Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver; The Geography Of An Irish Oath; The Lianhan Shee Part 13

"Never stay out late in a fair or market; don't make a poor mouth; on the other hand, don't boast of your wealth; keep no low company; don't be rubbin' yourself against your betthers, but keep wid your aquils.

File your loose papers an' accounts, an' keep your books up to the day.

Never put off anything that can be done, when it ought to be done. Go early to bed; but be the last up at night, and the first in the mornin', and there's no fear o' you."

Having now settled all her children in comfort and independence, with each a prospect of rising still higher in the world, Mrs. Connell felt that the princ.i.p.al duties devolving upon her had been discharged. It was but reasonable, she thought, that, after the toil of a busy life, her husband and herself should relax a little, and enjoy with lighter minds the ease for which they had labored so long and unremittingly.

"Do you know what I'm thinkin' of, Pether?" said she, one summer evening in their farm-yard.

"Know, is it?" replied Peter--"some long-headed plan that none of us 'ud ever think of, but that will stare us in the face the moment you mintion it. What is it, you ould sprig o' beauty?"

"Why, to get a snug jauntin'-car, for you an' me. I'd like to see you comfortable in your old days, Peter. You're gettin' stiff, ahagur, an'

will be good for nothin' by an' by."

"Stiff! Arrah, by this an' by--my reputation, I'm younger nor e'er a one o' my sons yet, you----eh?" said Peter, pausing--

"Faith, then I dunna that. Upon my credit, I think, on second thoughts, that a car 'ud be a mighty comfortable thing for me. Faith, I do, an'

for you, too, Ellish."

"The common car," she continued, "is slow and throublesome, an' joults the life out o' me."

"By my reputation, you're not the same woman since you began to use it, that you wor before at all. Why, it'll shorten your life. The pillion's dacent enough; but the jauntin'-car!--faix, it's what 'ud make a fresh woman o' you--divil a lie in it."

"You're not puttin' in a word for yourself now, Pether?"

"To be sure I am, an' for both of us. I'd surely be proud to see yourself an' myself sittin' in our glory upon our own jauntin'-car. Sure we can afford it, an' ought to have it, too. Bud-an'-ager! what's the rason I didn't, think of it long ago?"

"Maybe you did, acushla; but you forgot, it. Wasn't that the way wid you, Pether? Tell the thruth."

"Why, thin, bad luck to the lie in it, since you must know. About this time twelve months--no, faix, I'm wrong, it was afore Dan's marriage--I had thoughts o' spakin' ta you about it, but somehow it left my head.

Upon my word, I'm in airnest, Ellish."

"Well, avick, make your mind asy; I'll have one from Dublin in less nor a fortnight. I can thin go about of an odd time, an' see how Dan an'

Pether's comin' an. It'll be a pleasure to me to advise an' direct them, sure, as far an' as well as I can. I only hope? G.o.d will enable thim to do as much for their childher, as he enabled us to do for them, glory be to his name!"

Peter's eye rested upon her as she spoke--a slight shade pa.s.sed over his face, but it was the symptom of deep feeling and affection, whose current had run smooth and unbroken during the whole life they had spent together.

"Ellish," said he, in a tone of voice that strongly expressed what he felt, "you wor one o' the best wives that ever the Almighty gev to mortual man. You wor, avourneen---you wor, you wor!"

"I intind, too, to begin an' make my sowl, a little," she continued; "we had so much to do, Pether, aroon, that, indeed, we hadn't time to think of it all along; but now, that everything else is settled, we ought to think about that, an' make the most of our time--while we can."

"Upon my conscience, I've strong notions myself o' the same thing,"

replied Peter. "An' I'll back you in that, as well as in every thing else. Never fear, if we pull together, but we'll bring up the lost time.

Faith, we will! Sowl, if you set about it, let me see them that 'ud prevint you goin' to heaven!"

"Did Paddy Donovan get the bay filly's foot aised, Pether?"

"He's gone down wid her to the forge: the poor crathur was very lame to-day."

"That's right; an' let Andy Murtagh bring down the sacks from Drumdough early to-morrow. That what ought to go to the market on Thursday, an'

the other stacks ought to be thrashed out of hand."

"Well, well; so it will be all done. Tare alive! if myself knows how you're able to keep an eye on everything. Come in, an' let us have our tay."

For a few months after this, Ellish was perfectly in her element. The jaunting-car was procured; and her spirits seemed to be quite elevated.

She paid regular visits to both her sons, looked closely into their manner of conducting business, examined their premises, and subjected every fixture and improvement made or introduced without her sanction, to the most rigorous scrutiny. In fact, what, between Peter's farm, her daughter's shop, and the establishments of her sons, she never found herself more completely enc.u.mbered with business. She had intended "to make her soul," but her time was so fully absorbed by the affairs of those in whom she felt so strong an interest, that she really forgot the spiritual resolution in the warmth of her secular pursuits.

One evening, about this time, a horse belonging to Peter happened to fall into a ditch, from which he was extricated with much difficulty by the laborers. Ellish, who thought it necessary to attend, had been standing for some time directing them how to proceed; her dress was rather thin, and the hour, which was about twilight, chilly, for it was the middle of autumn. Upon returning home she found herself cold, and inclined to s.h.i.+ver. At first she thought but little of these symptoms; for having never had a single day's sickness, she was scarcely competent to know that they were frequently the forerunners of very dangerous and fatal maladies. She complained, however, of slight illness, and went to bed without taking anything calculated to check what she felt. Her sufferings during the night were dreadful: high fever had set in with a fury that threatened to sweep the powers of life like a wreck before it. The next morning the family, on looking into her state more closely, found it necessary to send instantly for a physician.

On arriving, he p.r.o.nounced her to be in a dangerous pleurisy, from which, in consequence of her plethoric habit, he expressed but faint hopes of her recovery. This was melancholy intelligence to her sons and daughters: but to Peter, whose faithful wife she had been for thirty years, it was a dreadful communication indeed.

"No hopes, Docthor!" he exclaimed, with a bewildered air: "did you say no hopes, sir?--Oh! no, you didn't--you couldn't say that there's no hopes!"

"The hopes of her recovery, Mr. Connell, are but slender,--if any."

"Docthor, I'm a rich man, thanks be to G.o.d an' to----" he hesitated, cast back a rapid and troubled look towards the bed whereon she lay, then proceeded--"no matther, I'm a rich man: but if you can spare her to me, I'll divide what I'm worth in the world wid you: I will, sir; an' if that won't do, I'll give up my last s.h.i.+llin' to save her, an' thin I'd beg my bit an' sup through the counthry, only let me have her wid me."

"As far as my skill goes," said the doctor, "I shall, of course, exert it to save her; but there are some diseases which we are almost always able to p.r.o.nounce fatal at first sight. This, I fear, is one of them.

Still I do not bid you despair--there is, I trust, a shadow of hope."

"The blessin' o' the Almighty be upon you, sir, for that word! The best blessing of the heavenly Father rest upon you an' yours for it!"

"I shall return in the course of the day," continued the physician; "and as you feel the dread of her loss so powerfully, I will bring two other medical gentlemen of skill with me."

"Heavens reward you for that, sir! The heavens above reward you an' them for it! Payment!--och, that signifies but little: but you and them 'll be well paid. Oh, Docthor, achora, thry an' save her!--Och, thry an'

save her!"

"Keep her easy," replied the doctor, "and let my directions be faithfully followed. In the meantime, Mr. Connell, be a man and display proper fort.i.tude under a dispensation which is common to all men in your state."

To talk of resignation to Peter was an abuse of words. The poor man had no more perception of the consolation arising from a knowledge of religion than a child. His heart sank within him, for the prop on which his affections had rested was suddenly struck down from under them.

Poor Ellish was in a dreadful state. Her malady seized her in the very midst of her worldly-mindedness; and the current of her usual thoughts, when stopped by the aberrations of intellect peculiar to her illness, bubbled up, during the temporary returns of reason, with a stronger relish of the world. It was utterly impossible for a woman like her, whose habits of thought and the tendency of whose affections had been all directed towards the acquisition of wealth, to wrench them for ever and at once from the objects on which they were fixed. This, at any time, would have been to her a difficult victory to achieve; but now, when stunned by the stroke of disease, and confused by the pangs of severe suffering, tortured by a feverish pulse and a burning brain, to expect that she could experience the calm hopes of religion, or feel the soothing power of Christian sorrow, was utter folly. 'Tis true, her life had been a harmless one: her example, as an industrious and enterprising member of society, was worthy of imitation. She was an excellent mother, a good neighbor, and an admirable wife; but the duties arising out of these different relations of life, were all made subservient to, and mixed up with, her great principle of advancing herself in the world, whilst that which is to come never engaged one moment's serious consideration.

When Father Mulcahy came to administer the rites of the church to Ellish, he found her in a state of incoherency. Occasional gleams of reason broke out through the cloud that obscured her intellect, but they carried with them the marks of a mind knit indissolubly to wealth and aggrandizement. The same tenor of thought, and the same broken fragments of ambitious speculation, floated in rapid confusion through the tempests of delirium which swept with awful darkness over her spirit.

"Mrs. Connell," said he, "can you collect yourself? Strive to compose your mind, so far as to be able to receive the aids of religion."

"Oh, oh!--my blood's boilin'! Is that--is that Father Mulcahy?"

"It is, dear: strive now to keep your mind calm, till you prepare yourself for judgment."

"Keep up his head, Paddy--keep up his head, or he'll be smothered undher the wather an' the sludge. Here, Mike, take this rope: pull, man,--pull, or the horse will be lost! Oh, my head!--I'm boilin'--I'm burnin'!"

"Mrs. Connell, let me entreat you to remember that you are on the point of death, and should raise your heart to G.o.d, for the pardon and remission of your sins."

"Oh! Father dear, I neglected that, but I intinded--I intinded--Where's Pether!--bring, bring--Pether to me!"

"Turn your thoughts to G.o.d, now, my dear. Are you clear enough in your mind for confession?"

"I am, Father! I am, avourneen. Come, come here, Pether! Pether, I'm goin' to lave you, asth.o.r.e machree! I could part wid them all but--but you."