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The Ned M'Keown Stories by William Carleton

W >> William Carleton >> The Ned M\'Keown Stories




"'Well,' says Jack to the officer, 'nobody can do more than be sorry
for a wrong turn; small blame to her for taking a fancy to your humble
servant, Mr. Officer,'--and he stood as tall as possible to show himself
off: 'you see the fair lady is sorrowful for her folly, so as it's
not yet too late, and as you came in the nick of time, in the name of
Providence take my place, and let the marriage go an.'

"'No,' says she, 'never; I'm not worthy of him, at all, at all;
thundher-an-age, but I'm the unlucky thief!'

"While this was going forward, the officer looked closely at Jack, and
seeing him such a fine, handsome fellow, and having heard before of his
riches, he began to think that, all things considhered, she wasn't so
much to be _blempt_. Then, when he saw how sorry she was for having
forgot him, he steps _forrid_.

"'Well,' says he, 'I'm still willing to marry you, particularly as you
feel conthrition--'"


"He should have said contrition, confession, and satisfaction," observed
Father Peter.

"Pettier, will you keep your theology to yourself," replied Father Ned,
"and let us come to the plot without interruption."

"Plot!" exclaimed Father Peter; "I'm sure it's no rebellion that there
should be a plot in it, any way!"

"_Tace_," said Father Ned--"_tace_, and that's Latin for a candle."

"I deny that," said the curate; "tace is the imperative mood from
_tacco_, to keep silent. Tacco, taces, tacui, tacere, tacendi, tacendo
tac--"

"Ned, go on with your story, and never mind that deep larning of
his--he's almost cracked with it," said the superior: "go on, and never
mind him."


"'Well,' says he, 'I'm still willing to marry you, particularly as you
feel conthrition for what you were going to do.' So, with this, they
all gother about her, and, as the officer was a fine fellow himself,
prevailed upon her to let the marriage be performed, and they were
accordingly spliced as fast as his Reverence could make them.

"'Now, Jack,' says the dog, 'I want to spake with you for a minute--it's
a word for your own ear;' so up he stands on his two hind legs, and
purtinded to be whisp'ring something to him; but what do you think?--he
gives him the slightest touch on the lips with his paw, and that instant
Jack remimbered the lady and everything that happened betune them.

"'Tell me, this instant,' says Jack, seizing him by the throat, 'where's
the darling, at all, at all, or by this and by that you'll hang on the
next tree!'

"Jack spoke finer nor this, to be sure, but as I can't give his tall
English, the sorra one of me will bother myself striving to do it.

"'Behave yourself,' says the dog, 'just say nothing, only follow me.'

"Accordingly, Jack went out with the dog, and in a few minutes comes in
again, leading along with him, on the one side, the loveliest lady that
ever eye beheld, and the dog, that was her brother, metamurphied into a
beautiful, illegant gintleman, on the other.

"'Father Flannagan,' says Jack, 'you thought a little while ago you'd
have no marriage, but instead of that you'll have a brace of them;' up
and telling the company, at the same time, all that had happened to him,
and how the beautiful crathur that he had brought in with him had done
so much for him.

"Whin the gintlemen heard this, as they Were all Irishmen, you may be
sure there was nothing but huzzaing and throwing up of hats from them,
and waving of hankerchers from the ladies. Well, my dear, the wedding
dinner was ate in great style; the nobleman proved himself no disgrace
to his rank at the trencher; and so, to make a long story short, such
faisting and banquetteering was never since or before. At last, night
came; among ourselves, not a doubt of it, but Jack thought himself a
happy man; and maybe, if all was known, the bride was much in the
same opinion: be that as it may, night came--the bride, all blushing,
beautiful, and modest as your own sweetheart, was getting tired after
the dancing; Jack, too, though much stouter, wished for a trifle of
repose, and many thought it was near time to throw the stocking, as is
proper, of coorse, on every occasion of the kind. Well, he was just on
his way up stairs, and had reached the first landing, when he hears a
voice at his ear, shouting, 'Jack--Jack--Jack Magennis!' Jack could have
spitted anybody for coming to disturb him at such a criticality. 'Jack
Magennis!' says the voice. Jack looked about to see who it was that
called him, and there he found himself lying on the green Rath, a little
above his mother's cabin, of a fine, calm summer's evening, in the month
of June. His mother was stooping over him, with her mouth at his ear,
striving to waken him, by shouting and shaking him out of his sleep.

"'Oh! by this and by that, mother,' says Jack, 'what did you waken me
for?'

"'Jack, avourneen,' says the mother, 'sure and you war lying grunting,
and groaning, and snifthering there, for all the world as if you had the
cholic, and I only nudged you for fraid you war in pain.'

"'I wouldn't for a thousand guineas,' says Jack, 'that ever you wakened
me, at all, at all; but whisht, mother, go into the house, and I'll be
afther you in less than no time.'

"The mother went in, and the first thing Jack did was to try the rock;
and, sure enough, there he found as much money as made him the richest
man that ever was in the country. And what was to his credit, when, he
did grow rich, he wouldn't let his cabin be thrown down, but built a
fine castle on a spot near it, where he could always have it under his
eye, to prevent him from getting proud. In the coorse of time, a harper,
hearing the story, composed a tune upon it, which every body knows is
called the 'Little House under the Hill' to this day, beginning with--

'Hi for it, ho for it, hi for it still;
Och, and whoo! your sowl--hi for the little house under the hill!'

"So you see that was the way the great Magennisses first came by their
wealth, and all because Jack was indistrious, and an obadient, dutiful,
and tindher son to his helpless ould mother, and well he deserved
what he got, _ershi misha_ (* Say I.) Your healths, Father Ned--Father
Pether--all kinds of happiness to us; and there's my story."

* * * * *

"Well," said Father Peter, "I think that dog was nothing more or less
than a downright cur, that deserved the lash nine times a day, if it
was only for his want of respect to the clergy; if he had given me such
insolence, I solemnly declare I would have bate the devil out of him
with a hazel cudgel, if I failed to exorcise him with a prayer."

Father Ned looked at the simple and credulous curate with an expression
of humor and astonishment.

"Paddy," said he to the servant, "will you let us know what the night's
doing?"

Paddy looked out. "Why, your Rev'rence, it's a fine night, all out, and
cleared up it is bravely."

At this moment the stranger awoke.

"Sir," said Father Ned, "you missed an amusing story, in consequence of
your somnolency."

"Though I missed the story," replied the stranger, "I was happy enough
to hear your friend's critique upon the dog."

Father Ned seemed embarrassed; the curate, on the contrary, exclaimed
with triumph--"but wasn't I right, sir?"

"Perfectly," said the stranger; "the moral you applied was excellent."

"Good-night, boys," said Father Ned--"good-night, Mr. Longinus
Polysyllabus Alexandrinus!"

"Good-night, boys," said Father Peter, imitating Father Ned, whom he
looked upon as a perfect model of courtesy--"Good-night, boys--good
night, Mr. Longinus Polysyllabus Alexandrinus."

"Good-night," replied the stranger--"good-night, Doctor Edward Deleery;
and good-night, Doctor Peter M'Clatchaghan--good-night."

When the clergymen were gone, the circle about the fire, excepting the
members of Ned's family and the stranger, dispersed to their respective
homes; and thus ended the amusement of that evening.

After they had separated, Ned, whose curiosity respecting the stranger
was by no means satisfied, began to sift him in his own peculiar manner,
as they both sat at the fire.

"Well, sir," said Ned, "barring the long play-acther that tumbles upon
the big stage in the street of our market-town, here below, I haven't
seen so long a man this many a day; and, barring your big whiskers,
the sorra one of your honor's unlike him. A fine portly vagabone he is,
indeed--a big man, and a bigger rogue, they say, for he pays nobody."

"Have you got such a company in your neighborhood?" inquired the
stranger, with indifference.

"We have, sir," said Ned, "but, plase goodness, they'll soon be lashed
like hounds from the place--the town boys are preparing to give them a
chivey some fine morning out of the country."

"Indeed!--he--hem! that will be very spirited of the town boys," said
the stranger dryly.

"That's a smart looking horse your honor rides," observed Ned; "did he
carry you far to-day, with submission?"

"Not far," replied his companion--"only fourteen miles; but, I suppose,
the fact is, you wish to know who and what I am, where I came from and
whither I am going. Well, you shall know this. In the first place, I am
agent to Lord Non Resident's estate, if you ever heard of that
nobleman, and am on my way from Castle Ruin, the seat of his Lordship's
Incumbrances, to Dublin. My name you have already heard. Are you now
satisfied?"

"Parfitly, your honor," replied Ned, "and I am much obliged to you,
sir."

"I trust you are an honest man," said the stranger, "because for this
night I am about to place great confidence in you."

"Well, sir," said his landlord, "if I turn out dishonest to you, it's
more nor I did in my whole life to any body else, barring to Nancy."

"Here, then," said the stranger, drawing out a large packet, inclosed
in a roll of black leather--"here is the half year's rent of the estate,
together with my own property: keep it secure till morning, when I shall
demand it, and, of course, it will be safe?"

"As if it was five _fadom_, under ground," replied Ned. "I will put it
along with our own trifle of silver; and after that, let Nancy alone for
keeping it safe, so long as it's there;" saying which, Ned secured the
packet, and showed the stranger his bed.

About five o'clock the next morning their guest was up, and ordered a
snack in all haste; "Being a military man," said he, "and accustomed to
timely hours, I shall ride down to the town, and put a letter into the
post-office in time for the Dublin mail, after which you may expect me
to breakfast. But, in the meantime, I am not to go with empty pockets,"
he added; when mounting his horse at the door--"bring me some silver,
landlord, and be quick."

"How much, plase your honor?"

"Twenty or thirty shillings; but, harkee, produce my packet, that I may
be quite certain my property is safe."

"Here it is, your honor, safe and sound," replied Ned, returning from
within; "and Nancy, sir, has sent you all the silver she has, which
was One Pound Five; but I'd take it as a favor if your honor would be
contint with twenty shillings, and lave me the odd five, for you see
the case is this, sir, plase your honor, _she_," and Ned, with a
shrewd, humorous nod, pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, as he
spoke-- "she wears the ---- what you know, sir."

"Ay, I thought so," replied the stranger; "but a man of your size to be
henpecked must be a great knave, otherwise your wife would allow you
more liberty. Go in, man; you deserve no compassion in such an age of
freedom as this. I sha'n't give you a farthing till after my return, and
only then if it be agreeable to your wife."*

* Ned M'Keown was certainly a very remarkable individual,
and became, in consequence of his appearance in these pages,
a person of considerable notoriety during the latter years
of his life. His general character, and the nature of his
unsuccessful speculations, I have drawn with great truth.
There is only one point alone in which I have done him
injustice, and that is in depicting him as a henpecked
husband. The truth is, I had a kind of good humored pique in
against Ned, and for the following reasons:--The cross-roads
at which he lived formed a central point for all the
youngsters of the neighborhood to assemble for the purpose
of practising athletic exercises, of which I, in my youth,
was excessively fond. Now Ned never would suffer me to join
my young acquaintances in these harmless and healthful
sports, but on every occasion, whenever he saw me, he would
run out with,a rod or cudgel and chase me from the scene of
amusement. This, to a boy so enthusiastically devoted to
such diversions as I was, often occasioned me to give him
many a hearty malediction when at a safe distance. In fact,
he continued this practice until I became too much of a man
to run away, after which he durst only growl and mutter
abuse, whilst I snapped my fingers at him. For this reason,
then, and remembering all the vexatious privations of my
favorite sports which he occasioned me, I resolved to turn
the laugh against him, which I did effectually, by bringing
him out in the character of a hen-pecked husband, which was
indeed very decidedly opposed to his real one. My triumph
was complete, and Ned, on hearing himself read of "in a
book," waxed indignant and wrathful. In speaking of me he
could not for the life of him express any other idea of my
age and person than that by which he last remembered me.
"What do you think?" he would exclaim, "there's that young
Carleton has put me in a book, and made Nancy leather me!"
Ned survived Nancy several years, and married another wife,
whom I never saw. About twenty-five years ago he went to
America, where he undertook to act as a tanner, and nearly
ruined his employer. After some time he returned, home, and
was forced to mend roads. Towards the close of his life,
however, he contrived to get an ass and cart, and became
egg-merchant, but I believe with his usual success. In this
last capacity, I think about two years ago, he withdrew from
all his cares and speculations, and left behind him the
character of an honest, bustlin, good-humored man, whom
everybody knew and everybody liked, and whose harmless
eccentricities many will long remember with good-humor and
regret.

"Murdher!" said Ned, astonished, "I beg your honor's pardon; but murdher
alive, sir, where's your whiskers?"

The stranger put his hand hastily to his face, and smiled--"Where are my
whiskers? Why, shaved off, to be sure," he replied; and setting spurs to
his horse, was soon out of sight and hearing.

It was nearly a month after that, when Ned and Nancy, in presence of
Father Deleery, opened the packet, and. discovered, not the half-year's
rent of Lord Non-Resident's estate, but a large sheaf of play-bills
packed up together--their guest having been the identical person to whom
Ned affirmed he bore so strong a resemblance.




SHANE FADH'S WEDDING.

On the following evening, the neighbors were soon assembled about
Ned's hearth in the same manner as on the night preceding:--And we may
observe, by the way, that though there was a due admixture of opposite
creeds and conflicting principles, yet even then, and the time is not so
far back, such was their cordiality of heart and simplicity of manners
when contrasted with the bitter and rancorous spirit of the present day
that the very remembrance of the harmony in which they lived is at once
pleasing and melancholy.

After some preliminary chat, "Well Shane," said Andy Morrow, addressing
Shane Fadh, "will you give us an account of your wedding? I'm tould it
was the greatest let-out that ever was in the country, before or since."

"And you may say that, Mr. Morrow," said Shane, "I was at many a wedding
myself, but never at the likes of my own, barring Tim Lannigan's, that
married Father Corrigan's niece."

"I believe," said Andy, "that, too, was a dashing one; however, it's
your own we want. Come, Nancy, fill these measures again, and let us be
comfortable, at all events, and give Shane a double one, for talking's
druthy work:--I'll stand this round."

When the liquor was got in, Shane, after taking a draught, laid down his
pint, pulled out his steel tobacco-box, and, after twisting off a
chew between his teeth, closed the box, and commenced the story of his
wedding.

"When I was a Brine-Oge,"* said Shane, "I was as wild as an unbroken
cowlt--no divilment was too hard for me; and so sign's on it, for
there wasn't a piece of mischief done in the parish, but was laid at my
door--and the dear knows I had enough of my own to answer for, let alone
to be set down for that of other people; but, any way, there was many a
thing done in my name, when I knew neither act nor part about it. One
of them I'll mintion: Dick Cuillenan, father to Paddy, that lives at
the crass-roads, beyant Gunpowdher Lodge, was over head and ears in love
with Jemmy Finigan's eldest daughter, Mary, then, sure enough, as purty
a girl as you'd meet in a fair--indeed, I think I'm looking at her, with
her fair flaxen ringlets hanging over her shoulders, as she used to pass
our house, going to mass of a Sunday. God rest her sowl, she's now
in glory--that was before she was my wife. Many a happy day we passed
together; and I could take it to my death, that an ill word, let alone
to rise our hands to one another, never passed between us--only one day,
that a word or two happened about the dinner, in the middle of Lent,
being a little too late, so that the horses were kept nigh half an hour
out of the plough; and I wouldn't have valued that so much, only that it
was Beal Cam** Doherty that joined*** me in ploughing that year--and
I was vexed not to take all I could out of him, for he was a raal Turk
himself.

* A young man full of fun and frolic. The word literally
signifies Young Brian. Such phrases originate thus:--A young
man remarkable for one or more qualities of a particular
nature becomes so famous for them that his name, in the
course of time, is applied to others, as conveying the same
character.

** Crooked mouth.

***In Ireland, small farmers who cannot afford to keep more
than one horse are in the habit of "joining," as it is
termed--that is, of putting their horses together so as to
form a yoke, when they plough each other's farms, working
alternately, sometimes, by the week, half-week, or day; that
is, I plough this day, or this week, and you the next day,
or week, until our crops are got down. In this case, each is
anxious to take as much out of the horses as he can,
especially where the farms are unequal. For instance, where
one farm is larger than another the difference must be paid
by the owner of the larger one in horse-labor, man-labor, or
money; but that he may have as little to pay as possible, he
ploughs as much for himself, by the day, as he can, and
often strives to get the other to do as little per day, on
the other side, in order to diminish what will remain due to
his partner. There is, consequently, a ludicrous
undercurrent of petty jealousy running between them, which
explains the passage in question.

"I disremember now what passed between us as to words--but I know I
had a duck-egg in my hand, and when she spoke, I raised my arm, and
nailed--poor Larry Tracy, our servant boy, between the two eyes with it,
although the crathur was ating his dinner quietly fornent me, not saying
a word.

"Well, as I tould you, Dick was ever after her, although her father
and mother would rather see her under boord* than joined to any of that
connection; and as for herself, she couldn't bear the sight of him, he
was sich an upsetting, conceited puppy, that thought himself too good
for every girl. At any rate, he tried often and often, in fair and
market, to get striking up with her; and both coming from and going to
mass, 'twas the same way, for ever after and about her, till the state
he was in spread over the parish like wild fire. Still, all he could do
was of no use; except to bid him the time of day, she never entered into
discoorse with him at all at all. But there was no putting the likes
of him off; so he got a quart of spirits in his pocket, one night, and
without saying a word to mortal, off he sets full speed to her father's,
in order to brake the thing to the family.

* In that part of the country where the scene of Shane
Fadh's Wedding is laid, the bodies of those who die are not
stretched out on a bed, and the face exposed; on the
contrary, they are placed generally on the ground, or in a
bed, but with a board resting upon two stools or chairs over
them. This is covered with a clean sheet, generally borrowed
from some wealthier neighbor; so that the person of the
deceased is altogether concealed. Over the sheet upon the
board, are placed plates of cut tobacco, pipes, snuff, &c.
This is what is meant by being "undher boord."

"Mary might be about seventeen at this time, and her mother looked
almost as young and fresh as if she hadn't been married at all. When
Dick came in, you may be sure they were all surprised at the sight of
him; but they were civil people--and the mother wiped a chair, and put
it over near the fire for him to sit down upon, waiting to hear what
he'd say, or what he wanted, although, they could give a purty good
guess as to that!--but they only wished to put him off with as little
offince as possible. When Dick sot a while, talking about what the price
of hay and oats would be in the following summer, and other subjects
that he thought would show his knowledge of farming and cattle, he pulls
out his bottle, encouraged to by their civil way of talking--and telling
the ould couple, that as he came over on his kailyee,* he had brought
a drop in his pocket to sweeten the discoorse, axing Susy Finigan, the
mother, for a glass to send it round with--at the same time drawing
over his chair close to Mary who was knitting her stocken up beside
her little brother Michael, and chatting to the gorsoon, for fraid that
Cuillenan might think she paid him any attention.

* Kailyee--a friendly evening visit.

When Dick got alongside of her, he began of coorse, to pull out her
needles and spoil her knitting, as is customary before the young people
come to close spaking. Mary, howsomever, had no welcome for him; so,
says she, 'You ought to know, Dick Cuillenan, who you spake to, before
you make the freedom you do'

"'But you don't know, says Dick, 'that I'm a great hand at spoiling the
girls' knitting,--it's a fashion I've got,' says he.

"'It's a fashion, then,' says Mary, 'that'll be apt to get you a broken
mouth, sometime'.*

* It is no unusual thing in Ireland for a country girl to
repulse a fellow whom she thinks beneath her, if not by a
flat at least by a flattening refusal; nor is it seldom that
the "argumentum fistycuffum" resorted to on such occasions.
I have more than once seen a disagreeable lover receive,
from that fair hand which he sought, so masterly a blow,
that a bleeding nose rewarded his ambition, and silenced for
a time his importunity.

"'Then,' says Dick, 'whoever does that must marry me.'

"'And them that gets you, will have a prize to brag of,' says she; 'stop
yourself, Cuillenan---single your freedom, and double your distance, if
you plase; I'll cut my coat off no such cloth.'

"'Well, Mary,' says he, 'maybe, if _you_, don't, as good will; but you
won't be so cruel as all that comes to--the worst side of you is out, I
think.'

"He was now beginning to make greater freedom; but Mary rises from her
seat, and whisks away with herself, her cheek as red as a rose with
vexation at the fellow's imperance. 'Very well,' says Dick, 'off you go;
but there's as good fish in the say as ever was catched.--I'm sorry to
see, Susy,' says he to her mother, 'that Mary's no friend of mine, and
I'd be mighty glad to find it otherwise; for, to tell the truth, I'd
wish to become connected with the family. In the mane time, hadn't
you better get us a glass, till we drink one bottle on the head of it,
anyway.'

"'Why, then, Dick Cuillenan,' says the mother, 'I don't wish you
anything else than good luck and happiness; but, as to Mary, She's not
for you herself, nor would it be a good match between the families
at all. Mary is to have her grandfather's sixty guineas; and the two
_moulleens_* that her uncle Jack left her four years ago has brought
her a good stock for any farm. Now if she married you, Dick, where's the
farm to bring her to?--surely it's not upon them seven acres of stone
and bent, upon the long Esker,** that I'd let my daughter go to live.
So, Dick, put up your bottle, and in the name of God, go home, boy, and
mind your business; but, above all, when you want a wife, go to them
that you may have a right to expect, and not to a girl like Mary
Finigan, that could lay down guineas where you could hardly find
shillings.'

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