The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 40

Old Ned was the first witness, Winny the second, Jamesy Doyle the third. Then Biddy Murtagh and Pat Lennon, and finally, before the doctor's medical evidence was given, the policemen who came to the rescue, particularly he who had seen the shot fired and the man fall.

This closed the evidence for the Crown. There was no case, there could be no case, for the prisoner, beyond the futile cross-examination of the witnesses, by an able and tormenting counsellor, old Bob B----y, whose experience in this instance was worse than useless.

The reader need hardly follow on to the result. Tom Murdock was convicted and sentenced to death; and ere three weeks had elapsed he had paid the penalty of an ungovernable temper and a revengeful disposition upon the scaffold.

Poor Winny had pleaded hard with the counsel for the crown, and even with the attorney-general himself--who prosecuted in person--that Tom Murdock might be permitted to plead guilty to the abduction, and be sentenced to transportation for life. But the attorney-general, who had all the informations by heart, said that the animus had been manifest all through, from even prior to the hurling-match, which was alluded to by the prisoner himself as he fired the shot, and that he would most certainly arraign the prisoner for the murder. And so he was found guilty; and Winny, with her heart full of plans of peace and charity, was obliged to forge the first link in a chain the {262} succeeding ones of which dragged Tom Murdock to an ignominious grave.

Old Ned and Winny, accompanied by faithful Bully-dhu, had returned to B----, where the old man read and loitered about, watching every figure which approached, hoping to see his angel girl pa.s.s on some mission of holy charity, dressed in her black hood and cape.

Accompanied by Bully-dhu, he picked up every occurrence in the street, and compiled them in his memory, to amuse Winny in the evenings, in return for her descriptions of this or that case of distress which she had relieved. Thus they told story about, not very unlike tragedy and farce!

A sufficient time had now elapsed, not only for the deeds to have been perfected, but for the provisions which they set forth to have been carried out. Pat Lennon had already removed to the comfortable cottage upon the snug little farm which had been purchased for him by Winny, and the "annuity" she had settled upon him was bearing interest in the savings-bank at C. O. S.

Phil M'Dermott was one of the best to do men in that side of the country, and his wife (if you can guess who she was) was the nicest and the handsomest he (now that Winny was gone) that you'd meet with in the congregation of the three chapels within four miles of where she lived. Jamesy Doyle had been transferred--head, body, and bones--to the establishment, where he excelled himself in everything which was good and useful and--_handy_. Many a figary was got from time to time after him in the forge, filed up bright and nice, and if he does not "sorely belie" his abilities and apt.i.tude, he will one day become a "whitesmith" of no mean reputation.

Biddy Murtagh was to have gone as cook and thorough servant to _Mrs.

M'Dermott;_ but the hundred pounds which had been lodged to her credit in the bank soon smoothed the way between her and Denis Murrican--a Shanvilla boy, you will guess--who induced her to become cook, but not thorough servant, I hope, to himself; so Kate M'Dermott--how strange it seems not to write 'Kate Mulvey'!--was obliged to get somebody else.

Poor Winny, blighted in her own hopes of this world's happiness, had turned her thoughts to a surer and more abiding source. She had seen her plans for the happiness of those she loved carried out to a success almost beyond her hopes. Her poor old father, getting whiter and whiter as the years rolled on, attained a ripe and good old age, blessed in the fond society of the only being whom he loved on earth.

Winny herself found too large a field for individual charity and good to think of joining any society, however estimable, during her father's lifetime, and was emphatically _the_ Sister of Charity in the singular number.

But poor old Ned has long since pa.s.sed away from this scene of earthly cares, and sleeps in peace in his own chapel-yard, between _two tombs_. Long as the journey was, Winny had the courage and self-control to come with her father's bier, and see his coffin laid beside that of him who had been so rudely s.n.a.t.c.hed away, and whom she had so devotedly loved. Poor Bully-dhu was at the funeral, and gazed into the fresh-made grave in silent, dying grief. When all was over, and the last green sod slapped down upon the mound, he could nowhere be found. He had suddenly eluded all observation. But ere a week had pa.s.sed by, he was found dead upon his master's grave, after the whole neighborhood had been terrified by a night of the most dismal howling which was ever heard.

Winny returned to the sphere of her usefulness and hope, where for many years she continued to exercise a course of unselfish charity, which made many a heart sing for joy.

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But she, too, pa.s.sed away, and was brought home to her last resting-place in Rathcash chapel-yard, where the three tombs are still to be seen. Were she now alive she would yet be a comparatively young woman, not much past sixty-four or sixty-five years of age. But it pleased G.o.d, in his inscrutable ways, to remove her from the circle of all her bounty and her love. Had it not been so, this tale would not have yet been written.

[ORIGINAL.]

"REQUIEM AETERNAM."

Lo! another pilgrim, weary With his toils, hath reached the goal.

And we lift our "_Miserere_"

For the dear departed soul; G.o.d of pity and of love!

May he reign with thee above!

By the pleasures he surrendered, By the cross so meekly borne.

By the heart so early tendered.

By each sharp and secret thorn, And by every holy deed-- For our brother's rest we plead!

'Mid the throng who rest contented, Earth to him was but a waste.

And the sweets this life presented, Were but wormwood to his taste.

Faith had taught him from the first For the fount of life to thirst

Faith, the sun that rose to brighten All his pathway from the font: Then no phantom e'er could frighten, Nor the sword of pain or want: "For," he said, "though pain be strong, Time shall vanquish it ere long."

When he spoke of things eternal, How the transient seemed to fade!

And we saw the goods supernal Stand revealed without a shade: "Surely 'twas a spirit spoke,"

Was the thought his language woke.

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Thought prophetic! _now_ a spirit Speaketh from the world unseen: And the faith we, too, inherit Telleth what the tidings mean: "Friend and stranger! oh, prepare-- Make the wedding garment fair."

Yet our brother's strength was mortal; Bore he naught of earthly taint?

Did he pa.s.s the guarded portal In the armor of a saint?

Lord of holiness! with dread On this awful ground we tread.

He was merciful and tender To the erring and the weak; Therefore will thy pity render Unto him the grace we seek.

Whilst we bring to mercy's fount Pledges uttered on the Mount.

He remembered the departed As we now remember him: Bright, and true, and simple-hearted.

Till the lamp of life grew dim: Friend was he of youth and age-- Now a child--and now a sage.

If those footsteps unreturning Leave on earth no lasting trace: If no kindred heart be yearning Tearful in his vacant place: If oblivion be his lot Here below, we murmur not; Only let his portion be Evermore, dear Lord, _with thee!_

MARIE.

Beaver, PA.

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From The Dublin University Magazine.

TINTED SKETCHES IN MADEIRA.

CHAPTER I.

Notwithstanding that Madeira enjoys an imperishable distinction for its matchless scenery, its sunny skies, and its healthful climate, yet the character of its inhabitants seems to have been but little studied, and still less the singular usages and customs which indicate their nationality. Impressed with the idea that to supply some information on these particulars might heighten the interest experienced for the Madeirans as an isolated little community, I have compiled a few pages descriptive of their social and domestic life, intending them, however, merely as supplementary to the valuable information afforded by others.

Pa.s.sing over the novel and amusing circ.u.mstance of landing at Funchal, which has already been so often described, I find myself in a boi-caro, or ox-car, traversing narrow and intricate streets; the murmur of waters and soft strains of instrumental music saluting my ear, while a faint perfumed breeze stirs the curtains of my caro. By some travellers the boi-caro has been likened to the body of a caleche placed on a sledge, but to me it neither had then, nor has it a.s.sumed since, any other appearance than that of a four-post bed, curtained with oil-cloth, lined with some bright-colored calico, and having comfortably cus.h.i.+oned seats. It is made of light, strong timber, secured on a frame shod with iron. A pair of fat, sleek oxen are yoked to this odd-looking carriage, while from thongs pa.s.sed through their horns bits of carved ivory or bone hang on their foreheads to protect them from the influence of Malochio or Evil-eye.

Half an hour brought me to my destination, No.--, Rua San Francisco.

This house in its structure resembles the generality of the better cla.s.s of houses in the island, the sleeping-rooms being sacrificed to the magnificence of the reception-rooms, the vastness of which appears to mock the ordinary wants of daily life. The walls are pure white, lined with prints, paintings, and mirrors; the floors are either covered with oil-cloth or highly polished; and the windows are shaded by lace curtains and Venetian blinds; the furniture is modern, and of English manufacture. I have been thus minute because the interiors of all the superior dwellings have the same general character. I cannot, however, say the same with regard to the tastes and habits of the occupants. The British prince-merchant, with his spirit, his intelligence, and his philanthropy, gives his days to the busy cares of life, and his evenings to the quiet enjoyments of home; while the Madeiran gentleman pa.s.ses his days in luxurious indolence, and his evenings in crowded rooms. The ladies present an equally strong contrast, and yet, during one short period in each day, their tastes and purposes seem to a.s.similate: when the brief and beautiful twilight, with its freshness, its odors, and its music, induces even the exclusive English-women to appear in the shaded balcony, and find amus.e.m.e.nt in the pa.s.sing scenes.

At this hour the peasantry may be seen returning to their homes in little parties of four or five, each group being accompanied by a musician playing on the national instrument, the machetes, or guitarette, and singing some plaintive air in which, occasionally, all join. No sooner has one group pa.s.sed, than the sweet, soft intonations of other songsters are heard {266} approaching. Sometimes two or even more parties will enter the street at the same time, when they at once take up alternate parts, and that with such perfect taste and harmony that when the notes begin to die away in the distance the listener's car is aching with attention. These songs are usually of their own composition, and are improvised for the occasion. They have but few national ballads, and of these the subjects are either the mischief-loving Malochio, or Macham and the unhappy Lady Anna, or the fable of Madeira's having been cast up by the sea covered with magnificent forests of cedar, which afterward, catching fire from a sun-beam, burned for seven years, and then from the heated soil produced the luxuriant vegetation with which it is now clothed.

It must not be supposed, however, that the peasantry are of a melancholy disposition because it is their custom to make choice of plaintive music to time their footsteps when returning at the close of a golden day to their homes by the sea or on the rugged mountain heights. On the contrary, the character of their minds combines all the variety of the scenes amongst which they were nurtured, though the leading trait is a desire for the gay and fanciful, whether in dress or amus.e.m.e.nt; While they regard neither money nor time in comparison with the gratification of witnessing the numerous ceremonies and pageants which every other day fill the streets with richly-dad trains of ecclesiastics, flas.h.i.+ng cavalcades, and troops of youths and maidens in festive wreaths and gay attire. The season of Lent affords them almost daily opportunities for the indulgence of this taste.