



Produced by David Widger





ST. PATRICK'S EVE

By Charles James Lever

Illustr. by Phiz.


London:

Chapman And Hall, 186 Strand.

MDCCCXLV.




TO MY CHILDREN

MY DEAR CHILDREN,

There are few things less likely than that it will ever be your lot
to exercise any of the rights or privileges of landed property. It may
chance, however, that even in your humble sphere, there may be those
who shall look up to you for support, and be, in some wise, dependent
on your will; if so, pray let this little story have its lesson in your
hearts, think, that when I wrote it, I desired to inculcate the truth,
that prosperity has as many duties as adversity has sorrows; that those
to whom Providence has accorded many blessings are but the stewards of
His bounty to the poor; and that the neglect of an obligation so sacred
as this charity is a grievous wrong, and may be the origin of evils
for which all your efforts to do good through life will be but a poor
atonement.

Your affectionate Father,

CHARLES LEVER.

Templeogue, March 1, 1845.



[Illustration: 012]




FIRST ERA.

IT was on the 16th of March, the eve of St. Patrick, not quite twenty
years ago, that a little village on the bank of Lough Corrib was
celebrating in its annual fair "the holy times," devoting one day to
every species of enjoyment and pleasure, and on the next, by practising
prayers and penance of various kinds, as it were to prepare their minds
to resume their worldly duties in a frame of thought more seemly and
becoming.

If a great and wealthy man might smile at the humble preparations for
pleasure displayed on this occasion, he could scarcely scoff at the
scene which surrounded them. The wide valley, encircled by lofty
mountains, whose swelling outlines were tracked against the blue sky, or
mingled gracefully with clouds, whose forms were little less fantastic
and wild. The broad lake, stretching away into the distance, and either
lost among the mountain-passes, or contracting as it approached the
ancient city of Galway: a few, and but very few, islands marked its
surface, and these rugged and rocky; on one alone a human trace was
seen-the ruins of an ancient church; it was a mere gable now, but you
could still track out the humble limits it had occupied-scarce space
sufficient for twenty persons: such were once, doubtless, the full
number of converts to the faith who frequented there. There was a wild
and savage grandeur in the whole: the very aspect of the mountains
proclaimed desolation, and seemed to frown defiance at the efforts of
man to subdue them to his use; and even the herds of wild cattle seemed
to stray with caution among the cliffs and precipices of this dreary
region. Lower down, however, and as if in compensation of the infertile
tract above, the valley was marked by patches of tillage and grass-land,
and studded with cottages; which, if presenting at a nearer inspection
indubitable signs of poverty, yet to the distant eye bespoke something
of rural comfort, nestling as they often did beneath some large rock,
and sheltered by the great turf-stack, which even the poorest possessed.
Many streams wound their course through this valley; along whose
borders, amid a pasture brighter than the emerald, the cattle grazed,
and there, from time to time some peasant child sat fishing as he
watched the herd.

Shut in by lake and mountain, this seemed a little spot apart from all
the world; and so, indeed, its inhabitants found it. They were a poor
but not unhappy race of people, whose humble lives had taught them
nothing of the comforts and pleasures of richer communities. Poverty
had, from habit, no terrors for them; short of actual want, they never
felt its pressure heavily.

Such were they who now were assembled to celebrate the festival of their
Patron Saint. It was drawing towards evening; the sun was already low,
and the red glare that shone from behind the mountains shewed that he
was Bear his setting. The business of the fair was almost concluded;
the little traffic so remote a region could supply, the barter of a few
sheep, the sale of a heifer, a mountain pony, or a flock of goats, had
all passed off; and now the pleasures of the occasion were about to
succeed. The votaries to amusement, as if annoyed at the protracted
dealings of the more worldly minded, were somewhat rudely driving away
the cattle that still continued to linger about; and pigs and poultry
were beginning to discover that they were merely intruders. The canvass
booths, erected as shelter against the night-air, were becoming crowded
with visitors; and from more than one of the number the pleasant sounds
of the bagpipe might now be heard, accompanied by the dull shuffling
tramp of heavily-shod feet.

[Illustration: 016]

Various shows and exhibitions were also in preparation, and singular
announcements were made by gentlemen in a mingled costume of Turk and
Thimble-rigger, of "wonderful calves with two heads;" "six-legged pigs;"
and an "infant of two years old that could drink a quart of spirits at a
draught, if a respectable company were assembled to witness it;"-a feat
which, for the honour of young Ireland, it should be added, was ever
postponed from a deficiency in the annexed condition.

Then there were "restaurants" on a scale of the most primitive
simplicity, where boiled beef or "spoleen" was sold from a huge
pot, suspended over a fire in the open air, and which was invariably
surrounded by a gourmand party of both sexes; gingerbread and cakes of
every fashion and every degree of indigestion also abounded; while
jugs and kegs flanked the entrance to each tent, reeking with a
most unmistakable odour of that prime promoter of native drollery and
fun--poteen. All was stir, movement, and bustle; old friends, separated
since the last occasion of a similar festivity, were embracing
cordially, the men kissing with an affectionate warmth no German ever
equalled; pledges of love and friendship were taken in brimming glasses
by many, who were perhaps to renew the opportunity for such testimonies
hereafter, by a fight that very evening; contracts, ratified by whisky,
until that moment not deemed binding; and courtships, prosecuted with
hopes, which the whole year previous had never suggested; kind
speeches and words of welcome went round; while here and there some
closely-gathered heads and scowling glances gave token, that other
scores were to be acquitted on that night than merely those of commerce;
and in the firmly knitted brow, and more firmly grasped blackthorn, a
practised observer could foresee, that some heads were to carry away
deeper marks of that meeting, than simple memory can impress;--and thus,
in this wild sequestered spot, human passions were as rife as in the
most busy communities of pampered civilisation. Love, hate, and hope,
charity, fear, forgiveness, and malice; long-smouldering revenge,
long--subdued affection; hearts pining beneath daily drudgery, suddenly
awakened to a burst of pleasure and a renewal of happiness in the sight
of old friends, for many a day lost sight of; words of good cheer;
half mutterings of menace; the whispered syllables of love; the
deeply-uttered tones of vengeance; and amid all, the careless reckless
glee of those, who appeared to feel the hour one snatched from the grasp
of misery, and devoted to the very abandonment of pleasure. It seemed in
vain that want and poverty had shed their chilling influence over hearts
like these. The snow-drift and the storm might penetrate their frail
dwellings; the winter might blast, the hurricane might scatter their
humble hoardings; but still, the bold high-beating spirit that lived
within, beamed on throughout every trial; and now, in the hour of
long-sought enjoyment, blazed forth in a flame of joy, that was all but
frantic.

The step that but yesterday fell wearily upon the ground, now smote the
earth with a proud beat, that told of manhood's daring; the voices were
high, the eyes were flashing; long pent-up emotions of every shade and
complexion were there; and it seemed a season where none should wear
disguise, but stand forth in all the fearlessness of avowed resolve;
and in the heart-home looks of love, as well as in the fiery glances of
hatred, none practised concealment. Here, went one with his arm round
his sweetheart's waist,--an evidence of accepted affection none dared
even to stare at; there, went another, the skirt of his long loose coat
thrown over his arm, in whose hand a stick was brandished--his gesture,
even without his wild hurroo! an open declaration of battle, a challenge
to all who liked it. Mothers were met in close conclave, interchanging
family secrets and cares; and daughters, half conscious of the parts
they themselves were playing in the converse, passed looks of sly
intelligence to each other. And beggars were there too--beggars of a
class which even the eastern Dervish can scarcely vie with: <DW36>s
brought many a mile away from their mountain-homes to extort charity by
exhibitions of dreadful deformity; the halt, the blind, the muttering
idiot, the moping melanc holy mad, mixed up with strange and motley
figures in patched uniforms and rags--some, amusing the crowd by their
drolleries, some, singing a popular ballad of the time--while through
all, at every turn and every corner, one huge fellow, without legs, rode
upon an ass, his wide chest ornamented by a picture of himself, and a
paragraph setting forth his infirmities. He, with a voice deeper than
a bassoon, bellowed forth his prayer for alms, and seemed to monopolise
far more than his proportion of charity, doubtless owing to the more
artistic development to which he had brought his profession.

[Illustration: 020]

"De prayers of de holy Joseph be an yez, and relieve de maimed; de
prayers and blessins of all de Saints on dem that assists de suffering!"
And there were pilgrims, some with heads venerable enough for the
canvass of an old master, with flowing beards, and relics hung round
their necks, objects of worship which failed not to create sentiments of
devotion in the passers-by. But among these many sights and sounds, each
calculated to appeal to different classes and ages of the motley mass,
one object appeared to engross a more than ordinary share of attention;
and although certainly not of a nature to draw marked notice elsewhere,
was here sufficiently strange and uncommon to become actually a
spectacle. This was neither more nor less than an English groom, who,
mounted upon a thorough-bred horse, led another by the bridle, and
slowly paraded backwards and forwards, in attendance on his master.

"Them's the iligant bastes, Darby," said one of the bystanders, as the
horses moved past. "A finer pair than that I never seen."

"They're beauties, and no denying it," said the other; "and they've
skins like a looking-glass."

"Arrah, botheration t' yez! what are ye saying about their skins?" cried
a third, whose dress and manner betokened one of the jank of a small
farmer. "'Tis the breeding that's in 'em; that's the raal beauty. Only
look at their pasterns; and see how fine they run off over the quarter."

"Which is the best now, Phil?" said another, addressing the last speaker
with a tone of some deference.

"The grey horse is worth two of the dark chesnut," replied Phil
oracularly.

"Is he, then!" cried two or three in a breath. "Why is that, Phil?"

"Can't you perceive the signs of blood about the ears? They're long, and
coming to a point--"

"You're wrong this time, my friend," said a sharp voice, with an accent
which in Ireland would be called English. "You may be an excellent
judge of an ass, but the horse you speak of, as the best, is not worth
a fourth part of the value of the other." And so saying, a young and
handsome man, attired in a riding costume, brushed somewhat rudely
through the crowd, and seizing the rein of the led horse, vaulted
lightly into the saddle and rode off, leaving Phil to the mockery and
laughter of the crowd, whose reverence for the opinion of a gentleman
was only beneath that they accorded to the priest himself.

"Faix, ye got it there, Phil!" "'Tis down on ye he was that time!"
"Musha, but ye may well get red in the face!" Such and such-like
were the comments on one who but a moment before was rather a popular
candidate for public honours.

"Who is he, then, at all?" said one among the rest, and who had come up
too late to witness the scene.

"'Tis the young Mr. Leslie, the landlord's son, that's come over to fish
the lakes," replied an old man reverentially.

"Begorra, he's no landlord of mine, anyhow," said Phil, now speaking for
the first time. "I hould under Mister Martin, and his family was here
before the Leslies was heard of." These words were said with a certain
air of defiance, and a turn of the head around him, as though to imply,
that if any one would gainsay the opinion, he was ready to stand by and
maintain it. Happily for the peace of the particular moment, the crowd
were nearly all Martins, and so, a simple buzz of approbation followed
this announcement. Nor did their attention dwell much longer on the
matter, as most were already occupied in watching the progress of the
young man, who, at a fast swinging gallop, had taken to the fields
beside the lake, and was now seen flying in succession over each <DW18>
and wall before him, followed by his groom. The Irish passion for feats
of horsemanship made this the most fascinating attraction of the fair;
and already, opinions ran high among the crowd, that it was a race
between the two horses, and more than one maintained, that "the little
chap with the belt" was the better horseman of the two. At last, having
made a wide circuit of the village and the green, the riders were seen
slowly moving down, as if returning to the fair.

There is no country where manly sports and daring exercises are held
in higher repute than Ireland. The chivalry that has died out in richer
lands still reigns there; and the fall meed of approbation will ever be
his, who can combine address and courage before an Irish crowd. It is
needless to say, then, that many a word of praise and commendation
was bestowed on young Leslie. His handsome features, his slight but
well-formed figure, every particular of his dress and gesture, had
found an advocate and an admirer; and while some were lavish in their
epithets on the perfection of his horsemanship, others, who had seen him
on foot, asserted, "that it was then he looked well entirely." There is
a kind of epidemic character pertaining to praise. The snow-ball gathers
not faster by rolling, than do the words of eulogy and approbation; and
so now, many recited little anecdotes of the youth's father, to shew
that he was a very pattern of landlords and country gentlemen, and had
only one fault in life,--that he never lived among his tenantry.

"'Tis the first time I ever set eyes on him," cried one, "and I hould my
little place under him twenty-three years come Michaelmas."

"See now then, Barney," cried another, "I'd rather have a hard man that
would stay here among us, than the finest landlord ever was seen that
would be away from us. And what's the use of compassion and pity when
the say would be between us? 'Tis the Agent we have to look to."

"Agent! 'Tis wishing them, I am, the same Agents! Them's the boys has
no marcy for a poor man: I'm tould now"--and here the speaker assumed
a tone of oracular seriousness that drew several listeners towards
him--"I'm tould now, the Agents get a guinea for every man, woman, and
child they turn out of a houldin." A low murmur of indignant anger ran
through the group, not one of whom ventured to disbelieve a testimony
thus accredited.

"And sure when the landlords does come, devil a bit they know about
us--no more nor if we were in Swayden; didn't I hear the ould gentleman
down there last summer, pitying the people for the distress. 'Ah,' says
he, 'it's a hard sayson ye have, and obliged to tear the flax out of the
ground, and it not long enough to cut!'"

A ready burst of laughter followed this anecdote, and many similar
stories were recounted in corroboration of the opinion.

[Illustration: 027]

"That's the girl takes the shine out of the fair," said one of the
younger men of the party, touching another by the arm, and pointing to a
tall young girl, who, with features as straight and regular as a classic
model, moved slowly past. She did not wear the scarlet cloak of the
peasantry, but a large one of dark blue, lined with silk of the same
colour; a profusion of brown hair, dark and glossy, was braided on each
side of her face, and turned up at the back of the head with the grace
of an antique cameo. She seemed not more than nineteen years of age, and
in the gaze of astonishment and pleasure she threw around her, it might
be seen how new such scenes and sights were to her.

"That's Phil Joyce's sister, and a crooked disciple of a brother she
has," said the other; "sorra bit if