The Station; The Party Fight And Funeral; The Lough Derg Pilgrim Part 1

The Station; The Party Fight And Funeral; The Lough Derg Pilgrim.

by William Carleton.

THE STATION.

Our readers are to suppose the Reverend Philemy M'Guirk, parish priest of Tir-neer, to be standing upon the altar of the chapel, facing the congregation, after having gone through the canon of the Ma.s.s; and having nothing more of the service to perform, than the usual prayers with which he closes the ceremony.

"Take notice, that the Stations for the following week will be held as follows:--

"_On Monday, in Jack Gallagher's of Corraghnamoddagh_. Are you there, Jack?"

"To the fore, yer Reverence."

"Why, then, Jack, there's something ominous--something auspicious--to happen, or we wouldn't have you here; for it's very seldom that you make part or parcel of this _present_ congregation; seldom are you here, Jack, it must be confessed: however, you know the old cla.s.sical proverb, or if you don't, I do, which will just answer as well--_Non semper ridet Apollo_--it's not every day _Ma.n.u.s_ kills a bullock; so, as you are here, be prepared for us on Monday."

"Never fear, yer Reverence, never fear; I think you ought to know that the grazin' at Corraghnamoddagh's not bad."

"To do you justice, Jack, the mutton was always good with you, only if you would get it better killed it would be an improvement. Get Tom McCusker to kill it, and then it'll have the right smack."

"Very well, yer Rev'rence, I'll do it."

"_On Tuesday, in Peter Murtagh's of the Crooked Commons_. Are you there, Peter?"

"Here, yer Reverence."

"Indeed, Peter, I might know you are here; and I wish that a great many of my flock would take example by you: if they did, I wouldn't be so far behind in getting in my _dues_. Well, Peter, I suppose you know that this is Michaelmas?"*

* Michaelmas is here jocularly alluded to as that period of the year when geese are fattest.

"So fat, yer Reverence, that they're not able to wag; but, any way, Katty has them marked for you--two fine young crathurs, only this year's fowl, and the ducks isn't a taste behind them--she crammin' them this month past."

"I believe you, Peter, and I would take your word for more than the condition of the geese. Remember me to Katty, Peter."

"_On Wednesday, in Parrah More Slevin's of Mullaghfadh_. Are you there, Parrah More?"--No answer. "Parrah More Sle-vin?"--Silence. "Parrah More Slevin, of Mullaghfadh?"--No reply. "Dan f.a.gan?"

"Present, sir."

"Do you know what keeps that reprobate from ma.s.s?"

"I bleeve he's takin' advantage, sir, of the frost, to get in his praties to-day, in respect of the bad footin', sir, for the horses in the bog when there's not a frost. Any how, betune that and a bit of a sore head that he got, yer Reverence, on Thursday last in takin' part wid the O'Scallaghans agin the Bradys, I bleeve he had to stay away to-day."

"On the Sabbath day, too, without my leave! Well, tell him from me, that I'll make an example of him to the whole parish, if he doesn't attend ma.s.s better. Will the Bradys and the O'Scallaghans never be done with their quarrelling? I protest, if they don't live like Christians, I'll read them out from the altar. Will you tell Parrah More that I'll hold a station in his house on next Wednesday?"

"I will, sir; I will, yer Reverence."

"_On Thursday, in Phaddhy Sheemus Phaddhy's of the Esker_. Are you there, Phaddhy?"'

"Wid the help of G.o.d, I'm here, sir."

"Well, Phaddhy, how is yer son Briney, that's at the Latin? I hope he's coming on well at it."

"Why, sir, he's not more nor a year and a half at it yet, and he's got more books amost nor he can carry; he'll break me buying books for him."

"Well, that's a good sign, Phaddhy; but why don't you bring him to me till I examine him?"

"Why, never a one of me can get him to come, sir, he's so much afeard of yer Reverence."

"Well, Phaddhy, we were once modest and bashful ourselves, and I'm glad to hear that he's afraid of his clargy; but let him be prepared for me on Thursday, and maybe I'll let him know something he never heard before; I'll open his eyes for him."

"Do you hear that, Briney?" said the father, aside to the son, who knelt at his knee; "you must give up yer hurling and idling now, you see.

Thank yer Reverence; thank you, docthor."

"_On Friday, in Barny O'Darby's, alias Barny b.u.t.ters_. Are you there, Barny?"

"All that's left of me is here, sir."

"Well, Barny, how is the b.u.t.ter trade this season?"

"It's a little on the rise, now, sir: in a, month or so I'm expecting it will be brisk enough. Boney, sir, is doing that much for us anyway."

"Ay, and, Barny, he'll do more than that for us: G.o.d prosper him at all events; I only hope the time's coming, Barny, when every one will be able to eat his own b.u.t.ter, and his own beef, too."

"G.o.d send it, sir."

"Well, Barny, I didn't hear from your brother Ned these two or three months; what has become of him?"

"Ah, yer Reverence, Pentland done him up."

"What! the gauger?"

"He did, the thief; but maybe he'll sup sorrow for it, afore he's much oulder."

"And who do you think informed, Barny?"

"Oh, I only wish we knew that, sir."

"I wish I knew it, and if I thought any miscreant here would become an informer, I'd make an example of him. Well, Barny, on Friday next: but I suppose Ned has a drop still--eh, Barny?"

"Why, sir, we'll be apt to have something stronger nor wather, anyhow."

"Very well, Barny; your family was always a dacent and spirited family, I'll say that for them; but, tell me, Barny, did you begin to dam the river yet? * I think the trouts and eels are running by this time."

* It is usual among the peasantry to form, about Michaelmas, small artificial cascades, called dams, under which they place long, deep, wicker creels, shaped like inverted cones, for the purpose of securing the fish that are now on their return to the large rivers, after having deposited their sp.a.w.n in the higher and remoter streams. It is surprising what a number of fish, particularly of eels, are caught in this manner--sometimes from one barrel to three in the course of a single night!

"The creels are made, yer Reverence, though we did not set them yet; but on Tuesday night, sir, wid the help o' G.o.d, we'll be ready."

"You can corn the trouts, Barny, and the eels too; but should you catch nothing, go to Pat Hartigan, Captain Sloethorn's gamekeeper, and, if you tell him it's for me, he'll drag you a batch out of the fish-pond."