"He has made use of that language to intimidate your worship," proceeded Purcel, but I think he ought to know you better."

"Sir," said O'Driscol, addressing Hourigan, "what did you mane by talking about shooting magistrates? Do you think, sirrah, to frighten me--Fitzgerald O'Driscol--from discharging my duty?"

"Frighten, you, sir! oh! bedad, your honor, you aren't the gintleman for that."

"No, sir, I believe not--I believe not, Hourigan; no, my poor man, I am not indeed. Hourigan, you are not an uncivil person, but why refuse to pay your t.i.thes? You are well able to do it."

"Why, bekaise I daren't, sir; if I did--talkin' about shootin'--it's a round lump of lead I would find in my stomach instead o' my poor breakfast, some o' these days."

"I don't doubt but he is right enough there, your worship," observed Purcel, "there's a conspiracy--"

"Yes," exclaimed the magistrate, "oh! ay!--yes!--hem--a conspiracy!

Well--no matter--let it rest for a little. Well--as this case is one of great difficulty, involving several profound points of law, I would recommend you to make it up, and be friends. Hourigan, you will forgive Mr. Purcel, who is hasty but generous. You will forgive him, I say, and he will give you something in the shape of a--salve for your wounds.

Come, forgive him, Hourigan, and I will overlook, on my part, the seditious language you used against the Irish magistracy; and, besides, you will make me your friend."

"Forgive him, sir!" said Hourigan, shrugging himself, and putting up his hand to feel the welts of black and blue which intersected each other upon his countenance and shoulders. "An' maybe it's half-a-crown he'll threwn me."

"No, no, Hourigan, I'll guarantee for him that he'll treat you liberally: one good turn deserves another, you know."

"Well, then, let him say what he'll give me."

"There's a pound-note for you," said Purcel, flinging it across the table. "If you take that, you may, but if not, I'll give no more.

Your worship, this, you perceive, is cross-case, and if you receive examination on the one side, you will, of course, upon the other?"

"True," replied O'Driscol, who had not thought of this, and who seized upon it as a perfect relief to him; "true, Mr. Purcel, it is a cross-case, and so I understand it. Let me recommend you to take the money, Hourigan."

"Well, then, your honor, I will, on your account, and bekaise, as your worship says, bekaise one good tarn desarues another, an' ought to get it. I'm satisfied for the present." And as he spoke, he turned, in a skulking, furtive manner, such a look upon Purcel as we will not attempt to describe.

"Now, Hourigan," said O'Driscol, "I am glad I have settled this matter in your favor. If I had taken Mr. Purcel's informations, you would have certainly been transported; but the truth is, and I trust you have seen it this day, and will allow it, that in my magisterial capacity, although just and impartial I hope, yet, still, whenever I can with raison, I am always disposed to lane towards the poor man, and be the poor man's magistrate--hem--ahem!"

"Yes, plaise your honor," said Hourigan, rather drily, "but it's so hard to make the people at large believe the truth, sir. Good-mornin', your worship, an' many thanks for the illigant justice you gave me.

Good-mornin' you, too, Misther Purcel; I hope we'll be betther friends, sir."

"And I hope you will pay your t.i.thes, and keep a civiler tongue in your head," replied the latter, as Hourigan left the office.

Before this weighty matter was determined, Fergus O'Driscol, although satisfied that Hourigan and their new laborer were acquainted, resolved to corroborate his evidence of the fact, if possible, and for this purpose he sent the fellow, as had been agreed on, to walk Purcel's horse up and down the lower part of the avenue, near the entrance gate, which was somewhat secluded and not within view of the house, for the avenue was a winding one. In the meantime he stationed himself in a clump of trees, to which he went by a back walk in the shrubbery that was concealed from that part of the avenue. Here, we say, he stationed himself to watch these worthies, but, unfortunately, at too great a distance to hear their conversation, should they speak and recognize each other. On this subject he was not permitted to remain long in suspense. Hourigan soon made his appearance, and, on approaching the stringer, looked cautiously about him in every direction, whilst the latter, who had been walking Purcel's horse towards the house, suddenly turned back, and kept conversing with Hourigan until they reached the entrance gate, where they stood for about ten minutes in close and evidently confidential dialogue, as was clear from their watching in all directions, to make certain that they were not observed. They then shook hands, cordially, and Hourigan bent his steps towards the town of Lisnagola. Fergus, who had seen all their motions most distinctly, took occasion to pa.s.s up the avenue a few minutes afterwards, where he met the stranger still leading Purcel's horse.

"What's your name, my good fellow?" he asked.

"Phil Hart, sir."

"Do you know if the man who summoned Mr. Purcel before my father has gone out?"

"I don't know, plaise your honor."

"Did any person go out within the last few minutes?"

"Yes, sir, there went a man out; maybe it was him."

"You don't know Hourigan's appearance, then?"

"No, sir. Hourigan, was that his name?"

"Yes. Are you a native of this county?"

"Not exactly, sir; but I have friends in it."

"Who are they?"

"The Ahernes, sir, up in the mountains behind Lisnagola beyant."

"And who recommended you to Mr. Arthur?"

"His brother-in-law, sir, one Frank Finnerty, in the mountains above; that is, they're both marrid upon the two shisthers, plaise your honor."

"And what caused you to leave your native place?"

"Why, sir, my father houlds a bit o' land; he owed some t.i.the, sir, and--"

"Would not pay it; they consequently took proceedings--you resisted the execution of the law, and then you had to run for it."

"Well, not exactly, sir."

"How was it, then?"

"Why, sir, we paid the t.i.thes; an' whin this was discovered, I, at any rate, had to run for it. The people, your honor, found out that it was I that ped them, an' I was glad, of coorse, to fly for my life. I'd thank you, sir, to keep what I tould you to yourself, for even if it was known in this neighborhood that I ped them, I wouldn't be safe."

"You don't know Hourigan, then?"

"How could I, sir, and me a sthranger?"

"Faith, and whether you do or not, it seems to me there's a strong family likeness between you and him."

"Maybe so," the fellow replied, with a grin. "I hear my father say that he sartinly was down in this counthry when he was sowin' his wild oats:"

and with this observation he pa.s.sed on with the horse he was leading.

CHAPTER VIII.--An Unreformed Church

--The Value of Public Opinion--Be not Familiar with the Great

Recent circ.u.mstances have, unfortunately, shown us the danger of tampering with, and stimulating, the blind impulses of ignorant prejudice and popular pa.s.sion beyond that limit where the powers of restraint cease to operate with effect. At the period which our narrative has now reached, and for a considerable time before it, those low rumblings which stunned and frightened the ear of civilized society, like the ominous sounds that precede an earthquake, were now followed by those tremblings and undulations which accompany the shock itself.

But before we describe that social condition to which we refer, it is necessary that we should previously raise the vail a little, which time has drawn between us and the condition of the Established Church, not merely at that crisis, but for a long period before it. This we shall do as briefly as possible, because we feel that it is an exceedingly unpleasant task to contemplate a picture which presents to us points of observation that are, from their very nature, painful to look upon--and features so secular and carnal, that scarcely any language could exaggerate, much less distort them.

The Established Church in Ireland, then, in its unpurged and unreformed state, was very little else than a mere political engine for supporting and fostering British interests and English principles in this country; and no one, here had any great chance of preferment in it who did not signalize himself some way in favor of British policy. The Establishment was indeed the only bond that bound the political interests of the two nations together. But if any person will now venture to form an opinion of the Irish Church from her gorgeousness and immense wealth at that period, he will unquestionably find that what ought to have been a spiritual, pure, holy, self-denying, and zealous Church, was neither more nor less than an overgrown, proud, idle, and indolent Establishment, bloated by ease and indulgence, and corrupted almost to the very core by secular and political prost.i.tution. The state of the Establishment was indeed equally anomalous and disgraceful. So jealous was England, and at the same time so rapacious of its wealth, that it was parcelled out to Englishmen without either shame or scruple, whilst Irish piety and learning, when they did happen to be found, were uniformly overlooked and disregarded. All the ecclesiastical offices of dignity and emolument were bestowed upon Englishmen; upon men who lived here with reluctance, and but seldom--who had no sympathy with the country or its inhabitants--nay, who looked upon us, in general, with feeling of hostility and contempt; and who, by example or precept, rendered no earthly equivalent for the enormous sums that were drawn from a poor and struggling people. It is idle to say that these prodigious ecclesiastical revenues were not paid by the people, but by the landlord, who, if the people had not paid them, would have added them to the rent. But even so--the straggling peasant reasoned naturally, for he felt it to be one thing to pay even a high rent to the landlord, whose rights, as such, he acknowledged, but a very different thing to pay forth out of his own pocket a tenth of his produce to the pastor of a hostile creed, which had little sympathy with him, for which he received no spiritual equivalent, and on which, besides, he was taught to look as a gross and unG.o.dly heresy.