was only communicated in an atmosphere medicated, as it were, by the divine word, increased with their experieace of its manifold advantages. Once only was the voice of calumny raised against it. Mr. O'Connell was led, by some misstatement which appeared, to denounce it, as though it was unfaithful to its pledges, and did interfere with the religious principles of the Roman Catholic pupils, in such a way as might justly excite the suspicions and the hostility of the members of the church of Rome. The Association felt themselves immediately called upon to repel this false accusation. Legal proceedings were forthwith taken against the demagogue, who, when he found that his charges could not be sustained, had the good sense to contradict them as publicly as they were made, and consented to pay the costs of any proceedings which the Association had taken, upon the understanding that they would be satisfied with the atonement that had been made, and not proceed in the business any further. This, therefore, is the system upon which we would earnestly advise the enlightened friends of education in this country now to fall back; it is really the only one that can meet the present evils. Compromise has been tried long enough, and it has failed. Yea, it has only served to provoke and to increase the exorbitant and grasping demands of those, who will never be satisfied with any thing that is given, while any thing is withheld; to whom, in fact, concession is but an argument and a motive for encroachment; and who, indeed, argue, not unreasonably, that those who have, already, in their desire to conciliate, gone so far, have abandoned the only ground upon which they could safely stand in refusing to go any farther. We entertain no fears that the Derry proposal will find many advocates amongst the spiritually enlightened Protestants of Ireland. The clergy in general have loudly expressed their dissent. They will, as a body, never give their consent to any system of national instruction which does not proceed upon the admission of this truth, that "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wis dom." They can have no reliance upon any wisdom which has not its beginning in the fear of the Lord. They know very well that mere brute intelligence may be quickened, by culture, into a subtlety even surpassing the subtlety of the serpent. But such wisdom is earthly, sensual, devilish, and can only give additional power to the unmitigated depravity of our fallen nature. Above all things, they will never formally abandon their poor, benighted, Roman Catholic fellow-countrymen, to the uncontrolled despotism of their spiritual tyrants. Let the Derry proposal be agreed to, and one important function of the Established Church becomes forthwith paralysed. The clergy have, hitherto, held themselves ready to give, to every man who enquires of them, a reason for the faith that is in them. If an intelligent Roman Catholic child should now ask of any one who signed that recommendation for assistance to enable him to struggle out of the slough of popery, he must feel bound, by his own principle, to refer him to the priest for guidance, and might be fairly charged with want of good faith, if he aided in enabling him to dissipate his delusion. How can he, in such a case, fulfil his ordination vow, which requires of him to be always ready "to banish and drive away all erroneous and strange doctrine, contrary to God's word?" But we will not suppose, even for a single moment, that such a project will be entertained, which would confirm, and render almost irreversible, one of the most pernicious compacts ever entered into between a wicked or deluded government, and a hood-winked people. What the end may be we know not. The issues of things are not in our power. But this we well know, that the present is a case in which there is no halting between two opinions; in which it may be truly said, all those who are not for scriptural instruction, are against it; and respecting which every Protestant, who values sound doctrine or religious liberty, should say, from his inmost soul, away with it-it has the mark of the beast upon it "as for me and my house we will serve the Lord." FARDOROUGHA, THE MISER: OR, THE CONVICTS OF LISNAMONA. Author of "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry." It was on one of those nights in August, when the moon and stars shine through an atmosphere clear and cloudless, with a mildness of lustre almost continental, that a horseman, advancing at a rapid pace, turned off a remote branch of road up a narrow lane, and, dismounting before a neat whitewashed cottage, gave a quick and impatient knock at the door. Almost instantly, out of a small window that opened on hinges, was protruded a broad female face, surrounded, by way of nightcap, with several folds of flannel, that had originally been white. Is Mary Moan at home?" said the horseman. For a maricle-ay!" replied the female; "who's down in the name o' goodness?" Why, thin, I'm thinkin' you'll be smilin' whin you hear it," replied the messenger. The sorra one else than 'Honor Donovan, that's now marrid upon Fardorougha Donovan to the tune of thirteen years. Be dad, time for her, any how-but, sure it 'ill be good whin it comes, we're thinkin'." "Well, betther late than never-the Lord be praised for all his gifts, any how. Put your horse down to the mountin' stone, and I'll be wid you in half a jiffy, acushla." She immediately drew in her head, and ere the messenger had well placed his horse at the aforesaid stirrup, or mounting stone, which is an indispensible adjunct to the midwife's cottage, she issued out, cloaked and bonneted; for, in point of fact, her practice was so extensive, and the demands upon her attendance so incessant, that she seldom, if ever, slept, or went to bed, unless partially dressed. And such was her habit of vigilance, that she ultimately became an illustration of the old Roman proverb, Non dormio omnibus; that is to say, she could sleep as sound as a top to every possible noise except a knock at the door, to which she might be said, during the greater part of her professional life, to have been instinctively awake. Having ascended the mountingstone, and placed herself on the crupper, the guide and she, while passing down the narrow and difficult lane, along which they could proceed but slowly and with caution, entered into the following dialogue, she having first turned up the hood of her cloak over her bonnet, and tied a spotted cotton kerchief round her neck. "This," said the guide, who was Fardorougha Donovan's servant-man, "is a quare enough business, as some o' the nabours do be sayin'-marrid upon one another beyant thirteen year, an' ne'er a sign of a haporth. Why then begad it is quare." "Whisht, whisht;" replied Molly, with an expression of mysterious and superior knowledge; "dont be spakin' about what you dont understandsure, nuttin's impossible to God, avick dont you know that ?" "Oh, bedad, sure enough—that we must allow, whether or not, still"— "Very well; seein' that, what more have we to say, barrin' to hould our tongues. Childre sent late always come either for great good or great sarra to their paarents-an' God grant that this may be for good to the honest people-for indeed honest people they are, by all accounts. But what myself wonders at is, that Honor Donovan never once opened her lips to me about it. However, God's will be done! The Lord send her safe over all her throubles, poor woman! And, now that we're out o' this thief of a lane, lay an for the bare life, and never heed me. I'm as good a horseman as yourself; and, indeed, I've a good right, for I'm an ould hand at it." 66 'I'm thinkin'," she added, after a short silence, "it's odd I never was much acquainted with the Donovans. I'm tould they're a hard pack, that loves the money." "Faix," replied her companion, “let Fardarougha alone for knowin' the value of a shillin'!-they're not in Europe can hould a harder grip o' one. His master, in fact, was a hard frugal man, and his mistress a woman of somewhat a similar character: both were strictly honest, but, like many persons to whom God has denied offspring, their hearts had for a considerable time before been placed upon money as their idol; for, in truth, the affections must be fixed upon something, and we generally find that where children are denied, the world comes in and hardens by its influence the best and tenderest sympathies of humanity. After a journey of two miles they came out on a hay-track, that skirted an extensive and level sweep of meadow, along which they proceeded with as much speed as a pillionless midwife was capable of bearing. At length, on a gentle declivity facing the south, they espied in the distance the low, long whitewashed farm-house of Fardorougha Donovan. There was little of artificial ornament about the place, but much of the rough heart-stirring wildness of nature, as it appeared in a strong, vigorous district, well cultivated, but without being tamed down by those finer and more graceful touches, which now-a-days mark the skilful hand of the scientific agriculturist. To the left waved a beautiful hazle glen, which gradually softened away into the meadows above mentioned. Up behind the house stood an ancient plantation of whitethorn, which, during the month of May, diffused its fragrance, its beauty, and its melody over the whole farm. The plain garden was hedged round by the graceful poplar, whilst here and there were studded over the fields either single trees or small groups of mountain ash, a tree still more beautiful than the former. The small dells about the farm were closely covered with blackthorn and holly, with an occasional oak shooting up from some little cliff, and towering sturdily over its lowly companions. Here grew a thick interwoven mass of dog-tree, and upon a wild hedgerow, leaning like a beautiful wife upon a rugged husband, might be seen supported by clumps of blackthorn that most fragrant and exquisite of creepers the delicious honey-suckle. Add to this the neat appearance of the farm itself, with its meadows and cornfields waving to the soft sunny breeze of summer, and the reader may admit, that without possessing any striking features of pictorial effect, it would, nevertheless, be difficult to find an uplying farm upon which the eye could rest with greater satisfaction. Ere arriving at the house they were met by Fardorougha himself, a small man, with dark, but well-set features, which being at no time very placid, appeared now to be absolutely gloomy, yet marked by strong and profound anxiety. "Thank God!" he exclaimed on meeting them; "Is this Mary Moan?" "It is it is," she exclaimed: "how are all within ?-Am I in time ?" "Only poorly," he returned; "you are, I hope." The midwife, when they reached the door, got herself dismounted in all haste, and was about entering the house, when Fardorougha, laying his hand upon her shoulder, said in a tone of voice full of deep feeling— "I need say nothing to you: what you can do, you will do-but one thing I expect if you see danger, call in assistance. "It's all in the hands o' God, Fardorougha, acushla: be as aisy in your mind as you can if there's need for more help you'll hear it; so keep the man an' horse both ready." She then blessed herself, and entered the house, repeating a short prayer, or charm, which was supposed to possess uncommon efficacy in relieving cases of the nature she was then called upon to attend. Fardorough Donovan was a man of great good sense, and of strong, but not obvious or flexible feeling; that is to say, on strong occasions he felt accordingly, but exhibited no remarkable symptoms of emotion. In matters of a less important character, he was either deficient in sensibility altogether, or it affected him so slightly as not to be perceptible. What his dispositions and feelings might have been, had his parental affections and domestic sympathies been cultivated by the tender intercourse which subsists between a parent and his children, it is not easy to say. On such occasions many a new and delightful sensation-many a sweet trait of affection previously unknownand, oh! many, many a fresh impulse of rapturous emotion never before felt gushes out of the heart; all of which, were it not for the existence of ties so delightful, might have there lain, sealed up for ever. Where is the man who does not remember the strange impression of tumultuous delight which he experienced on finding himself a husband? And who does not recollect that nameless charm, amounting almost to a new sense, which pervaded his whole being with tenderness and transport on kissing the rose-bud lips of his firstborn babe? It is indeed by the ties of domestic life that the purity and affection and the general character of the human heart are best tried. What is there more beautiful than to see that fountain of tenderness multiplying its affections instead of diminishing them, according as claim after claim arises, to make fresh demands upon its love. Love, and especially parental love, like jealousy, increases by what it feeds on. But, oh! from what an unknown world of exquisite enjoyment are they shut out, to whom Providence has not Vouchsafed those beloved beings on whom the heart lavishes the whole fulness of its rapture! No wonder, that their own affections should wither in the cold gloom of disappointed hope, or their hearts harden into that moody spirit of worldly-mindedness which adopts for its offspring the miser's idol. Whether Fardorougha felt the want of children acutely or otherwise, could not be inferred from any visible indication of regret on his part by those who knew him. His own wife, whose facilities of observation were so great and so frequent, was only able to suspect in the affirmative. For himself he neither murmured nor repined, but she could perceive that after a few years had passed, a slight degree of gloom began to settle on him, and an anxiety about his crops and his few cattle, and the produce of his farm. He also began to calculate the amount of what might be saved from the fruits of their united industry. Sometimes, but indeed upon rare occasions, his temper appeared inclining to be irascible or impatient; but in general it was grave, cold, and inflexible, without any outbreaks of passion, or the slightest disposition to mirth. His wife's mind, however, was by no means so firm as his, nor so free from the traces of that secret regret which preyed upon it. She both murmured and repined, and often in terms which drew from Fardorougha a cool rebuke for her want of resignation to the will of God. As years advanced, however, her disappointment became harassing even to herself, and now that hope began to die away, her heart gradually partook of the cool worldly spirit which had seized upon the disposition of her husband. Though cultivating but a small farm, which they held at a high rent, yet by the dint of frugality and incessant diligence they were able to add a little each year to the small stock of money which they had contrived to put together. Still would the unhappy reflection that they were childless steal painfully and heavily over them; the wife would some tines murmur, and the husband reprove her, but in a tone so cool and indifferent that she could not avoid concluding that his own want of resiguation, though not expressed, was at heart equal to her own. Each also became somewhat religious, and both remarkable for a punctual attendance upon the rites of their church, and that in proportion as the love of temporal things overcame them. In this manner they lived upwards of thirteen years, when Mrs. Donovan declared herself to be in that situation which in due time rendered the services of Mary Moan necessary. From the moment this intimation was given, and its truth confirmed, a faint light, not greater than the dim and trembling lustre of a single star, broke in upon the darkened affections and worldly spirit of Fardorougha Donovan. Had the announcement taken place within any reasonable period after his marriage, before he had become sick of disappointment, or had surrendered his heart from absolute despair to an incipient spirit of avarice, it would no doubt have been hailed with all the eager delight of unblighted hope and vivid affection; but now a new and subtle habit had been superinduced, after the last cherished expectation of the heart had departed; a spirit of foresight and severe calculation descended on him, and had so nearly saturated his whole being, that he could not for some time actually determine whether the knowledge of his wife's situation was more agreeable to his affection, or repugnant to the parsimonious disposition which had quickened his heart into an energy incompatable with natural benevolence, and the perception of those tender ties which spring up from the relations of domestic life. For a considerable time this struggle between the two principles went on; sometime a new hope would spring up, attended in the back-ground by a thousand affecting circumstances-on the other hand some gloomy and undefinable dread of exigency, distress, and ruin, would wring his heart and sink his spirits down to positive misery. Notwithstanding this conflict between growing avarice and affection, the star of the father's love had risen, and though, as we have already said, its light was dim and unsteady, yet the moment a single opening occurred in the clouded mind, there it was to be seen serene and pure, a beautiful emblem of undying and solitary affection struggling with the cares and angry passions of life. By degrees, however, the husband's heart became touched by the hopes of his younger years, former associations revived, and remembrances of past tenderness, though blunted in a heart so much changed, came over him like the breath of fragrance that has nearly passed away. He began, therefore, to contemplate the event without foreboding, and by the time the looked-for period arrived, if the world and its debasing influences were not utterly overcome, yet nature and the quickening tenderness of a father's feelings had made a considerable progress in a heart from which they had been long banished. Far different from all this was the history of his wife since her perception of an event so delightful. In her was no bitter and obstinate principle subversive of affection to be overcome. For although she had in latter years sank into the painful apathy of a hopeless spirit, and given herself some what to the world, yet no sooner did the unexpected light dawn upon her, than her whole soul was filled with exultation and delight. The world and its influence passed away like a dream, and her heart melted into a habit of tenderness at once so novel and exquisite, that she often assured her husband she had never felt happiness before. Such are the respective states of feeling in which our readers find Fardorougha Donovan and his wife, upon an occasion whose consequences run too far into futurity for us to determine at present whether they are to end in happiness or misery. For a considerable time that evening, before the arrival of Mary Moan, the males of the family had taken up their residence in an inside kiln, where, after having kindled a fire in the draught hole, or what the Scotch call the "logie," they sat and chatted in that kind of festive spirit which such an event uniformly produces among the servants of a family. Fardorougha himself remained for the most part with them, that is to say, except while ascertaining from time to time the situation of his wife. His presence, however, was only a restraint upon their good humour, and his niggardly habits raised some rather uncomplimentary epithets during his short visits of enquiry. It is customary upon such occasions, as soon as the mistress of the family is taken ill, to ask the servants to drink "an aisy bout to the misthress, sir, an' a speedy recovery-not forgettin' a safe landin' to the youngsther, and, like a Christmas compliment, many of them to you both. Whoo! death alive, but that's fine stuff—Oh, begorra, the misthress can't but thrive wid that in the house. Thank you, sir, an' wishin' her once more safe over her throubles!-divil a betther misthress ever," &c. &c. &c. Here, however, there was nothing of the kind. Fardorougha's heart in the first instance was against the expense, and besides, its present broodings resembled the throes of pain which break out from the stupor that presses so heavily upon the exhausted functions of life in the crisis of a severe fever. He could not, in fact, rest nor remain for any length of time in the same spot. With a slow but troubled step he walked backward and forward, sometimes uttering indistinct ejaculations and broken sentences, such as no one could understand. At length he approached his own servants, and addressed the messenger whose name was Nogher McCormick. Nogher," said he, "I'm throubled." "Throubled! dad, Fardorougha, you ought to be a happy and a thankful mau this night, that is, if God sinds the mistress safe over it, as I hope he will, plase goodness." "I'm poor, Nogher, I'm poor, an' here's a family comin'." "Faith take care it's not sin you're committin' by spakin' as you're doin'." 66 But you know I'm poor, Nogher." "But I know you're not, Fardorougha; but I'm afraid, if God hasʼnt sed it, that your heart's too much fix'd upon the world. Be my faix it's on your knees you ought to be this same night, thankin' the Almighty for his goodness, and not grumblin' an' sthreelin' about the place, flyin' in the face of God for sendin' you an' your wife a blessin'-for sure I hear the Scripthur says that all childres a blessin' if they're resaved as sich; an' vo be to the man says scripthur dat's born wid a milstone about his neck, espishally if he's cast into the say. I know you pray enough, but be my sowl, it hasn't improv'd your morals, or it's the mistress's health we'd be drinkin' in a good bottle o' whiskey at the present time. Faix myself wouldn't be much surprized if she had a hard twist in quensequence, an' if she does, the fau't's your own an' not ours, for we're willin' as the flowers o' May to drink all sorts o' good luck to her." Nogher," said the other, "it's truth a great dale of what you've sed-may be all of it." Faith, I know, returned Nogher, that about the whisky it's parfit gos. pel." |