Potter's Electric News

THE DILEMMA OF PHADBIG. A TALK OF THE SHANNON SIDE. THERE'S no use in talken about it, Phadrig. I know an I feel that all's over wit me. My pains are all gone, to be sure-but in place o' that, there's a weight like a quern stone down upon my heart, an I feel it blacken en within me. All I have to say is—think o' your own Mauria when she's gone, an be kind to poor Patcy.' Ah, darlen, don't talk that way—there's hopes yet —what'll I do—what'll the child do witout you ?-' Phadrig, there's noan. I'm goen fast, an if yon have any regard fcr me, you won't say anythin that'll bring the thoughts o' you an him between me an the thoughts o' heaven, for that's what I must think of now. And if you marry again I Oh, Mauria, honey, will you kill me entirely ? Ia it I'll marry again ?' 4 If it be a thing you should marry again,' Mauria resumed, without taking any notice of her husband's interruption, you'll bear in mind. that the best mother that ever walked the ground, will love her own above another's. It stands with raisin and natur. The gander abroad will pull a strange goslen out of his own flock; and you know yourself, we could never get the barcket hen to sit upon Nelly O'Leary's chickens, do what we could. Every thing loves its own. Then, Phadrig, if you see the flowry potaties-an the top o' the milk-an the warm seat be the hob—an the biggest bit o' meat on a Sunday goen away from Patcy—you'll think o' your poor Mauria, an do her part by him just quietly, an softly, an without blamen the woman-for it is only what's nait'rel, an what many a stepmother does without thinking o' themselves. An above all things, Phadrig, take care to make him mind his books and his religion, to keep out o' bad company, and study his readin-made- aisy, and that's the way he'll be a blessing and a comfort to you in your old days, as I once thought it would be to me, in mine.' Here her husband renewed his promises, in a tone of deep affliction. An now for yourself, Phadrig. Remember the charge that's upon you, and don't be goen out venturen your life in a little canvas canoe, on the bad autumn days, at Ballybunian nor wit foolish boys at the Glin and Tar- bert fairs ;—ah don' be so wake-minded, as to be trmten to card-drawers, an fairy doctors, an the like for its the last word the priest said to me was, that you were too superstitious, and that's a great shame an a heavy sin. But tee you* Phadrig, dear, there's that rogue of a pig at the potatoes over Phadrig turned out the grunting intruder, bolted the hurdle-door, and returned to the bedside of his expiring helpmate. That tidy housekeeper, however, exhausted by the exertion which she had made to preserve, from the mastication of the swinish tusk, the fair produce of her husband's conacre of white-eyes, bad fallen back on the pillow and breathed her last. Great was the grief of the widowed Phadrig for her loss-great were the lamentations of her female friends at the evening wake-and great was the jug of whiskey- punch which the mourners imbibed at the mouth, in order to supply the loss of fluid which was expended from the eyes. According to the usual cottage etiquette, the mother of the deceaeej, who acted as mistress of the ceremonies, occupied a capacious hay-bottomed chair near the fire place-from which she only rose, when courtesy called on her to join each of her female ac- quaintances as they arrived, in the death-wail which (as in politeness bound) they poured forth over the pale face of earth that lay coffined in the centre of the room. This mark of attention, however, the old lady was ob- served to omit with regard to one of the fair guests a round faced, middle-aged woman, called Milly Rue- or Red Milly, probably because her head migbt ha. furnished a solution of the popular conundrum, Why is a red-haired lady like a sentinel on his post r' The fair Milly, however, did not appear to resent this flight, which was occasioned (so the whisperweht among the guests) by the fact, that she had been an old and neglected love of the new widower. All the fiery in- fredients in Milly's constitution appeared to be compre- ended in her growing ringlets—and those, report says, were as ardent in hue, as their owner was calm and regulated in her temper. It would be a cold morning indeed, that a sight of Milly's head would not warm ycu -and a hot fit of anger, which a few tones of her kind and wrath disarming voice would not cool. She dropped, after she had concluded her 4 cry.' a conciliating courtesy to the sullen old lady, took an unobtrusive seat at the foot of the bed, talked of the 4 notable'. qualities of the deceased, and was particularly attentive to the flaxen- headed little Patcy, whom she held in her lap during the whole night, cross-examining him in his reading and multiplication, and presenting him, at parting, in token of her satisfaction at his proficiency, with a copy of The Seven Champions of Christendom,' with a fine marble cover an 1 pictures. Milly acted in this instance, under the advice of a prudent mother, who exhorted her, 4 whenever she thought o' maken presents, that way, not to be layen her money out in cakes or gingerbred, or things that would be ett off at wanst, an no more about them or the giver-but to give a strong toy, or a book, or somethen that would last, and bring her to mind now and then, so as that when a person 'ud ask where they got that, or who gev it, they'd say, 4 from Milly Rue,' or ♦ Milly gev it, we're obleest to her,' an be talken an thinken of her when she'd be away.' To curb in my tale, which may otherwise become restive and unmanageable—Milly's deep affection and generous sympathy, made a serious impression on the mind of the widower, who more than all, was touched by that singularly accidental attachment which she seemed to have conceived for little Patcy. Nothing could be farther form his own wishes, than any design of, a second time, changing his condition; but he felt that it would be doing a grevious wrong to the memory of his first wife, if he neglected this opportunity of pro- viding her favourite Patcy with a protector, so well cal- culated to supply her place. He demurred a little on the score of true love, and the violence which he was about to do his own constant beart-but like the bluff King Henry, his conscience, I aye-his conscience, touched him, and the issue was, that a roaring wedding shook the walls which had echoed to the wail of death within the few preceding months. Milly Rue net only supplied the place of a mother to young Patcy, but presented him in the course of a few years, with two merry playfellows, a brother and a sister. To do her handsome justice, too, poor Mauria's antici- pations were completely disproved by her conduct, and it would have been impossible for a stranger to have detected the step-son of the house from any shade of undue partiality in the mother. The harmony in which they dwelt, was unbroken by any accident for many years. The first shock which burst in with a sudden violence upon their happiness, was one of a direful nature. Disease, that pale and hungry fiend, who haunts alike the abodes of wealth and of penury; who brushes away with his baleful wing the bloom from beauty's cheek, and the balm of slumber from the pillow of age; who trouhles the hope of the young mother with dreams of ghastliness and gloom, and fears that came suddenly, she knows not why nor whence; who sheds his poison. ous <\ews alike on the heart that is buoyant, and the heart that his broken; this stern and conquering demon scorned not to knock, one summer morning, at the door of Phad- rig's cow-house, and to lay his iron fingers upon a fine milch-cow, a sheeted stripper, which constituted (to use his own emphatic phrase) the poor farmer's substance, and to which he might have applied the well-known lines which run nearly as follows:— She's straight in her bach, and thin in her tail; She's fine in her horn, and good at the pail; She's calm in her eyes, and soft in her skin She's a grazier's without, and a butcher's within,' All the 'cures' in the pharmacopeia of the village apothecary were expended on the poor animal, without any beneficial effect; and Pbadrig, after many consci- entious qualms about the dying words of his first wife, resolved to have recourse to that infallible refuge in such cases—a faity doctor # He said nothing to the aillicted Milly about his inten- tion, but slipped out of the cottage in the afternoon, hurried to the Shannon side near Money-point, un- moored his light, canvas-built canoe, seated himself in the frail vessel, and fixing his paddles en the towl-pin, To you I Bewaret sped away over the calm face of the waters towards the ille of Scattery, where the renowned Crohoore-na-Oona, or Connor-of-the-Sheep, the Mohammed of the cottages, at this time took up his residence. This mysterious per- sonage, whose prophecies are still commented on among the cottage circles with looks of deep awe and wonder, was much revered by his contemporaries, as a man 4 who had seen a dale of what nature those sights or visions were, was intimated by a mysterious look, and a solemn nod of the head. In a little time Phadrig ran his little canoe aground on the sandy beach of Scattery, and, drawing her above high-water mark, proceeded to the humble dwelling of the gifted Sheep-shearer, with feelings of profound fear and anxiety. He passed tne lofty round tower-the ruined grave of St. Senanus, in the centre of the little isle-the mouldering church, on which the eye of the poring antiquary may still discern the sculptured image of the two-headed monster, with which cottage tradition says the Saint sustained so fierce a conflict on landing in the ielet — and which the translator of Odranus has vividly described as a dragon, with his fore part covered with huge bristles, standing on end, like those of a boar; his mouth gaping wide open, with a double row of crooked, sharp tusks, and with such openings that his entrails might be teen his back like a round island, full of scales and shells; his legs short and hairy, with such steely talons, that the pebble-stones, as he ran along them, sparkled—parching the way wherever he went, and making the sea boil about him where he dived-such his excessive fiery heat.' Phadrig's knees shook beneath him when he remembered this awful description—and thought of the legends of Lough Dhoola, on the summit of Mount Callon, to which the hideous animal was banished by the Saint,to fast on a trout and a half per diem to the end of time, and where, to this day, the neighbouring fishermen declare that, in dragging the lake with their nets, they find the half trout as regularly divided in the centre, as it were done with a knife and scale. While Phadrig remained, with mouth and eyes almost as. wide open as those of the sculptured image of the monster which had fascinated him to the spot, a sudden crash among the stones and dock-weed, in an opposite corner Of the ruin, made him start and yell as if the ori- ginal were about to quit Lough Dhoola on parole ^of honour, and use him as a relish after the trout ana a half.. The noise was occasioned by a little rotund per- sonage, who had sprung from the mouldering wall, and now stood gazing fixedly on the terrified Phadrig, who continued returning that steady glance with a half frightened, half crying face-one band fast clenched upon his breast, and the other extended, with an action of avoidance and deprecation. The person of the stranger was stout and short, rendered still more so by a stoop, which might almost have been taken for a hump-hia arms hung forward from his shoulders, like those of a longed-armed ape—his hair was grey and bushy, like that of a wanderoo—and his sullen grey eye seemed to be in- flamed with ill-humour-his feet were bare, and as broad as a camel's^- and a leathern girdle buckling round his waist, secured a tattered grey frieze riding-coat, and held In enormous pair of shears, which might have clipt off a man's head as readily, perhaps, as a lock of wool. This last article of coetume afforded a sufficient indication to Phadrig that he stood in the presence of the awful object of his search. 'Well! an who are you ?' growled the Sheep-shearer after surveying Phadrig attentively for some moments. The first gruff sound of his voice made the latter re- new his start and roar for fright; after which, composing his terrors as well as he might, he replied, in the words of Autolycus—' I am only a poor fellow, Sir.' 4 Well ? an what's your business with me ?' 4 A cure, Sir, I wanted for her. A cow o' mine, that's very bad inwardly, an we can do nothen for her; an I thought may be you'd know what is it ail'ded her— an prevait on THEM' [this word was pronounced with an emphasis of deep meaning] 4 to leave her to uz.' Hush the Sheep-shearer thundered out, in a tone that made poor Phadrig jump six feet backwards, with a fresh yell, 4 do you daare to spake of them before me. Go along! you villyan o' the airth, an wait for me out- side the church, an I'll tell you all about it there; but, first—do you think I can get the gentlemen to do any thing for me gratish-witbout offeren 'em a trate or a haip'orth ?' If their honours would'nt think two tinpennies and a fi'penny bit too little.-It's all I 'm worth in the wide world.' 4 Well! we'll see what they'll say to it. Give it here to me. Go now—be off with yousself-if you don't want to have 'em all a-top o'you in a minnit.' This last hint made our hero scamper over the stones like a startled fawn; nor did he think himself safe, until he reached the spot where he had left his canoe, and where he expected the coming of the Sheep-shearer; conscience-struck by the breach of his promise to his dying Mauria, and in a state of agonising anxiety with respect to the lowing patient in the cow-honse. He was soon after rejoined by Connor of the Sheep. There is one way,' said he, 'of saving your cow- but you must lose one of your childer if you wish to save it.' 4 0, heaven presarve uz, Sir, how is that, if you plaze T' 4 You must go home,' said the Sheep-shearer, 'and say nothen to any body, but fix in your mind which o' your three childer you'll give for the cow; and when you do that, look in his eyes, and he'll sneeze, and don't you bless him, for the world. Then look in his eyes again, an he'll sneeze again, an still don't think o' blessun him, be any mains. The third time you'll look in his eyes, he'll sneeze a third time—an if you don't bless him the third time, he'll die-but your cow will live.' An this is the only cure you have to gi' me!' ex- claimed Phadrig, his indignation at the moment over- coming his natural timidity. 4 The only cure—It was by a dale to do, I could pre- vail on them to let you make the choice itself.' Phadrig declared stoutly against this decree, and even threw out some hints, that he would try whether or no Shaun Lauther,'or Strong John, a young rival of the sheep-shearing fairy Doctor, might be able to make a better bargain for him with the'gentlemen.- 'Shaun Leather" exclaimed Connor of the Sheep, in high anger-' Do you compare me to a man that never seed any more than yourself ?—that never saw so much as the skirt of a dead man's shroud in the moonligbt-or heard as much as the moanea of a sowlth* in an old grave-yard ? Do you know me ?—Aak them that do- an they'll tell you how often I'm called up in the night, and kep posten over bog an mountain, till I'm ready to drop down with the sleep,—while feow voices are heard, I'll be bail, at Shaun Lauther's windey-an little knol- lidge given him in his drames. It is then that I get mine. Didn't I say before the King o' France was beheaded, that a blow would be struck wit an axe in that place, that the sound of it would be heard all over Europe? -An wadn't it true? Didn't I hear the shots that were fired at Qibaralthur, an tell it over in Dooly's forge, that the place was relieved that day ?—an didn't the news come afterwards in a month's time, that I toult noten but the truth ?' Phadrig had nothing to say in answer to this over- whelming list of interrogatories-but to apologise for his want of credulity, and to express himself perfectly satis- fied. With a heavy heart he put forth in his canoe upon the water, and prepared to return. It was already twilight, and as he glided along the peaceful shores, he ruminated mournfully within his mind, on the course which he should pursue. The loss of the cow would be, he con- sidered, almost equivalent to total ruin—and the loss of any one of his lovely children, was a probability which he could-hardly bear to dwell on for a moment. Still, it behoved him to weigh the matter well. Which of them, now-atipposing it possible that he could think of sacrificing any—which of them would he select for the purpose ? The choice was a hard one. There was little Mauria, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl-but he could not, for an instant, think of losing her, as she happened to be named after his first wife; her brother, little Sha- mus, was the least useful of the three, but he was the youngest!—4 the child of his old age—a little one his heart bled at the idea; he would lose the cow and the pig along with it, before he would harm a hair of the Bodiless spirit. darling infant's head. He thought of Patcy—and he shuddered-and leaned heavier on his oars, as if to flee away from the horrible doubt which stole into his heart with that name. It must be one of the three, or the cow was lost for ever. The two first mentioned, he certainly would not lose—and Patcy—Again he bade the fiend begone, and trembling in every limb, made the canoe speed rapidly over the tide in the direction of his home. He drew the little Vessel ashore, and proceeded to- wards his cabin. They had been Waiting supper for him, and be learned with renewed fenxiety, that the object of his solicitude, the milch cow, had rather fallen away than improved in her condition during his absence. lie sat down in sorrowful silence with his wife and children, to their humble supper of potatoes and thick milk. He gazed intently on the feature* of each of the young innocents, as they took their places on the suggan chairs that flanked the board, Little Mauria and her brother Shamus, looked fresh mirthful, and blooming, from their noisy play in the adjoining paddock, while their elder brother, who had sp6nt the day at school, wore—or seemed, to the distempered mind of his father) to wear a look of sullenneds and chagrin. He was thinner too than most boys of his age -a circumstance which Phadrig had never remarked before. It might be the first indications of his poor mother's disease, con- sumption that were beginning to declare themselves in his constitution, and if so—bis doom was already sealed -and whether the cow died or not. Patcy was certain to be lost. Still the father could not bring his mind to resolve on any settled course, and their meal proceeded in silence. Suddenly, the latch of the door was lifted by some person outside, and a neighbour entered to inform Phad- rig, that the agent to his landlord had arrived in the adjacent village, for the purpose of driving matters to extremity against all those tenants who remained in arrear. At the same moment, too, a low moan of anguish from the cow outside, announced the access of a fresh paroxysm of her distemper, which it was very evident the poor animal could never come through in safety. In an agony of distress and horror, the distracted father laid his clenched fingers on the table, and looked fixedly in the eyes of the unsuspecting Patcy. The child sneezed, and Phadrig closed his lips hard, for fear a blessing might escape them. The child, at the same time, he observed, looked paler than before. Fearful lest the remorse which began to awake within his heart might oversway his resolution, and prevent the accomplishment of his unnatural design, he looked hur- riedly, a second time, into the eyes of the little victim. Again, the latter sneezed-and again the father, using a violent effort, restrained the blessing which was strug- gling at his heart. The poor child drooped his head upon his bosom, and letting the untasted food fall from his hand, looked so pale and mournful, as to remind his murderer of the look which his mother wore in dying. It was long-very long-before the heart-struck pa- rent could prevail on himself to complete the sacrifice. The visitor departed and the first beams of a full moon began to supplant the faint and lingering twilight which was fast fading in the west. The dead of the night drew on before the family rose from their silent and comfort- less meal. The agonies of the devoted animal now drew rapidly to a close, and Phadrig still remained tortured by remorse on the one hand, and by selfiish anxiety on the other. A sudden sound of anguish from the cowshouse made him start from his seat. A third time he fixed his eyes on those of his child-a third time the boy sneezed—but here the charm was broken. Milly Rue, looking with surprise and tenderness on the fainting boy, said—' Why, then, heaven bless you, child! -it must be a cold you caught, you're sneezen so often.' Immediately, the cow sent forth a bellow of deep agony, and expired; and at the same moment, a low and plaintive voice outside the door was heard, exclaiming— 4 And heaven bless you, Milly! and the Almighty bless you, and spare you a long time over your children Phadrig staggered back against the wall-hie blood froze in his veins-his face grew white as death-his teeth chattered-his eyes stared-hii hair moved upon his brow, and the chilling damp of terror exuded ovfer all his frame. He recognised the voice of his first wife and her pale, cold eye met his at that moment, as her shade flitted by the window in the thin moonlight, and darted on him a glance of mournful reproach. He covered his eyes with his hands, and sunk, senseless, into a ohair ;-while the affrighted Milly, and Patcy, who at once assumed his glowing health and vigour, hastened to his assistance. They had all heard the voice, but no one saw the shade, nor recognised the tone, excepting the conscience-smitten Phadrig. Seeing that so great a man as Giraldus Cambrensis did not esteem it beneath him to enshrine in several pages of hard Latin, the popular superstitions of the people, to whose real character he is said to have done so little justice, we cannot claim credit for much humility in devoting some good and bad English to the same pur- pose. They are foibles which the assaults of modern intelligence have 4 dashed to air like dew-drops from the lion's mane,'—but while we rejoice in the progress of that information, which is clipping the wings of those light and fanciful follies, it can be of no injury to lay hold on a few of the most interesting legends to which they have given rise, and preserve them, as voyagers do their knotted cords of measurement, if only for the pur- pose of shewing what way that magnificent vessel, the human mind, has made in the mighty ocean of know- ledge. What might not be made of the people, whose very weaknesses evince a depth of feeling, and a rqfch of imagination, which are denied to many a cultivated intellect ? « — ANOTHER DEATH FROM FIRE THROUGH CRINOLINE — On Friday afternoon Mr John Humphreys, the Middlesex coroner, held an inquiry at the London Hospital re- specting the death of Mrs Mary Ann Collins, aged 58 years, who expired that morning from dreadful injuries sustained from fire the previous night. The deceased resided at No. 2, Henry-place, Jubilee-street, and was In the kitchen airing some clothes at the fireplace. By some means, while her back was turned towards the fiire, her dress, which was distended by crinoline, got between the bars of the grate, and instantly blazed up. Her cries brought in the neighbours to her assistance, but before the flames coutdbe extinguished she had received fright- ful injuries over the whole of her body. She was con- veyed to the hospital, where she expired between twelve and one o'clock on Sunday morning in great suffering. The coroner having remarked upon the melancholy nature of the case, the jury returned a verdict of 4 Death by accidental burning.'