Phelim Otoole's Courtship and Other Stories Part 34

"I hope, Frank, you don't imagine that there's any danger of drink?"

"Who, me--why should I, afther what pa.s.sed? Didn't you give me your word, and isn't your name Maguire? Not I."

Art had seen, and approved of the pattern, and was chatting with Syl, when a knock came to the room door in which they sat; Syl rose, and opening the door, immediately closed it after him, and began in a low voice to remonstrate with some persons outside. At length Art could hear the subject of debate pretty well--

"Sorra foot yez will put inside the room this evenin', above all evenin's in the year."

"Why, sure we know he won't drink. I wish to goodness we knew he had been here; we wouldn't ax him to drink, bekase we know he wouldn't.

"No matther for that, sorrow foot yez'll put acra.s.s the thrashel this evenin'; now, I'll toll you what, Skinadre, I wouldn't this blessed minute, for all I've earned these six months, that ye came this evenin';--I have my raisons for it; Art Maguire is a boy that we have no right to compare ourselves wid--you all know that."

"We all know it, and there's n.o.body denyin' it; we haven't the blood in our veins that he has, an' blood will show itself anywhere."

"Well then, boys, for his sake--an' I know you'd do any day for his sake what you wouldn't, nor what you oughtn't, for mine--for his sake, I say, go off wid yez, and bring your liquor somewhere else, or sure wait till to-morrow evenin'."

"Out of respect for Art Maguire we'll go; an' divil another boy in the province we'd pay that respect to; good-evenin', Syl!"

"Aisy, boys," said Art, coming to the door, "don't let me frighten you--come in--I'd be very sorry to be the means of spoilin' sport, although I can't drink myself; that wouldn't be generous--come in."

"Augh," said Skinadre, "by the livin' it's in him, an' I always knew it was--the rale drop."

"Boys," said Harte, "go off wid yez out o' this, I say; divil a foot you'll come in."

"Arra go to--Jimmaiky; who cares about you, Syl, when we have Art's liberty? Sure we didn't know the thing ourselves half an hour ago."

"Come, Syl, man alive," said Art, "let the poor fellows enjoy their liquor, an', as I can't join yez, I'll take my hat an' be off."

"I knew it, an' bad luck to yez, how yez 'ud drive him away," said Syl, quite angry.

"Faix, if we disturb you, Art, we're off--that 'ud be too bad; yes, Syl, you were right, it was very thoughtless of us: Art, we ax your pardon, sorra one of us meant you any offence in life--come, boys."

Art's generosity was thus fairly challenged, and he was not to be outdone--

"Aisy, boys," said he; "sit down; I'll not go, if that'll plaise yez; sure you'll neither eat me nor dhrink me."

"Well, there's jist one word you said, Slanty, that makes me submit to it," observed Harte, "an' that is, that it was accident your comin' at all;" he here looked significantly at Art, as if to remind him of their previous conversation on that day, and as he did it, his face gradually a.s.sumed a complacent expression, as much as to say, it's now clear that this cannot be the trap they designed for you, otherwise it wouldn't be accidental. Art understood him, and returned a look which satisfied the other that he did so.

As they warmed in their liquor, or pretended to get warm, many sly attempts to entrap him were made, every one of which was openly and indignantly opposed by Harte, who would not suffer them to offer him a drop.

It is not our intention to dwell upon these matters: at present it is sufficient to say, that after a considerable part of the evening had been spent, Harte rose up, and called upon them all to fill their gla.s.ses--

"And," he added, "as this is a toast that ought always to bring a full gla.s.s to the mouth, and an empty one from it, I must take the liberty of axin Art himself to fill a b.u.mper."

The latter looked at him with a good deal of real surprise, as the others did with that which was of a very different description.

"Skinadre," proceeded Harte, "will you hand over the cowld wather, for a b.u.mper it must be, if it was vitriol." He then filled Art's gla.s.s with water, and proceeded--"Stand up, boys, and be proud, as you have a right to be; here's the health of Frank Maguire, and the ould blood of Ireland!--hip, hip, hurra!"

"Aisy, boys," said Art, whose heart was fired by this unexpected compliment, paid to a brother whom he loved so well, and who, indeed, so well, deserved his love; "aisy, boys," he proceeded, "hand me the whiskey; if it was to be my last, I'll never drink my brother's health in cowld wather."

"Throth an' you will this time," said Harte, "undher this roof spirits won't cra.s.s; your lips, an' you know for why."

"I know but one thing," replied Art, "that as you said yourself, if it was vitriol, I'd dhrink it for the best brother that ever lived; I only promised him that I wouldn't get dhrunk, an' sure, drinkin' a gla.s.s o'

whiskey, or three either, wouldn't make me dhrunk--so hand it here."

"Well, Art," said Harte, "there's one man you can't blame for this, and that is Syl Harte."

"No, Syl, never--but now, boys, I am ready."

"Frank Maguire's health! hip, hip, hurra!"

Thus was a fine, generous-minded, and affectionate young man--who possessed all the candor and absence of suspicion which characterize truth--tempted and triumphed over, partly through the very warmth of his own affections, by a set of low, cunning profligates, who felt only anxious to drag him down from the moral superiority which they felt he possessed. That he was vain, and fond of praise, they knew, and our readers may also perceive that it was that unfortunate vanity which gave them the first advantage over him, by bringing him, through its influence, among them. Late that night he was carried home on a door, in a state of unconscious intoxication.

It is utterly beyond our power to describe the harrowing state of his sensations on awakening the next morning. Abas.e.m.e.nt, repentance, remorse, all combined as they were within him, fall far short of what he felt; he was degraded in his own eyes, deprived of self-respect, and stripped of every claim to the confidence of his brother, as he was to the well-known character for integrity which had been until then inseparable from the name. That, however, which pressed upon him with the most intense bitterness was the appalling reflection that he could no longer depend upon himself, nor put any trust in his own resolutions.

Of what use was he in the world without a will of his own, and the power of abiding by its decisions? None; yet what was to be done? He could not live out of the world, and wherever he went, its temptations would beset him. Then there was his beloved Margaret Murray! was he to make her the wife of a common drunkard? or did she suspect, when she pledged herself to him, that she was giving away her heart and affections to a poor unmanly sot, who had not sense or firmness to keep himself sober? He felt in a state between distraction and despair, and putting his hands over his face, he wept bitterly. To complete the picture, his veins still throbbed with the dry fever that follows intoxication, his stomach was in a state of deadly sickness and loathing, and his head felt exactly as if it would burst or fly asunder.

Alas! had his natural character been properly understood and judiciously managed; had he been early taught to understand and to control his own obvious errors; had the necessity of self-reliance, firmness, and independence been taught him; had his principles not been enfeebled by the foolish praise of his family, nor his vanity inflated by their senseless appeals to it--it is possible, nay, almost certain, that he would, even at this stage of his life, have been completely free from the failings which are beginning even now to undermine the whole strength of his moral const.i.tution.

Frank's interview with him on this occasion was short but significant--

"Art," said he, "you know I never was a man of many words; and I'm not goin' to turn over a new lafe now. To scould you is not my intention--nor to listen to your promises. All I have to say is, that you have broken your word, and disgraced your name. As for me, I can put neither confidence nor trust in you any longer; neither will I."

A single tear was visible on his cheek as he pa.s.sed out of the room; and when he did, Art's violent sobs were quite audible. Indeed, if truth must be told, Frank's distress was nearly equal to his brother's.

What, however, was to be done? He was too ill to attend his business, a circ.u.mstance which only heightened his distress; for he knew that difficult as was the task of encountering his master, and those who would only enjoy his remorse, still even that was less difficult to be borne than the scourge of his own reflections. At length a thought occurred, which appeared to give him some relief; that thought he felt was all that now remained to him, for as it was clear that he could no longer depend on himself, it was necessary that he should find something else on which to depend. He accordingly sent an intimation to his master that he wished to have a few minutes' conversation with him, if he could spare time; M'Carroll accordingly came, and found him in a state which excited the worthy man's compa.s.sion.

"Well, Art," said he, "what is it you wish to speak to me about? I hear you were drunk last night. Now I thought you had more sense than to let these fellows put you into such a pickle. I have a fine, well-conducted set of men in general; but there is among them a hardened, hackneyed crew, who, because they are good workmen, don't care a curse about either you or me, or anybody else. They're always sure of employment, if not here, at least elsewhere, or, indeed, anywhere."

"But it wasn't their fault," replied Art, "it was altogether my own; they were opposed to my drinkin' at all, especially as they knew that I promised Frank never to get drunk agin. It was when Syl Harte proposed Frank's health, that I drank the whiskey in spite o' them."

"Syl Harte," said his master with a smile, "ay, I was thinkin' so; well, no matter, Art, have strength and resolution not to do the like again."

"But that's the curse, sir," replied the young man, "I have neither the one nor the other, and it's on that account I sent for you."

"How is that, Art?"

"Why," said the other, "I am goin' to bind myself--I am goin' to swear against it, and so to make short work of it, and for fraid any one might prevent me"--he blessed himself, and proceeded--"I now, in the presence of G.o.d, swear upon this blessed manwil (* Manual) that a drop of spirituous drink, or liquor of any kind, won't cross my lips for the next seven years, barrin' it may be necessary as medicine;" he then kissed the book three times, blessed himself again, and sat down considerably relieved.

"Now," he added, "you may tell them what I've done; that's seven years'

freedom, thank G.o.d; for I wouldn't be the slave of whiskey--the greatest of tyrants--for the wealth of Europe."

"No, but the worst of it is, Art," replied his m ister, who was an exceedingly shrewd man, "that whiskey makes a man his own tyrant and his own slave, both at the same time, and that's more than the greatest tyrant that ever lived did yet. As for yourself, you're not fit to work any this day, so I think you ought to take a stretch across the country, and walk off the consequence of your debauch with these fellows last night."

Art now felt confidence and relief; he had obtained the very precise aid of which he stood in need. The danger was now over, and a prop placed under his own feeble resolution, on which he could depend with safety; here there could be no tampering with temptation; the matter was clear, explicit, and decisive: so far all was right, and, as we have said, his conscience felt relieved of a weighty burden.

His brother, on hearing it from his own lips, said little, yet that little was not to discourage him; he rather approved than otherwise, but avoided expressing any very decided opinion on it, one way or the other.

"It's a pity," said he, "that want of common resolution should drive a man to take an oath; if you had tried your own strength, a little farther, Art, who knows but you might a' gained a victory without it, and that would be more creditable and manly than swearin'; still, the temptation to drink is great to some people, and this prevents all possibility of fallin' into it."

Art, who, never having dealt in any thing disingenuous himself, was slow to credit duplicity in others, did not once suspect that the profligates had played him off this trick, rather to annoy the brother than himself.

It was, after all, nothing but the discreditable triumph of cunning and debased minds, over the inexperience, or vanity, if you will, of one, who, whatever his foibles might be, would himself scorn to take an ungenerous advantage of confidence reposed in him in consequence of his good opinion and friendly feeling.