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Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent by William Carleton

W >> William Carleton >> Valentine M\'Clutchy, The Irish Agent




Solomon was a small man, thin, sharp-featured, and solemn. He was
deliberate in his manner and movements, and correct but slow of speech.
Though solemn, however, he was not at all severe or querulous, as is too
frequently the case with those who affect to be religious. Far from it.
On the contrary, in him the gospel gifts appeared in a cheerful gravity
of disposition, and a good-humored lubricity of temper, that could turn
with equal flexibility and suavity to every incident of life, no matter
how trying to the erring heart. All the hinges of his spirit seemed to
have been graciously and abundantly oiled, and such was his serenity,
that it was quite evident he had a light within him. It was truly a
pleasure to speak to, or transact business with such a man; he seemed
always so full of inward peace, and comfort, and happiness. Nay, upon
some occasions, he could rise to a kind of sanctified facetiousness
that was perfectly delightful, and in the very singleness of his heart,
would, of an odd time, let out, easily and gently it is true, a small
joke, that savored a good deal of secular humor.

Then he was so full of charity and affection for all that were frail and
erring among our kind, that he never, or seldom, breathed a harsh word
against the offender. Or if, in the fulness of his benevolence, he found
it necessary to enumerate their faults, and place them, as it were, in
a catalogue, it was done in a spirit of such love, mingled with sorrow,
that those to whom he addressed himself, often thought it a pity that he
himself did not honor religion, by becoming the offender, simply for the
sake of afterwards becoming the patient.

In the religious world he was a very active and prominent man--punctual
in his devotional exercises, and always on the lookout for some of those
unfortunate brands with which society abounds, that he might, as he
termed it, have the pleasure of plucking them out of the burning. He
never went without a Bible and a variety of tracts in his pocket, and
seldom was missed from the platform of a religious meeting. He received
subscriptions for all public and private charities, and has repeatedly
been known to offer and afford consolation to the widow and orphan, at
a time when the pressure of business rendered the act truly one of
Christian interest and affection.

The hour was not more than ten o'clock, a.m. when Darby entered his
office, in which, by the way, lay three or four Bibles, in different
places. In a recess on one side of the chimney-piece, stood a
glass-covered bookcase, filled with the usual works on his profession,
whilst hung upon the walls, and consequently nearer observation,
were two or three pensile shelves, on which were to be found a small
collection of religious volumes, tracts, and other productions, all
bearing on the same subject. On the desk was a well-thumbed Bible to the
right, which was that used at family prayer; and on the opposite side, a
religious almanack and a copy of congregation hymns.

Darby, on reaching the hall door, knocked with considerable more
decision than he had done at M'Clutchy's, but without appearing to have
made himself heard; after waiting patiently for some time, however,
he knocked again, and at length the door was opened by a very pretty
servant girl, about seventeen, who, upon his inquiring if her master
was at home, replied in a sighing voice, and with a demure face, "Oh,
yes--at family prayer."

"When he's done," said Darby, "maybe you'd be kind enough to say that
Darby O'Drive has a message for him."

The pretty servant did not nod--an act--which she considered as too
flippant for the solemnity of devotion--but she gently bowed her head,
and closed her eyes in assent--upon which was heard a somewhat cheerful
groan, replete with true unction, inside the parlor, followed by a voice
that said, "ah, Susannah!" pronounced in a tone of grave but placid
remonstrance; Susannah immediately entered, and the voice, which
was that of our attorney, proceeded--"Susannah take your place--long
measure, eight lines, four eights, and two sixes." The psalm was then
raised or pitched by Solomon himself, who was followed by six or
eight others, each in a different key, but all with such reluctance
to approach their leader, that from a principle of unworthiness, they
allowed him, as the more pious, to get far in advance of them. In this
manner they sang two verses, and it was remarkable, that although on
coming to the conclusion, Solomon was far ahead, and the rest nowhere,
yet, from the same principle of unworthiness, they left the finish, as
they did the start, altogether to himself. The psalm was accordingly
wound up by a kind of understanding or accompaniment between his mouth
and nose, which seemed each moved by a zealous but godly struggle to
excel the other, if not in melody at least in loudness. They then
all knelt down, and Solomon launched, with a sonorous voice, into
an extempore prayer, which was accompanied by a solemn commentary of
groanings, sighings, moanings, and muffled ejaculations, that cannot
otherwise be described except by saying that they resembled something
between a screech and a scream. Their devotions being over, Darby,
having delivered M'Clutchy's letter, was desired to take a seat in the
office, until Mr. M'Slime should be at leisure to send a reply.

"Sit down, my good friend, Darby, sit down, and be at ease, at least in
your body; I do not suffer any one who has an immortal soul to be saved
to stand in my office--and as you have one to be saved, Darby, you must
sit. The pride of this vain life is our besetting sin, and happy are
they who are enabled to overcome it--may he be praised!--sit down."

"I'm thankful to you, sir," said Darby, "oh, thin, Mr. M'Slime, it would
be well for the world if every attorney in it was like you, sir--there
would be little honesty goin' asthray, sir, if there was."

"Sam Sharpe, my dear boy, if you have not that bill of costs finished--"

"No sir."

"A good boy, Sam--well, do not omit thirteen and four pence for
two letters, which I ought to have sent--as a part of my moral,
independently of my professional duty--to Widow Lenehan, having
explained to her by word of mouth, that which I ought in conscience,
to have written--but indeed my conscience often leads me to the--what
should I say?--the merciful side in these matters. No, Darby, my friend,
you cannot see into my heart, or you would not say so--I am frail,
Darby, and sinful--I am not up to the standard, my friend, neither have
I acted up to my privileges--the freedom of the gospel! is a blessed
thing, provided we abuse it not'--well, Sam, my good young friend--"

"That was entered before, sir, under the head of instructions."

"Very right--apparently very right, Sam, and reasonable for you to think
so--but this was on a different occasion, although the same case."

"Oh, I beg pardon, sir, I did not know that."

"Sam, do not beg pardon--not of me--nor of any but One--go there, Sam,
you require it; we all require it, at least I do abundantly. Darby,
my friend, it is a principle with me never to lose an opportunity of
throwing in a word in season--but as the affairs of this life must be
attended to--only in a secondary degree, I admit--I will, therefore,
place you at the only true fountain where you can be properly refreshed.
Take this Bible, Darby, and it matters not where you open it, read and
be filled."

Now, as Darby, in consequence of his early attendance upon M'Clutchy,
had been obliged to leave home that morning without his breakfast,
it must be admitted that he was not just then in the best possible
disposition to draw much edification from it. After poring over it
with a very sombre face for some time, he at length looked shrewdly
at M'Slime closing one eye a little, as was his custom; "I beg pardon,
sir," said he, "but if I'm not mistaken this book I believe is intended
more for the sowl than the body."

"For the body! truly, Darby, that last is a carnal thought, and I am
sorry to hear, it from your lips:--the Bible is a spiritual book, my
friend, and spiritually must it be received."

"But, to a man like me, who hasn't had his breakfast to-day yet, how
will it be sarviceable? will reading it keep off hunger or fill my
stomach?"

"Ah! Darby, my friend, that is gross talk--such views of divine truth
are really a perversion of the gifts of heaven. That book although it
will not fill your stomach, as you grossly call it, actually will do it
figuratively, which in point of fact is the same thing, or a greater--it
will enable you to bear hunger as a dispensation, Darby, to which it is
your duty as a Christian to submit. Nay, it will do more, my friend; it
will exalt your faith to such a divine pitch, that if you read it with
the proper spirit, you will pray that the dispensation thus laid on you
may continue, in order that the inner man may be purged."

"Faith, and Mr. M'Slime, with great respect, if that is your doctrine
it isn't your practice. The sorra word of prayer--God bless the
prayers!--came out o' your lips today,'an til you laid in a good warm
breakfast, and afther that, for fraid of disappointments, the very first
thing you prayed for was your daily bread--didn't I hear you? But I'll
tell you what, sir, ordher me my breakfast, and then I'll be spakin' to
you. A hungry man--or a hungry woman, or her hungry childre' can't eat
Bibles; although it is well known, God knows, that when hunger, and
famine, and starvation are widin them and upon them, that the same
Bible, but nothing else, is; handed to them by pious people in the shape
of consolation and relief. Now I'm thinkin', Mr. M'Slime, that that is
not the best way to make the Bible respected. Are you goin' to give me
my breakfast, sir? upon my sowl, beggin' your pardon, if you do I'll
bring the Bible home wid me, if that will satisfy you, for we haven't
got e'er a one in our own little cabin."

"Sharpe, my good boy, I'll trouble you to take that Bible out of his
hands. I am not in the slightest degree offended, Darby--you will yet,
I trust, live to know better, may He grant it! I overlook the misprision
of blasphemy on your part, for you didn't know what you said? but you
will, you will.

"This is a short reply to Mr. M'Clutchy's note. I shall see him on my
way to the sessions to-morrow, but I have told him so in it. And now,
my friend, be assured I overlook the ungodly and carnal tenor of your
conversation--we are all frail and prone to error; I, at least, am
so--still we must part as Christians ought, Darby. You have asked me
for a breakfast, but I overlook that also--I ought to overlook it as
a Christian; for is not your immortal soul of infinitely greater value
than your perishable body? Undoubtedly--and as a proof that I value it
more, receive this--this, my brother sinner--oh! that I could say my
brother Christian also--receive it, Darby, and in the proper spirit too;
it is a tract written by the Rev. Vesuvius M'Slug, entitled 'Spiritual
Food for Babes of Grace;' I have myself found it graciously consolatory
and refreshing, and I hope that you also may, my friend."

"Begad, sir," said Darby, "it may be very good in its way, and I've
no doubt but it's a very generous and Christian act in you to give
it--espishilly since it cost you nothing--but for all that, upon my
sowl, I'm strongly of opinion that to a hungry man it's a bad substitute
for a breakfast."

"Ah! by the way, Darby," lending a deaf ear to this observation, "have
you heard, within the last day or two, anything of Mr. M'Clutchy's
father, Mr. Deaker--how he is?"

"Why, sir," replied Darby, "I'm tould he's breaking down fast, but the
divil a one of him will give up the lady. Parsons, and ministers, and
even priests, have all been at him; but it is useless: he curses
and damns them right and left, and won't be attended by any one but
her--hadn't you betther try him, Mr. M'Slime? May be you might succeed.
Who knows but a little of the 'Spiritual Food for Babes of Grace'
might sarve him as well as others. There's a case for you. Sure he
acknowledges himself to be a member of the hell-fire club!"

"He's a reprobate, my friend--impenitent, hopeless. I have myself tried
him, spoke with him, reasoned with him, but never was my humility,
my patience, so strongly tried. His language I will not repeat--but
canting knave, hypocrite, rascal attor--no, it is useless and unedifying
to repeat it. Now go, my friend, and do not forget that precious tract
which you have thrust so disrespectfully into your pocket."

Darby, after a shrewd wink at one of the apprentices, which was
returned, passed out, and left Mr. M'Slime to the pursuit of his
salvation.

In the mean time, as we authors have peculiar "privileges," as Mr.
M'Slime would say, we think if only due to our readers to let them have
a peep at M'Slime's note to our friend Valentine M'Clutchy.

"My dear friend--I felt as deep an interest in the purport of your note
as you yourself possibly could. The parties alluded to I appreciate
precisely as you do--M'Loughlin has in the most unchristian manner
assailed my character as well as yours. So has his partner in the
concern--I mean Harman. But then, my friend, are we not Christians,
and shall we not return good for evil? Shall we not forgive them? Some
whispers, hints, very gentle and delicate have reached my ears, which
I do not wish to commit to paper;--but this I may say, until I see you
to-morrow, that I think your intentions with respect to M'Loughlin and
Harman are premature. There is a screw loose somewhere, so to speak,
that is all--but I believe, I can say, that if your father, Deaker,
will act to our purposes, all will be as we could wish. This is a
delicate subject, my dear friend, but still I am of opinion that if
you could, by any practicable means; soften the unfortunate female
who possesses such an ascendancy over him, all will be right. I would,
myself, undertake the perilous task for your sake--and perilous to
ordinary men I admit it would be, for she is beyond question exceedingly
comely. In me this would appear disinterested, whilst in you, suspicion
would become strong. Cash is wanted in the quarter you know, and cash
has been refused in another quarter, and when we meet I shall tell you
more about this matter. In the mean time it is well that there is no
legitimate issue--but should he will his property to this Delilah, or
could she be removed?--I mean to a local distance. But I shall see you
to-morrow (D.V.), when we can have freer conversation upon what may be
done. With humble but sincere prayers for your best wishes and welfare,
I am, my dear friend,

"Thine in the bonds of Christian love,

"Solomon M'Slime.

"P. S.--As it is a principle of mine to neglect no just opportunity of
improving my deceitful heart, I bought from a travelling pedlar this
morning, a book with the remarkable title of 'The Spiritual Attorney,
or A Sure Guide to the Other World.' I have not yet had time to look at
anything but the title page, and consequently am not able to inform you
which of the worlds he alludes to, ha, ha! You see, my friend, I do not
think there is evil in a joke that is harmless, or has a moral end in
view, as every joke ought to have.

"Thine as before,

"Sol. M'Slime."




CHAPTER IV.--Poll Doolin, the Child Cadger

--Raymond, her Son--Short Dialogue on the Times--Polls Opinion on
the Causes of Immorality--Solomon is Generous--A Squire of the Old
School--And a Moral Dialogue.


The next morning was that on which the Quarter Sessions of Castle Cumber
commenced; and of course it was necessary for Darby O'Drive, who was
always full of business on such occasions, to see M'Clutchy, in order
to receive instructions touching his duties on various proceedings
connected with the estate. He had reached the crossroads that ran about
half-way between Constitution Cottage and Castle Cumber, when! he met,
just where the road turned to M'Clutchy's, a woman named Poll Doolin,
accompanied, as she mostly was, by her son--a poor, harmless, idiot,
named Raymond; both of whom were well known throughout the whole parish.
Poll was a thin, sallow woman, with piercing dark eyes, and a very;
gipsy-like countenance. Her dress was always black, and very much worn;
in fact, everything about her was black--black stockings, black bonnet,
black hair, and black kerchief. Poll's occupation was indeed a singular
one, and not very creditable to the morals of the day. Her means of
living were derived from the employment of child-cadger to the Foundling
Hospital of Dublin. In other words, she lived by conveying illegitimate
children from the places of their birth to the establishment just
mentioned, which has been very properly termed a bounty for national
immorality. Whenever a birth of this kind occurred, Poll was immediately
sent for--received her little charge with a name--whether true or false
mattered not--pinned to its dress--then her traveling expenses; after
which she delivered it at the hospital, got a receipt for its delivery,
and returned to claim her demand, which was paid only on her producing
it. In the mean time, the unfortunate infant had to encounter all the
comforts of the establishment, until it was drafted out to a charter
school, in which hot-bed of pollution it received that exquisitely
moral education that enabled it to be sent out into society admirably
qualified to sustain the high character of Protestantism.

"Morrow, Poll," said Darby; "what's the youngest news wid you? And
Raymond, my boy, how goes it wid you?"

"I don't care for you," replied the fool; "you drove away Widow
Branagan's cow, an' left the childre to the black wather. Bad luck to
you!"

Darby started; for there is a superstition among the Irish, that the
curse of an "innocent" is one of the most unlucky that can be uttered.

"Don't curse me," replied Darby; "sure, Raymond, I did only my duty."

"Then who made you do your duty?" asked the other.

"Why, Val the Vul--hem--Mr. M'Clutchy, to be sure."

"Bad luck to him then!"

His mother, who had been walking a little before him, turned, and,
rushing towards him, put her hand hastily towards his mouth, with the
obvious intention of suppressing the imprecation; but too late; it had
escaped, and be the consequence what it might, Val had got the exciting
cause of it.

"My poor unfortunate boy," said she, "you oughtn't to curse anybody;
stop this minute, and say God bless him."

"God bless who?"

"Mr. McClutchy."

"The devil bless him! ha, ha, ha! Doesn't he harry the poor, an' drive
away their cows from them--doesn't he rack them an' rob them--harry
them, rack them, rob them--

"Harry them, rack them, rob them,
Rob them, rack them, harry them--
Harry them, rack them, rob them,
Rob them, rack them, harry them."

This he sung in an air somewhat like "Judy Callahan."

"Ha, ha, ha! Oh the devil bless him! and they say a blessin' from the
devil is very like a curse from God."

The mother once more put up her hands to his face, but only with the
intention of fondling and caressing him. She tenderly stroked down his
head, and patted his cheek, and attempted to win him out of the evil
humor into which the sight of Darby had thrown him. Darby could observe,
however, that she appeared to be deeply troubled by the idiot's conduct,
as was evident by the trembling of her hands, and a perturbation of
manner which she could not conceal.

"Raymond," she said, soothingly, "won't you be good for me, darlin'--for
your own mother, my poor helpless boy? Won't you be good for me?"

"I will," said he, in a more placid voice.

"And you will not curse anybody any more?"

"No, mother, no."

"And won't you bless Mr. M'Clutchy, my dear child?"

"There's a fig for him," he replied--there's a fig for him. Now!"

"But you didn't bless him, my darlin'--you didn't bless him yet."

As she spoke the words, her eye caught! his, and she perceived that it
began to gleam and kindle.

"Well no," said she hastily; "no, I won't ask you; only hould your
tongue--say no more."

She again patted his cheek tenderly, and the fiery light which began to
burn in his eye, died gradually away, and no other expression remained
in it but the habitual one of innocence and good-nature.

"No, no," said she, shaking her head, and speaking as much to herself as
to Darby; "I know him too well; no earthly power will put him out of
his own way, once he takes it into his head. This minute, if I had
spoke another word about the blessin', Mr. M'Clutchy would a got
another curse; yet, except in these fits, my poor child is kindness and
tendheress itself."

"Well now," said Darby, "that that's over, can you tell me, Poll, what's
the news? When were you in Dublin?"

"I've given that up," replied Poll; "I'm too ould and stiff for it now.
As for the news, you ought to know what's goin' as well as I do. You're
nearly as much on the foot."

"No; nor if every head in the parish was 'ithin side o'mine, I wouldn't
know as much in the news line as you, Poll."

"The news that's goin' of late, Darby, is not good, an' you know it.
There's great grumlin' an' great complaints, ever since. Val, the lad,
became undher agent; and you know that too."

"But how can I prevent that?" said Darby; "sure I'd side wid the people
if I could."

"You'd side wid the people, an' you'd side wid the man that oppresses
them, even in spite of Mr. Hickman."

"God bless Mr. Hickman!" said Raymond, "and the divil curse him! and
sure 'tis well known that the divil's curse is only another name for
God's blessin'. God bless, Mr. Hickman!"

"Amen, my darlin' child, wid all my heart," said Poll; "but, Darby," she
continued, "take my word for it, that these things won't end well. The
estate and neighborhood was peaceable and quiet till the Vulture began
his pranks, and now----"

"Very well," said Darby, "the blame be his, an' if it comes to that, the
punishment; so far as myself's consarned, I say, let every herrin' hang
by its own tail--I must do my duty. But tell me, Poll--hut, woman, never
mind the Vulture--let him go to the devil his own way--tell me do you
ever hear from your son Frank, that Brian M'Loughlin sent acrass?"

"No," said she, "not a word; but the curse o' heaven on Brian
M'Loughlin! Was my fine young man worth no more than his garran of
a horse, that he didn't steal either, till he was put to it by the
Finigans."

"Well, sure two o' them were sent over soon afther him, if that's any
comfort."

"It's no comfort," replied Poll, "but I'll tell you what's a comfort,
the thought that I'll never die till I have full revenge on Brian
M'Loughlin--ay, either on him or his--or both. Come, Raymond, have you
ne'er a spare curse now for Brian M'Loughlin?--you could give a fat one
to M'Clutchy this minute and have you none for Brian M'Loughlin?"

"No," replied, the son, "he doesn't be harryin' the poor."

"Well, but he transported your brother.

"No matter; Frank used to beat me--he was bad, an Brian M'Loughlin was
good to me, and does be good to me; he gives me my dinner or breakfast
whenever I go there--an' a good bed in the barn. I won't curse him.
Now!"

"It's no use," continued Poll, whose thin features had not yet subsided
from the inflammatory wildness of expression which had been awakened by
the curse, "it's no use, he'll only do what he likes himself, an' the
best way is to never heed him."

"I believe so," said Darby, "but where's your daughter Lucy now, Poll?"

"Why," said Poll, "she has taken to my trade, an' thravels up to the
Foundling; although, dear knows, it's hardly worth her while now--it
won't give her salt to her kale, poor girl."

"Why, are the times mendin'?" asked Darby, who spoke in a moral point of
view.

"Mendin'!" exclaimed Poll, "oh, ay indeed--Troth they're not fit to be
named in the one day with what they used to be. But indeed, of late
I'm happy to say that they are improvin' a bit," said she, speaking
professionally. "M'Clutchy's givin' them a lift, for I've ever an'
always remarked, that distress, and poverty, and neglect o' the poor,
and hardship, and persecution, an' oppression, and anything that way,
was sure to have my very heart broke wid business."

"And tell me, Poll, did you ever happen to get a job from a sartin pious
gentleman, o' the name of M'Slime?--now tell the truth."

"It's a question," replied Poll, "you have no right to axe--you must
know, Darby O'Drive, that I've had my private business, as well as
my public business, an' that I'd suffer that right hand to be cut off
sooner than betray trust. Honor bright, or what's the world good for!"

They now reached a spot where the road branched into two, but Poll still
kept to that which led to M'Clutchy's. "Are you for the Cottage too,"
asked Darby.

"I am," replied Poll, "I've been sent for; but what he wants wid me, I
know no more than the man in the moon."

Just then the tramp of a horse's feet was heard behind' them, and in a
minute or two, Solomon M'Slime, who was also on his way to the Cottage,
rode up to them.

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