"That was a very queer way you took to silence the dominie," said Paul; "but I presume, after that ludicrous answer, you met with very little religious controversy afterwards."

"That's true," said Murty; "but I have suffered the loss of my wages through the unrelenting malice of the Presbyterian dominie."

"Never mind, Murty; do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who persecute and calumniate you. For your kindness to Bridget while I was away, I feel bound to give you some remuneration.

Have courage, have courage, and think better of the Yankees. The more you know of them, the better you will like them. They have their faults,--as what nation has not?--but they have their virtues also."

This conversation took place between Paul and Murty in the farm house of Mr. Clarke, where he had just arrived, as well to spend the vacation as to make arrangements regarding the future of his brothers and sister.

Murty, upon hearing of his arrival, lost not a moment's time in going across lots from the Pryings' farm to that of Mr. Clarke, thinking he might be the first to communicate to Paul the joyous intelligence regarding the recovery of the lost money, and the pleasing change in the opinion of all regarding him and his brethren.

Paul could not but feel grateful for the kindness of his friend Murty; but he was too well practised in Christian perfection to indulge in any thing like excessive joy, and too well accustomed to refer every thing to G.o.d to claim any merit, or take any pleasure, in the flattering eulogies of all his acquaintances, as repeated by Murty.

CHAPTER XIX.

WHAT HAPPENED TO LITTLE EUGENE O'CLERY.

Fortune now began to smile on Paul O'Clery, and to make amends for the long course of ill usage to which she had subjected himself and his kindred. He had not only enjoyed the sympathy of friends, and his talents had not only gained him the good will and respect of his superiors and cla.s.sfellows, but he now unexpectedly found himself in possession of a handsome sum of money, the fruit of the honest industry of his parents. The true Catholic training which Paul received from his very infancy taught him the impropriety of immoderate joy or gladness, and the severe trials of the last few years had chastened his naturally hilarious and pleasant mind to a temper of habitual calm and reserve bordering on melancholy. It must be confessed, in this instance, however, that his spirit felt unusually buoyant and glad, as he returned, under present circ.u.mstances, to the scene of his late trials and humiliation.

There are few persons born, however propitious the position of their horoscope, who have not, some time or other, to experience the feeling attendant on a transition from an inferior condition to one of more respect and honor. It will not, therefore, be difficult to imagine what were the sentiments of our young hero on his return from the south, on this occasion. He was a slave; he is now a freeman. He was a menial; he is now a gentleman. He was the subject on which the hypocrite and the impostor sought to try the success of their well-taught deceptions; now, his virtues, his manners, and his success are in the mouths of all men; and those who plotted against his soul are ready to do homage to his accomplishments. When St. Patrick, the apostle of Ireland, returned to the house of his former master, who held him in slavery,--the glorious prelate and saint to the hut of the slave,--what must have been the feelings of his exalted and inspired soul? Not those of hatred, vanity, or earthly exultation, but those of charity, thanksgiving, and apostolic zeal, if not those of grat.i.tude, to his pagan master. Kindred to these was the mental exultation of Paul O'Clery, on approaching the valley of R---- Creek, the scene of the most meritorious part of his life, and still the novitiate of those who were the most dear to him on earth.

He determined not only to redeem his sister and brothers, by paying the customary sum for whatever clothing and board they had received, but resolved, as soon as possible, to have them placed in a suitable educational establishment. Bridget was already free, and by right ent.i.tled to something handsome in remuneration of the services she had rendered in the family in which she was so long a menial; but Paul was determined that she should not only refuse accepting what was to fall to her share, and what in justice she could claim, but said every thing should be paid for--board, lodging, and even her "_common-school_"

education. "This last item," he said, "was not of the most choice description,--that is, the 'common-school' learning,--but such as it is I am unwilling to accept it gratuitously." He had come to the same conclusion regarding Patrick and Eugene. O, it was on account of these latter children, princ.i.p.ally, that Paul rejoiced and thanked G.o.d that rest.i.tution had been made of the stolen money; for he had a burden of care and anxiety on his mind on account of these two children. It was so difficult a work, especially as himself could not be with them, to save young boys like them from the contagious vice so prevalent in this country; and, above all, so hard to preserve young boys in the atmosphere of your "common schools." Bridget might be said to be safe, for she could remove to a better and more Christian neighborhood, or return to her friends in the old country; but Patrick, and, above all, Eugene, who were in the hands of utter strangers, how were they to be saved from the universal corruption, when deprived of the continual guardianship of their faithful brother? These were the considerations, and not the sole recovery of the money restored to him, that contributed to the increase of the joy, and grat.i.tude, and thanksgiving in the heart of Paul that now pervaded it. Alas! that this joy and these pleasant antic.i.p.ations of future prospects were of such short duration!

In order to understand the following statement of facts in relation to the fate of poor Eugene O'Clery, it is necessary here to observe that, just after Paul had, by means of the support received from his convert friends in Vermont, been enabled to enter college, a gentleman, who stated that he took a great interest in Paul, from what he learned from the Rev. Mr. Strongly about him, wrote him a long letter.

The burden of the epistle was, that the writer was a minister, with views not far removed from those of the Rev. Mr. Strongly, the convert to the Catholic church; that he had heard a good deal about Paul and his trials and success; that he lately visited at Mr. Reuben Prying's, where his two little brothers now remained; that he pitied them, but especially the younger, for that they lacked the opportunity of a better and more _Catholic_ education; that, in fine, he, Dr. Dilman, if Paul consented, would take the younger, Eugene, with him into the city, where his education could be attended to, and where he, at least, might be saved from the influence of the barbarous mannerism and irreligious taint of these country "common schools." His reverence the doctor furthermore added, that Mr. Prying had no objection to the arrangement he proposed, and that he had conquered the repugnance that Mrs. Prying had to the separation of the brothers by the very flattering terms on which he offered _to do_ for the child.

In a postscript of this letter, it was stated by this veracious _Christian minister_, as he signed himself, that he would send Paul quarterly or monthly bulletins of Eugene's progress in science and virtue, and, above all, that his faith should not be tampered with in the slightest.

The effect of such an artful piece of diplomacy may be easily conceived. The bait of the parson took, and Paul was for once overreached. The unsuspecting youth took this gentleman to be a clergyman of the same stamp with his friends Rev. Messrs. Strongly and H----. And the fact that Parson Dilman was acquainted with the former honorable men, was enough to throw Paul off his guard. The parson's talk, too, about "_Catholic education_," and the "barbarous" common schools, served still to deceive, not only Paul, but even the professors of the college to whom the epistle of Parson Dilman was submitted for advice and direction.

Paul was enthusiastic in the praise of his two reverend convert friends in Vermont, (who were the only two Protestant parsons he intimately knew before or after conversion,) and hence, when questioned by the professors about what he might know of his correspondent, he answered that he knew nothing; but the fact of his intimacy and acquaintance with the ex-parsons Strongly and H----, his friends and patrons, was "a good sign of his honesty and honor." The shrewd Jesuit professors smiling at the poor child's credulous and confiding disposition, told him that, as he had such an opinion of the worth and honor of the fraternity of dominies, he might commit his brother to the charge of one, and especially as he stood in very great danger to his faith and morals where he was at present. His situation might be ameliorated, but could not be much worse; but the good fathers declined taking the responsibility of giving a decision on the subject.

"The letter promised what was fair and honorable, but there might be deception," said they.

"Deception, reverend fathers!" said Paul. "I can't suspect any such thing in one so intimate with my dearest and best friends, the converted clergymen in Vermont."

"Well," said the sons of Ignatius, whose wise experience had taught them to have little faith in heretical parsons, "you can use your own discretion, my child."

Paul, acting on the impulse of his own feelings, thinking it would be a rash judgment in him to suspect evil design in one who professed himself favorable to Catholicity, and, besides, was of the same sentiments in religion, or nearly the same, with his convert friends in Vermont, immediately wrote in answer to Dr. Dilman, consenting to have Eugene go with him. But there was to be no legal binding in the matter, and honor was to be the only bond under which his younger brother was to be held bound.

The day now arrived for Eugene to part--alas! that it should be forever--from the society of his brother and sister. At first, some opposition was made by Patrick and Bridget; but when shown the letter of their brother Paul, they were reconciled to what they thought the temporary separation. Eugene himself was calmed, and his sorrow turned into joy, by being told that he was going towards where Paul was, and that, like enough, he would meet him on his way.

"Can I see Paul there?" said he, drying the tears that stood in his eyes.

"Sartain you can. Don't you like that, Bob?" said Reuben, who was in the plot with Dilman.

"Well, I'll go, then," said the child. "Good by, Bid; good by, Pat. You stay there till Paul and I come to see ye."

All the household of Reuben embraced Eugene, and made him some little present, before he set out. An abundance of tears were shed by young and old, as the melancholy and thoughtful face of Eugene was seen by them for the last time.

Truth compels us to say a word or two in reference to the antecedents of this reverend doctor of Presbyterianism into whose _protection_ this innocent lamb was taken. Dr. Dilman was about sixty years old at this time; and after having lived in some manner with his first wife for near thirty years, had lately taken out a bill of divorce by law against the "old woman," to make room for a young _religious lady_ in his reverend bed. During his long life, he had changed his creed no less than nine times. He was first an Episcopalian; but having been refused ordination in that sect, on account of some peccadilloes of his youth, he joined the Methodists, from whom he received conversion and a call. Being a man of undoubted talent, and thinking the Methodists were too slow in promoting him, he became a Baptist. His next hop was to the Universalists, whom, because he found too penurious, he deserted for the Congregationalists, from whom he got a call to a southern pro-slavery church, where, after ama.s.sing considerable wealth in cash and "human chattels," he resigned his charge, came to the north again to recruit his sinking const.i.tution, and, after trying two or three other minor sects, he settled down an old-school anti-slavery Presbyterian. Poor man! his star has gone down now, and his memory will soon be forgotten; but the anecdotes and tales that his extraordinary life ill.u.s.trated will not be forgotten for generations to come. The pa.s.sage in his study, through which he used to admit his "Cressida" from a secret door communicating with his "bas.e.m.e.nt church," is now shown as a specimen of his skill. The transformations and metamorphoses he used to undergo, like Jupiter of old, in order to pa.s.s un.o.bserved to the retreats of his "Europas," on the sides and on the summits of the cla.s.sically-sounding hills of the city of his ministry,--all these things, and more, are known to the poorest retailers of interesting stories and anecdotes. In a word, he was as impure as Caligula, as cruel as Nero or Calvin himself, and as violent as Luther or John Knox.

Yet it is a melancholy fact in connection with, and ill.u.s.trative of, the spirit of the Protestantisms of the United States, that for twenty years and more, with all this guilt, with all the crimes in the calendar on his head, with the full knowledge of all his sins of impurity, hypocrisy, intolerance, and cruelty to his wife, this _reverend gentleman_ was the most popular, well-supported, and _respected_ minister in the whole state in which he resided. He was a good preacher, an eloquent expounder of the word, a smart man; that was enough.

Protestantism could not afford to lose him now, when she was so spare of the giants to which she owes her existence.

This was the Rev. Dr. Dilman who took Eugene under his care about whom Reuben Prying remarked, after he had left the house, that the doctor was a "real smart man." "Your church, Murty," said he, "can't scare up such a grand preacher as that. Did you hear that lecture he delivered last winter against Popery? He is an honor to our church, I can tell you."

"Why so?" said Murty; "what has he done that you esteem him so high?"

"Nothin', but bein' so eloquent and talented, and able to address such a feeling prayer _to his hearers_."

"Bless you, I know one much more talented than ever he will be," said Murty.

"I guess not, Murty," said he, shaking his head; "who is it?"

"Why, the devil," said Murty, "beats him all to pieces. Your parson only opposes the pope, you say; whereas the devil opposes both the pope and the Almighty. What is any of your ministers to great 'Ould Harry'? I bet you are beat now. Ha! ha! ha!" said the Irishman, laughing.

"You are a curious feller, Murty," said Mr. Prying.

"Am I not right?" said Murty. "You praise your minister, _not_ because he is good, charitable, humane, chaste, or pious, (all which he possibly may be,) but solely because he is talented or endowed with genius. Well, then, I tell you this gains him no merit, for he received this gift from G.o.d. He may abuse it; and, at any rate, the devil, the very enemy of G.o.d, is endowed with more genius than he and all the Protestant parsons living put together. I think this is fair _arguing_, Mr. Prying, don't you?"

"Let's drop it, Murty," said Mr. Prying, not liking to hear any more of such "arguing," particularly as the children were present, and seemed much to enjoy the home-spun comparison between the Dominie Dilman and "Old Harry." This was the first time they were observed to laugh since the departure of poor Eugene.

Meanwhile, poor Eugene arrived in the city of the parsonage of his reverend protector, where he was received with apparent affection by that gentleman's wife. During the first three days after his arrival, several of the "saints," male and female, of the doctor's church, came to see the new acquisition, as well as to congratulate the parson on the success of his plan. The little orphan was flattered, caressed, and encouraged by the promise of nice clothes and other presents. And it would be unnatural to expect that the innocent heart of a child of his age, now between eight and nine years, could remain insensible to the caresses and favors bestowed. The little lad felt quite content; nay, a gradual sunshine began to spread over the calm melancholy of his angelic face.

They first imposed on the child by telling him that his reverend protector was the priest. He believed it for some time; but when, after two weeks were elapsed, he was permitted to go to church, he was perfectly surprised at "the quare way the priest said ma.s.s." He saw no candles lighted on the altar. He heard no little bell rung at various parts of the service. He saw no persons "bless themselves" there, either. "I suppose," said he to himself, "they would not tell a lie; but that was a very strange ma.s.s I was at to-day."

Friday came round soon after, and then little Eugene learned where he stood. Then he saw what hypocrites the self-styled priest, his wife, and all in his house were. He had perceived his reverence help himself plentifully to fat meat; and Eugene was invited to eat it himself, but declined, saying, "I would be a Protestant if I eat meat on Friday; and I fear ye are all here Protestants." A suppressed laugh was all that his remark could elicit from these worthies whose gluttony gave him such scandal.

Eugene's eyes were further opened by some boys at school, who laughed heartily at his expense when he asked about the "strange ma.s.s" that he had heard on Sunday.

"What ma.s.s?" said they; "sure it is only the Popish priests that offer ma.s.s, and it is a wicked thing to go to ma.s.s."

The poor child, on seeing the snare laid for him, burst into tears and wept aloud, calling for his brother Paul by name, and crying, "O woe!

woe! woe!"

The school madam was attracted by the lamentable cries of the lad, and, learning the cause of them, reprimanded the impudent boys, and tried to console him. Her attempts were, however, in vain. The child seeing himself sold and betrayed, his candid soul fell back to its former melancholy, and he drooped under the weight of the injustice of which he was the victim.

From that day forward he refused to attend either the night prayers of the "false priest," or to go to any of his meetings, and to the hour of his death this resolution could never be shaken by all the wiles of his persecutors. Several new arts and schemes were tried to vanquish his resolution, but all to no purpose. He was alternately coaxed and threatened, but all attempts either to flatter or force him proved ineffectual. He was several times locked up in a dark room, which was the terror of a young nephew of the parson, who was in the house, but which had far less terror for this young confessor than the smiles of his false friends. He was heard by young Sam, who often went to the door of the dread prison, chanting his favorite hymn, thus:--

"Ave Maria! hear the prayer Of thy poor, helpless child; Beneath thy sweet, maternal care, Preserve me undefiled."

And when spoken to through the keyhole, he answered that he was not a bit afraid of "Spookes," and that there was plenty of light for him to say his prayers. Even the parson himself, in company with his wife, went to listen at the door of where their prisoner was confined, and for a moment their hard hearts even were softened by the sweet, plaintive chant of the "Ave Maria."

"Are you sorry for your disobedience, now, Eugene?" said the parson; "and will you attend prayers and meeting when you are told?"