The Tithe-Proctor Part 8

"Devil a morsel."

"Well, to them that didn't get their breakfasts I have another word to say."

"What is it, Mogue?"

"Why, have patience--ever and always when you're hungry, have patience, and you'll find it a great relief; it'll fill you and keep you in good condition--that I mayn't sin but it will! But, sure, I've got news for yez, boys," he added; "Masther John bid me tell you that, after about a month or so it'll be contrary to law to get hungry: there's an act o' parliament goin' to be made against it, you see; so that any villain disloyal enough to get hungry, if it's proved against him, will be liable to transportation. That I mayn't sin but it'll be a great comfort for the country--I mane, to have hunger made contrary to act o'

parliament."

Mogue Moylan was, indeed, a fellow of a very original and peculiar character. Grave, sly, and hypocritical, yet apparently quiet and not susceptible of strong or vehement emotions, he was, nevertheless, more suggestive of evil designs and their fulfilment than any man, perhaps, in his position of life that ever existed. Though utterly without spirit, or the slightest conception of what personal courage meant, the reader not be surprised that he was also vindictive, and consequently treacherous and implacable. He could project crime and outrage with a felecity of diabolical invention that was almost incredible. He was, besides, close and cautious, unless when he thought that he could risk a falsehood with safety; and, in the opinion of some few who knew him, not merely dishonest, but an actual thief. His manner, too, was full of plausible a.s.sumption of great conscientiousness and simplicity. He seemed always calm and cool, was considered rather of a religious turn, and always expressed a strong horror against cursing or swearing in any shape. Indeed he had a pat anecdote, which he occasionally told, of a swoon or faint into which he usually fell, when a youth of about nineteen, in consequence of having been forced to take a book oath, for the first time, another act against which he entertained a peculiar antipathy. Now, all this was indeed very singular and peculiar; but he accounted for it by the scrupulous love of truth with which not only he himself, but his whole family, many of whom he said had given their lives for their country, were affected. The only foible that could be brought to the charge of honest Mogue, was a singular admiration for his own visage, which he never omitted to survey with remarkable complacency several times a day in a broken piece of looking, gla.s.s, which he kept for that especial purpose. This, and its not unnatural consequences a belief that almost ever female who spoke to him with civility was smitten by his face and figure, const.i.tuted the only two weaknesses in a character otherwise so spotless and perfect as that of Mogue Moylan.

Mogue was also a good deal subject to the influence of the pathetic, especially when he alluded to the misfortune, glory be to G.o.d, which had befallen the family, in the person of a lone line of ancestors, and especially in that of big poor, simple father, whose word, as every one knew, was as good as his oath; and, indeed, very few doubted that remarkable fact, but who, notwithstanding had been transported during the s.p.a.ce of seven years for suspicion of perjury; "for didn't the judge tell him, when he pa.s.sed sentence upon him, that if he had been found guilty all out, or of anything beyant suspicion of it, he would be transported for life; 'an' instead of that,' said the judge, 'bekaise I persave,' says he, 'that you're an honest man, an' has been sworn against wrongfully in this business, and bekaise I see clearly that you love the truth, the sentence of the coort is,' says he, sheddin' tears, 'that you're to be transported only for seven years, an' you lave the coort an' the counthry,' says he, 'widout at stain upon your character--it's only the law that's against you--so, G.o.d be wid you,'

the judge went on, wipin' his eyes, 'and grant you a safe and pleasant voyage acra.s.s,' says he, an' he cried for some minutes like a child.

That an' the unjust hangin' of my poor, simple ould grandfather for horse-stearin'--that is, for suspicion of horse-stealin'--is the only two misfortunes, thank G.o.d, that has been in our family of late days."

So much for the character of worthy Mogue, whom we must now permit to resume the delivery of his message.

The last words were uttered with so peculiar and significant a gravity, not without a good deal of dry sarcastic humor, that the men could not avoid laughing heartily.

"But," he proceeded, "I have better news still for yez. Sure Masther John desired me to let you all know that his father won't ax a penny o'

t.i.the from one o' yez: all you have to do is to call at the office there in a few minutes, and you'll get aich o' you a receipt in full; (*

By this he means a horse-whipping.) that is, if you don't keep civil tongues in your heads."

One of Mogue's qualities was the power of gravely narrating a fact with such peculiar significance, that the very reverse of it was conveyed to the hearer; for the fellow was a perfect master of irony.

"Ah! well done Mogue; many a day o' reckoning _he_ has had wid _us_, but maybe _our_ day o' reckonin' wid _him_ will come sooner than he expects, or wishes."

"Don't be thinkin' ill," said Mogue, "but keep yourselves always free from evil. What does Scripthur say? 'One good turn desarves another,'

says Scripthur. Boys, always keep Scripthur before you, and you'll do right. 'One good turn deserves another,' says Scripthur! and you know yourselves, I hope, that many a good turn you received at his hands.

That I may be happy, but it's good advice I'm givin' you!"

"Divil a betther, Mogue," replied Hourigan, with a significant scowl, and "it's we ourselves that'll be sure to take it some fine night."

"Night or day," replied Mogue, "it's always right to be doin' good, whether we sarve our country or religion. G.o.d prosper yez, at all events, and grant you success in your endeavors, an' that's the worst I wish you! There now, Masther John's in the office, ready an' willin' to give sich o' yez a resate in full as will--desarve it."

The situation in which the parties stood, during this dialogue, was at the rear of the premises into which the proctor's office opened, and where the country people were always desired to wait. They stood at the end of the stable, adjoining a wall almost eight feet high, on the other side of which was the pig-sty. Here, whilst the conversation just detailed went forward, stood a pretty, plump-looking, country-girl, one of the female servants of the proctor's establishment, named Letty Lenehan. She had come to feed the pigs, just in time to catch the greater portion of their conversation; and, as she possessed a tolerably clear insight into Mogue's character, she was by no means ignorant of certain illusions made in it, although she unquestionably did not comprehend its full drift. We have said that this girl understood his character very well, and scarcely any one had a better right or greater opportunities of doing so. Mogue, in fact, was in love with her, or at least, pretended to be so; but, whether he was or not, one thing we write as certain, that he most implicitly believed her to be so with himself. Letty was a well-tempered, faithful girl, honest and conscientious, but not without a considerable relish for humor, and with more than ordinary talents for carrying on either a practical joke or any other piece of harmless humbug, a faculty in which she was ably supported by a fellow-servant of a very different description from Mogue, named Jerry Joyce. Joyce, in fact, was not merely a strong contrast to Mogue, but his very reverse in almost every point of his character. He was open and artless in the opinion of many, almost to folly; but, under this apparent thoughtlessness, there existed a fund of good sense, excellent feeling, and quickness of penetration, for which the world gave him no credit, or at least but very little.

Jerry and Letty, therefore, between whom a real affection subsisted, were in the habit of amusing themselves, whenever they could do so without discovery, at Mogue's expense. Such, then, was the relative position of these parties at the present stage of our narrative.

When John Purcel was seen in the office, the t.i.the defaulters, for such they were, went to the outside of the window, where they all stood until it became the turn of each to go in. Although they went there to plead their inability to pay, yet, in fact, there were a great proportion of them who exhibited, neither by their manner nor appearance, any symptom whatever of poverty. On the countenances of most of them might be read, not only a stern, gloomy, and resolute expression, but one of dissatisfaction and bitter resentment. As they turned their eyes upon young Purcel, and looked around at the unequivocal marks of great wealth, if not luxury itself, that were conspicuous in every direction, there was a significance in the smiles and glances which pa.s.sed between them, that gave very appropriate foretaste of the convulsions which ere long took place in the country. John Purcel himself had remarked these appearances on almost every recent occasion, and it was the striking, or rather startling, aspect of these men, that caused him to allude to it just before sending Moylan to them.

It is not our intention to detail, at full length, the angry altercations which took place between them, as each went in, from time to time, to apologize for not paying up his t.i.thes. Every possible excuse was offered; but so well and thoroughly were Purcel and his sons acquainted with the circ.u.mstances, of, we may say, almost every family, not merely in the parish, but in the barony itself, that it proved a matter of the greatest difficulty to mislead or impose on any of them.

Nay, so anxious did the shrewd t.i.the-proctor feel upon this subject, that he actually got himself proposed and elected a governor of the Savings' Bank, which had been for some time past established in C------m. By this means, he was enabled to know that many of those who came to him with poverty on their lips, were actually lodging money in these economical inst.i.tutions.

"Well, Carey," said he, to a comfortable-looking man that entered, "I hope you have no further apology to offer for your dishonesty?"

"Sorra thing, Mr. John, but that I'm not able to pay. I expect the landlord to come down upon me some o' these days--and what to do, or on what hand to turn, I'm sure I don't know on airth."

"You don't say so now, Carey?"

"Troth I do, Misther John; and I hope you'll spare me for a little--I mane till the hard times that's in it mends somehow."

"Well, Carey, all I can say is, that, if you don't know on what hand to turn, I can tell you."

"Thank you, Misther John; troth an' I do want to know that."

"Listen, then; before you come here to me with a barefaced and dishonest lie in your mouth, you ought to have gone to the C------m Savings' Bank, and drawn from the sum of two hundred and seventy-three pounds, which you have lying there, the slight sum of seven pounds twelve and nine-pence which you owe us. Now, Carey, I tell you that you are nothing but an impudent, scheming, dishonest scoundrel; and I say, once for all, that we will see whether you, and every knavish rascal like you, or the law of the land, is the stronger. Mark me now, you impudent knave, we shall never ask you again. The next time you see us will be at the head of a body of police, or a party of the king's troops; for I swear that, as sure as, the sun s.h.i.+nes, so certainly will we take the t.i.the due out of your marrow, if we can get it nowhere else."

"Maybe, then," said Carey, "you will find that we'll laugh at the law, the polis, the king's troops, and Misther John Purcel into the bargain; and I now tell you to your teeth, that if one sixpence of t.i.the would save the sowls of every one belongin' to you, I won't pay it--so do your worst, and I defy you."

"Begone, you scoundrel. You are, I perceive, as rank a rebel as ever missed the rope; but you won't miss it. Go home now; for, as I said this moment, we will take the t.i.the out of your marrow, if you had thousands of your cut-throat and cowardly White-boys at your back. Don't think this villainy will pa.s.s with us; we know how to handle you, and will too; begone, you dishonest ruffian, I have no more time to lose with you."

In this manner almost every interview terminated. Purcel was a warm and impetuous young fellow, who certainly detested everything in the shape of dishonesty or deceit and here he had too many instances of both to be able to keep his temper, especially when he felt that he and his family were the sufferers. Other cases, however, were certainly very dissimilar to this; we allude especially to those of real distress, where the means of meeting the demand were not to be had. With such individuals the proctor's sons were disposed to be lenient, which is certainly more than could be said if he himself had to deal with them.

"Jemmy Mulligan," he said, to a poor-looking man, "go home to your family. We don't intend to take harsh measures with you, Jemmy; and you needn't come here again till we send for you."

"G.o.d bless you, sir; troth I don't know why the people say that you're all hard and unfeelin'--I can say for myself that I never found you so.

Good morning, sir, and thank you, Misther John; and G.o.d forgive them that blackens you as they do!"

"Yes, Jemmy, I know they hate us, because we compel them to act honestly; but they will soon find that honesty, after all, is the cheapest course,--for we shall take d--d good care to make them pay through the nose for their knavery. We know they have a gang of firebrand agitators and hungry lawyers at their back; but we shall make them feel that the law is stronger than any treasonable combination that can be got up against it."

A third man came in. "Well, Tom, you're not coming to plead poverty, I hope?"

The man looked around him with peculiar intelligence. "Are we safe?" he asked; "and may I spake widout danger?"

"You may, Duggan."

"Well, then, I came to say that I'll call over to-morrow evenin' and pay it, but I daren't now."

"Why so, Tom?"

"Bekaise the most of us all have the t.i.the in our pockets, but as a proof that we did not pay it, we will, every man of us, be obliged to show it before we go home. I might pay it now, Mr. Purcel; but then, if I did, it' very likely I'd be a corpse before this day week. Sich is the state that things ha' come to; and how it'll end, G.o.d only knows. At any rate, I'll slip over afther dusk to-morrow evenin' and pay; but as you hope for mercy, and don't wish to see me taken from my wife and childre', don't breathe a syllable of it to man or mortual."

"I shall not, indeed, Tom," replied Purcel, "but I really did not think that matters were altogether so bad as you describe them. The people are infatuated, and will only draw the vengeance of the law upon their heads. They will suffer, as they always do by their own misconduct and madness."

Duggan had scarcely withdrawn, when our old friend, Darby Hourigan, thrust in his hateful and murderous-looking countenance. "G.o.d save you, Misther John."

"G.o.d save you kindly, Misther Hourigan."

"Isn't it glorious weather for the saison, sir?"

"I have seen better and I have seen worse, Mr. Hourigan; but Darby, pa.s.sing the weather by, which neither you nor I can mend, allow me to say that I hope you are not coming here for the twentieth time to palm us off about the t.i.the."

"Troth, then, and, Mr. John; I can't afford to pay tide--I'm a poor man, sir; and, as it happens that I never trouble the parson in religious matthers, I don't see what right the parson has to trouble me for my money."

"Ah! you have got the cant, I see. You have been tutored."

"I have got the truth, sir."

"Ay, but have you got the t.i.the, sir? for I do a.s.sure you, Mr. Hourigan, that it is not your logic, but your money I want."