"Really they are likely young 'uns, and no mistake," said Mr. Van Stingey, wiping his mouth with the corner of the tablecloth.

"Dear me!" said a lady who formed one of the council. "Charles, if you saw them, they are perfect beauties, you would say. The oldest boy is as n.o.ble-looking a lad as ever you did see--Roman nose, raven hair, delightfully-carved mouth, and lips, and eyes, and eyelashes quite indescribable, so beautiful are they. The little girl is a perfect Venus; while the two younger children, Patrick and Eugene, are as if they came from the chisel of Powers, or some renowned artist of antiquity."

"Why, my love," said Parson Burly, "you are quite cla.s.sical in your description; whether or not it is a correct one, is another thing."

"I a.s.sure you, Mr. Burly," said Van Stingey, "that your lady has not described them beyond what is true. They are almighty fine young 'uns."

"I want you to adopt that eldest one, Mr. Burly," said the parson's wife, who was president of the council. "He would make such an elegant preacher, I am sure. You must also change the name of the second boy from Patrick, which is so Irish, to Ebenezer, Zerubabbel, or some Scripture name, or even cla.s.sical one."

"Why, madam, I am beginning to get jealous, and to think you don't sufficiently admire my powers of oratory," said her husband.

"Well, my dear, putting aside jokes," she solemnly remarked, "you know how much we need Irish ministers to preach to the Irish amongst us, who are the best church attenders on earth, I believe. And it is notorious, that those whom we can take out from the ranks of Papacy while young become the greatest ornaments to our denomination. Witness Kirvoin, Maclown, Moffat, and several others."

"Well, well, my fair refuter," said the parson, who really feared his wife would rivet her affections on the young orphan if adopted; "you know it would never do to keep that little fellow with us. How old did you say he was--about fifteen? Well, fifteen or sixteen--ya--you recollect how that old priest acted last July, at the village of Scurvy?

A little girl I sent out to Brother Prim this priest smelt and hunted out; and actually broke in the room door where she was confined, and took her off by physical force to a Roman Catholic orphan house. These priests are terrible fellows; and your young fancy orphan, Paul, would soon find out the priest, and have his grievance redressed. And what is worse, this priest got Americans--ay, members of my own church--to applaud his conduct, and defend him from prosecution! The Irish are getting so powerful in this country," said the parson, after a pause, "from their admirable union of purpose and the perfect organization of their church, that I dread their influence. In fact, 'you catch a Tartar' when you get one of them into your family. Ten to one, instead of converting this young Papist, he would convert our whole family to his own creed."

"O Burly," said the disappointed wife, "you are always a prophet of evils. I tell you, I must have that young lad, for I want him."

"You do? Cynthia, my dear," said the parson, "we cannot have the lad in our family. We _dare not_, without the consent of the trustees, who pay us our salary. Do you understand _that_, my fair disputant?" said he, triumphantly.

"Well, Burly, as soon as I recover the means my father willed me, I shall have that young man--already almost fully educated, as you can perceive--brought up for the church."

"O, _then_ you can try it, madam," said the man in white neckcloth, in a sharp, sarcastic style; "but as for me, and I think my opinion is of some weight, I tell you much can never be made out of that shrewd boy."

There was a solemn, ominous silence, for a moment, in the company. "Did you remark the sort of dignified and independent motions of the fellow,"

continued he, "when you had him here just now?"

"Fellow!" said his wife, looking at her husband, in anger. "Is that a proper term to apply to the child?"

"It is not an improper or inappropriate one, not more so than calling him 'child,'" said he. "I was just going to remark the coolness of his reply when you introduced my name as the parish clergyman. 'A Catholic clergyman, I hope, sir,' said he; 'as such, I am very glad to see you.'

Did you observe how sad and demure he looked when told he was to be sent to school, where he could read the Bible, and become acquainted with the word of G.o.d?' O sir,' said he, 'much obliged to you; I have got a Bible already, and other good books of devotion, which we brought from home. I should be very glad to learn what is good,' said he; 'but I trust I have got my catechism well committed to memory; and having made my first communion and been confirmed, I was discharged from cla.s.s, and appointed a Sunday school teacher, by our good priest, Father Doyle.' And on my telling him that he could be a teacher here of a better religion than that of his country, he shook his head, declining the honor of the post offered, and remarking that 'it was impossible to have a better religion than that which had G.o.d for its author--the Catholic religion.' With this bit he retired (ye all saw him, I need not repeat more) from our presence, a blush of mental triumph playing on his smooth cheek."

"Sartain there was such a feelin'," said an old gray-headed Yankee, who sat at the head of the table, and who was guardian of the establishment.

"You can't do nothin' with these Papists," continued he. "I have seed the attempts made time and agin, but allers fail. The very children, only five years of age, of that ere religion, refuse to eat flesh on Friday, or to disobey such other darned ceremonies of their church as they are brought up to."

"Wal, Mr. Burly, madam, and my esteemed brother Valentine, my plan is this," said Van Stingey: "send them, separate or in couples, here and there, into the country, and there, with the farmers, they will soon get used to our church ways, and be gradually broke in."

"That you can't do safe, neither, Van," said the boss of the house, "for they would raise such a dust as would bring half the city around us; and you know the people would never consent to any thing like cruelty towards one so young and interesting as these here are."

"You say the truth there, sir," said the parson.

"It would be cruel to separate the dear ones," said the wife; "wherever they are sent, let them go together. I could pledge my watch and wedding diamond ring to help to raise such beauties," said she, pa.s.sionately.

"Surely they cannot be Irish, or they must belong to some race different from the Celtic half savages which we have read inhabit Ireland."

"You mistake, Cynthia, my dear," said the parson; "these are Irish, and genuine Celts, too, as one can tell from the hair and nose. I think, however, you exaggerate their beauty. Have you not read the European letters of Thurlow W---- and Horace G----, which described the middle and upper cla.s.ses of the Irish as the most beautiful complexioned and dignified people in Europe or the world? Now, this is my mind, that you must get some farmers in a good Protestant neighborhood to adopt these children, so that they may all live in the same vicinity, if not in the same family; and by this means all unpleasant consequences will be obviated."

"I say ditto to that," said the Nestor of the council, old Valentine; "but you must lose no time, for the eldest lad told me the priest promised to call for them; and if that gentleman gets them into his hands, I'll warrant all your plans will be frustrated."

"That's just it. You have hit the nail on the head, friend Valentine,"

said Van Stingey. "I will take charge on them, and take them to that gentleman's house, in W---- county, who was here last week looking for a boy and a girl to raise; and _mebbee_ I will scare up somewhere else for the other two young critters."

"Take 'em along, then, and see that you get your pay," said the boss, rising.

"O, never mind, leave that to me," said the vile, wily knave, as he went to see to his arrangements for carrying the orphans to parts unknown.

CHAPTER VII.

A RUDE LOVER OF NATURE.

Father O'Shane, who had suffered severely from the effects of exposure to the late violent storm, no sooner found himself a little recruited, and the roads pa.s.sable, than he prepared to return to his residence in the city. He had, as conductor, a green young Irishman, lately arrived, who felt almost inspired by the unusual luxury, presented for the first time to his view, of a North American snowfall, and pet.i.tioned earnestly to accompany his reverence back to the city to enjoy the "glorious sport," as he called it, of a sleigh ride. The enthusiasm of the young native of the perennial green fields of Munster did not escape the notice of Father O'Shane, who himself was once not less enthusiastic, and now not altogether insensible, to the chaste and almost sublime beauty of Nature, when arrayed in her bridal robes of white on the advent of spring.

"Well, Murty, how do you like this manner of travelling?"

"Be gonnies, your reverence, there is nothing I like better. What a fine time it would be for tracking the hare, or hunting the fox!"

"You are fond of sport, I perceive."

"Bedad, sir, I would rather be out such a day as this, with dog and gun, than eating bread and honey. I wonder if they would put you to jail or transport you here, as they would at home, for fowling a bit in these woods?"

"No, Murty, I believe not."

"No," said Murty, doubtingly. "You don't tell me so, your reverence?"

"I tell you that there are no game laws, or only very nominal ones; so that, when you come back, if you and your dog traverse yonder mountain from top to bottom, you need not be afraid of the rifle of the gamekeeper, or of a sentence to a free pa.s.sage to Van Diemen's Land."

"Murther! Must not they be very fine gentlemen here, to be so liberal?

Signs by I shall, please G.o.d, one of these days, visit that old, grand mountain with the white head; and if there be a hare's form in his rough sides or his curly beard, I will ferret it out, and soon have p.u.s.s.y by the hind legs."

"I can see, Murty, you are growing poetical in your description of old Mount Antoine," said the priest.

"Your reverence, did you ever see such a grand sight? I can't help comparing that grand mountain there to the king of yon wild regions. The snow on the trees, on the summit, causes them to look like gray locks; and, looking down on the smaller mountains on every side, they appear like his subjects or his sons, which, in time, are to grow big like himself, affording shelter and refuge from the snares of the hunter to the wild animals of nature. O, how I like America!" said he, his enthusiasm still rising.

"That's right, Murty; I am glad you do like it. Wait till summer or autumn, and then how beautiful these bleak hills will appear during these delightful seasons!"

"O sir, it is a great, grand country! No tyrants, no landlords, no poverty."

"No poverty, Murty, except what is purely accidental, or brought on by the improvidence of individuals. In the very best regulated society there must, of necessity, be poverty less or more," said the priest, by way of qualification.

"Every thing is free, and there is liberty for all. The very fences, you see, sir, unlike our stone walls at home, give liberty to the winds and storms to blow through them. The mountains are free to the huntsman; the very snow is free to blow and form itself into those beautiful banks, and little mountains, and castles, and stacks, and curtains, and drapery that we see on every side of us as we glide along."

The priest listened with astonishment.

"Was there ever seen any thing so _purty_," continued the peasant, "as those ridges and mounds of snow? I have seen the grandest buildings in Ireland,--Marlborough Street Church, in Dublin, the stone carving and ceiling in Cashel of the Kings, the stucco work on the old Parliament House in College Green,--but I think I see work in these fantastic snow banks that beats them all hollow. And--glory be to G.o.d!--all this beauty, so dazzling, so chaste, was created by a storm, when all nature was in a rage, and men shut themselves up in houses from its violence! I am glad now," said he, "our landlord turned us out. I now forgive him for being the cause of our coming to this country of the brave and the free."

"Was it a landlord who has been the occasion of so much enjoyment to you, Murty?" said Father O'Shane, drawing him out.