The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 28 June 1917, Page 3

The Storyteller

(By D. P. Conyngham, LL.D.)

THE O’DONNELLS OF GLEN COTTAGE A TALE OF THE FAMINE YEARS IN IRELAND.

CHAPTER lII.—A RACE DINNER. The dining-room of the hotel was quite crowded. The little front parlor was occupied with a roulette table, surrounded by a number of gentlemen, some betting, others reclining on sofas or chairs, taking a nap. A waiter, with a white apron before him, and flourishing a napkin, announced: “ Dinner, gentlemen, dinner,” and he gave another flourish to the napkin. It would not be easy to meet a more gay or jolly company than crowded around that dinner table. There is something peculiarly gay about the Irish people. This is evident, not only among the peasantry, but also among the higher classes of society. Whether this is owing to our nature, to our soil or climate, I cannot tell; but it 'is true, at least, and happy for us that it is so, for this pliant elasticity supports us through the many trying vicissitudes that have harassed our country. ■ The passionate elements of our strong nature seem but ill adapted to the state of sufferance under which we live. How often will you see depicted on the face of the peasant that dogged indifference that tells of sufferings deep and deadly, sufferings that would steel the heart of any but an Irishman against all the finer feelings of human nature; yet express but one word of sympathy, do but one trifling act of kindness for him, and the haggard, death-like face will brighten up, and a tear of gratitude will glisten in the eye so dull and stupid with despair a moment before.

“Will you help me to some turkey, gentlemen?” said a fat, puffy man, from the end of the table. This puffy one always ended his subject with a long “ pooh." “Certainly, Mr. Baker,” said another. “Doctor, pray dissect that turkey near you.” Ay do, doctor; you ought to be good at dissection, you know. Pooh, pooh.” Mr. Baker pursed up his mouth, leant back in his chair, and indulged in a very long “pooh.” “I say, Mr. Baker,” said O’Ryan, who sat near him, “would you give us a change of air?” This created a general laugh. “ Hand it to the coroner; let him try it,” said the doctor.

“Which?” said Coroner Mara—“the air or the turkey ?” “ Both, Mr. Coroner, both; we want a pout mortem examination.”

CHAPTER IV.— COUNTRY PASTIMES ALLHALLOWE’EN AT MR. MAHER’S. Though we have taken a hasty notice of Father O’Donnell in our opening chapter, we must now return to him more fully. The little village of Clerihan, over which Father O’Donnell presided as priest and lawgiver, was, like most of our Irish villages, a straggling compound of shopsan apothecary’s establishment, a church, a chapel, and then the suburbs were garnished with rows of filthy cabins. Irish landlords take little or no concern about improving the towns and villages on their estates; and many, through a dogged spirit of non-interference with their rights, will not even give leases to the enterprising or industrious; therefore, the good houses fast decay, whilst cabins of the most filthy kind spring into existence. “ Faith, sur, if he ejects us out of this aself, it is no great loss ! Shure, if we built a better one we

should pay well for it," is the unavailing answer you will get if you ask why their houses are in such a wretched state.

Father O’Donnell’s house, or cottage, was situated at the end of the village. A small lawn extended to the road. It was a comfortable thatched house. Shrubs and trees were nicely ranged in front, whilst the wall glistened with ivy and woodbine. Its interior was not less inviting. On one side of the hall, which ran through the house, was the parlor, which was contrived a triple debt to pay; for it answered the purpose of drawing-room, parlor, and, on pressing occasions, bedroom. Father O’Donnell’s parlor was furnished in very respectable style. A nice Turkey carpet concealed the cracks in the floor, an easy-looking sofa occupied a niche in the side wall, whilst a sideboard, glistening with glasses and some real plate, stood opposite the window. But the seat of honor, in which the good Father read his breviary, heard the disputes of the parish, and adjudicated on them—in fact, ruled at once as the Law and the Prophet; and there enjoyed a doze, was a fine old arm-chair of ample proportions that occupied a place near the fire. Now, if we add to this his little dog, Carlo, which was stretched in the fulness of enjoyment on the hearthrug, and place Father O’Donnell in his chair, we have a perfect picture of the good priest after the labors of the day.

It is fair that we should take a look at the kitchen, where Mrs. Hogan, the house-keeper, is enjoying herself. Mrs. Hogan is seated in a corner beside a blazing turf fire, with one foot thrown across the other, her eyes turned up the chimney watching the lazy curling smoke from the aforesaid fire. She looked a real picture of enjoyment, and no wonder, for the very tins glistened upon the dresser, and the flags were perfectly clean and smooth, and the flitches of bacon hung temptingly over her head. “ So, you expect Misther Frank, ma’am,” said Neddy O’Brien, the boy of all work, as he sat at the other side of the fire enjoying its warmth. “ Yis, achora,” said Mrs. Hogan, without lowering her eyes.

Shure I am often wondering, Mrs. Hogan, why he didn’t become a priest.” “ Well, asthore, as Father O’Donnell says, ‘man proposes, but God disposes’.” “ True enuff for you, ma’am ; oh, its you have the lamin’ and scripture; faix, though what do you think of myself, but do be thinking that Miss Maher has something to do with it : begorra, ma’am, but I thinks they’s courtin’.” Neddy held down his head and blushed at the turpitude of his suggestion. ‘‘May be so, achud ; who knows; shure its natural; throw tow into the fire and it will burn.”

“Thrue for you, ma’am, but they say it is not lucky, when one is intended for the church to kick up: but Mrs. Hogan, I do be wondering that so fine a woman as you never married ; shure Jack Grace, and you know he has a snug place, often ax’s me would you marry; shure 1 don’t know what to say.” “Git out of that now,” said Mrs. Hogan, looking evidently well pleased. “Sorra a word of a lie in it ; faix he has me bothered.”

“A good sensible man he is, and a snug little place he has. I believe he milks two cows.”

“Three, Mrs. Hogan,” suggested Neddy. “And what did you tell him?” “ Faix I said I knew you would, that you had a handsome penny, and that there were many looking for you.” “ That’s a good boy, Neddy; shure it’s a blessing for people to have their own house; you see, Neddy, if anything was to happen the poor old priest, God betune us and harm”—here Mrs. Hogan put the corner of her apron to the corner of her eye, and indulged in a little melancholy reflection; having composed her feelings, she continued—“if anything happened him, I would be badly off.” “That’s what I does be saying myself, ma’am, in

your absence. I wish I had my dinner, for I feel hungry,” said Neddy, breaking off with a yawn and stretching his hands.

“ That’s true, I was forgetting,” said Mrs. Hogan, and she went and placed plenty of cold meat on the table, and fell at crisping the potatoes for Neddy. “ I will draw the table near the tire,” said Neddy. “ Do, avic, and make yourself comfortable.” So he drew down the table, and made himself comfortable, all the time chuckling inwardly at how he “butthered” Mrs. Hogan; for Mrs. Hogan was remarkable for her miserly propensities,' in fact for starving every person and thing she could, save and except herself.

“ I wish,” and Neddy gave a sly look at her from under his brows, “I wish I had a house and a few acres of land, it’s I wouldn’t be long without a wife, and that’s somebody I know.” Here he gave another sly look. “Who would she be, Neddy?” said Mrs. Hogan, attempting a laugh, or rather a kind of chuckle.

“Faix, I needn’t go outside the dure to find the best wife in the parish,” and Neddy winked at Mrs. Hogan, as much as to say, you know who I mean. ‘‘Get out, you schemer,” said Mrs. Hogan. “Sorra a word o’ lie in it, and that’s what I do be telling Jack Grace.” Here their tete-a-tete was disturbed by a ring from the bell.

Frank had driven over to Father O’Donnell’s that evening, accompanied by Uncle Corny.

As Uncle Corny is to be a remarkable personage in our story, it is fit that we should introduce him to our readers.

Corny O’Brien, or as he was more familiarly called, “Uncle Corny,” had vegetated among the O’Donnells for the last forty years, and was now superintending the growth and military education of the third generation. Uncle Corney had been something of a Lothario in his youth ; but at length he fell head and ears in love with a pretty girl. Aileen was not insensible to his addresses, but, he being a younger brother, with slender means, her father, who was a shrewd old fellow, without a particle of romance in his composition, took a common-sense view of things, and married her to a wealthy farmer; who, if he had less love, had more wealth, which, according to her father's notion of things, meant more happiness. This Uncle Corny must have been a fine man in his youth; even now, when his form was bent with age, and his hair was grey, as also his moustache, which he almost reverenced, he was as fine a specimen of an old man, and an old soldier to boot, as you could see. Uncle Corny, as I said, was deeply in love, and being unable to bear up against his affliction, thought he would revenge himself on Aileen, and the world in general, by getting himself knocked off the stage. He went and enlisted, and, in a fit of remorse, for he yet loved Aileen, he wrote to her not to take it to heart too much if he should be killed. Aileen became a happy mother, and laughed and sang, and never thought of Corny; whilst he, poor man, was putting himself in a fair way of getting his brains knocked out on her account. But the fates were unpropitious, and Corny could not get himself killed unless he got some friendly hand to do the deed; so he returned home after the battle of Waterloo with one arm. Uncle Corny had obtained the rank of sergeant, and felt highly flattered at being called sergeant. After his return he lived with the O’Donnells, to whom he was distantly related, where his chief occupations were smoking his pipe, relating his military adventures, and superintending the military education of the lads of the neighborhood. It would do your heart good to see Uncle Corny sitting on a seat near the door, indolently watching for some one idle enough to listen to his adventures, and complacently smoking his pipe. Even the pipe seemed to enjoy this kind of somnolency, for its smoke whiffed and curled in lazy wreaths around his moustache. 'He was occasionally visited by another old soldier, called Shaun the Rover. The Rover was a rambling, ( restless spirit; he was a man of about

fifty. Having lost the use of one of his eyes a few years before in India, he was dismissed the service. He travelled about from house to house, where his fund of witticisms and conversational tales gained him a welcome admittance and entertainment.

Uncle Corny occupied his seat earlier than usual when he expected the Rover, for he seemed to know the precise evening on which he would call. As soon as the Rover came near enough, he shouldered his stick, touched his hat, and saluted Uncle Corny in the most approved military style, with “How do you do, sergeant?” Uncle Corny took out his pipe, gave a whiff of smoke, stood up, bowed, and generally replied; “ Well, thank you, Delany,” for that was Shaun the Rover’s name; “well, thank you but this old stump of mine annoys me betimes ” ; and then he proudly looked at his arm.

“To win honor and glory we must suffer, sergeant,” the Rover would reply, as he would take his seat beside Uncle Corny. Thus would they spend evenings together, fighting their battles over again, and winning renown and glory in the old seat near Mr. O’Donnell’s door.

So great was their military mania, that one fine evening, in the absence of Father O’Donnell, they resolved to carry out their movements on a grand scale. They got a few boys from the village, and, having armed them with clubs, they resolved to celebrate the battle of Waterloo by a grand display in the priest’s garden. Uncle Corny commanded the English, and took up his position in a small summer-house, as the farmhouse of Fer La Hay. The Rover, with his French troops, commenced an imaginary fire from behind a small hedge. This not dislodging them, the French leaped the hedge, and, with a shout, charged the enemy. Whether it was that Uncle Corny thought his position not tenable, or that he thought it better to repulse the assailants before they attacked him in his stronghold, like all generals, he kept to himself; anyway, he gave the word to charge. Now, it happened that as they charged across a transverse walk, like many more soldiers, they did not well see what they were about; so, in the melee, they upset a hive of bees.

The bees took the war in earnest, and assailed both parties. Never was a more beautiful retreat effected than that of the French and English, with a whole swarm of the enemy attacking them in front and rear.

Hallowe’en happening the evening after Frank’s arrival at his uncle’s, he promised to spend it at Mr. Maher’s, to enjoy the sports and play the usual country tricks.

Mr. Maher was a free, easy, kind man, who yet clung to the good old customs of the country. He was as ready as the youngest of his family to burn nuts, dive for apples, and the like pastimes. Though belonging to that class called “gentlemen farmers,” he was not above joining his servants in their innocent amusements. Mr. Maher, or as he was called by the poor about, the “ Masther,” was a man, indeed. If you doubt my word, you need only look at the wellthatched rows of stacks and ricks that filled the haggard. There was nothing of the Paddy-go-easy way about Mr. Maher ; none of your windows stuffed with rags, nor your gaps with ploughsnot a bit of it; everything bore an appearance of ease and opulence. Mr. Maher’s house, too, was altogether new; the parlor was tastefully furnished and carpeted, and a piano lay open near the fire. And the kitchen —but here I must refer to Mrs. Moran, Mr. Maher’s house-keeper, for Mr. Maher buried his wife a few years before, and Alice being too young to manage so large an establishment, he very wisely submitted it to the government of the discreet Mrs. Moran. Mrs. Moran vowed “ it was the tidiest kitchen in all Ireland.” And no wonder, for it was well stocked with tins and chinaware, and pans, and the like, all bearing shining evidence to Mrs. Moran’s cleanliness. Then the tempting rows of sides and hams of bacon that hung from the ceiling would

make a hungry man’s teeth water with delight. Now, having said so much about Mr. Maher’s house, it -is time that we should say something about Mr. Maher’s family, for Mr. Maher’s was a notable family. Mr. Maher had, besides our heroine, two sous and a daughter, all younger than Alice ; and as Alice was but eighteen they must be young. As I merely introduce them to my readers for acquaintance sake, we need say no more about them. As our friends joined the family circle, the sports of the evening had already commenced. The kitchen was swept clean, and the bright peat fire threw its ruddy glow around the room. The Rover and Shemus-a-Clough were quietly ensconced beside the fire. As soon as Uncle Corny appeared, the Rover did not forget his accustomed salute of “How do you do, sergeant? Glad to see you” ; nor Shemus-a-Clough his “ Hurroo, Misther Frank; arragh, didn’t I do it well at the races—flung you into the saddle while you’d be saying Jack Robinson. Shu re if I wasn’t there you couldn’t win; hurroo!” and he then performed his usual gymnastics. After the usual greetings and welcomes the party collected around the fire. The Rover occupied the one corner. Uncle Corny the other, superintending the sports. Uncle Corny seemed superbly happy when he attracted the attention of Alice Maher. When a child she would often spend hours on the old man’s knee, with her hands supporting her head and her earnest eyes drinking in his strange words as he related his battles and adventures.

Then a tear would often trickle from the old man’s eyes and moisten her little hands; and then she would fondly look into his face and nestle on his strong bosom, and ask, “What ails you, Uncle Corny?” Who can define the old man’s feelings as he shed these tears and pressed that nestling darling. Ah, his good heart was not yet dried up —a balmy softness, like the manna of the desert, came to sweeten its bitterness; for his feelings went back to the time when he poured out the fulness of his gushing love to her aunt for Uncle Corny’s first and only love was Alice’s aunt.

As Alice grew up she resembled her aunt; the same mild expression, the same confiding look. Uncle Corny, though an orthodox Catholic, was something of a Pythagorean, for he firmly believed that the spirit of the aunt had passed into the niece. He spent much of his time at Father O’Donnell’s, it was thought for no other purpose than to be near Alice Maher. The servant maids and boys were collected around a large kish or basket of potatoes on the middle of the floor, peeling them for the colcannon.f The maids took care to hang the first peel on the key of the kitchen door, for whoever came in first then was sure to be their sweetheart.

As I said before, the sports of the night had commenced. They all laughed immoderately at one young man who, in fishing for the apple, lost his balance and fell into the large vessel of water. He bore his misfortune very good humoredly, dried his neck and dripping hair. After several other games they placed clay, water, and a ring, on three different plates, then blindfolded the person trying his or her fortune. They all laughed or became grave as they laid their hands on the different plates, which betokened death, travelling, or marriage. So much importance do the peasantry attach to these rites, that they influence them very much. Even though free from these superstitious notions, Frank’s heart beat heavily as he saw

f As colcaunon is a national dish, and as my readers are fond of novelties, and good ones to boot, they might find this as agreeable as our beef and mutton, so I will give them the receipt. Peel and wash the potatoes, boil them, strain off the water, pound up the potatoes, then season with cream, onions, and parsley ; pour it out on dishes, and place plenty of butter to dissolve in the centre; eat it then, and if you do not like it I cannot’help you.

his Alice place her hand on the water; and, on a second trial, v on the fatal clay. Alice, too, looked sad, though she tried to smile away her fears. "Alice," said. Frank, "let not such a trifle annoy you; you know these things are of no importance.” The large kitchen table was drawn near the glowing fire, and the punch was circulated freely among the elder members, whilst the younger collected closer around the fire, watching the burning of nuts that were to decide the issue of their love adventures. Frank sat on a small form, with Alice beside him, her hands resting upon his knee, both watching the progress of two nuts which were to represent themselves. There were a good many jokes and witticisms passed on them. " They are burning smoothly enuff," said one. "Not more than they ought.” This allusion to their love, made Alice and Frank blush.

" I'll knock them down, if you don’t hold your tongue,” said Alice.

" Oh! you’d like it, Miss Alice," said one, "see how nicely they are kissing.” At length the small nut, which represented Alice, fluttered about, and flew off.

There was a general laugh and titter at this some said, “she left him there" ; others "they knew she’d do it.”

“Faith, it was pleasant; ha! I knew you’d do it, ma Colleen Bawn !’’ said Shemus-a-Clough, rubbing his hands with delight ; " that’s the way the Fawn jumped over the ditch."

Frank was more than consoled for all this bantering by a soft whisper from Alice, saying :

" Don’t mind them, Frank ; sure I couldn’t help it; you know I wouldn’t do it.” Frank squeezed her hand upon his breast. Alice looked into his face, with all the love and milk of human kindness she possessed sparkling in her clear blue eyes. And that look thrilled through Frank’s heart, and spoke volumes of love/ The party at the table were getting very noisy. The Rover was fast beating the Sikhs at Chillinwallagh, and Uncle Corny in as hot pursuit of the French at Waterloo.

“War is a glorious profession,” said Uncle Corny, warming to the subject ; " if you -were to see how we chased the French.”

"Or the Sikhs at Chillinwallagh," cried the Rover.

" It is a curse," said Mr. Maher.

" How we formed into columns and lines, and charged," said Uncle Corny, not heeding the interruption. “How we dashed into the streets, and ”

" How we mowed down the cuirassiers, although they were covered with steel," interrupted Uncle Corny. "They came on us, the horses neighing and prancing, the bright steel glistening. ‘On your knees,’ shouted our general—‘present— They dashed at us, but we met them with fixed bayonets; the wounded horses turned and fled, throwing the lines into disorder.

As Uncle Corny was giving this glowing description of the battle, he had mechanically taken up the very attitude, and converted a long pole into a musket. On the other hand, the Rover, all excited, was charging across the table with a sweeping-brush, to the no small danger of bottles and glasses. " That was as hot work as our own," said the Rover, shouldering his brush. "Ay you may say that,” said Uncle Corny, grounding his pole. "Many’s the poor man it sent unprepared before his God many’s the widow and orphan it left in want; many’s the broken heart it has caused,” said Mr. Maher.

“ We couldn’t help that,” said the Rover. ** We should do our duty,” said Uncle Corney; "besides it is a glorious thing to be praised.”

“ As for the praise,” said Mr, Maher, "little of it falls to the soldier’s lot his name may appear, with a thousand others, in the Gazette, but then that’s all that’s thought about him ; and as to his gains, he has a good chance, if, after getting a broken constitution and a shattered body, he gets a few pence a day pension. Look at our friend here, after endangering his life, he was dismissed with a trifle, and is forced to go about for a living; what’s glory, what’s honor to him ? I want to know would they take the hunger off him? Wouldn’t a snug cabin and a little garden be better for him?”

It’s true," said the Rover.

He should get a pension, and he must,” said Uncle Corny, with emphasis.

(To be continued.)