Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent Part 30

"I am sorry, Nick Fistula, as you say your name is--"

"Mickey, sirra."

"Well, Nickey, or Nick, or whatever it may be, I am sorry to say that you won't do. You are too great an ornament to your own creed ever to s.h.i.+ne in ours. I happen to know your character--begone."

"Is Misthre Lucre widin?" asked a third candidate, whose wife accompanied him--"if he is, maybe you'd tell him that one Barney Grattan wishes to have a thrifle o' speech wid his honor."

"Come in," said the servant with a smile, after having acquainted his master.

The man and his wife accordingly entered, having first wiped their feet as they had been ordered.

"Well, my good man, what's your business."

"Rosha, will you let his honor know what we wor spakin' about? She'll tell you, sir."

"Plaise your honor," said she, "we're convarts."

"Well," said Mr. Lucre, "that is at least coming to the point. And pray, my good woman, who converted you?"

"Faix, the accounts that's abroad, sir, about the gintleman from Dublin, that's so full of larnin', your reverance, and so rich, they say."

"Then it was the mere accounts that wrought this change in you?"

"_Dhamnu orth a Rosha, go dhe s.h.i.+n dher thu?_" said the husband in Irish; for he felt that the wife was more explicit than was necessary.

"Never heed her, sir; the crathur, your reverence, is so through other, that she doesn't know what she's sayin', especially spakin' to so honorable a gentleman as your reverence."

"Then let us hear your version, or rather your conversion."

"Myself, sir, does be thinkin' a great deal about these docthrines and jinnyologies that people is now all runnin' upon. I can tell a story, sir, at a wake, or an my kailee wid a, neighbor, as well as e'er a man in the five parishes. The people say I'm very long headed all out, and can see far into a thing. They do, indeed, plaise your reverence."

"Very good."

"Did you ever hear about one Fin M'Cool who was a great buffer in his day, and how his wife put the trick upon a big bosthoon of a giant that came down from Munster to bother Fin? Did you ever hear that, sir?"

"No; neither do I wish to hear it just now."

"Nor the song of Beal Derg O'Donnel, sir, nor the 'Fairy River,'

nor 'the Life and Adventures of Larry Dorneen's a.s.s,' plaise your reverence."

"No--but I wish you would allow your wife to relate your business here."

"Well, sir, the people say I'm very longheaded, and can see far into a thing--"

"But, my good man, I care not what the people say--tell your story briefly."

"--An' can see far into a thing, your reverence, becaise I'm long-headed. All longheaded people, sir, is cute, an' do you know why they're cute, sir? No, you don't, but I'll tell you--bekaise they're long-headed. Now, sir, what 'ud you think to turn Roman Catholic awhile till I'd malivogue you in arguin' Scripture?--I want to prove to you, sir, that I'm the boy that understands things."

"What's your business with me?"

"Will you thry it, sir, and you'll see how I'll sober you to your heart's delight."

"What brought your husband to me, my good woman?"

"_Bhe dha husth; f.a.g a rogarah lumsa_."

"He's comin' to it, plaise your reverence," said the wife.

"Well, sir, so you see, bein' given to deep ways of thinkin' o' my own, I had many bouts at arguin' Scripthur--as every longheaded man has, of coorse--an' yestherday meetin' wid Brian Broghan, the mealman--him that keeps it up on the poor, sir--he challenged me, but, in three skips of a Scotch Gray, I sacked him cleaner than one of his own meal bags, and dusted him afterwards:--'so,' says he, misther Grattan, see what it is to be long-headed."

"It's worse," observed Lucre, "to be long-winded. Come to an end, sir."

"'Long-headed,' says he, 'an', of coorse you'll be takin' the money,'

says Brougham; 'what money?' says I. 'Why, the five guineas,' says he, 'that the Biblemen is givin' to every one that will turn wid them, he happens to be long-headed--but otherwise, not a penny.' So, sir, myself, you see, havin' the intention to come over long afore for fraid yez might think it was for the money I am doin' it. But is there such a thing, sir?"

"Not a penny, and so you may tell your friends."

"Well, but, sir, grantin' that, still you'll acknowledge that I'm long-headed."

"No, only long-winded."

"Not long-headed, then?"

"No, certainly not."

"_d.a.m.nu orth a veehone bradagh!_ come Rosha. Not long-headed! troth it's a poor religion to depind on--an' I'll make a show of it yet, if I'm spared. Come, woman alive."

Honest Barney was the last but one who was honored by a hearing, though not the last by a score of those who expected it, and, sooth to say, the appearance of that one threw the whole proceedings into such exquisite ridicule, that we cannot resist the temptation of giving his claims and arguments a place among the rest. The convert in question was no other than our old friend _Raymond-na-hattha_, or Raymond of the hats; who, moved by the example of others, and only possessed of a dim notion of the cause that brought them together, came among them from that vague motive of action which prompts almost every creature like him to make one in a crowd, wherever it may a.s.semble. The mind of poor Raymond was of a very anomalous character indeed; for his memory, which was wonderful, acc.u.mulated in one heterogeneous ma.s.s, all the incidents in which he had ever taken any part, and these were called out of the confusion, precisely as some chord of a.s.sociation happened to be struck in any conversation which he held. For this reason he sometimes uttered sentiments that would have come with more propriety from the lips of a philosopher than a fool, and again fell to the level of pure idiotism, so singular were his alternations from sense to nonsense. Lucre's porter, himself a wag, knew perfectly well what was going forward, and, indeed, took very considerable delight in the movement. When Raymond presented himself, the porter, to whom he was very well known, determined, for the joke's sake, that he should have the honor of an interview as well as the rest. Lucre, as we said, being but seldom at Castle c.u.mber, was ignorant of Raymond's person and character, and, indeed, we may add, that he stood in a position precisely similar with respect to almost every one of his own flock. When Raymond entered, then, he was addressed in much the same terms as the others.

"Well, friend, what is your business?--

"John, admit no more, and let the carriage come round--are you a convert also?"

"Yes, I am; what have you to give me?"

"A pure and peaceful religion, my friend."

"Where is it?"

"In this book--this is the Word of G.o.d, that preacheth peace and salvation to all."

"Has Val M'Clutchy this book?"

"Of course he has--it is not to be supposed that so able and staunch a friend of Protestantism, of the religion of the state, could be without this book, or ignorant of it."

Raymond put it tip to his nose, and after seeming to smell it, said, with a strong shudder, "how did you do this among you? How did you do it?--look at it--see, see, it's dripping wid blood--here's murder on this page, there's starvation on that--there's the blood-hounds huntin'--look, sir, look at the poor creature almost worn down, makin'

his way to hide, but he can't; they have him, they have him--see how they drag him, as if he was, a--ay, drag, drag, he's yours now, he's yours--whip and scourge, whip and scourge--more blood, more blood--and this is it, this--don't you see it, sir, comin' down in drops when I hould it up that way!"

"My good friend, you are certainly in liquor--your language is that of a man strongly affected by drink."