SHANDON BELLS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XX, Issue 6667, 31 March 1883, Page 3

SHANDON BELLS.

BY WILLIAM BLACK. CHAPTER XXXIII. AT INISHKKN. again we will let a few more years go by, bringing ua to quite the other day, in fact. At the window of a room in the Imperial Hotel at loisheen a small boy, apparently about eight or nine, in standing regarding the carriage and pair below, which ai-e being led off' to the stable-yard. He is a good-looking little lad, with large, soft, pensive eyes, a Eq'.iare forehead, and curly hair — a healthy-looking little chr.p, too, though one foot is off the gr.mnd, and he ia supporting himself with a stick. To him enters his father. "Well. Master Frank, shall you be able to amuse yourself while I go out for a stroll? You see what comes oE climbing after wood-pigcoi.s' nests." "A good job, too," remarked the small boy, with complacency. " What is ? Spraining your ankle ?" "Yes. You wouldn't have brought me with you if it hadn't been for that, papi. Wamma said you were very busy. And I wasn't to interfere w.th you. I was to take great care not to be a trouble to you, she said, for you like to be alone when you were finishing a book, aud 1 wasn't to mind if you left me by my=elf. Aud 1 don't mind a bit."

He glanced ronnd the room. '■And is this really the inn that your papa kept ?" "Yes, it is ; pvrhaps you don't think much of it ?"

" Well," said the small boy, with delicacy ; not wishing to wound his father s feelings, " it isn't verv swell, i< it?" "When l"was a i oy, my lad, it was the only hotel in luisheen, and it was regarded as a place of impuvtrnce. See, are your books. \ oud better sit-down for a "while, and give your foot a rest. "I like the stories ycu tell better than than those in the hooks," remarked Master Frank, regarding the volumes with anything but favour, "only inamtna says 1 ought aerer to believe them." " Which, though ?'' "The stories you tell. Mamma says you arc always making a fool of people. "Was it true, papa, about the man who went to India ; and he pretended to have a sunstroke : aud then, when he came back, he was allowed to do anything he liked, for his friends wre afraid of bringing it on again, and the police always let him otf, because he hud been mad ; and he lived such a merry life. Was that true, papa ?" "Wei!, if it bad not had happened, how would people have known anything about it?" was the evasive reply. " Now take a book ; and put your foot up on a chair ; while I go and see if there s anybody in the place 1 know now. I don't suppose there Trill be, siDce Andy the Hopper—do you remember the sketch of him that Mr. Ross msde for you one night ?—''

" Oh, yes, papa." "Well, lie is away at Tramore now. they say ; and I doubt whether there is a hnmau being I know now in the town. ' And vet. when he went out into the sunlight this older part of Inisheen did uot se-m to have changed much during the last seven years. If there was any difference, it lay rather between the Inisheen that he was accustomed to dream about and this present, every-day. rather commonplace liii-heen. This was the secmd time he had visited the little- town since rina.ly he had left it for London : and on each occasion the same rectification had to be made. \es ; th» re ■were the quiet, ropectible-looking houses, and the shops, and the town-hall; the wharves and quay?, witii tar-barrels and coals ; thebarques and brigaiitines stranded on the mud -, and the broad waters of the bay ; and the sunny green of the hills beyond, lo get a wider view he climbed up the lace of the ateep slope on which the town is partly built ; there were cottages here and there apparently clinging hazardously to the ascent : fragment-i of old ruins c-opping up : cocks and hens fluttering amn g tie dust or hiding among the ne ties : children clambering over walls topped with inajoram ; and an old gentleman, in a jacket without sleeves, fast asleep in a damp and shady angle of a girden-W3li which was profuse with moss and hart's-tongue fern. Then lie came to the enclosures round the houses of the richer people—on the summit of the hid, amid gardens and lusli meadows ; and from this height he could look down on the picturesque little harbour ; and the rippling green waters of the bay : and the wide saud banks left exposed by the tide ; also on the far expanse of so*i, pale and blue in the hazy sunlight, •with one or two dots of ships apparently Biaking slowly in for the tiny port before a gentle southerly breeze. He felt so much of a stranger here. No doubt, if he were to go through the shops dovm there lie might discover this one or that who would perhaps recognise Master Willie ; and no doubt, if he were awav up orer the hills there ("the mountain"' they sailed them) he could find a cabin or two where he would be welcomed by some aguish old crone, with many a " Glory be to God ! Bat of his old ii.i'mates, as he had learned from time to time, there was scarcely one left. His father had died many years before. Why, even the Cork Chreniele, which the Inisheen people used to take in chiefly because Master Wlllie put his poetry about Inisheen, and his songs and palavering-* ab.iut tiae Inisheen girls into it, existed no longer. When he drove np to the Imperial, the very ostler who took the horses had never heard of tha Fitzgeralds who had once had the place. And yet, as he looked at the quays and the houses and the harbour, Inisheen did not seem to have changed so much. It was he who was changed ; and Eomethina else—was it his youth ? or a remembrance of bi3 youth that, whether he thought of it or not, was always haunting him, and making Inisheen- look strange ?—seemed now far away. . . He wandered down from this height, thinking he would go and have a look r.t the newer Inisheen that faced the sea. As he r;as walking along the main thoroughfare of the older town—perhaps not noticing much — and passing one of the side streets leading to the quays, te heard an exclamation behind iim—

"The Lord be marciful tc ns." He turned instantly and recognised old Molly vho for innumerable years had sol 1 nuts and apples and oranges to the boys of Inisheen. The old woman struggled up from the barrel on which she was sitting—

Och, God help us all, 'tis yourself, llasther Willie !" she slid, and she seized his hand with her lone; skinny fingers. " Och, 'tis the great gintleman you are vow, wid your horses and your carriages riding through the town. Share I thought 'twas yoursilf, Maatlier Wilhe : and then I thought 'twas nansinse ; and skure you're come to take tbe place yout father had before ye—his sowl's in glorv, amin ! —oh, wirasthrue, but me back i 3 broke wid the could nights—and yer honour's coming back to the Impayrial now—and you'll have a good word fer ould Molly wid the gamuts " He had to explain to the ancient Molly— Trhoee aspect, by the would have bC"D more venerable had her grey hair been less diahcY'-Hed and had she worn a jacket more appropriate to her age and sex than an old sailor's jacket, the scarlet of which had got sadly fade l through exposure to wind and weather—that he had no intention of reestablishing the Fitzgeralds in the Iraporial Hotel ; and then he presented her with all the silver he could find in his pockets, and passed on. Bow often he had walked along this very road, in the far byizoue days, with the eager ambitions and wild desires of youth busy \rith the future ! And now that he had attained to almost everything he had dreamed of in certain directions to far more than e^er he had dreamed—to what did it all amount ? Well, he had many frieuds known and unknown; and that was pleasant; and he strove to remain on terms with them ; and t? do what little he cou'.d, in the way of ■writing, if that might be of any service to them, in as thorough and honest a faßliion as iraa possible. But, so far lie c>uld s p e, there was not anything in life much better than showing a picture-bo-k to a sick chi'd, or some such simple act of benevolence or charity : and in this respect he had entirely adopted the views of his wife. iNeittiei he norshe was concerned about the motives that ■ might be imputed to them. If it was a luxury, tlu-y could afford it. If it was selfgratihcition, at least it did not harm others. 2f it was outraging tl.-e principles of political economy the principles of political economy would have to look out :or themselves, lu short, Inth ho and she, as it turned out, found themselves with so many things to do that they really hac no time to tit down and construct analyses of the Moral faculty.

* The proprietors of the Auoklakd Weeklv N ewtj liaT© purchased the eel© fight o( publisMog ,Sllßfcuo JJellf' 2b thia Oolosj.

This newer Ih'sheen out-fronting the sea wag more changed than the older part of the town, for a number of new-looking villas had been added—moat likely the summer residence of the Cork people. But it was pleasa-ter for him to turn his back on these, and find before him the old familiar picture ; t"e sp <cious view that he was in the habit of conjuring up before hia meutal vision whenever lie wanted to introduce a ssnse of light and width—anil perhaps a touch of solitiri-npf-.H?—into hia writing. Solitary enough it was. Nothing but the level milea of pale bro.vn Band ; and the va«t extent of gladly pair b'ue sei ; and between these the long thin lines of the ri'-plee that came in and in, darkened in shadow, until suddenly there was a gleam of silver, thin as the edge of a [ knife, and then a curling over of white foam sparkling in the sun, aud the protracted

•'ha—xs—.s.s" as the wave broke along the shore. A pale and placid picture ; perhaps a trifle sad also ; for with such a faint and fair background, the mind is apt to set to w.'rk to put in fitjnres—and these wonl.l be walking along the sinii, naturally ; and they might be young; and dreaming d ream».

Then he recollected the poor chap with t : :e sprained ankle ; and so he turned and walked leisurely back to tho hotel ; discovering, when he wot there, that Master Frank had been encaged tho while in carving his name, in bold letter.,, on one of the windowshutters.

" When 1 grow up, papa," said he. contemplating this tentative effort at immortality,"! hope 1 shall be famous like you." "Who told you I was famous?" his father said, with a laugh. " Mamma ; I wish I could get such nice letters from people you don't know; from America, and Canada, and as far away aa whe:e Robinson Crusoe lived. Sometimes mamma r-.-ads them to me. What did you do to make the Queen call you 'welibcloved" •'What nonsense has got into your head now ? " No, it is not," said Master Frank, pertinaciously. " Mamma read it out of a big book. Queen said you were ' trusty aud well-beloved.' "

"Oh, that is nothing. Don't yon know, when the Queen anpoints you a Royal Commissioner to inquire into anything, that is the phrase she uses. I suppose your mamma had got hold of thit Blue-book—" "But the Queen would not say so unless she meant it. She doeu't tell lies, does she?"

"Whv, of course not. Well, Master Frank, un'il you are older we will the subject, and in the meantime we will have some tea. I suppose you are aware that you may have la'.e dinner with me tonight ?" "Just as you please, papa. Mamma jh-j I was not to trouble you—" "And you have remembered your lesson very w-dl. In consideration of which I will tell sou a story—" "Oh, will yon?"—and immediately the small lad hobbled across from the window to l:i« father's knee, looking up with his big L'irlish-lookiug eyes full of expectation. For the stori s his papa told were far more wonderful than an\thing to be found in books. "Not only that —but it is a story of a bull!'' "A IY-r// wild one?" " A fearfully wild one." There was a sort ef sich of delight. " Well, this bu'l used to roam about just be' :nd this very town nf Tnisheen ; and it is very open there—plenty of boil-land —and he could see you from a great distance ; and he'd com" st I .lking along the road, right in the middle, and allow no one to pass. And he was especially savage with boys : and you wouldn't believe the roundabout ways we had to take—"

" Oh, were you one of them, papa? ' "I was alive then," the story-teller continued, evasively, "and I may have looked on and seen what the other boys dia. T>;t the terr hie b'i«ine = s about this beaat was that he could hop over a wall with the greatest of 'ase ; and it was no use shutting a gate on him, if he meant to be after you. He was a terror to the whole district — e-pecially t'-> the boys : and we used to get angry—l mean teey us p d t"> get angry, ?<nd wonder what they would do to the bull if only th»y could get a chance. Then at last one of—one of them hit upon a plan. They went carefully along the road and picked out a place where the bog came close up, and where there were just two or tbreo clumps of mo=s so that you could over if y"ii went light'v and watched your footing. Of course you remember what Bruce did at Bannockburn —"

" He duj pits and covred them over " Precisely. Well then this was a sort of ambusca ic like I don't think ambuscide is the right word ; but it's good enough fr a ball. Well, then, the ne;:t thing the bovs did—" '' lint you w-t? one of them.jpapa ?" "I mig t be looking on. .. might have gone round by the bog that day. At all events they went to a person called Andy the Hopper, that IVe often told you" about; and Andv was a curious-minded creature, who nLvays liked to have red sleeves when he could afford it, to his j.eke! ; an 1 they cot the loan of an old jacket with the rel sleeves, and they spread that out on two sticks ; and away they went along the road. And there, sure enough, vrnt the bull. He didn't say anything; he only looked. Then 'hey went on, cautiously, until they w»re within a certain distance ; and there they stopped. The bull didn t move. Then they began to retreat a little — and you must know. Master Frank, that bull 3lwavs understands that as an invitation for him to come and chivy you. The bull came on a bit ; stopped for a second ; then came a loud bellow ; and then came on faster. This was precisely what those wicked boys wanted. For now they turned and took to their heels ; and the bull came careerins alter them ; and then, at the spot they had marked, they left the road, and went hopoing across the bog, that was verv wet at that time, for there had been much ram. Vory well, then, you see, when the bull cime tearing along, he had no notion of a strategy or an i,mbuscade. or anything of that kind ; and he li 1 not stop to consider that he was far heavier than a boy ; and that his shirp bard fret would sink where theirs would just touch the little dry clamps ; and so in he went with a splash and a struggle— and another splash and a struggle—and another splash and another struggle—always getting deeper and deep-r into the thick black mud, and bellowing and roaring with rage. You never saw anything like it. Mind ymi, when we stopped and looked, I won't say we weren't a little bit frightened ; for if one of his fore-legs had got hold of a piece of good solid ground, wo might have had another run for it, and he'd have kuocked the whole town to smithereens before he'd have stoppr-d. Aft- r a lone time, however, he gave it up. He found his strmzgles useless ; and when he bcJlowed it wasn't ' Wait till I catch you, 5 it was ' Who's going to get me out " " Pa-.a," said Master Fr ink, thoughtfully. " could you hive got near him then ?" '• Oh. yes. I daresay. He was stuck fast." " You could have got near him in safety. " Oh, yes, I think i-o," answered the father, not doubting that the boy, who had been tauuht to be kind to all anirmls, had imagined some way of getting the poor bull out of his troubles. " Then didn't you set a big stick and beat him over the head?" said Master Frank,

eacerlv. "Well, no," said the papa, a little disappointed. " But I'll tell you what happened —it took n-arly half the people of Inisheen to get the bull out; for they were all afraid to go and fasten the ropc-i ; and when it did Tet on to the dry land again it seemed anxious to reduce the population of the neighbourhood. I don't think I saw that, the narrator added, demurely.

" You didn't wait to s:-e it hauled out?" said Ma-ter Frank, with staring eyes.

"No, you sea, Frankie, there Were a lot of wicked bom about the place; and the people suspecte 1 they had inveigled the bull into the bog ; and supposing I had bee,, about just at that time—looking on, you knowwell they might have thought I had had a hand in it, and one might have got into trouble. It's always the best plan to keep away when you s e a scrimimge going on. The most iuuocent people are sometimes suspected. Never you go near crowds." Master Frank thouuht over this story for sometime; and then ho Slid, in an absent kind of way — " I believe it was you yourself, papa, that tr-asc-1 the bull int • the bog. They had Hto dinner together in the evenin", and no doubt it was that circumstance that provoked Master Frank into unusual animation and talkativeness, in the course of which he unlocked many a dark and secret cupboard of his mind where h<s bad stored away subjects or remarks for substqurnt examination. He startled his ! father, for example, by suddenly, and Apropos

of nothing, asking him how it was possible for a man to have three grandmothers. "I don't know what you mean!" his father Baid.

" Whv, don't you remember, papa, the organ-grinder coming to Hyde Park Gardens, and playing 'The Last Rose of Summer' ?" "No, I don't recollect that remarkable circumstance. I suppose he didn't remain very long ?" "But don't you remember you a a .ked mamma what sort of a man he could hsve been who first twisted the air about with variations; and then you bega;i and toid me all that you hoped had happened to him when he was alive ?" "Well, I don't remember that either." "And yon said you hoped he had three grandmothers, and never knew what his name was, because they kept bothering him " " I am not quite sure ; but I think we must have been talking nonsense, Frankie." i "And mamma Baid you had invented enough evil things for him, and you might turn to the men who were cutting the tails off cattle and shooting at people here in Ireland." " The less you Bay about that the better, Master Frank ; for in this part of the country walls have ears," " I know,' 1 said Master Frank, confidently, " that mamma will be very g ad when you have done with the fishing and we all go back to England again " " Nonsense !" " But I heard her say so. papa !" " .-he was having a little joke with you, Master Frank. You d-n't understand these I deep questions yet, my lad. Don't you know that I am not a land-owner, nor an Englishman, nor on" who pays rmt? So you see I can's do anythiug wrong ; aud we are as safe at Boat of Garry as in Hy !e l'ark "

"I know mamma does not like you to go away fishing by yourself,"said Master Frank, doggedly. "But do I ever go away fishing by myself —or did 1 ever go away fishing by myself until you must needs set about spraining your ankle ? And supposing there were any of these rascals about Boat of Garry, which there are not; and supposing they were coming stealing along on tiptoe when I wasn't watching ; and supposing you were standing by, with a gaff in your hand, and a gaff with a remarkably sharp point, what then ? What would you do? You can lay hold of a silmon Or a sea,-trout smartly enough. Could you catch one of Captain Moonlight's men by the ear ?" The boy did not answer that, for he was evidently considering something with much care. At last he said, meditatively— " I wish you were the king, papa, and than you would show the rascals something." "But how? What should Ido 1" "Kill the whole lot," was the prompt answer. " Well, that would teach them a lesson, wouldn't it !" ITo ba continued.]