity to
which she trained him: and both were respected for their cleverness in
advancing themselves from so poor a beginning to the humble state of
independence they had then reached. The farm which Ellish was so anxious
to secure was the property of the gentleman from whom they held the
other. Being a man of sense and penetration, he fortunately saw--what,
indeed, was generally well known--that Peter and Ellish were rising in
the world, and that their elevation was the consequence of their own
unceasing efforts to become independent, so that industry is in every
possible point of view its own reward. So long as the farm was open to
competition the offers for it multiplied prodigiously, and rose in equal
proportion. Persons not worth twenty shillings in the world offered
double the rent which the utmost stretch of ingenuity, even with
suitable capital, could pay. New-married couples, with nothing but the
strong imaginative hopes peculiar to their country, proposed for it in
a most liberal spirit. Men who had been ejected out of their late farms
for non-payment of rent, were ready to cultivate this at a rent much
above that which, on better land, they were unable to pay. Others, who
had been ejected from farm after farm--each of which they undertook as a
mere speculation, to furnish them with present subsistence, but without
any ultimate expectation of being able to meet their engagements--came
forward with the most laudable efforts. This gentleman, however, was
none of those landlords who are so besotted and ignorant of their own
interests, as to let their lands simply to the highest bidders, without
taking into consideration their capital, moral character, and habits
of industry. He resided at home, knew his tenants personally, took an
interest in their successes and difficulties, and instructed them in the
best modes of improving their farms.
Peter's first interview with him was not quite satisfactory on
either side. The honest man was like a ship without her rudder, when
transacting business in the absence of his wife. The fact was, that on
seeing the high proposals which were sent in, he became alarmed lest, as
he flattered himself, that the credit of the transaction should be all
his own, the farm might go into the hands of another, and his character
for cleverness suffer with Ellish. The landlord was somewhat astounded
at the rent which a man who bore so high a name for prudence offered
him. He knew it was considerably beyond what the land was worth, and he
did not wish that any tenant coming upon his estate should have no other
prospect than that of gradually receding into insolvency.
“I cannot give you any answer now,” said he to Peter; “but if you will
call in a day or two I shall let you know my final determination.”
Peter, on coming home, rendered an account of his interview with the
landlord to his wife, who no sooner heard of the extravagant proposal he
made, than she raised her hands and eyes, exclaiming--
“Why, thin, Pether, alanna, was it beside yourself you wor, to go for to
offer a rint that no one could honestly pay! Why, man alive, it 'ud
lave us widout house or home in do time, all out! Sure Pettier, acushla,
where 'ud be the use of us or any one takin' land, barrin' they could
make somethin' by it? Faix, if the gintleman had sinse, he wouldn't give
the same farm to anybody at sich a rint; an' for good rasons too--bekase
they could never pay it, an' himself 'ud be the sufferer in the long
run.”
“Dang me, but you're the long-headedest woman alive this day, Ellish.
Why, I never wanst wint into the rason o' the thing, at all. But you
don't know the offers he got.”