could conduct business in which so much calculation was necessary,
without suffering severely by their liability to make mistakes. To this
we reply--first, that we should have liked to see any person attempting
to pass a bad note or a light guinea upon Ellish after nine or ten
years' experience; we should like to have seen a smug clerk taking his
pen from behind his ear, and after making his calculation, on inquiring
from Ellish if she had reckoned up the amount, compelled to ascertain
the error which she pointed out to him. The most remarkable point in
her whole character, was the rapid accuracy she displayed in mental
calculation, and her uncommon sagacity in detecting bad money.
There is, however, a still more satisfactory explanation of this
circumstance to be given. She had not neglected the education of her
children. The eldest was now an intelligent boy, and a smart accountant,
who, thanks to his master, had been taught to keep their books by Double
Entry. The second was little inferior to him as a clerk, though as a
general dealer he was far his superior. The eldest had been principally
behind the counter; whilst the younger, in accompanying his mother in
all her transactions and bargain-making, had in a great measure imbibed
her address and tact.
It is certainly a pleasing, and, we think, an interesting thing, to
contemplate the enterprise of an humble, but active, shrewd woman,
enabling her to rise, step by step, from the lowest state of poverty to
a small sense of independence; from this, by calling-fresh powers into
action, taking wider views, and following them up by increased efforts,
until her shebeen becomes a small country public-house; until her roll
of tobacco, and her few pounds of soap and starch, are lost in the
well-filled drawers of a grocery shop; and her gray Connemara stockings
transformed by the golden wand of industry into a country cloth
warehouse. To see Peter--from the time when he first harrowed part of
his farm with a thorn-bush, and ploughed it by joining his horse to that
of a neighbor--adding farm to farm, horse to horse, and cart to cart,
until we find him a wealthy and extensive agriculturist.
The progress of Peter and Ellish was in another point of view a good
study for him who wishes to look into human nature, whilst adapting
itself to the circumstances through which it passes. When this couple
began life, their friends and acquaintancess were as poor as themselves;
as they advanced from one gradation to another, and rose up from a lower
to a higher state, their former friends, who remained in their original
poverty, found themselves left behind in cordiality and intimacy, as
well as in circumstances; whilst the subjects of our sketch continued
to make new friendships of a more respectable stamp, to fill up, as it
were, the places held in their good will by their humble, but neglected,
intimates. Let not our readers, however, condemn them for this.
It was the act of society, and not of Peter and Ellish. On their parts,
it was involuntary; their circumstances raised them, and they were
compelled, of course, to rise with their circumstances. They were
passing through the journey of life, as it were, and those with whom
they set out, not having been able to keep up with them, soon lost their
companionship, which was given to those with whom they travelled for
the time being. Society is always ready to reward the enterprising and
industrious by its just honors, whether they are sought or not; it is so
disposed, that every man falls or rises into his proper place in it,
and that by the wisdom and harmony of its structure. The rake, who
dissipates by profligacy and extravagance that which might have secured
him an honorable place in life, is eventually brought to the work-house;
whilst the active citizen, who realizes an honest independence, is
viewed with honor and esteem.
Peter and Ellish were now people of consequence in the parish; the
former had ceased to do anything more than superintend the cultivation
of his farms; the latter still took an active part in her own business,
or rather in the various departments of business Which she carried on.
Peter might be seen the first man abroad in the morning proceeding to
some of his farms mounted upon a good horse, comfortably dressed in
top boots, stout corduroy breeches, buff cashmere waistcoat, and
blue broad-cloth coat, to which in winter was added a strong frieze
greatcoat, with a drab velvet collar, and a glazed hat. Ellish was also
respectably dressed, but still considerably under her circumstances.
Her mode of travelling to fairs or markets was either upon a common car,
covered with a feather-bed and quilt, or behind Peter upon a pillion.
This last method flattered Peter's vanity very much; no man could ride
on these occasions with a statelier air. He kept himself as erect and
stiff as a poker, and brandished the thong of his loaded whip with the
pride of a gentleman farmer.
'Tis true, he did not always hear the sarcastic remarks which were
passed upon him by those who witnessed his good-natured vanity:
“There he goes,” some laboring man on the wayside would exclaim, “a
purse-proud _bodagh_ upon our hands. Why, thin, does he forget that we
remimber when he kept the shebeen-house, an' sould his smuggled to-baccy
in gits (* the smallest possible quantities) out of his pocket, for
fraid o' the gauger! Sowl, he'd show a blue nose, any way, only for the
wife--'Twas she made a man of him.”
“Faith, an' I for one, won't hear Pether Connell run down,” his
companion would reply; “he's a good-hearted, honest man, an' obligin'
enough; an' for that matter so is the wife, a hard honest woman, that
made what they have, an' brought herself an' her husband from nothin' to
somethin'.”
“Thrue for you, Tim; in throth, they do desarve credit. Still, you see,
here's you an' me, an' we've both been slavin' ourselves as much as they
have, an' yet you see how we are! However, _its their luck_, and there's
no use in begrudgin' it to them.”
When their children were full-grown, the mother did not, as might have
been supposed, prevent them from making a respectable appearance.
With excellent judgment, she tempered their dress, circumstances, and
prospects so well together, that the family presented an admirable
display of economy, and a decent sense of independence. From the moment
they were able to furnish solid proofs of their ability to give a
comfortable dinner occasionally, the priest of the parish began to
notice them; and this new intimacy, warmed by the honor conferred on
one side, and by the good dinners on the other, ripened into a strong
friendship. For many a long year, neither Peter nor Ellish, God forgive
them, ever troubled themselves about going to their duty. They soon
became, however, persons of too much importance to be damned without
an effort made for their salvation. The worthy gentleman accordingly
addressed them on the subject, and as the matter was one of perfect
indifference to both, they had not the slightest hesitation to go to
confession--in compliment to the priest. We do not blame the priest for
this; God forbid that we should quarrel with a man for loving a good
dinner. If we ourselves were a priest, it is very probable,--nay, from
the zest with which we approach a good dinner, it is quite certain--that
we would have cultivated honest Peter's acquaintance, and drawn him
out to the practice of that most social of virtues--hospitality. The
salvation of such a man's soul was worth looking after; and, indeed,
we find a much warmer interest felt, in all churches, for those who are
able to give good dinners, than for those poor miserable sinners who can
scarcely get even a bad one.
But besides this, there was another reason for the Rev. Mr. Mulcahy's
anxiety to cultivate a friendship with Peter and his wife--which
reason consisted in a very laudable determination to bring about a match
between his own niece, Miss Granua Mulcahy, and Peter's eldest son, Dan.
This speculation he had not yet broached to the family, except by broken
hints, and jocular allusions to the very flattering proposals that had
been made by many substantial young men for Miss Granua.
In the mean time the wealth of the Connells had accumulated to
thousands; their business in the linen and woollen drapery line was
incredible. There was scarcely a gentleman within many miles of them,
who did not find it his interest to give them his custom. In the
hardware, flour, and baking concerns they were equally fortunate. The
report of their wealth had gone far and near, exaggerated, however,
as everything of the kind is certain to be; but still there were ample
grounds for estimating it at a very high amount.
Their stores were large, and well filled with many a valuable bale;
their cellars well stocked with every description of spirits; and their
shop, though not large in proportion to their transactions, was well
filled, neat, and tastefully fitted up. There was no show, however--no
empty glare to catch the eye; on the contrary, the whole concern was
marked by an air of solid, warm comfort, that was much more indicative
of wealth and independence than tawdry embellishment would have been.
“Avourneen,” said Ellish, “the way to deck out your shop is to keep
the best of goods. Wanst the people knows that they'll get betther
money-worth here than they'll get anywhere else, they'll come here,
whether the shop looks well or ill. Not savin' but every shop ought to
be clane an' dacent, for there's rason in all things.”
This, indeed, was another secret of their success. Every article in
their shop was of the best description, having been selected by Ellish's
own eye and hand in the metropolis, or imported directly from the place
of its manufacture. Her periodical visits to Dublin gave her great
satisfaction; for it appears that those with whom she dealt, having
had sufficient discrimination to appreciate her talents and integrity,
treated her with marked respect.
Peter's farm-yard bore much greater evidence of his wealth than did
Ellish's shop. It was certainly surprising to reflect, that by the
capacity of two illiterate persons, who began the world with nothing,
all the best and latest improvements in farming were either adopted or
anticipated. The farmyard was upon a great scale; for Peter cultivated
no less than four hundred acres of land--to such lengths had his
enterprise carried him. Threshing machines, large barns, corn kilns,
large stacks, extensive stables, and immense cow-houses, together with
the incessant din of active employment perpetually going on--all gave
a very high opinion of their great prosperity, and certainly reflected
honor upon those whose exertions had created such a scene about them.
One would naturally suppose, when the family of the Connells had arrived
to such unexpected riches, and found it necessary to conduct a system
whose machinery was so complicated and extensive that Ellish would have
fallen back to the simple details of business, from a deficiency of
that comprehensive intelligence which is requisite to conduct the higher
order of mercantile transactions; especially as her sons were admirably
qualified by practice, example, and education, to ease her of a task
which would appear one of too much difficulty for an unlettered farmer's
wife. Such a supposition would be injurious to this excellent woman. So
far from this being the case, she was still the moving spirit, the
chief conductor of the establishment. Whenever any difficulty arose
that required an effort of ingenuity and sagacity, she was able in the
homeliest words to disentangle it so happily, that those who heard her
wondered that it should at all have appeared to them as a difficulty.
She was everywhere. In Peter's farm-yard her advice was as excellent
and as useful as in her own shop. On his farms she was the better
agriculturist, and she frequently set him right in his plans and
speculations for the ensuing year.
She herself was not ignorant of her skill. Many a time has she surveyed
the scene about her with an eye in which something like conscious pride
might be seen to kindle. On those occasions she usually shook her head,
and exclaimed, either in soliloquy, or by way of dialogue, to some
person near her:--
“Well, avourneen, all's very right, an' goin' an bravely; but I only
hope that when I'm gone I won't be missed!”
“Missed,” Peter would reply, if he happened to hear her; “oh, upon my
credit”--he was a man of too much consequence to swear “by this and
by that” now--“upon my credit, Ellish, if you die soon, you'll see the
genteel wife I'll have in your place.”
“Whisht, avourneen! Although you're but jokin', I don't like to hear it,
avillish! No, indeed; we wor too long together, Pether, and lived too
happily wid one another, for you to have the heart to think of sich a
thing!”
“No, in troth, Ellish, I would be long sarry to do it. It's displasin'
to you, achree, an' I won't say it. God spare you to us! It was you put
the bone in us, an' that's what all the country says, big an' little,
young and ould; an' God He knows it's truth, and nothin' else.”
“Indeed, no, thin, Pether, it's not altogether thruth, you desarve your
full share of it. You backed me well, acushla, in everything, an' if you
had been a dhrinkin', idle, rollikin' vagabone, what 'ud signify all,
that me or the likes o' me could do.”
“Faith, an' it was you made me what I am, Ellish; you tuck the soft
side o' me, you beauty; an' it's well you did, for by this--hem, upon
my reputation, if you had gone to cross purposes with me you'd find
yourself in the wrong box. An', you phanix of beauty, you managed the
childhre, the crathurs, the same way--an' a good way it is, in throth.”
“Pether, wor you ever thinkin' o' Father Muloahy's sweetness to us of
late?”
“No, thin, the sorra one o' me thought of it. Why, Ellish?”
“Didn't you obsarve that for the last three or four months he's full of
attintions to us? Every Sunday he brings you up, an' me, if I'd go, to
the althar,--an' keeps you there by way of showin' you respect. Pether,
it's not you, but your money he respects; an' I think there ought to be
no respect o' persons in the chapel, any how. You're not a bit nearer
God by bein' near the althar; for how do we know but the poorest crathur
there is nearer to heaven than we are!”
“Faith, sure enough, Ellish; but what deep skame are you penethratin'
now, you desaver?”
“I'd lay my life, you'll have a proposial o' marriage from Father
Mulcahy, atween our Dan an' Miss Granua. For many a day he's hintin' to
us, from time to time, about the great offers she had; now what's the
rason, if she had these great offers, that he didn't take them?”
“Bedad, Ellish, you're the greatest headpiece in all Europe. Murdher
alive, woman, what a fine counsellor you'd make. An' suppose he did
offer, Ellish, what 'ud you be sayin' to him?”
“Why, that 'ud depind entirely upon what he's able to give her--they say
he has money. It 'ud depind, too, upon whether Dan has any likin' for
her or not.”
“He's often wid her, I know; an' I needn't tell you, Ellish, that afore
we wor spliced together, I was often wid somebody that I won't mintion.
At all evints, he has made Dan put the big O afore the Connell, so that
he has him now full namesake to the Counsellor; an', faith, that itself'
'ud get him a wife.”
“Well, the best way is to say nothin', an' to hear nothin', till his
Reverence spates out, an' thin we'll see what can be done.”
Ellish's sagacity had not misled her. In a few months afterwards Father
Mulcahy was asked by young Dan Connell to dine; and as he and holiest
Ellish were sitting together, in the course of the evening, the priest
broached the topic as follows:--
“Mrs. Connell, I think this whiskey is better than my four-year old,
that I bought at the auction the other day, although Dan says mine's
better. Between ourselves, that Dan is a clever, talented young fellow;
and if he happens upon a steady, sensible wife, there is no doubt but he
will die a respectable man. But, by the by, Mrs. Connell, you've never
tried my whiskey; and upon my credit, you must soon, for I know your
opinion would decide the question.”
“Is it worth while to decide it, your Reverence? I suppose the thruth
is, sir, that both is good enough for anyone; an' I think that's as much
as we want.”
Thus far she went, but never alluded to Dan, judiciously throwing the
onus of introducing that subject upon the priest.
“Dan says mine's better,” observed Father Mulcahy; “and I would
certainly give a great deal for his opinion upon that or any other
subject, except theology.”
“You ought,” replied Ellish, “to be a bether judge of whiskey nor either
Dan nor me; an' I'll tell you why--you dhrink it in more places, and can
make comparishment one wid another; but Dan an' me is confined mostly to
our own, an' of that same we take very little, an' the less the betther
for people in business, or indeed for anybody.”
“Very true, Mrs. Connell! But for all that, I won't give up Dan's
judgment in anything within his own line of business, still excepting
theology, for which, he hasn't the learning.”
“He's a good son, without _tay_ology--as good as ever broke the world's
bread,” said Peter, “glory be to God! Although, for that matther, he
ought to be as well acquainted wid _tay_ology as your Reverence, in
regard that he _sells_ more of it nor you do.”
“A good son, they say, Mrs. Connell, will make a good husband. I wonder
you don't think of settling him in life. It's full time.”
“Father, avourneen, we must lave that wid himself. I needn't be tellin'
you, that it 'ud be hard to find a girl able to bring what the girl that
'ud expect Dan ought to bring.”
This was a staggerer to the priest, who recruited his ingenuity by
drinking Peter's health, and Ellish's.
“Have you nobody in your eye for him, Mrs. Connell?”
“Faith, I'll engage she has,” replied Peter, with a ludicrous
grin--“I'll venture for to say she has that.”
“Very right, Mrs. Connell; it's all fair. Might one ask who she is; for,
to tell you the truth, Dan is a favorite of mine, and must make it a
point to see him well settled.”
“Why, your Reverence,” replied Peter again, “jist the one you
mintioned.”
“Who? I? Why I mentioned nobody.”
“An' that's the very one she has in her eye for him, plase your
Reverence--ha, ha, ha! What's the world widout a joke, Docthor? beggin'
your pardon for makin' so free wid you.”
“Peter, you're still a wag,” replied the priest; “but, seriously, Mrs.
Connell, have you selected any female, of respectable connections, as a
likely person to be a wife for Dan?”
“Indeed no, your Reverence, I have not. Where could I pitch upon a
girl--barrin' a Protestant, an' that 'ud never do--who has a fortune to
meet what Dan's to get?”
The priest moved his chair a little, and drank their healths a second
time.
“But you know, Mrs. Connell, that Dan needn't care so much about
fortune, if he got a girl of respectable connections. He has an
independence himself.”
“Thrue for you, father; but what right would any girl have to expect to
be supported by the hard arnin' of me an' my husband, widout bringin'
somethin' forrid herself? You know, sir, that the fortune always goes
wid the wife; but am I to fortune off my son to a girl that has nothin'?
If my son, plase your Reverence, hadn't a coat to his back, or a guinea
in his pocket--as, God be praised, he has both--but, supposin' he
hadn't, what right would he have to expect a girl wid a handsome fortune
to marry him? There's Paddy Neil your sarvint-boy; now, if Paddy, who's
an honest man's son, axed your niece, wouldn't you be apt to lose your
timper?”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Connell, I think your fire's rather hot--allow
me to drawback a little. Mrs. Connell, your health again!--Mr. Connell,
your fireside!”
“Thank you, Docthor; but faith I think you ought hardly to dhrink the
same fireside, becase it appears to be rather hot for your Reverence, at
the present time--ha, ha, ha! Jokin' still, Docthor, we must be. Well,
what harm! I wish we may never do worse!”
“And what fortune would you expect with a girl of genteel connexion--a
girl that's accomplished, well say in music, plain work, and Irish,
vernacularly?--hem! What fortune would you be expecting with such a
girl?”
“Why, Docthor, ahagur, the only music I'd wish for my son's wife is a
good timper; an' that's what their music-masthers can't tache thim.
The plain work, although I don't know what you mane by it, sounds well
enough; an' as to Irish, whick-whacku-larly, if you mane our own ould
tongue, he may get thousands that can spake it whackinly, an' nothin'
else.”
“You're a wealthy woman, certainly, Mrs. Connell, and what's more, I'm
not at all surprised at it. Your health, once more, and long life to
you! Suppose, however, that Dan got a fitting wife, what would you
expect as a proper portion? I have a reason for asking.”
“Dan, plase your Reverence, will get four thousand to begin the world
wid; an', as he's to expect none but a Catholic, I suppose if he gets
the fourth part of that, it's as much as he ought to look for.”
“A thousand pounds!--hut tut! The woman's beside herself. Why look about
you and try where you can find a Catholic girl with a thousand pounds
fortune, except in a gentleman's family, where Dan could never think of
going.”
“That's thrue, any how, your Reverence,” observed Peter.--“A thousand
pounds! Ellish! you needn't look for it. Where is it to be had out of a
gintleman's family, as his Reverence says thrue enough.”
“An' now, Docthor,” said Ellish, “what 'ud you think a girl ought to
bring a young man like Dan, that's to have four thousand pounds?”
“I don't think any Catholic girl of his own rank in the county, could
get more than a couple of hundred.”
“That's one shillin' to every pound he has,” replied Ellish, almost
instantaneously. “But, Father, you may as well spake out at wanst,” she
continued, for she was too quick and direct in all her dealings to be
annoyed by circumlocution; “you're desairous of a match between Dan an'
Miss Granua?”
“Exactly,” said the priest; “and what is more, I believe they are fond
of each other. I know Dan is attached to her, for he told me so.
But, now that we have mentioned her, I say that there is not a more
accomplished girl of her persuasion in the parish we sit in. She can
play on the bagpipes better than any other piper in the province, for
I taught her myself; and I tell you that in a respectable man's wife
a knowledge of music is a desirable thing. It's hard to tell, Mrs.
Connell, how they may rise in the World, and get into fashionable
company, so that accomplishments, you persave, are good, she can make a
shirt and wash it, and she can write Irish. As for dancing, I only wish
you'd see her at a hornpipe. All these things put together, along with
her genteel connections, and the prospect of what I may be able to lave
her--I say your son may do worse.”
“It's not what you'd lave her, sir, but what you'd give her in the first
place, that I'd like to hear. Spake up, your Reverence, an' let us know
how far you will go.”
“I'm afeard, sir,” said Peter, “if it goes to a clane bargain atween
yez, that Ellish will make you bid up for Dan. Be sharp; sir, or you'll
have no chance; faix, you won't.”
“But, Mrs. Connell;” replied the priest, “before I spake up, consider
her accomplishments. I'll undertake to say, that the best bred girl in
Dublin cannot perform music in such style, or on such an instrument as
the one she uses. Let us contemplate Dan and her after marriage, in an
elegant house, and full business, the dinner over, and they gone up to
the drawing-room. Think how agreeable and graceful it would be for Mrs.
Daniel O'Connell to repair to the sofa, among a few respectable friends,
and, taking up her bagpipes, set her elbow a-going, until the drone
gives two or three broken groans, and the chanter a squeak or two, like
a child in the cholic, or a cat that you had trampled on by accident.
Then comes the real ould Irish music, that warms the heart. Dan
looks upon her graceful position, until the tears of love, taste, and
admiration are coming down his cheeks. By and by, the toe of him moves:
here another foot is going; and, in no time, there is a hearty dance,
with a light heart and a good conscience. You or I, perhaps, drop in to
see them, and, of course, we partake of the enjoyment.”
“Divil a pleasanter,” said Peter: “I tell you, I'd like it well; an',
for my own part, if the deludher here has no objection, I'm not goin' to
spoil sport.”