O'Donog-hoes, or the Duffys, upon his land, widout a shillin' in one o'
their pockets to stock it, or to begin workin' it properly wid. Hand me
my cloak from the pin there, an' get your hat. Katty, avourneen, have an
eye to the house till we come back; an' if Dick Murphy comes here to get
tobaccy on score, tell him I can't afford it, till he pays up what he
got. Come, Pether, in the name o' goodness--come, abouchal.”
Ellish, during their short journey to the landlord's, commenced, in her
own way, a lecture upon agricultural economy, which, though plain and
unvarnished, contained excellent and practical sense. She also pointed
out to him when to speak and when to be silent; told him what rent to
offer, and in what manner he should offer it; but she did all this so
dexterously and sweetly, that honest Peter thought the new and corrected
views which she furnished him with, were altogether the result of his
own penetration. The landlord was at home when they arrived, and ordered
them into the parlor, where he soon made his appearance.
“Well, Connell,” said he, smiling, “are you come to make me a higher
offer?”
“Why thin no, plase your honor,” replied Peter, looking for confidence
to Ellish: “instead o' that, sir, Ellish here--”
“Never heed me, alanna; tell his honor what you've to say, out o' the
face. Go an acushla.”
“Why, your honor, to tell the blessed thruth, the dickens a bit o'
myself but had a sup in my head when I was wid your honor to-day
before.”
Ellish was thunderstruck at this most unexpected apology from Peter; but
the fact was, that the instructions which she had given him on their
way had completely evaporated from his brain, and he felt himself thrown
altogether upon his own powers of invention. Here, however, he was at
home; for it was well known among all his acquaintances, that, however
he might be deficient in the management of a family when compared to his
wife, he was capable, notwithstanding, of exerting a certain imaginative
faculty in a very high degree. Ellish felt that to contradict him on the
spot must lessen both him and herself in the opinion of the landlord, a
circumstance that would have given her much pain.
“I'm sorry to hear that, Connell,” said Mr. Eccles; “you bear the
character of being strictly sober in your habits. You must have been
early at the bottle, too, which makes your apology rather unhappy. Of
all tipplers, he who drinks early is the worst and most incurable.”
“Thrue for you, sir, but this only happens me wanst a year, your honor.”
“Once a year! But, by the by, you had no appearance of being tipsy,
Peter.”
“Tipsy! Bud-a'-age, your honor, I was never seen tipsy in all my life,”
said Peter,--“That's a horse of another color, sir, plase your honor.”
The reader must at once perceive that Peter here was only recovering
himself from the effects of the injurious impression which his first
admission was calculated to produce against him in the mind of his
landlord. “Tipsy! No, no, sir; but the rason of it, sir, was this: it
bein' my birthday, sir, I merely tuck a sup in the mornin', in honor o'
the day. It's altogether a lucky day to me, sir!”
“Why, to be sure, every man's birthday may, probably, be called
such--the gift of existence being, I fear, too much undervalued.”
“Bedad, your honor, I don't mane that, at all.”
“Then what do you mean, Peter?”
“Why, sir, you see, it's not that I was _entirely_ born on this day, but
partly, sir; I was marrid to Ellish here into the bargain,--one o'
the best wives, sir--however, I'll say no more, as she's to the fore
herself. But, death alive, sir, sure when we put both conclusions
together--myself bein' sich a worthy man, and Ellish such a tip-top
wife, who could blame me for smellin' the bottle?--for divil a much more
I did--about two glasses, sir--an' so it got up into my head a little
when I was wid your honor to-day before.”
“But what is the amount of all this, Peter?”
“Why, sir, you see only I was as I said, Sir--not tipsy, your honor, any
way, but seein' things double or so; an' that was, I suppose, what made
me offer for the farm double what I intinded. Every body knows, sir,
that the 'crathur' gives the big heart to us, any how, your honor.”
“But you know, Peter, we entered into no terms about it. I, therefore,
have neither power nor inclination to hold you to the offer you made.”
“Faith, sir, you're not the gintleman to do a shabby turn, nor ever was,
nor one o' your family. There's not in all Europe”--
Ellish, who was a point blank dealer, could endure Peter's mode of
transacting business no longer. She knew that if he once got into the
true spirit of applying the oil of flattery to the landlord, he would
have rubbed him into a perfect froth ere he quitted him. She, therefore,
took up the thread of the discourse, and finished the compliment with
much more delicacy than honest Peter could have displayed.
“Thrue for you, Pether,” she added; “there is not a kinder family to
the poor, nor betther landlords in the country they live in. Pether an'
myself, your honor, on layin' both our 'heads together, found that he
offered more rint for the land nor any! tenant could honestly pay. So,
sir, where's the use of keepin' back God's truth--Pether, sir”--
Peter here trembled from an apprehension that the wife, in accomplishing
some object of her own in reference to the land, was about to undeceive
the landlord, touching the lie which he had so barefacedly palmed upon
that worthy gentleman for truth. In fact, his anxiety overcame his
prudence, and he resolved to anticipate her.
“I'd advise you, sir,” said he, with a smile of significant good-humor,
“to be a little suspicious of her, for, to tell the truth, she draws
the”--here he illustrated the simile with his staff--“the long bow of an
odd time; faith she does. I'd kiss the book on the head of what I tould
you, sir, plase your honor. For the sacret of it is, that I tuck the
moistare afore she left her bed.”
“Why, Peter, alanna,” said Ellish, soothingly, “what's comin' over you,
at all, an' me; goin' to explain to his honor the outs and ins I of our
opinion about the land? Faix, man, we're not thinkin' about you, good or
bad.”
“I believe the drop has scarcely left your head yet, Peter,” said the
landlord.
“Bud-an'-age, your honor, sure we must have our joke, any how--doesn't
she deserve it for takin' the word out o' my mouth?”
“Whisht, avillish; you're too cute for us all, Pether. There's no use,
sir, as I was sayin', for any one to deny that when they take a farm
they do it to make by it, or at the laste to live comfortably an it.
That's the thruth, your honor, an' it's no use to keep it back from you,
sir.”
“I perfectly agree with you,” said the landlord. “It is with these
motives that a tenant should wish to occupy land; and it is the duty of
every landlord who has his own interest truly at heart, to see that
his land be not let at such a rent as will preclude the possibility of
comfort or independence on the part of his tenantry. He who lets his
land above its value, merely because people are foolish enough to offer
more for it than it is worth, is as great an enemy to himself as he is
to the tenant.”
“It's God's thruth, sir, an' it's nothin' else but a comfort to hear
sich words comin' from the lips of a gintleman that's a landlord
himself.”
“Ay, an' a good one, too,” said Peter; “an' kind father for his honor to
be what he is. Divil resave the family in all Europe”--
“Thrue for you, avourneen, an' even' one knows that. We wor talkin' it
over, sir, betuxt ourselves, Pether an' me, an' he says very cutely,
that, upon second thoughts, he offered more nor we could honestly pay
out o' the land: so”--
“Faith, it's a thrue as gospel, your honor. Says I, 'Ellish, you
beauty'”--
“I thought,” observed Mr. Eccles, “that she sometimes drew the long bow,
Peter.”
“Oh, murdher alive, sir, it was only in regard of her crassin' in an'
whippin' the word out o' my mouth, that I wanted to take a rise out
of her. Oh, bedad, sir, no; the crathur's thruth to the backbone, an'
farther if I'd say it.”
“So, your honor, considherin' everything, we're willin' to offer thirty
shillin's an acre for the farm. That rint, sir, we'll be able to pay,
wid the help o' God, for sure we can do nothin' widout his assistance,
glory be to his name! You'll get many that'll offer you more, your
honor; but if it 'ud be plasin' to you to considher what manes they have
to pay it, I think, sir, you'd see, out o' your own sinse, that it's not
likely people who is gone to the bad, an' has nothin' could stand it out
long.”
“I wish to heaven,” replied Mr. Eccles, “that every tenant in Ireland
possessed your prudence and good sense. Will you permit me to ask, Mrs.
Connell, what capital you and your husband can command provided I should
let you have it.”
“Wid every pleasure in life, sir, for it's but a fair question to put.
An' sure, it is to God we owe it, whatever it is, plase your honor. But,
sir, if we get the land, we're able to stock it, an' to crop it well an'
dacently; an' if your honor would allow us for sartin improvements, sir,
we'd run it into snug fields, by plantin' good hedges, an' gettin' up
shelther for the outlyin' cattle in the hard seasons, plase your honor,
and you know the farm is very naked and bare of shelter at present.”
“Sowl, will we, sir, an' far more nor that if we get it. I'll
undhertake, sir, to level”--
“No, Pether, we'll promise no more nor we'll do; but anything that his
honor will be plased to point out to us, if we get fair support, an'
that it remains on the farm afther us, we'll be willin' to do it.”
“Willin'!” exclaimed Peter!--“faith, whether we're willin' or not, if
his honor but says the word”----
“Mrs. Connell,” said their landlord, “say no more. The farm is yours,
and you may, consider yourselves as my tenants.”
“Many thanks to you, sir, for the priference. I hope, sir, you'll not
rue what you did in givin' it to us before them that offered a higher
rint. You'll find, sir, wid the help o' the Almighty, that we'll pay you
your rint rigular an' punctual.”
“Why, thin, long life, an' glory, an' benedication to your honor! Faith,
it's only kind father for you, sir, to be what you are. The divil resave
the family in all Europe”--
“Peter, that will do,” replied the landlord, “it would be rather
hazardous for our family to compete with all Europe. Go home, Peter,
and be guided by your wife, who has more sense in her little finger than
ever your family had either in Europe or out of it, although I mean you
no offense by going beyond Europe.”
“By all the books that never wor opened an' shut,” replied Peter,
with the intuitive quickness of perception peculiar to Irishmen, “an
innocenter boy than Andy Connell never was sent acrass the water. I
proved as clear an alibi for him as the sun in the firmanent; an' yit,
bad luck to the big-wig O'Grady, he should be puttin' in his leek an me
afore the jury, jist whin I had the poor boy cleared out dacently, an'
wid all honor. An' bedad, now, that we're spakin about it, I'll tell
your honor the whole conclusions of it. You see, sir, the Agint was shot
one night; an' above all nights in the year, your honor, a thief of a
toothache that I had kep me”--
“Pether, come away, abouchal: his honor kaows as much about it as you
do, Come, aroon; you know we must help to scald an' scrape the pig afore
night, an' it's late now.”
“Bodad, sir, she's a sweet one, this.”
“Be guided by her, Peter, if you're wise, she's a wife you ought to be
proud of.”
“Thrue for you, sir; divil resave the word o' lie in that, any how.
Come, Ellish; come, you deludher, I'm wid you.”
“God bless your honor, sir, an' we're ob'laged to you for you kindness
an' patience wid the likes o' us.”
“I say ditto, your honor. Long life an' glory to you every day your
honor rises!”
Peter, on his way home, entered into a defence of his apology for
offering so high a rent to the landlord; but although it possessed both
ingenuity and originality, it was, we must confess, grossly defective in
those principles usually inculcated by our best Ethic writers.
“Couldn't you have tould him what we agreed upon goin' up,” observed
Ellish; “but instead o' that, to begin an' tell the gintlemen so many
lies about your bein' dhrunk, an' this bein' your birth-day, an' the
day we wor marrid, an',----Musha, sich quare stories to come into your
head?”
“Why,” said Peter, “what harm's in all that, whin he didn't _find me
out?_”
“But why the sarra did you go to say that I was in the custom o' tellin'
lies?”
“Faix, bekase I thought you wor goin' to let out all, an' I thought
it best to have the first word o' you. What else?--but sure I brought
myself off bravely.”
“Well, well, a hudh; don't be invintin' sich things another time, or
you'll bring yourself into a scrape, some way or other.”
“Faix, an' you needn't spake, Ellish; you can let out a nate bounce
yourself, whin it's to sarve you. Come now, don't run away wid the
story!”
“Well, if I do, it's in the way o' my business; whin I'm batin' them
down in the price o' what I'm buyin', or gettin' thim to bid up for any
thing I'm sellin': besides, it's to advance ourselves in the world that
I do it, abouchal.”
“Go an, go an; faix, you're like the new moon, sharp at both corners:
but what matther, you beauty, we've secured the farm, at any rate, an',
by this an' by that, I'll show you tip-top farmin' an it.”
A struggle now commenced between the husband and wife, as to which of
them should, in their respective departments, advance themselves with
greater rapidity in life. This friendly contest was kept up principally
by the address of Ellish, who, as she knew those points in her husband's
character most easily wrought upon, felt little difficulty in shaping
him to her own purposes. Her great object was to acquire wealth; and it
mostly happens, that when this is the ruling principle in life, there is
usually to be found, in association with it, all those qualities which
are best adapted to secure it. Peter, on finding that every succeeding
day brought something to their gains, began to imbibe a portion of
that spirit which wholly absorbed Ellish. He became worldly; but it
was rather the worldliness of habit than of principle. In the case
of Ellish, it proceeded from both; her mind was apt, vigorous, and
conceptive; her body active, her manners bland and insinuating, and her
penetration almost intuitive. About the time of their entering upon the
second farm, four children had been, the fruit of their marriage--two
sons and two daughters. These were now new sources of anxiety to their
mother, and fresh impulses to her industry. Her ignorance, and that of
her husband, of any kind of education, she had often, in the course
of their business, bitter cause to regret. She now resolved that their
children should be well instructed; and no time was lost in sending them
to school, the moment she thought them capable of imbibing the simplest
elements of instruction.
“It's hard to say,” she observed to her husband, “how soon they may be
useful to us. Who knows, Pether, but we may have a full shop yit,
an' they may be able to make up bits of accounts for us, poor things?
Throth, I'd be happy if I wanst seen it.”
“Faix, Ellish,” replied Peter, “if we can get an as we're doin', it is
hard to say. For my own part, if I had got the larnin' in time, I might
be a bright boy to-day, no doubt of it--could spake up to the best
o' thim. I never wint to school but wanst, an' I remimber I threw the
masther into a kiln-pot, an' broke the poor craythur's arm; an' from
that day to this, I never could be brought a single day to school.”
Peter and Ellish now began to be pointed out as a couple worthy of
imitation by those who knew that perseverance and industry never fail of
securing their own reward. Others, however,--that is to say, the lazy,
the profligate, and the ignorant,--had a ready solution of the secret of
their success.
“Oh, my dear, she's a lucky woman, an' anything she puts her hand to
prospers. Sure sho was born wid a _lucky caul_* an her head; an', be
sure, ahagur, the world will flow in upon thim. There's many a neighbor
about thim works their fingers to the stumps, an' yit you see they can't
get an: for Ellish, if she'd throw the sweepins of her hearth to the
wind, it 'ud come back to her in money. She was born to it, an' nothin'
can keep her from her luck!”**
* The caul is a, thin membrane, about the consistence
of very fine silk, which sometimes covers the head on a
new-born infant like a cap. It is always the omen of
great good fortune to the infant and parents; and in
Ireland, when any one has unexpectedly fallen into the
receipt of property, or any other temporal good, it is
customary to say, “such a person was born with a 'lucky
caul' on his head.”
Why these are considered lucky, it would be a very
difficult matter to ascertain. Several instances of
good fortune, happening to such as were born with them,
might, by their coincidences, form a basis for the
superstition; just as the fact of three men during one
severe winter having been found drowned, each with two
shirts on, generated an opinion which has now become
fixed and general in that parish, that it is unlucky to
wear two shirts at once. We are not certain whether the
caul is in general the perquisite of the midwife--
sometimes we believe it is; at all events, her
integrity occasionally yields to the desire of
possessing it. In many cases she conceals its
existence, in order that she may secretly dispose of it
to good advantage, which she frequently does; for it is
considered to be the herald of good fortune to those
who can get it into their possession. Now, let not our
English neighbors smile at us for those things until
they wash their own hands clear of such practices. At
this day a caul will bring a good price in the most
civilized city in the world--to wit, the good city of
London--the British metropolis. Nay to such lengths has
the mania for cauls been carried there, that they have
been actually advertised for in the Times newspaper.
* This doctrine of fatalism is very prevalent among the
lower orders in Ireland.
Such are many of the senseless theories that militate against exertion
and industry in Ireland, and occasion many to shrink back from the
laudible race of honest enterprise, into filth, penury, and crime. It
is this idle and envious crew, who, with a natural aversion to domestic
industry, become adepts in politics, and active in those illegal
combinations and outrages which retard the prosperity of the country,
and bring disgrace upon the great body of its peaceable inhabitants.
In the meantime Ellish was rapidly advancing in life, while such persons
were absurdly speculating upon the cause of her success. Her business
was not only increased, but extended. From crockery, herrings, and salt,
she advanced gradually to deal in other branches adapted to her station,
and the wants of the people. She bought stockings, and retailed them
every market-day. By and by a few pieces of soap might be seen in her
windows; starch, blue, potash, and candles, were equally profitable.
Pipes were seen stuck across each other, flanked by tape, cakes,
children's books, thimbles, and bread. In fact, she was equally clever
and expert in whatever she undertook. The consciousness of this, and the
reputation of being “a hard honest woman,” encouraged her to get a cask
or two of beer, and a few rolls of tobacco. Peter, when she proposed
the two last, consented only to sell them still as smuggled, goods--sub
silentio. With her usual prudence, however, she declined this.
“We have gone on that way purty far,” she replied, “an' never got a
touch, (* never suffered by the exciseman) thanks to the kindness o' the
neighbors that never informed an us: but now, Pether, that we're able we
had betther do everything above boord. You know the ould say, 'long runs
the fox, but he's catched at last:' so let us give up in time, an' get
out a little bit o' license.”
“I don't like that at all,” replied Peter: “I cain't warm my heart to
the license. I'll back you in anything but that. The gauger won't come
next or near us: he has thried it often, an' never made anything of it.
Dang me, but I'd like to have a bit o' fun with the gauger to see if my
hand's still ready for practice.”
“Oh, thin, Pether, how can you talk that way, asthore? Now if what
I'm sayin' was left to yourself wouldn't you be apt to plan it as
I'm doin'?--wouldn't you, acushla? Throth, I know you're to cute an'
sinsible not to do it.”
“Why thin, do you know what, Ellish--although I didn't spake it out,
upon my faix I was thinkin' of it. Divil a word o' lie in it.”
“Oh, you thief o' the world, an' never to tell it to me. Faix, Pether,
you're a cunnin' shaver, an' as deep as a draw well.”
“Let me alone. Why I tell you if I study an' lay myself down to it, I
can conthrive anything. When I was young, many a time my poor father,
God be good to him! said that if there was any possibility of gettin' me
to take to larnin', I'd be risin' out o' the ashes every mornin' like a
phanix.”
“But won't you hould to your plan about the license?”
“Hould! To be sure I will. What was I but takin' a rise out o' you. I
intinded it this good while, you phanix--faix, I did.”
In this manner did Ellish dupe her own husband into increasing wealth.
Their business soon became so extensive, that a larger house was
absolutely necessary. To leave that, beneath whose roof she succeeded
so well in all her speculations, was a point--be it of prudence or of
prejudice--which Ellish could not overcome. Her maxim was, whereever you
find yourself doing well, stay there. She contrived, however, to remedy
this. To the old house additional apartments were, from time to time,
added, into which their business soon extended. When these again became
too small, others were also built; so that in the course of about twenty
years, their premises were so extensive, that the original shebeen-house
constituted a very small portion of Peter's residence. Peter, during
Ellish's progress within doors, had not been idle without. For every new
room added to the house, he was able to hook in a fresh farm in addition
to those he had already occupied. Unexpected success had fixed his heart
so strongly upon the accumulation of money, and the pride of rising
in the world, as it was possible for a man, to whom they were only
adventitious feelings, to experience. The points of view in which he
and his wife were contemplated by the little public about them were
peculiar, but clearly distinct. The wife was generally esteemed for
her talents and incessant application to business; but she was not so
cordially liked as Peter. He, on the other hand, though less esteemed,
was more beloved by all their acquaintances than Ellish. This might
probably originate from the more obvious congeniality which existed
between Peter's natural disposition, and the national character; for
with the latter, Ellish, except good humor, had little in common.
The usual remarks upon both were--“she would buy an' sell him”--“'twas
she that made a man of him; but for all that, Pether's worth a ship-load
of her, if she'd give him his own way.” That is, if she would permit him
to drink with the neighbors, to be idle and extravagant.
Every year, now that their capital was extending, added more perceptibly
to their independence. Ellish's experience in the humbler kinds of
business, trained her for a higher line; just as boys at school rise
from one form to another. She made no plunges, nor permitted Peter, who
was often, inclined to jump at conclusions, to make any. Her elevation
was gradual and cautious; for her plans were always so seasonable and
simple that every new description of business, and every new success,
seemed to arise naturally from that which went before it.
Having once taken out a license, their house soon became a decent
country spirit establishment; from soap, and candles, and tobacco, she
rose into the full sweep of groceries; and from dealing in Connemara
stockings and tape, she proceeded in due time to sell woollen and linen
drapery. Her crockery was now metamorphosed into delf, pottery, and
hardware; her gingerbread into stout loaves, for as Peter himself grew
wheat largely, she seized the opportunity presented by the death of the
only good baker in the neighborhood, of opening an extensive bakery.