The Evil Eye; Or, The Black Spector Part 8

Here Barney once more repeated the message, with which the reader is already acquainted.

"You are all to come," he proceeded, "ould and young; and to bring every one a backload of sticks and brusna to help to make the bonfire."

"Is this message from the masther or misthress, Barney?" asked Davoren.

"O, straight from himself," he replied. "I have it from his own lips.

Troth he's ready to leap out of his skin wid delight."

"Bekaise," added Davoren, "if it came from the misthress, the sorrow foot either I or any one of my family would set near her; but from himself, that's a horse of another color. Tell him, Barney, we'll be there, and bring what we can to help the bonfire."

Until this moment the young fellow at the fire never uttered a syllable, nor seemed in the slightest degree conscious that there was any person in the house but himself. He was now engaged in masticating the potatoes, and eggs, the latter of which he ate with a thin splinter of bog deal, which served as a subst.i.tute for an egg-spoon, and which is to-this day used among the poor for the same purpose in the remoter parts of Ireland. At length he spoke:

"This won't be a good night for a bonfire anyhow."

"Why, Andy, _abouchal?_" (my boy.)

"Bekaise, mudher, _the storm was in the fire_* last night when I was rakin' it."

* This is a singular phenomenon, which, so far as I am aware, has never yet been noticed by any Irish or Scotch writers when describing the habits and usages of the people in either country. When stirring the _greeshaugh_, or red- hot ashes, at night at the settling, or mending, or Taking of the fire, a blue, phosphoric-looking light is distinctly visible in the embers, and the more visible in proportion to the feebleness of the light emitted by the fire. It is only during certain states of the atmosphere that this is seen.

It is always considered as as prognostic of severe weather, and its appearance is termed as above.

"Then we'll have rough weather," said his father; "no doubt of that."

"Don't be afeard," said Barney, laughing; "take my word for it, if there's to be rough weather, and that some witch or wizard has broken bargain with the devil, the misthress has intherest to get it put off till the bonfire's over."

He then bade them good-by, and took his departure to fulfil his agreeable and welcome mission. Indeed, he spent the greater portion of the day not only in going among the tenants in person, but in sending the purport of the said mission to be borne upon the four winds of heaven through every quarter of the barony; after which he proceeded to the little market-town of Rathfillan, where he secured the services of two fiddlers and two pipers. This being accomplished, he returned home to his master's, ripe and ready for both dinner and supper; for, as he had missed the former meal, he deemed it most judicious to kill, as he said, the two birds with one stone, by demolis.h.i.+ng them both together.

CHAPTER V. The Bonfire--The Prodigy.

Andy Davoren's prognostic, so far as the appearance of the weather went, seemed, at a first glance, to be literally built on ashes. A calm, mild, and glorious serenity lay upon the earth; the atmosphere was clear and golden; the light of the sun shot in broad, transparent beams across the wooded valleys, and poured its radiance upon the forest tops, which seemed empurpled with its rich and glowing tones. All the usual signs of change! or rough weather were wanting. Everything was quiet; and a general stillness was abroad, which, when a sound did occur, caused it to be heard at an unusual distance. Not a breath of air stirred the trees, which stood as motionless as if they had been carved of marble.

Notwithstanding all these auspicious appearances, there were visible to a clear observer of nature some significant symptoms of a change. The surfaces of pools and rivers were covered with large white bubbles, which are always considered as indications of coming rain. The dung heaps, and the pools generally attached to them, emitted a fetid and offensive smell; and the pigs were seen to carry straw into their sties, or such rude covers as had been constructed for them.

In the meantime the dinner party in Lindsay's were enjoying themselves in a spirit quite as genial as his hospitality. It consisted of two or three country squires, a Captain Dowd--seldom sober--a pair of twin brothers, named Gumming, with a couple of half sirs--a cla.s.s of persons who bore the same relation to a gentleman that a salmon-trout does to a salmon. The Protestant clergyman of the parish was there--a jocund, rattling fellow, who loved his gla.s.s, his dog, his gun, and, if fame did not belie him, paid more devotion to his own enjoyments than he did to his Bible. He dressed in the extreme of fas.h.i.+on, and was a regular dandy parson of that day. There also was! Father Magauran, the parish priest, a rosy-faced, jovial little man, with a humorous! twinkle in his blue eye, and an anterior rotundity of person that betokened a moderate relish for the convivialities. Altogether it was a merry meeting; and of the host himself it might be said that he held as conspicuous a place in the mirth as he did in the hospitality.

"Come, gentleman," said he, after the ladies had retired to the withdrawing-room, "come, gentlemen, fill high; fill your gla.s.ses."

"Troth," said the priest, "we'd put a heap on them, if we could."

"Right, Father Magauran; do put a heap on them, if you can; but, at all events, let them be brimmers; I'm going to propose a toast."

"Let it be a lady, Lindsay, if you love me," said the parson, filling his gla.s.s.

"Sorra hair I care if it is," said the priest, "provided she's dacent and attends her duty; go on, squire; give us her name at once, and don't keep the parson's teeth watering."

"Be quiet, reverend gentlemen," said Lindsay, laughing; "how can a man speak when you take the words out of his mouth?"

"The Lord forbid we'd swallow them, though," subjoined the parson; "if we did, we'd not be long in a state of decent sobriety."

"Talk about something you understand, my worthy friends, and, allow me to proceed," replied the host; "don't you know that every interruption keeps you from your gla.s.s? Gentlemen, I have great pleasure in proposing the health of my excellent and worthy step-son, who has, after a long absence, made me and all my family happy by his return amongst us. I am sure you will all like him when you come to know him, and that the longer you know him, the better you will like him. Come now, let me see the bottom of every man's gla.s.s uppermost. I do not address myself directly to the parson or the priest, because that, I know, would be, as the latter must admit, a want of confidence in their kindness.

"Parson," said the priest, in a whisper, "that last observation is gratifying from Lindsay."

"Lindsay is a gentleman," replied the other, in the same voice; "and the most popular magistrate in the barony. Come, then."

Here the worthy gentleman's health was drank with great enthusiasm, after which he thanked them in very grateful and courteous terms, paying at the same time, some rather handsome compliments to the two clergymen with respect to the appropriate gravity and exquisite polish of their manners. He saw the rapidity with which they had gulped down the wine, and felt their rudeness in interrupting Mr. Lindsay, when about to propose his health, as offensive, and he retorted it upon them with peculiar irony, that being one of the talents, which, among others, he had inherited from his mother.

"I cannot but feel myself happy," said he, "in returning to the roof of so hospitable a father; but sensible to the influences of religion, as I humbly trust I am, I must express a still higher gratification in having the delightful opportunity of making the acquaintance of two reverend gentlemen, whose proper and becoming example will, I am sure, guide my steps--if I have only grace to follow it--into those serious and primitive habits which characterize themselves, and are so decent and exemplary in the ministers of religion. They may talk of the light of the gospel; but, if I don't mistake, the light of the gospel itself might pale its ineffectual fires before that which s.h.i.+nes in their apostolic countenances."

The mirth occasioned by this covert, but comical, rebuke, fell rather humorously upon the two worthy gentlemen, who, being certainly good-natured and excellent men, laughed heartily.

"That's a neat speech," said the parson, "but not exactly appropriate.

Father Tom and I are quite unworthy of the compliment he has paid us."

"Neat," said Father Tom; "I don't know whether the gentleman has a profession or not; but from the tone and spirit in which he spoke, I think that if he has taken up any other than that of his church, he has missed his vocation. My dear parson, he talks of the light of our countenances--a light that is lit by hospitality on the one hand, and moderate social enjoyment on the other. It is a light, however, that neither of us would exchange for a pale face and an eye that seems to have something mysterious at the back of it."

"Come, come, Harry," said Lindsay, "you mustn't be bantering these two gentlemen; as I said of yourself, the longer you know them the better you will relish them. They have both too much sense to carry religion about with them like a pair of hawkers, crying out 'who'll buy, who'll buy;' neither do they wear long faces, nor make themselves disagreeable by dragging religion into every subject that becomes the topic of conversation. On the contrary, they are cheerful, moderately social, and to my own knowledge, with all their pleasantry, are active exponents of much practical benevolence to the poor. Come, man, take your wine, and enjoy good company."

"Lindsay," said one of the guests, a magistrate, "how are we to get the country quiet? Those rapparees and outlaws will play the devil with us if we don't put them down. That young scoundrel, _Shawn na Middogue_, is at the head of them it is said, and, it would seem, possesses the power of making himself invisible; for we cannot possibly come at him, although he has been often seen by others."

"Why, what has been Shawn's last exploit?"

"Nothing that I have heard of since Bingham's robbery; but there is none of us safe. Have you your house and premises secured?"

"Not I," replied Lindsay, "unless by good bolts and bars, together with plenty of arms and ammunition."

"How is it that these fellows are not taken?" asked another.

"Because the people protect them," said a third; "and because they have strength and activity; and thirdly, because we have no adequate force to put them down."

"All very sound reasons," replied the querist; but as to _Shawn na Middogue_, the people are impressed with a belief that he is under the protection of the fairies, and can't be taken on this account. Even if they were willing to give him up, which they are not, they dare not make the attempt, lest the vengeance of the fairies might come down on themselves and their cattle, in a thousand shapes."

"I will tell you what the general opinion upon the subject is," replied the other. "It seems his foster-mother was a midwife, and that she was called upon once, about the hour of midnight, to discharge the duties of her profession toward a fairyman's wife, and this she refused to do unless they conferred some gift either upon herself personally, or upon some one whom she should name. Young Shawn, it appears, was her favorite, and she got a solemn promise from them to take him under their protection, and to preserve him from danger. This is the opinion of the people; but whether it is true or not I won't undertake to determine."

"Come, gentlemen," said their host, "push the bottle; remember we must attend the bonfire."

"So," said the magistrate, "you are sending us to blazes, Mr. Lindsay."

"Well, at all events, my friends," continued Mr. Lindsay, "we must make haste, for there's little time to spare. Take your liquor, for we must soon be off. The evening is delightful. If you are for coffee, let us adjourn to the ladies; and after the bonfire we will return and make a night of it."

"Well said, Lindsay," replied the parson; "and so we will."

"Here, you young stranger," said the priest, addressing Woodward, "I'll drink your health once more in this b.u.mper. You touched us off decently enough, but a little too much on the sharp, as you would admit if you knew us. Your health again, sir, and you are welcome among us!"

"Thank you, sir," replied Woodward; "I am glad to see that you can bear a jest from me or my father, even when it is at your own expense--your health."