Part 2

But among the crowd of earnest listeners who thus attended to gratify their several curiosities by the perusal of Dinny’s unexpected letter, none failed to remark the absence of her who in the course of nature was, or should be, most deeply interested in the welfare of the departed swain. Nelly Dolan never came near them. In the hovel where the poor outcast had been permitted to take up her abode when turned out of doors by her justly incensed father, she sat during the busy recital, her head bowed down and resting upon the wheel from which she drew the support of herself and her infant. Now and then a sob, almost loud enough to awaken the baby sleeping in a _cleave_ beside her, broke from her in spite of herself; while her mother, who had ventured to visit her on the occasion, sat crouched down on the hearth before her, and angrily upbraided her for her sorrow.

“Whisht, I tell you, whisht!” exclaimed the old crone, “an’ have a sperrit, what you never had, or it wouldn’t come to your day to be brought to trouble by the likes of him.”

“Och, mother darlint,” answered the sufferer, “don’t blame me--it’s a poor thing, God knows, that I must sit here quiet, an’ his letter readin’ within a few doors o’ me.”

“Arrah, you’d better go beg for a sight of it,” rejoined the angry parent with a sneer; “do, achorra, ontil you find out what little trouble you give him.”

“It’s not for myself, it’s not for myself,” answered the sobbing girl. “I can do without his thoughts or his favours; all I care to know is, what he says about the babby.”

“Pursuin’ to me!” exclaimed her mother, “but often as you tempted me to brain it, an’ that’s often enough, you never put the devil so strong into my heart as you do this minute. So be quiet, I tell you.”

“Och, mother, that’s the hard heart.”

“Musha, then, it well becomes you to talk that way,” replied her mother. “If your own wasn’t a taste too soft in its time, my darlint, your kith an’ kin wouldn’t have to skulk away as they do when your name’s spoken of.”

A fresh burst of tears was all the answer poor Nelly could give to this invective; an answer, however, as well calculated as any other to stimulate the wrath and arouse the eloquence of Mrs Dolan, the object of whose visit was to induce Nelly to assume an air of perfect coolness and nonchalance--in fine, to show she had a “sperrit.” In this it may be perceived she met with a signal failure; and now the full brunt of her indignation fell on the unfortunate recreant. Nelly’s sorrow of course became louder, and between both parties the child was wakened, and naturally added its small help to the clamour: nor did the united uproar of the three generations cease until a crowd unexpectedly appeared at the door of the hovel, and the voice of Sibby M’Daniel, half mad with joy, was heard through the din, internal and external.

“Well, if she won’t come to us,” spoke the elated Sibby, “we must only go to her, you know, though ye’ll allow the news was worth lookin’ afther;” and ere the sentence was well concluded, she with her whole train had made their way into the cabin.

“God save all here,” continued Sibby, “not excepting yourself, Mrs Dolan; for we must forgive and forget everything that was betune us, now.”

“An’ if I forgive an’ forget, what have you to swop for it?” asked the irate individual so addressed.

“Good news an’ the hoith of it,” was the answer of Sibby, as she displaced her letter; but Mrs Dolan was in no humour to listen to news or receive conciliation of any kind, and so she conducted herself like a woman of “sperrit;” and gathering her garments about her, rose slowly and stately from the undignified posture in which she was discovered, and so departed from amongst them.

“Musha, then, fair weather afther you,” was the exclamation of Sibby when she recovered from the surprise created by this exhibition of undisguised contempt. “Joy be with you, and if you never come back, it’ll be no great loss, for the never a word about you in it anyhow, you ould sarpint. But, Nelly, alanna, it’s you an’ me that ought to spend the livelong day down on our marrowbones with joy and thankfulness, though you didn’t think his letter worth lookin’ afther;” and down on her marrowbones poor Nelly sank to receive the welcome communication, her baby clasped to her bosom, her glazed eyes raised to heaven, all unconscious of the crowd by which she was surrounded, and her every nerve trembling with excess of joy and thankfulness, while the bustling Sibby placed a chair for the schoolmaster near the loophole that answered the purposes of a window, and loudly enjoining silence, gave into his hands the epistle of his favoured pupil to read to the assembled auditors for about the sixth time; and Mr Soolivan, squaring himself for the effort, proceeded to edify Nelly Dolan therewith.

The letter went on to state, in the peculiarly felicitous language of Dinny M’Daniel, that on his arrival in New York, and finding himself without either friends or money, and thus in some danger of starvation, he began to lower his opinions of his personal worth, and solicit any species of employment that could be given to him. After some difficulty he got to be porter to a large grocery establishment, in which he conducted himself pretty well, and secured the confidence of his employers, and a rate of wages moderate, but still sufficient to support him. The sense of his utter dependence upon his character compelled him to be most particularly cautious of doing anything to affect it in the slightest degree, and in process of time he became a changed gossoon altogether, an example of the blessed fruits of adversity. The thoughts of Nelly Dolan and his old mother never quitted him, his anxieties about the former clinging to him with such intensity that he began forthwith to lay by a little money every week to send her, but was ashamed to write until he should have it gathered. An unfortunate event, however, soon put a stop to his accumulation, and drove him to use it for his subsistence. This was no less than the sudden death of the head of the establishment in which he was employed, which, he being the entire manager of the concern, had the consequence of breaking it up completely. Thus Dinny was cast on the world again, and found employment as difficult to be got as ever. His little hoard was soon spent, and at last he had to turn his steps westward, where labour was more plentiful and hands fewer. After many journies and vicissitudes he at length met a friend in the person of one of the partners in the grocery establishment which had first given him employment, and who, like himself, had sought a home in the wilderness. This man had some money, but, unfortunately for himself, never having “turned the Vosther” or learned anything in accounts, was unable to put it to any use that would require a knowledge of what a facetious alderman once called the three R’s, reading, writing, and ’rithmetic. Now, these happened to be Dinny’s forte. So when his quondam employer was one day lamenting to him the deficiency which forbade him to apply his capital to the lucrative uses which he otherwise might, Dinny modestly suggested a method whereby this desirable object might be effected: the other, after a little consideration, thought he might do worse than adopt it, and accordingly, before many days elapsed, a grand new store appeared in the township of Prishprashchawmanraw, in which Dinny was book-keeper and junior partner. Having brought him thus far by our assistance, we shall allow him to conclude his letter after his own way:--

“And so you see, dear mother, that notwithstanding all the neighbours said, it’s as lucky after all that I turned the Vosther, for it has made a man of me, and with the help of the holy St Patrick I am well able to spare the twenty pounds you will get inside, which is half for yourself to make your old days comfortable, or to come out to me, if you’d like that better, and the other half for my poor darling Nelly, the _colleen dhas dhun_, that I am afraid spent many a heavy hour on my account; but you may tell her that with the help of God I will live to make up for them all. I will expect her at New York by the next ship, and you may tell her that the first thing she is to buy with the money must be a grand goold ring, and let her put it on her finger at once, without waiting for either priest or parson, for I’m her sworn husband already, and will bring her straight to the priest the minute she puts her foot on America shore, and until then who dare sneeze at her? You must write to me to say where I am to meet her, and by what ship she will come out; and above all, _whether she is to bring any thing out with her besides herself_--you know what I mean. And, dear mother, when you write to me, you are to put on the back of the letter, Dennis M’Daniel, Esq. for that’s what I am now--not a word of lie in it. So wishing the best of good luck to all the neighbours, and to yourself and to Nelly, I remain, &c. &c. &c.”

“Glory to you, Dinny!” was ejaculated on every side, while they all rushed tumultuously forward to congratulate the unwedded bride. In their uproarious hands we leave her, drawing this moral from the whole thing, that it’s very hard to spoil an Irishman entirely, if there be any good at all in him originally.

A. M’C.

[1] Collector of county cess.

THE THREE MONKS.

“It was with the good monks of old that sterling hospitality was to be found.”--HANSBROVE’S IRISH GAZETTEER.

Three monks sat by a bogwood fire! Shaven their crowns, and their garments grey; Close they sat to that bogwood fire, Watching the wicket till break of day-- Such was ever the rule at Kilcrea;[2] For whoever passed, be he baron or squire, Was free to call at that abbey, and stay, Nor guerdon or hire for his lodging pay, Though he tarried a week with the Holy Quire!

Three monks sat by a bogwood fire! Dark look’d the night from the window-pane! They who sat by that bogwood fire Were Eustace, Alleyn, and Giles by name: Long they gazed at the cheerful flame, Till each from his neighbour began to inquire The tale of his life, before he came To Saint Bridget’s shrine, and the cowl had ta’en: So they piled on more wood, and drew their seats nigher!

Three monks sat by a bogwood fire! Loud wailed the wind through cloister and nave! With penitent air by that bogwood fire The first that spake it was Eustace grave, And told, “He had been a soldier brave In his youth, till a comrade he slew in ire; Since then he forswore helmet and glaive, And, leaving his home, had crossed the wave, And taken the cross and cowl at Saint Finbar’s spire!”

Three monks sat by a bogwood fire! Swift through the glen ran the river Lee! And Alleyn next, by that bogwood fire, Told his tale--a woeful man was he: Alas, he had loved unlawfullie The wife of his brother, Sir Hugh Maguire! And he fled to the cloister to free His soul from sin: and ’twas sad to see How sorrow had worn the youthful friar!

Three monks sat by a bogwood fire! And red the light on the rafters shone, And the last who spoke by that bogwood fire Was Giles, of the three the only one Whom care or grief had not lit upon; But rosy and round, throughout city and shire His mate for frolic and glee was none; And soon he told how “A peasant’s son, He was reared to the church by their former Prior!”

Three monks sat by a bogwood fire! The moon look’d o’er all with clouded ray; And there they sat by that bogwood fire, Watching the wicket till break of day; And many that night did call, and stay, Whose names--if, gentles, ye do not tire-- In next strain shall the bard essay-- (Many and motley I ween were they)-- Till then, pardon he craves for his humble lyre! And to each and all, Benedicite!

[2] Kilcrea Abbey, near Cork, was dedicated to Saint Bridget, and founded, A. D. 1494, by Cormac Lord Muskerry. Its monks belonged to the Franciscan order commonly called “the _Grey_ Friars.”

COMPARATIVE VALUE OF BLACK BOYS IN AMERICA AND IRELAND.

It has not unfrequently occurred to us as a thing somewhat remarkable, that there is a vast difference in the comparative value of the black boys of America and those of Ireland; and this was very forcibly proved to us on a recent occasion. The American little blacks are, as we have been credibly informed, to be bought for forty dollars and upwards, according to their health, strength, and beauty; the Irish blackies for about a twentieth of that sum; and as everything is valued in proportion to its cost, it follows as a matter of course that the American urchins are vastly more prized and better taken care of than the Irish. It is not very easy to account for this, but perhaps it is only a consequence of difference of race. The American black boys are supposed to be the descendants of Cham--true woolly-headed chaps, with the colouring matter of their complexion deposited beneath their outer skin, and not washoffable by means of soap and water. The Irish black boys generally are believed to be of the true Caucasian breed--the descendants of Japhet; and their blackness is on the outer surface of the skin, and may, though we believe with difficulty, be removed. But we will not speak dogmatically on this point. In other respects they agree tolerably. They have both the power of bearing heat to a considerable degree, and of dispensing with the incumbrance of much clothing. But it is in their relative value that they most differ, and this is the point we desire to prove, and what we think we can do to the satisfaction of our readers by the following anecdote:--

Being naturally of a most humane and benevolent character, as all our readers are--for none others would support our pennyworth--we have often lamented the abject condition and sufferings of our black urchins, and have come to the resolution never to assist in encouraging their degradation, but on the contrary to do everything in our power to oppose it. With this praiseworthy intention we recently sent for a gentleman who professes the art of increasing our domestic comforts by the aid of modern science as developed in our improved machinery--or in other words, we sent for him to clean the chimney of our study, not with a little boy, but with a proper modern machine constructed for the purpose. The said professor came accordingly, but to our astonishment not merely with his sweeping machine, but also with one of the objects of our pity and commiseration--a little black boy! The use of this attendant we did not immediately comprehend, nor did we ask, but proceeded at once to inquire of the professor the price of his services in the way we desired.

“Three shillings,” was the answer.

“Three shillings!” we rejoined, with a look of astonishment; “why, we had no idea that your charge would be any thing like so much. What,” we asked, “is the cause of this unusual demand?”

“Why, sir, the price of my machine. But I’ll sweep the chimney with the boy there for a shilling.”

“And pray, sir, what did your machine cost?”

“Two pounds!”

“Indeed,” I replied; “and what was the cost of the boy?”

“Ten shillings; and do you think, sir, I could sweep with my machine, which cost me so much, at the same rate as I could charge for the boy, that cost me only ten shillings?”

There was no replying to logic so conclusive as this; and we think it right to give it publicity, in the hope that it may meet the eyes of some of our readers at the other side of the Atlantic, who may be induced to rid us of some of our superabundant population, by importing our black boys, which they can get, even including the expense of carriage, at so much cheaper a rate here than they can procure them at home!

G.

ELEVATION OF THE LABOURING CLASSES.

We have to express our thanks to the Westminster Review for the publication of two MS. letters to Leonard Horner, Esq. one of the factory inspectors, from the proprietor of a cotton mill in the north of England, whose modesty it is to be regretted prohibits the publication of his name, and has hitherto prevented the publication of these letters.

The introductory article in the Review contains some admirable strictures upon the radical defect of governments failing to perceive that the elevation of the people, in a moral and physical point of view, is not only one, but the fundamental duty of legislators. The writer points out that in all countries and ages to the present time, those who have been placed at the head of public affairs have had little or no leisure, if they possessed the inclination, to study schemes of human improvement; their time has been occupied in maintaining order, making war, and raising a revenue for these and similar objects, whereas the necessity for police and armies would be lessened by striking at the root of the evil, and elevating the “hewers of wood and drawers of water” in the scale of intelligence and happiness.

“Melancholy,” says the writer, “is the result of centuries of mischievous and often wicked legislation, in the impression it has left upon the mind of the public. Long after a government has ceased to do evil, it is left powerless for good by the universal distrust with which it is regarded. The people have yet to learn to place confidence in their own servants, and to support when needed in their persons their own authority, instead of seeking to overturn it as that of tyrants or masters. So numerous have been the evils which have arisen from unwise interference, that an opinion very widely prevails that a government can do nothing but mischief; and the almost universal prayer of the people is to be left alone.” Again he says, “Why should it not be borne in mind that there are higher objects for human exertion, whether for individuals or communities, than the greatest possible aggregate of wealth? And although the realization of those objects in our time may be but the visionary dream of the philanthropist, let no one say that good will not arise from keeping them steadily in view.”

And to explain his sentiments upon the subject of the elevation of the labouring classes, he quotes the following paragraph from Dr Channing’s first lecture, delivered at a meeting of the Mechanic Apprentices’ Library Association at Boston:

“By the elevation of the labourer I do not understand that he is to be raised above the need of labour. I do not expect a series of improvements by which he is to be released from his daily work. Still more, I have no desire to dismiss him from his workshop and farm, to take the spade and axe from his hand, and to make his life a long holiday. I have faith in labour, and I see the goodness of God in placing us in a world where labour alone can keep us alive. I would not change, if I could, our subjection to physical laws, our exposure to hunger and cold, and the necessity of constant conflicts with the material world. I would not, if I could, so temper the elements that they should infuse into us only grateful sensations, that they should make vegetation so exuberant as to anticipate every want, and the minerals so ductile as to offer no resistance to our strength or skill. Such a world would make a contemptible race. Man owes his growth, his energy, chiefly to that striving of the will, that conflict with difficulty, which we call effort. Easy, pleasant work does not make robust minds, does not give men a consciousness of their powers, does not train them to endurance, to perseverance, to steady force of will, that force without which all other acquisitions will avail nothing. Manual labour is a school in which men are placed to get energy of purpose and character--a vastly more important endowment than all the learning of all other schools. They are placed indeed under hard masters, physical sufferings and wants, the power of fearful elements, and the vicissitudes of all human things; but these stern teachers do a work which no compassionate indulgent friend could do for us, and true wisdom will bless Providence for their sharp ministry. I have great faith in hard work. The material world does much for the mind by its beauty and order; but it does more by the pains it inflicts; by its obstinate resistance, which nothing but patient toil can overcome; by its vast forces, which nothing but unremitting skill and effort can turn to our use; by its perils, which demand continual vigilance; and by its tendencies to decay. I believe that difficulties are more important to the human mind than what we call assistances. Work we all must, if we mean to bring out and perfect our nature. Even if we do not work with the hands, we must undergo equivalent toil in some other direction.… You will here see that to me labour has great dignity. Alas for the man who has not learned to work! He is a poor creature; he does not know himself.”

That the labouring classes can be greatly, immeasurably elevated in the social scale, without relieving them from the least portion of that labour entailed upon the race of Adam, is beautifully exemplified in the mill-owner’s letters which follow the article from which the foregoing has been extracted. We regret that their length far exceeds the utmost space which we could afford them, or we should present them to our readers in full. The account which they give of the social condition of the operatives employed in the writer’s factory, more resembles the details of a Utopian scheme than of one actually carried into effect by a single philanthropic individual.

The first letter describes the wretched and dilapidated state of the mill, and destitute condition of the few persons living about it, at the time (1832) that the writer and his brothers took it, and proceeded to rebuild and furnish it. This and the collection of the necessary hands occupied two years. In employing operatives they selected only the most respectable, such as were likely to settle down permanently wherever they should feel comfortably situated; and in order to hold out inducements, these gentlemen broke up three fields in front of the workmen’s cottages into gardens of about six roods each, separated by neat thorn hedges. Besides which, each house had a small flower-garden either in front or rear, and the houses themselves were made as comfortable as possible.