thievin' worms in the childhre, the crathurs,” together with a little
Rose-noble, Solomon's Seal, and Bu-gloss, each for some medicinal
purpose. The “lime wather” Mrs. Sullivan could make herself, and the
“bog bane” for the Unh roe, (* Literally, red water) or heart-burn, grew
in their own meadow drain; so that, in fact, she had within her reach a
very decent pharmacopoeia, perhaps as harmless as that of the profession
itself. Lying on the top of the salt-box was a bunch of fairy flax, and
sewed in the folds of her own scapular was the dust of what had once
been a four-leaved shamrock, an invaluable specific “for seein' the good
people,” if they happened to come within the bounds of vision. Over the
door in the inside, over the beds, and over the cattle in the outhouses,
were placed branches of withered palm, that had been consecrated by the
priest on Palm Sunday; and when the cows happened to calve, this good
woman tied, with her own hands, a woollen thread about their tails, to
prevent them from being overlooked by evil eyes, or elf-shot* by the
fairies, who seem to possess a peculiar power over females of every
species during the period of parturition. It is unnecessary to mention
the variety of charms which she possessed for that obsolete malady the
colic, the toothache, headache, or for removing warts, and taking motes
out of the eyes; let it suffice to inform our readers that she was well
stocked with them; and that, in addition to this, she, together with her
husband, drank a potion made up and administered by an herb-doctor, for
preventing forever the slightest misunderstanding or quarrel between man
and wife. Whether it produced this desirable object or not our readers
may conjecture, when we add, that the herb-doctor, after having taken a
very liberal advantage of their generosity, was immediately compelled to
disappear from the neighborhood, in order to avoid meeting with Bartley,
who had a sharp lookout for him, not exactly on his own account, but
“in regard,” he said, “that it had no effect upon Mary, at all, at all;”
whilst Mary, on the other hand, admitted its efficacy upon herself, but
maintained, “that Bartley was worse nor ever afther it.”
* This was, and in remote parts of the country still
is, one of the strongest instances of belief in the
power of the Fairies. The injury, which, if not
counteracted by a charm from the lips of a “Fairy-man,”
or “Fairy-woman,” was uniformly inflicted on the animal
by what was termed an elf-stone--which was nothing
more nor less than a piece of sharp flint, from three
to four or five ounces in weight. The cow was supposed
to be struck upon the loin with it by these mischievous
little beings, and the nature of the wound was indeed
said to be very peculiar--that is, it cut the midriff
without making any visible or palpable wound on the
outward skin. All animals dying of this complaint,
were supposed to be carried to the good people, and
there are many in the country who would not believe
that the dead carcass of the cow was that of the real
one at all, but an old log or block of wood, made to
resemble it. All such frauds, however, and deceptions
were inexplicable to every one, but such as happened to
possess a four-leaved shamrock, and this enabled its
possessor to see the block or log in its real shape,
although to others it appeared to be the real carcass.
Such was Mary Sullivan, as she sat at her own hearth, quite alone,
engaged as we have represented her. What she may have been meditating on
we cannot pretend to ascertain; but after some time, she looked sharply
into the “backstone,” or hob, with an air of anxiety and alarm. By
and by she suspended her knitting, and listened with much earnestness,
leaning her right ear over to the hob, from whence the sounds to which
she paid such deep attention proceeded. At length she crossed herself
devoutly, and exclaimed, “Queen of saints about us!--is it back ye are?
Well sure there's no use in talkin', bekase they say you know what's
said of you, or to you--an' we may as well spake yez fair.--Hem--musha,
yez are welcome back, crickets, avourneenee! I hope that, not like the
last visit ye ped us, yez are comin' for luck now! Moolyeen (* a cow
without horns) died, any way, soon afther your other kailyee, (* short
visit) ye crathurs ye. Here's the bread, an' the salt, an' the male for
yez, an' we wish ye well. Eh?--saints above, if it isn't listenin' they
are jist like a Christhien! Wurrah, but ye are the wise an' the quare
crathurs all out!”
She then shook a little holy water over the hob, and muttered to herself
an Irish charm or prayer against the evils which crickets are often
supposed by the peasantry to bring with them, and requested, still in
the words of the charm, that their presence might, on that occasion,
rather be a presage of good fortune to man and beast belonging to her.
“There now, ye _dhonans_ (* a diminuitive, delicate little thing) ye,
sure ye can't say that ye're ill-thrated here, anyhow, or ever was
mocked or made game of in the same family. You have got your hansel, an'
full an' plenty of it; hopin' at the same time that you'll have no rason
in life to cut our best clothes from revinge. Sure an' I didn't desarve
to have my brave stuff long body (* an old-fashioned Irish gown) riddled
the way it was, the last time ye wor here, an' only bekase little Barny,
that has but the sinse of a gorsoon, tould yez in a joke to pack off wid
yourself somewhere else. Musha, never heed what the likes of him says;
sure he's but a caudy, (* little boy) that doesn't mane ill, only the
bit o' divarsion wid yez.”
She then resumed her knitting, occasionally stopping, as she changed her
needles, to listen, with her ear set, as if she wished to augur from the
nature of their chirping, whether they came for good or for evil. This,
however, seemed to be beyond her faculty of translating their language;
for--after sagely shaking her head two or three times, she knit more
busily than before.*
* Of the origin of this singular superstition I can
find no account whatsoever; it is conceived, however,
in a mild, sweet, and hospitable spirit. The visits of
these migratory little creatures, which may be termed
domestic grasshoppers, are very capricious and
uncertain, as are their departures; and it is, I should
think, for this reason, that they are believed to be
cognizant of the ongoings of human life. We can easily
suppose, for instance, that the coincidence of their
disappearance from a family, and the occurrence of a
death in that family, frequently multiplied as such
coincidences must be in the country at large, might
occasion the people, who are naturally credulous, to
associate the one event with the other; and on that
slight basis erect the general superstition. Crickets,
too, when chirupping, have a habit of suddenly ceasing,
so that when any particularly interesting conversation
happens to go on about the rustic hearth, this stopping
of their little chaunt looks so like listening, that it
is scarcely to be wondered at that the country folks
think they understand every word that is spoken. They
are thought, also, to foresee both good and evil, and
are considered vindictive, but yet capable of being
conciliated by fair words and kindness. They are also
very destructive among wearing-apparel, which they
frequently nibble into holes; and this is always looked
upon as a piece of revenge, occasioned by some
disrespectful language used towards them, or some
neglect of their little wants. This note was necessary
in order to render the conduct and language of Mary
Sullivan perfectly intelligible.
At this moment, the shadow of a person passing the house darkened the
window opposite which she sat, and immediately a tall female, of a wild
dress and aspect, entered the kitchen.
“_Gho manhy dhea ghud, a ban chohr!_ the blessin' o' goodness upon
you, dacent woman,” said Mrs. Sullivan, addressing her in those kindly
phrases so peculiar to the Irish language.
Instead of making her any reply, however, the woman, whose eye glistened
with a wild depth of meaning, exclaimed in low tones, apparently of much
anguish, “_Husht, husht', dherum!_ husht, husht, I say--let me alone--I
will do it--will you husht? I will, I say--I will--there now--that's
it--be quiet, an' I will do it--be quiet!” and as she thus spoke, she
turned her face back over her left shoulder, as if some invisible being
dogged her steps, and stood bending over her.
“_Gho manhy dhea ghud, a ban chohr, dherhum areesh!_ the blessin' o' God
on you, honest woman, I say again,” said Mrs. Sullivan, repeating that
sacred form of salutation with which the peasantry address each other.
“'Tis a fine evenin', honest woman, glory be to him that sent the same,
and amin! If it was cowld, I'd be axin' you to draw your chair in to the
fire: but, any way, won't you sit down?”
As she ceased speaking, the piercing eye of the strange woman became
riveted on her with a glare, which, whilst it startled Mrs. Sullivan,
seemed full of an agony that almost abstracted her from external
life. It was not, however, so wholly absorbing as to prevent it from
expressing a marked interest, whether for good or evil, in the woman who
addressed her so hospitably.
“Husht, now--husht,” she said, as if aside--“husht, won't you--sure I
may speak the thing to her--you said it--there now, husht!” And then
fastening her dark eyes on Mrs. Sullivan, she smiled bitterly and
mysteriously.
“I know you well,” she said, without, however, returning the blessing
contained in the usual reply to Mrs. Sullivan's salutation--“I know you
well, Mary Sullivan--husht, now, husht--yes, I know you well, and the
power of all that you carry about you; but you'd be better than you
are--and that's well enough now--if you had sense to know--ah, ah,
ah!--what's this!” she exclaimed abruptly, with three distinct shrieks,
that seemed to be produced by sensations of sharp and piercing agony.
“In the name of goodness, what's over you, honest woman?” inquired Mrs.
Sullivan, as she started from her chair, and ran to her in a state of
alarm, bordering on terror--“Is it sick you are?”
The woman's face had got haggard, and its features distorted; but in a
few minutes they resumed their peculiar expression of settled wildness
and mystery. “Sick!” she replied, licking her parched lips, “awirck,
awirek! look! look!” and she pointed with a shudder that almost
convulsed her whole frame, to a lump that rose on her shoulders; this,
be it what it might, was covered with a red cloak, closely pinned and
tied with great caution about her body--“'tis here! I have it!”
“Blessed mother!” exclaimed Mrs. Sullivan, tottering over to her chair,
as finished a picture of horror as the eye could witness, “this day's
Friday: the saints stand betwixt me an' all harm! Oh, holy Mary
protect me! _Nhanim an airh_,” in the name of the Father, etc., and she
forthwith proceeded to bless herself, which she did thirteen times in
honor of the blessed virgin and the twelve apostles.
“Ay, it's as you see!” replied the stranger, bitterly. “It is
here--husht, now--husht, I say--I will say the thing to her, mayn't I?
Ay, indeed, Mary Sullivan, 'tis with me always--always. Well, well, no,
I won't. I won't--easy. Oh, blessed saints, easy, and I won't.”
In the meantime Mrs. Sullivan had uncorked a bottle of holy water, and
plentifully bedewed herself with it, as a preservative against this
mysterious woman and her dreadful secret.
“Blessed mother above!” she ejaculated, “the _Lianhan Shee_” And as
she spoke, with the holy water in the palm of her hand, she advanced
cautiously, and with great terror, to throw it upon the stranger and the
unearthly thing she bore.
“Don't attempt it!” shouted the other, in tones of mingled fierceness
and terror, “do you want to give me pain without keeping yourself
anything at all safer? Don't you know it doesn't care about your holy
water? But I'd suffer for it, an' perhaps so would you.”
Mrs. Sullivan, terrified by the agitated looks of the woman, drew back
with affright, and threw the holy water with which she intended to
purify the other on her own person.
“Why thin, you lost crathur, who or what are you at all?--don't,
don't--for the sake of all the saints and angels of heaven, don't come
next or near me--keep your distance--but what are you, or how did you
come to get that 'good thing' you carry about wid you?”
“Ay, indeed!” replied the woman bitterly, “as if I would or could tell
you that! I say, you woman, you're doing what's not right in asking me
a question you ought not let to cross your lips--look to yourself, and
what's over you.”
The simple woman, thinking her meaning literal, almost leaped off her
seat with terror, and turned up her eyes to ascertain whether or not any
dreadful appearance had approached her, or hung over her where she sat.
“Woman,” said she, “I spoke you kind an' fair, an' I wish you
well--but”--
“But what?” replied the other--and her eyes kindled into deep and
profound excitement, apparently upon very slight grounds.
“Why--hem--nothin' at all sure, only”--
“Only what?” asked the stranger, with a face of anguish that seemed to
torture every feature out of its proper lineaments.
“Dacent woman,” said Mrs. Sullivan, whilst the hair began to stand
with terror upon her head, “sure it's no wondher in life that I'm in a
perplexity, whin a _Lianhan Shee_ is undher the one roof wid me. 'Tisn't
that I want to know anything' at all about it--the dear forbid I should;
but I never hard of a person bein' tormented wid it as you are. I always
used to hear the people say that it thrated its friends well.”
“Husht!” said the woman, looking wildly over her shoulder, “I'll not
tell: it's on myself I'll leave the blame! Why, will you never pity me?
Am I to be night and day tormented? Oh, you're wicked an' cruel for no
reason!”
“Thry,” said Mrs. Sullivan, “an' bless yourself; call on God.”
“Ah!” shouted the other, “are you going to get me killed?” and as she
uttered the words, a spasmodic working which must have occasioned great
pain, even to torture, became audible in her throat: her bosom heaved
up and down, and her head was bent repeatedly on her breast, as if by
force.
“Don't mention that name,” said she, “in my presence, except you mean
to drive me to utter distraction. I mean,” she continued, after a
considerable effort to recover her former tone and manner--“hear me with
attention--I mean, woman--you, Mary Sullivan--that if you mention that
holy name, you might as well keep plunging sharp knives into my heart!
Husht! peace to me for one minute, tormentor! Spare me something, I'm in
your power!”
“Will you ate anything?” said Mrs. Sullivan; “poor crathur, you look
like hunger an' distress; there's enough in the house, blessed be them
that sent it! an' you had betther thry an' take some nourishment, any
way;” and she raised her eyes in a silent prayer of relief and ease for
the unhappy woman, whose unhallowed association had, in her opinion,
sealed her doom.
“Will I?--will I?--oh!” she replied, “may you never know misery for
offering it! Oh, bring me something--some refreshment--some food--for
I'm dying with hunger.”
Mrs. Sullivan, who, with all her superstition, was remarkable for
charity and benevolence, immediately placed food and drink before her,
which the stranger absolutely devoured--taking care occasionally to
secrete under the protuberance which appeared behind her neck, a portion
of what she ate. This, however, she did, not by stealth, but openly;
merely taking means to prevent the concealed thing, from being, by any
possible accident discovered.
When the craving of hunger was satisfied, she appeared to suffer less
from the persecution of her tormentor than, before; whether it was, as
Mrs. Sullivan thought, that the food with which she plied it, appeased
in some degree its irritability, or lessened that of the stranger, it
was difficult to say; at all events, she became more composed; her eyes
resumed somewhat of a natural expression; each sharp ferocious glare,
which shot, from them! with such intense and rapid flashes, partially
disappeared; her knit brows dilated, and part of a forehead, which had
once been capacious and handsome, lost the contractions which deformed
it by deep wrinkles. Altogether the change was evident, and very-much
relieved Mrs. Sullivan, who could not avoid observing it.
“It's not that I care much about it, if you'd think it not right o' me,
but it's odd enough for you to keep the lower part of your face muffled
up in that black cloth, an' then your forehead, too, is covered down on
your face a bit? If they're part of the bargain,”--and she shuddered at
the thought--“between you an' anything that's not good--hem!--I think
you'd do well to throw thim off o' you, an' turn to thim that can
protect you from everything that's bad. Now a scapular would keep all
the divils in hell from one; an' if you'd”--
On looking at the stranger she hesitated, for the wild expression of her
eyes began to return.
“Don't begin my punishment again,” replied the woman; “make no
allus--don't make mention in my presence of anything that's good.
Husht,--husht,--it's beginning--easy now--easy! No,” said she, “I came
to tell you, that only for my breakin' a vow I made to this thing upon
me, I'd be happy instead of miserable with it. I say, it's a good thing
to have, if the person will use this bottle,” she added, producing one,
“as I will direct them.”
“I wouldn't wish, for my part,” replied Mrs. Sullivan, “to have anything
to do wid it--neither act nor part;” and she crossed herself devoutly,
on contemplating such an unholy alliance as that at which her companion
hinted.
“Mary Sullivan,” replied the other, “I can put good fortune and
happiness in the way of you and yours. It is for you the good is
intended; if you don't get both, no other can,” and her eyes kindled as
she spoke, like those of the Pythoness in the moment of inspiration.
Mrs. Sullivan looked at her with awe, fear, and a strong mixture of
curiosity; she had often heard that the _Lianhan Shee_ had, through
means of the person to whom it was bound, conferred wealth upon several,
although it could never render this important service to those who
exercised direct authority over it. She therefore experienced something
like a conflict between her fears and a love of that wealth, the
possession of which was so plainly intimated to her.
“The money,” said she, “would be one thing, but to have the _Lianhan
Shee_ planted over a body's shouldher--och; the saints preserve us!--no,
not for oceans' of hard goold would I have it in my company one minnit.
But in regard to the money--hem!--why, if it could be managed widout
havin' act or part wid that thing, people would do anything in rason and
fairity.”
“You have this day been kind to me,” replied the woman, “and that's
what I can't say of many--dear help me!--husht! Every door is shut in
my face! Does not every cheek get pale when I am seen? If I meet a
fellow-creature on the road, they turn into the field to avoid me; if I
ask for food, it's to a deaf ear I speak; if I am thirsty, they send
me to the river. What house would shelter me? In cold, in hunger, in
drought, in storm, and in tempest, I am alone and unfriended, hated,
feared, an' avoided; starving in the winter's cold, and burning in the
summer's heat. All this is my fate here; and--oh! oh! oh!--have mercy,
tormentor--have mercy! I will not lift my thoughts there--I'll keep the
paction--but spare me now!”
She turned round as she spoke, seeming to follow an invisible object,
or, perhaps, attempting to get a more complete view of the mysterious
being which exercised such a terrible and painful influence over her.
Mrs. Sullivan, also, kept her eye fixed upon the lump, and actually
believed that she saw it move. Fear of incurring the displeasure of what
it contained, and a superstitious reluctance harshly to thrust a person
from her door who had eaten of her food, prevented her from desiring the
woman to depart.
“In the name of Goodness,” she replied, “I will have nothing to do wid
your gift. Providence, blessed be his name, has done well for me an'
mine, an' it mightn't be right to go beyant what it has pleased him to
give me.”
“A rational sentiment!--I mean there's good sense in what you say,”
answered the stranger: “but you need not be afraid,” and she accompanied
the expression by holding up the bottle and kneeling: “now,” she added,
“listen to me, and judge for yourself, if what I say, when I swear it,
can be a lie.” She then proceeded to utter oaths of the most solemn
nature, the purport of which Was to assure Mrs. Sullivan that drinking
of the bottle would be attended with no danger. “You see this little
bottle, drink it. Oh, for my sake and your own drink it; it will give
wealth without end to you and to all belonging to you. Take one-half of
it before sunrise, and the other half when he goes down. You must stand
while drinking it, with your face to the east, in the morning; and at
night, to the west. Will you promise to do this?”
“How would drinkin' the bottle get me money?” inquired Mrs. Sullivan,
who certainly felt a strong tendency of heart to the wealth.
“That I can't tell you now, nor would you understand it, even if I
could; but you will know all when what I say is complied with.”
“Keep your bottle, dacent woman. I wash my hands of it: the saints above
guard me from the timptation! I'm sure it's not right, for as I'm a
sinner, 'tis getting stronger every minute widin me? Keep it! I'm loth
to bid any one that ett o' my bread to go from my hearth, but if you go,
I'll make it worth your while. Saints above, what's comin' over me. In
my whole life I never had such a hankerin' afther money! Well, well, but
it's quare entirely!”
“Will you drink it?” asked her companion. “If it does hurt or harm
to you or yours, or anything but good, may what is hanging over me be
fulfilled!” and she extended a thin, but, considering her years,
not ungraceful arm, in the act of holding out the bottle to her kind
entertainer.
“For the sake of all that's good and gracious take it without
scruple--it is not hurtful, a child might drink every drop that's in it.
Oh, for the sake of all you love, and of all that love you, take it!”
and as she urged her, the tears streamed down her cheeks.
“No, no,” replied Mrs. Sullivan, “it'll never cross my lips; not if it
made me as rich as ould Hendherson, that airs his guineas in the sun,
for fraid they'd get light by lyin' past.”
“I entreat you to take it?” said the strange woman.
“Never, never!--once for all--I say, I won't; so spare your breath.”
The firmness of the good housewife was not, in fact to be shaken; so,
after exhausting all the motives and arguments with which she could urge
the accomplishments of her design, the strange woman, having again put
the bottle into her bosom, prepared to depart.
She had now once more become calm, and resumed her seat with the languid
air of one who has suffered much exhaustion and excitement. She put
her hand upon her forehead for a few moments, as if collecting her
faculties, or endeavoring to remember the purport of their previous
conversation. A slight moisture had broken through her skin, and
altogether, notwithstanding her avowed criminality in entering into an
unholy bond, she appeared an object of deep compassion.
In a moment her manner changed again, and her eyes blazed out once more,
as she asked her alarmed hostess:--
“Again, Mary Sullivan, will you take the gift that I have it in my power
to give you? ay or no? speak, poor mortal, if you know what is for your
own good?”
Mrs. Sullivan's fears, however, had overcome her love of money,
particularly as she thought that wealth obtained in such a manner could
not prosper; her only objection being to the means of acquiring it.
“Oh!” said the stranger, “am I doomed never to meet with any one who
will take the promise off me by drinking of this bottle? Oh! but I am
unhappy! What it is to fear--ah! ah!--and keep his commandments. Had
I done so in my youthful time, I wouldn't now--ah--merciful mother, is
there no relief? kill me, tormentor; kill me outright, for surely the
pangs of eternity cannot be greater than those you now make me suffer.
Woman,” said she, and her muscles stood out in extraordinary energy--
“woman, Mary Sullivan--ay, if you should kill me--blast me--where I
stand, I will say the word--woman--you have daughters--teach them--to
fear-”
Having got so far, she stopped--her bosom heaved up and down--her frame
shook dreadfully--her eyeballs became lurid and fiery--her hands were
clenched, and the spasmodic throes of inward convulsion worked the white
froth up to her mouth; at length she suddenly became like a statue, with
this wild, supernatural expression intense upon her, and with an awful
calmness, by far more dreadful than excitement could be, concluded by
pronouncing, in deep, husky tones, the name of God.
Having accomplished this with such a powerful struggle, she turned
round, with pale despair in her countenance and manner, and with
streaming eyes slowly departed, leaving Mrs. Sullivan in a situation not
at all to be envied.
In a short time the other members of the family, who had been out
at their evening employments, returned. Bartley, her husband, having
entered somewhat sooner than his three daughters from milking, was the
first to come in; presently the girls followed, and in a few minutes
they sat down to supper, together with the servants, who dropped in
one by one, after the toil of the day. On placing themselves about the
table, Bartley, as usual, took his seat at the head; but Mrs. Sullivan,
instead of occupying hers, sat at the fire in a state of uncommon
agitation. Every two or three minutes she would cross herself devoutly,
and mutter such prayers against spiritual influences of an evil nature,
as she could compose herself to remember.