CHAPTER XXIX. A SUNDAY MORNING AT CRO' MARTIN
Nothing is further from our intention than to enter upon the long-vexedquestion as to the benefits of an Established Church for Ireland. Wiserheads than ours have discussed it polemically, politically, socially,and arithmetically; and there it is still, left to the judgment of each,as his religion, his party, or his prejudices sway him. There is oneview of the subject, however, which no traveller in the country hasever failed to be struck by; which is, that these settlements ofProtestantism, dotted through the land, are so many types of an advancedcivilization, suggesting, even to those of a different faith, respectand veneration for the decorous observance of this Church, and the calmpeace-fulness with which they keep the Sabbath.
Priests may denounce and politicians declaim, but the Irish peasant,nurtured with all the prejudices of race and religion, never throws offhis veneration for the little flock, who, like a brave garrison in abesieged land, hold manfully together round the banner of their Faith!How striking is this in remote parts of the country, where the reformedreligion has made little progress, and its followers are few in number!
It was Sunday; the gates of Cro' Martin Park were open to admit all whomight repair to the church. When the Martins were at home, Lady Dorotheaused to give to these occasions somewhat of the state of a procession.The servants wore their dress liveries; two carriages were in waiting.She herself appeared in a toilet that might have graced a court chapel;and a formal ceremoniousness of speech and demeanor were ordained as thebecoming recognition of the holy day. Trained to these observances bymany a year, Mary could scarcely comprehend the strange sensation shefelt as she walked along to church, unattended and alone. It was abright day of early summer, with a soft wind stirring the leaves above,and rippling pleasantly the waters of the lake. The perfume of the newhay floated through the thin air, with the odor of the whitethorn andthe meadow-sweet; the birds were singing merrily; and through this gaycarol came the mellow sound of the little bell that summoned to prayer.There was a delicious sense of repose in the stillness around, tellinghow, amid the cares and contentions of life, its wealth seekings, andits petty schemes there came moments when the better instincts werethe victors, and men, in all the diversities of their rank andstation, could meet together to kneel at one altar, and unite in onesupplication. As she went, little glimpses were caught by her of thedistant country beyond the demesne; and over all there reigned the sametranquillity; the sound of voices, far away, adding to the effect, andmaking the silence more palpable. "How peaceful it is," thought she,"and how happy it might be! Could we but bridle our own passions,restrain our mean jealousies, and curb the evil promptings of our ownhearts, what blessings might grow up amongst them! But for objects notworth the attaining,--ambitions of no value when won,--and my unclemight still be here, strolling along, perhaps, with me at thisvery moment, and with me drinking in this calm repose and soothingquietness."
Before her, at some little distance on the path, went the threedaughters of the village doctor; and, though well and becominglyattired, there was nothing in their appearance to warrant the reproachLady Dorothea had cast upon their style of dress. It was, indeed,scrupulously neat, but simple. The eldest was a girl of about sixteen,with all the gravity of manner and staid expression that belongsto those who stand in the light of mothers to younger sisters. Thehousekeeper of her father's little home, the manager of all withinits humble household, his secretary, his companion, Ellen Cloves hadacquired, while little more than a child, the patient and submissivetemper that long worldly trial confers. They lived perfectly tothemselves; between the society of the castle and that of the farmersaround there was no intermediate territory, and thus they passed theirlives in a little circle of home duties and affections, which made upall their world.
Mary Martin had often wished it in her power to show them someattentions; she was attracted by their gentle faces and their calmand happy demeanor. Had her aunt permitted, she would have frequentlyinvited them to the castle, lent them books and music, and soughtcompanionship in their intercourse. But Lady Dorothea would not haveheard of such a project; her theory was that familiarity with thepeasant was so far safe that his station was a safeguard against anyundue intimacy; while your half-gentry were truly perilous, for if youcondescended to civility with them, they invariably mistook it for afriendship. Dr. Cloves dined every Christmas-day at the great house; butso did Mr. Scanlan and all the other heads of departments. It was a verygrand and solemn festival, where neither host nor guest was happy; eachfelt that it was but the acquaintance of an hour, and that with themoment of leave-taking came back all the cold reserve of the day before.
"Good-morning, Miss Cloves; good-day, Jane, and little Bessy," saidMary, as she overtook them.
"Good-morning to you, Miss Martin," said Ellen, blushing with surpriseat seeing her alone and on foot.
"I trust the doctor is not ill? I don't see him with you," said Mary,anxious to relieve her momentary embarrassment.
"Papa has been sent for to Knocktiernan, Miss Martin. They 're afraidthat a case of cholera has occurred there."
"May God forbid!" ejaculated Mary, with deep emotion; "we have greatdistress and poverty around us. I hope we may be spared this scourge."
"It is what papa feared always," rejoined Ellen, gravely; "that want anddestitution would bring on the malady."
"Have you heard who it is is ill?"
"Simon Hanley, the carpenter, Miss Martin; he worked at the castleonce--"
"Yes, yes I remember him; he made me my first little garden-rake. Poorfellow! And he has a large family. Your father will, I trust, have seenhim in time. Knocktiernan is but four miles of a good road."
"Papa went by the Mills, Miss Martin, for shortness, for he was onfoot."
"Why did he not ride?"
"He has sold Bluebell,--the pony, I mean, Miss Martin."
Mary's face became crimson with a blush that seemed to burn through theforehead into her very brain, and she could only mutter,--
"I 'm sorry I did n't know; my carriage and pony were in the stable. IfI had but heard of this--" and was silent.
They had now reached the entrance to the little churchyard, where thefew members of the small flock lingered, awaiting the arrival of theclergyman. Amidst many a respectful salutation and gaze of affectionateinterest, Mary walked to the end of the aisle, where, shrouded in heavycurtains, soft-cushioned and high-panelled, stood the castle pew.
It must be, indeed, hard for the rich man to enter the kingdom ofheaven. The very appliances of his piety are the offshoots of hisvoluptuous habits; and that his heart should feel humble, his hassockmust be of down! It was not often that the words of the pastor wereheard within that solemn, small enclosure with the same reverentdevotion. Mary was now alone there; her mind no longer distracted bythe petty incidents of their coming, her proud station seemed tohave vanished, and she felt herself but as one of an humble flock,supplicating and in sorrow!
Dr. Leslie had heard of the terrible visitation which menaced them, andmade it the subject of his sermon. The fact of his own great age andfast declining strength gave a deeper meaning to all he said, andimparted to the faltering words of his benediction the solemnity of afarewell.
"You are a little fatigued to-day, doctor," said Mary, as he came out ofchurch. "Will you allow me to offer you my arm?"
"Willingly, my dear Miss Mary. But this is not our road."
"Why so?--this is the path to the vicarage."
"They 've made some change, my dear; they 've altered the approach."
"And you came round by the avenue,--a distance of two miles?" cried she,deep crimson with shame.
"And kept you all waiting; but not very long, I trust," said he, smilingbenevolently. "But come, talk to me of yourself, and when I am to comeand see you."
"Oh, my dear Dr. Leslie, you must not think that I--that my uncle--" Shestopped, and he pressed her hand gently, and said,--
"Do not speak of it; do not give importance to t
hings which are trifles,if we have but good temper to leave them so. Is to-morrow a free daywith you; or when shall I hope to find you at leisure?"
"My dear doctor, every day will be so in future; all my functions haveceased here. I am to be nothing in future."
"I had heard something of that, and I said to myself, 'Now will MaryMartin display her real character. No longer carried away by the mereenthusiasm of her great power and her high station, not exalted toherself by the flatteries around her, we shall see whether the sterlingqualities of her nature will not supply higher and greater resourcesthan all the credit at a banker's!' I never undervalued all you didhere, Mary Martin; I saw your noble purpose, even in failures; but Ialways felt that to make these efforts react favorably on yourself,there should be something of sacrifice. To do good was a luxury toyou; and it was a luxury very easy to purchase. You were rich, you werepowerful; none controlled you. Your benefits were acknowledged with allthe enthusiasm of peasant gratitude. Why should you not be beneficent?what other course of conduct could bring you one half the pleasure?For the future, it is from another source you must dispense wealth; buthappily it is one which there is no exhausting, for the heart exercisedto charity has boundless stores. Let these be your riches now. Goamongst the people; learn to know them,--rather their friend than theirbenefactor,--and believe me that all the gold you have scattered sogenerously will not have sown such seeds of goodness as the meek exampleof your own noble submission to altered fortune. There, my dear," saidhe, smiling, "I 'll say no more, lest you should tell me that I havepreached half an hour already. And I may come to-morrow, you say?"
"What a happiness it will be for me to speak to you!" said Mary,ardently. "There are so many things I want to say,--so much on which Ineed advice."
"I 'm but little practised in the ways of the world," said he, with agentle sigh, "but I have ever found great wisdom in an honest purpose;and then," added he, more warmly, "it is a fine philosophy that securesus against humiliation, even in defeat!"
They now walked along for some time without speaking, when a suddenangle of the path brought them directly in front of the castle. Theyboth halted suddenly, struck, as it were, by the aspect of the spaciousand splendid structure, all silent and deserted. The doors wereclosed, the windows shuttered,--not a living creature moved about theprecincts,--and the lone flagstaff on the tower unfurled no "banner tothe breeze." Even the trimly kept parterres were beginning to show signsof neglect, and tangled flowers fell across the gravel.
"What a lonely home for _her!_" muttered the old doctor to himself; thensuddenly exclaimed, "Here comes some one in search of you, Miss Martin."
And a servant approached and whispered a few words in her ear.
"Yes, immediately," said she, in reply.
She entreated the old man to rest himself for a while ere he continuedhis walk homeward; but he declined, and with an affectionate farewellthey parted,--he towards the vicarage, and she to re-enter the castle.
There is no need to practise mystery with our reader; and he whohad just arrived, and was eager to see Miss Martin, was only MauriceScanlan! As little use is there also in denying the fact that Mary wasmuch annoyed at his inopportune coming. She was in no mood of mind tomeet either him or such topics as he would certainly discuss.
However, she had, so to say, given him a permission to be admitted atall times, and there was no help for it!
These same people that one "must see," are very terrible inflictionssometimes. They are ever present at the wrong time and the wrongplace. They come in moments when their presence is a discord to all ourthoughts; and what is to the full as bad, they don't know it,--or theywill not know it. They have an awful amount of self-esteem, and fancythat they never can be but welcome. A type of this class was MauriceScanlan. Thrust forward by the accidents of life into situations forwhich nothing in his own humble beginnings seemed to adapt him, he had,like all the other Maurice Scanlans of the world, taken to suppose thathe was really a very necessary and important ingredient in all affairs.He found, too, that his small cunning served to guide him, where reallyable men's wisdom failed them,--for so it is, people won't takesoundings when they think they can see the bottom; and, finally, heconceived a very high opinion of his faculties, and thought them equalto much higher purposes than they had ever been engaged in.
Since his last interview with Mary Martin, he had never ceased tocongratulate himself on the glorious turn of his affairs. Though notover-sanguine about others, Maurice was always hopeful of himself. It isone of the characteristics of such men, and one of the greatest aids totheir activity, this ever-present belief in themselves. To secure thegood opinion he had already excited in his favor was now his greatendeavor; and nothing could so effectually contribute to this, as toshow an ardent zeal and devotion to her wishes. He had read somewhere ofa certain envoy who had accomplished his mission ere it was believed hehad set out; and he resolved to profit by the example. It was, then,in the full confidence of success, that he presented himself on thisoccasion.
Mary received him calmly, almost coldly. His presence was not in harmonywith any thought that occupied her, and she deemed the task of admittinghim something like an infliction.
"I drove over, Miss Mary," said he, rather disconcerted by herreserve,--"I drove over to-day, though I know you don't like business ona Sunday, just to say that I had completed that little matter you spokeof,--the money affair. I did n't sleep on it, but went to work at once;and though the papers won't be ready for some days, the cash is readyfor you whenever you like to draw it."
"You have been very kind and very prompt, sir," said she, thankfully,but with a languor that showed she was not thinking of the subject.
"He said five per cent," continued Scanlan, "and I made no objection;for, to tell you the truth, I expected he'd have asked us six,--he'sgenerally a hard hand to deal with."
It was evident that he hoped her curiosity might have inquired the nameof him thus alluded to; but she never did so, but heard the fact with acalm indifference.
Scanlan was uneasy; his heaviest artillery had opened no breach. Whatshould be his next manouvre?
"The money-market is tight just now," said he, speaking only to gaintime for further observation; "and there's worse times even before us."
If Mary heard, she did not notice this gloomy speculation.
"I 'm sure it will be no easy job to get the last November rent paid up.It was a bad crop; and now there 's sickness coming amongst them," saidhe, half as though to himself. "You'll have to excuse me to-day, Mr.Scanlan," said she, at last. "I find I can think of nothing; I am in oneof my idle moods."
"To be sure, why not, Miss Mary?" said he, evidently piqued at theill-success of all his zeal. "It was _I_ made a mistake. I fancied,somehow, you were anxious about this little matter; but another day willdo as well,--whenever it's your own convenience."
"You are always considerate, always good-natured, Mr. Scanlan," saidshe, with a vagueness that showed she was scarcely conscious of what sheuttered.
"If _you_ think so, Miss Mary, I 'm well repaid," said he, with a dashof gallantry in the tone; "nor is it by a trifle like this I'd like toshow my--my--my--devotion." And the last word came out with an effortthat made his face crimson.
"Yes," muttered she, not hearing one word of his speech.
"So that I'll come over to-morrow, Miss Mary," broke he in.
"Very well, to-morrow!" replied she, as still musing she turned to thewindow, no more thinking of the luckless attorney than if he had beenmiles away; and when at length she did look round, he was gone! It wassome minutes ere Mary could perfectly reconcile herself to the fact thathe had been there at all; but as to how and when and why he took hisleave, were mysteries of which she could make nothing. And yet Mr.Scanlan had gone through a very ceremonious farewell. He had bowed, andsidled, and simpered, and smirked, and sighed; had thrown himself intoattitudes pictorially devoted and despairing, looked unutterable thingsin various styles, and finally made an exit, covere
d with as muchshame and discomfiture as so confident a spirit could well experience,muttering, as he paced the corridor, certain prospective reprisals forthis haughty indifference, when a certain time should arrive, and acertain fair lady--But we have no right to push his speculations furtherthan he himself indulged them; and on the present occasion Maurice wasless sanguine than his wont.
"I fed the mare, sir," said Barnes, as he held the stirrup for Scanlanto mount.
"And gave her water, too," said the attorney, doggedly.
"Devil a drop, then," resumed the other. "I just sprinkled the oats, nomore; that's Miss Mary's orders always."
"She understands a stable well," said Scanlan, half questioning.
"Does n't she?" said the other, with a sententious smack of the lip. "Tobit a horse or to back him, to tache him his paces and cure him of badtricks, to train him for harness, double and single, to show him the wayover a wall or a wide ditch, to make him rise light and come down easy,she has n't a match on this island; and as for training," added he, withfresh breath, "did you see Sir Lucius?"
"No," said Scanlan, with awakened interest.
"Wait till I bring him out, then. I'll show you a picture!" And Barnesdisappeared into the stable. In five minutes after, he returned, leadinga dark brown horse, who, even shrouded in all the covering of hoodand body-clothes, displayed in his long step and lounging gait theattributes of a racer.
In a few minutes Barnes had unbuckled strap and surcingle, and sweepingback the blankets dexterously over the croup, so as not to ruffle a hairof the glossy coat, exhibited an animal of surpassing symmetry, in allthe pride of high condition.
"There's a beast," said he, proudly, "without speck or spot, brand orblemish about him! You 're a good judge of a horse, Mr. Scanlan; andtell me when did you see his equal?"
"He's a nice horse!" said Scanlan, slowly, giving to each word a slowand solemn significance; then, casting a keen glance all around and overhim, added, "There 's a splint on the off leg!"
"So there is, the least taste in life," said Barnes, passing his handlightly over it; "and was there ever a horse--worth the name of ahorse--that hadn't a splint? Sure, they 're foaled with them! I wantedMiss Mary to let me take that off with an ointment I have, but she wouldn't. 'It's not in the way of the tendon,' says she. 'It will never spoilhis action, and we 'll not blemish him with a mark.' Them's her verywords."
"He's a nice horse," said Scanlan, once more, as if the very parsimonyof the praise was the highest testimony of the utterer; "and in rarecondition, too," added he.
"In the very highest," said Barnes. "He was as sure of that cup as I amthat my name 's Tim."
"What cup?" asked Scanlan.
"Kiltimmon,--the June race; he's entered and all; and now he's tobe sold,--them 's the orders I got yesterday; he's to be auctioned atDycer's on Saturday for whatever he'll bring!"
"And now, what do you expect for him, Barnes?" said Maurice,confidentially.
"Sorrow one o' me knows. He might go for fifty,--he might go for twohundred and fifty! and cheap he'd be of it. He has racing speed over aflat course, and steeplechase action for his fences. With eleven stoneon his back--one that can ride, I mean, of course--he 'd challenge allIreland."
418]
"I would n't mind making a bid for him myself," said Scanlan, hesitatingbetween his jockeyism and the far deeper game which he was playing.
"Do then, sir, and don't draw him for the race, for he 'll win it assure as I 'm here. 'T is Jemmy was to ride him; and Miss Mary would n'tobject to give you the boy, jacket and all, her own colors,--blue, withwhite sleeves."
"Do you think so, Barnes? Do you think she'd let me run him in theMartin colors?" cried Scanlan, to whom the project now had suddenlyassumed a most fascinating aspect.
"What would you give for him?" asked Barnes, in a business-like voice.
"A hundred,--a hundred and fifty,--two hundred, if I was sure of whatyou say."
"Leave it to me, sir,--leave it all to _me_," said Barnes, with thegravity of a diplomatist who understood his mission. "Where can I seeyou to-morrow?"
"I 'll be here about ten o'clock!"
"That will do,--enough said!" And Barnes, replacing the horse-sheet,slowly re-entered the stable; while Scanlan, putting spurs to his nag,dashed hurriedly away, his thoughts outstripping in their speed the pacehe went, and traversing space with a rapidity that neither "blood" nortraining ever vied with.
END OF VOL. I.
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