The Double Prophecy; or, Trials of the heart. (Reprinted from Duffy's Hibernian Magazine.)

Front matter

THE DOUBLE PEOPHECY: OR, TRIALS OF THE HEART. llll'. DOUBLE PROPHECY; OR, TRIALS OF THE HEART. BY WILLIAM CARLETON \< Tilt. i. OF " TR.vvis AJTD sTiUiirs OF THE WISH PEASANTS! •' WIL1.V 1:1.11.1 v"_-' VALENTINE il'CI.rTCHV" — ■■ mi ivii. evk"— i.i U' TWO Vol.! UES VOL I. L 0 N 1) 0 N : FAMES DUFFY, 22, PATERNOSTER-ROW DIIUJN 7. \VELLIX(VroN-QrAV [REPRINTED FROM DUFFY'S "HIBERNIAN MAGAZINE."] TO HIS EXCELLENCY GEORGE WILLIAM FREDERICK, EARL OF CARLISLE, K.G, etc, etc. LORD LIEUTENANT OF IRELAND. My Lord, There are many reasons why I should dedi cate this work to your Excellency. In the first place, you were my early friend, and took an in terest in me when few others did. I cannot forget the kind and encouraging letter which you wrote to me from London; at the time, when pressed by severe difficulties, I was about to seek for a pension.

A^ou were then Lord Morpeth, and not in office. Neither can I forget the value of that letter to tho gentlemen who formed themselves, on its suggestion, into a committee to procure it. It not only guided their movements, but was the means of bringing them together, and occasioned them to act more vigorously on my behalf, especially when they saw that such a man seemed so anxious to promote my welfare. Noblemen, my lord, are, after all, setting their titles aside, only common men ; but, had your Lord- DEDICATION. VI ship been either a common nobleman or a common man, I never would have solicited your interest in my behalf, and neither would I have obtained it. I feel that it is a hazardous thing for any author to dedicate a work to your Lordship ; and for this reason, because he has to meet the scrutiny of a polished and fastidious taste, in conjunction with a judgment naturally severe, and matured upon the highest models of literary composition, both ancient and modern.

I am justified, however, in dedicating this work to your Excellency, as I have said, for many reasons. Your Government of this country has been productive of the best possible effects. You have leaned neither to the one side nor tlie other, but maintained a just and dignified impartiality, which has made you, as it will make your memory, dear to the Irish people. You have disarmed political parties of their resentments, and they can now look each other in the face, and wonder why they were enemies. But this is not all. Where is there a literary or scientific Institution in the country, or any other Association designed for our public good, which you do not encourage and sanction by your presence and your eloquence. It cannot be said that I am flattering your Excellency. My lord, I am not capable of flattering either your Excellency or any other man, but I am capable of truth ; and if I did not feel that what I say is truth, I dare not look into the faces of my countrymen after having given expression to falsehood, — upon a subject, too, DEDICATION.

Chapter I. Some Account Of Thomas Brindsley And His Family

— FUTURITY IMPENETRABLE UNLESS TO THE INITIATED. "Trash ia strange — stranger than fiction." — Byron. In a certain part of the North of Ireland, which for obvious reasons must be nameless, there lived, about thirty years ago, a man, descended from a decent and respectable, but reduced family, on whom it is our pleasure to bestow the name of Brindsley. This individual, whose Christian name was Thomas, had been in very humble circumstances, both before and about the period when we introduce him for a brief space to our readers. His manners, inherited from those habits of integrity and self-respect VOL. I. B which were so remarkable in his family, were far above those of any other persons in his position of life. Every one who knew him respected him highly ; and although, from a consciousness of what his ancestors had been, he was somewhat proud and distant in his intercourse with the people at large, yet those who were aware of the just grounds upon which he persisted in maintaining a moral position so much above them, never felt nor expressed offence at conduct which in any other would have been termed an unbecoming assumption of superiority, or an offensive exhibition of pride.

This man, whose disposition was so reserved and distant, posses sed, nevertheless, the materials of a firm and determined character, in which lurked the seeds ofa strong but latent ambition. His education — simply an English one — had not been neglected ; and as his natural intellect was of a higher standard than ordinary, he experienced an anxiety to try his fortune upon the broad stage of life. He could write a good hand, was an expert accountant, and possessed great facility and correctness in committing his sentiments on any subject to paper. His wife, though of humble but decent origin, was a woman of great personal beauty ; and nothing could surpass their attachment to each other. He had won her from the rival love of a cousin of his own, a young man in much better circumstances than himself ; but who, though handsome and dash ing in his manner, was a vindictive profligate, without the slightest element of moral principle to guide him in his intercourse with the world.

Thomas Brindsley was unhappy in the early death of his first two children. They died each within a year after their birth, a circumstance which threw an additional tinge of gloom over his character. At length there came a severe season — in fact a year of famine ; and as he found himself struggling almost in vain with the pressure and difficulties of the times, he re solved to enter the army ; and by the advice of a sergeant, who was recruiting for the India service, he resolved to become a soldier in the army of the East. This, it is true, may seem rather cruel and heartless, as involving the abandonment of his wife ; but of this want of feeling the man was altogether guiltless. The reciuiting officer had deceived him by stating that he would be at liberty to bring his wife with him, an assertion ' which involved nothing more than a mere contingency — the first being that only a limited number of married women were allowed to accompany each regiment, and those determined by ballot.

He and his wife still hoped that their lot might be an auspicious one, and that the wheel of Fortune might still turn in their favour. In this, however, they were disappointed. When the balloting day arrived, it is impossible to describe, or even to conceive, their agitation, or the dreadful alter natives of their hopes and fears. The ceremony passed, however, and, alas ! the chance was against them. We will not describe their separation, but must leave it to the imagination of our readers. We cannot, however, neglect to record her parting words. " Thomas," said she, " I may never again see you in this life, but, with God's aid and grace, you shall see me before the throne of judgment, your true and faithful wife. I will not despair, my husband, but, on the contrary, will place my humble but firm trust in the care of an all-right eous and merciful Providence."

" And if this is to be our last separation on earth," he replied, " I hope you will meet my spirit hereafter, as full of truth and affection as your own." " You have a tress of my hair," said she, " next your heart ; you will never remove it from that spot ?" " Never," said he, " until I see you again ; and if I do not, it will go to the grave with me." Whether it was their last separation or not, our readers shall ascertain in due time. When the unhappy Mrs. Brindsley returned to her now desolate hearth, she was within three months of becoming a mother, for the third time. She was, however, a person of as much pride and self-respect as her husband, although her manners were more genial and cordial. She was also of a strong and independent mind, and came to the immediate and creditable resolution of leaving nothing undone to maintain herself, without the assistance of her friends, who, in deed, were at best but poorly capable of render ing her any support whatsoever.

Her energy and activity soon became a common topic of conversation among her neighbours, who pointed to her as an example of what incessant exertion can accomplish. She was an expert needle woman, and possessed of great natural skill and taste in making up dresses. By the exercise of this talent she gradually wrought her way into employment as a country mantua-maker, and found her hands amply filled with the re sources of beneficial industry. At length, in due time, she gave birth to a daughter ; and in order to enable herself still to pursue her business, she engaged a growing girlr about fourteen, to attend to her baby, and dis charge other domestic duties in her cottage. In this manner she went on struggling, not un successfully, in working out the noblest object of human life — an honourable, though in her case, an humble independence.

We cannot dwell with a minuteness, which we feel would be only tedious to our readers, upon the level and monotonous course of her humble but exemplary life. Still we must not pass over this portion of it without recording her high-minded and faithful attachment to her absent husband. We have stated that he won her from a profligate cousin of that husband's. This was true, and the task was anything but one of difficulty, where such a pure and virtuous heart as hers was in question. She rejected his cousin's proposals without hesitation, although in a temporal point of view, the choice she made was far inferior, and, indeed, anything but a prudent one. Her husband's cousin was still unmarried ; but although, owing to his own extravagance, much reduced in his circumstances, yet still as profligate as ever.

In fact, now that her husband was absent, he assailed her with solicitations of the most dishonourable nature, and that with such pertinacity that she was obliged to appeal to the protection of her friends and acquaintances, to whom, as a matter necessary to her own safety, she stated the per secution to which she was perpetually subjected at his hands. Their indignation was so deep, and their determination to avenge the insults he was offering her, so loudly and unequivocally expressed, that the cowardly caitiff fled the country, and never showed his face in it again. Her firm and resolute conduct under those circumstances, raised her to the highest pitch of ' THE DOUBLE PROPHECY. admiration amongst every person who heard of it, both high and low. Business increased so much upon her hands, that in a short time she found herself obliged to take in assistance to en able her to fulfil her engagements.

In this way she not only maintained herself, but was able, by degrees, to put something aside for future contingencies. It was about six months after the departure of her husband for the East, that his ruffian cousin finally disap peared from the country ; but six months more elapsed, and still the intelligence came not on which her heart was set. No communication whatsoever reached her for two years ; and after many a patient watch and expectation, she almost ceased to entertain any hope upon the subject, She knew her husband's affection for her, and felt absolutely certain, as she was jus tified in doing, that nothing but death ever could, or would have occasioned his silence. At length, about the commencement, or rather towards the middle, of the third year, a letter reached his uncle, who was then on his death bed, and father to the profligate cousin, who, it appears, had joined the same service, containing an account of his death.

It stated that he died of cholera, after an attack of only a few hours ; whilst the writer, at the same time, ex. pressed great contrition for his own conduct, and hoped, as he was now a reformed man, that his cousin Thomas's widow would forgive him for his (poor Thomas's) sake. This dreadful intelligence prostrated her for a time, but though affectionate and faithful, she was, as we have already said, both firm and resolute. Perhaps, after all, the calamity inflicted by the knowledge of his death, was more easily borne than the suspense and uncertainty which would have preyed upon her by the ignorance of his fate. When the worst is known we are able to collect our energies and meet the blow ; but to hang in all the agonies of suspense, without being able to avail ourselves of hope and expectation on the one hand, or to combat the apprehended affliction in its worst shape on the other, is, of all condi tions of human life and suffering, the most wasting, and the most difficult to sustain.

The only source of consolation now, was her child, upon whom her heart turned with a double force of tenderness and affection. She thought that she could have felt the anguish of his death with less poignancy if he could but once have seen her ; and on this account she felt it as a sacred duty to love the child with an additional affec tion, which she looked upon as the inheritance of his heart. In the meantime, we pass from her and her husband's fate, to a different object. A new character is beginning to develop itself in our pages, and that character resides in the person of the child we speak of, Maria Brindsley. We remember having seen her when she was about eight or nine years of age, and upon another oc casion, when she was sixteen ; and we solemnly assure our readers, that the impression of the last view we had of her was such as makes us shrink back from the very idea of attempting to describe her.

In her case, description can do nothing. The thing is impossible, and for this reason, that neither the force of the most powerful imagination, nor the highest ideal con ception of beauty, whether taken from our know ledge of nature or of art, could enable us to reachanynotion whatsoeverof the standard which she presented. We dare not, therefore, attempt a portrait, and we shall not. All we can say is, that the light of youth and beauty seemed to emanate like effulgence from her face, and the glory of her eye to stand alone and unparalleled among women. Horace, indeed, appears to have had some conception of it, when he spoke of the vultus nimium lubricus aspici — a countenance too bright to be looked upon ; but, indeed, there are some female faces whose tints are so delicately beautiful, that neither art nor artist can snatch a grace sufficiently exquisite and ethereal to do them justice.

Such was that of Maria Brindsley, when we saw her in her sixteenth year. All we have said, however, is nothing. She must have been seen, and then, indeed, the divine charm of her beauty would have startled, astonished, and entranced the beholder — as it never failed to do. Martha Brindsley, for such was her mother's Christian name, had now, next to her own salvation, but one object of solicitude upon earth. She devoted herself to the care and comfort of her angelic little daughter, with an anxiety and tenderness that were their own reward. The child was the admiration of all who knew and saw her, and well did it become her mother to love and cherish her as she did, for from the very earliest period of her infancy, never did she occasion even one temporary pang to that mother's heart. She was put to school, where she soon distinguished herself among her little female companions, and surpassed them as much in intellect as she did in natural grace and beauty.

Having learned reading, writing, and some smattering of accounts, her education was con sidered sufficiently advanced for all the purposes of her humble life ; and after her withdrawal from school, she devoted herself to the acquisi tion of her mother's knowledge of dressmaking. From this period until her subsequent removal from her mother's roof, there is, with one exception, but little to be recorded of her innocent and affectionate life. The exception, however, which we allude to, we shall now detail. Her mother's cottage, to which was attached about half a rood of garden, that stretched lon gitudinally behind it, stood upon the edge of a beautiful little green, which was considered as a kind of common, for no one ever thought of breaking it up or cultivating it. Indeed, no one would be permitted to do so, as it was con sidered sacred to the sports and amusements of the youngsters of both sexes in the village ; and, besides, possessed what is called the right of commonage.

The scenery around it, especially in the summer time, was soft, serene, and beautiful. The land was devoted more to pas toral than agricultural pursuits — a circumstance which gave to it an aspect delightfully verdant, of which even winter could not deprive it. It consisted of low undulating hills, graceful in their outlines, with sketches of rich meadow be tween them, through the latter of which a clear but gentle river wound its serpentine course. Many warm-looking farm-houses, most of them white and comfortable, gave a peculiar spirit of happiness and animation to the landscape. About a couple of miles above, rose a mass of mountain ridges to the east, peaked and covered with the richest heath ; and when the crimson light of the setting sun fell upon them, it ap peared to the eye as if they had been trans figured by his radiance into a purple glory, which seemed like the operation of some grand and superhuman enchantment, that had turned them into gold.

And then again, how many pastoral and rural sounds, peculiar to those re mote and happy districts of life, might be heard during the progress and close of a summer even ing. How many youngsters of both sexes were abroad upon the banks of the river, engaged, the males in athletic and amusing sports, and the females in the lower swamps of the meadows in collecting the honey dew as it hung richly on the tall corn-like grass with which it was loaded. Then come the various sounds of rural life, as they arise in the silence of the approaching twilight — the sweet song of the country-girl, as she milks her cow — the careless song of the labourer as he returns from his toil — the mingl ing of young and joyful voices in the adjoining meadows, and a thousand other happy sounds with which the memory of early life in the coun try is always enriched.

One Saturday evening, about the middle of summer, there was a dance upon the green we have mentioned, and the youngsters of the vil lage and neighbourhood were, of course, assembled. The fiddler, too, being a resident among them, was, when not elsewhere engaged, in the habit of playing for them. The good-natured man, though blind from his infancy, knew the voice and foot of every one of them, and nothing afforded him greater gratification than thus to contribute occasionally to their innocent and light-hearted amusement. On the evening in question, they were all assembled, when a con siderable division or drawback from their en joyment of the dance took place, through the appearance of an individual, then, and for a long time previously, of no little celebrity in the North of Ireland. This was Stuart, the far famed dummy and spaeman, or fortune-teller.

These Stuarts were absolutely renowned for the prophetic accuracy with which they fed the public appetite for an insight into futurity. It would seem that they must have intermarried within the forbidden degrees, otherwise it is impossible that almost every individual of the family should have been deaf and dumb. 'Tis true we know that this melancholy privation, like many other maladies, is always hereditary ; but be this as it may, almost every man and woman of the Stuart race seem to have been deaf and dumb from their birth. That much gross imposture may have been practised by them, there is little or no doubt, but the evidences of their privation were too severely tested to allow them to impose upon the public in the matter of speech and hearing. We believe the family is now extinct, for after many inquiries, we have not been able to trace or hear of them for several years.

The only man of them we ever saw was the indivi dual of whom we are about to speak. He was tall and thin, and of a weather-beaten, sallow complexion. We were then very young, and looked upon him with a kind of reverence that was strongly imbued with sensations of pain and fear. That, however, which impressed us most disagreeably, was the noise which seemed to pro ceed from his temples whilst eating his food. It resembled a small dull knocking against an empty vessel, and proceeded evidently from some malformation in the sutures or joinings between the upper jaw-bones and the skull. Something like this must have been the case, because at every mastication they shot out on both sides of the face, in a line with the eyes, in a manner that was both startling and disagreeable, and especially as their motion seemed to occasion the noise.

His appearance upon the present occasion threw a change over the light spirit which had animated the enjoyment of the young folks then assembled on the common. " Here is Stuart the dummy ; he will tell all our fortunes !" and immediately, as he ap proached, a crowd of young and eager, but timid faces, gathered about him. Indeed, there is a strange combination in the feelings which are entertained for either man or woman who is supposed to possess the power of raising the veil of futurity. Fear, modified by curiosity, and an anxiety to hear, if possible, what the outlines or leading events of our life may be, constitutes the mood of mind in which we solicit their pre dictions ; and, indeed, we think that were it not for the influence of love and ambition — the two great principles of life — very few could be found anxious to approach such persons at all, possessed, as they are supposed to be, by a strange and supernatural mystery.

At all events, the wild-looking old man was surrounded by the young folk ; some of those who possessed least VOL. i. c fear and more assurance, approaching boldly, and intimating, as well as they could by signs, that they wished him to spae their fortunes ; whilst others, more timid and apprehensive, kept aloof, and stood at a cautious distance. The fortune-teller seemed rather displeased, and signified, somewhat angrily, that he would tell them nothing. In the meantime, he cast his eyes about, and discovering Maria Brindsley, standing with apparent awe and timidity at a distance, he beckoned her to approach him. and after having contemplated her beautiful features and exquisite little figure — she was then about twelve — he placed his hand upon her head, with an expression of great benignity, and taking her along with him, proceeded to her mother's cottage.

Having arrived there, he shut the door with his own hands, in order to keep out the crowd, who were pressing to follow him into the house. He then made signs to her mother to procure him the materials for writing ; and hav ing received them, he once more contemplated the little girl's features for a long time, and with intense earnestness ; then examined the palm-lines of her hand, with equal attention, and having apparently satisfied himself, he retired into au inner room, fetching the pen, ink, and paper along with him. Here he remained for at least an hour, not, certainly, writing during all that period, as was evident from the noise of his step, as he paced the room. At length there was a silence of about fifteen minutes, during which they took it for granted that he was committing the chief incidents of her future fate and for tunes to paper, and in a few minutes they hoped to have the mysterious scroll laid before them.

Maria herself, though young, felt her position a trying one. 'Tis true her future destiny might be bright, and agreeable, and happy — but what if it should prove to be the reverse of all this ? The alternations of hope and fear might be read in the varying expression of her anxious coun tenance, which was now pale as death, and anon flushed into the hue of crimson by the trepida tion and tumult which agitated her heart. Her mother, all whose hopes of earthly happiness were centred in her sweet and beautiful child, experienced an anxiety so deep, that she re gretted her compliance with the wish of the old spaeman. " I am sorry," she said, addressing her assis tants, " that I consented to this piece of folly at all. The man can know nothing of what's to happen to us in the future ; and if he foretels evil, it may break down the spirits of my child, and make her miserable and unhappy."

" Not a bit, mother," replied Maria, collecting her energy, " it doesn't matter what he may foretel ; because if it happens to be bad, I will do what you always told me to do — that is, to trust in God — which I will do, and then if I don't deserve the evil, God won't let it come upon me." As the noble girl spoke, her cheek mantled, and her eye flashed with resolution and energy, and we may add, too, with early piety. " No, mother," she added, " I am not afraid now, and don't you, mother, either. What is the whole thing, after all, but a joke ?" Stuart now made his appearance in the kitchen, with a paper folded like a letter in his hand, Mrs. Brindsley signed to him that she wished to see it, but he shook his head forbid dingly, and intimated that he wished to have sealing-wax. This was procured in a few minutes, when, to their utter astonishment, he im mediately sealed up the paper, and handed it to her mother, accompanied with an open slip, on which was written the following words : — " I lay it upon you, as a strict and solemn obligation, that this paper is not to be opened or read until your daughter's marriage day — after the ceremony.

The disregarding of this obligation is likely to be her ruin ; and if you. wish her to avoid evil in many shapes, and most of all from her own heart, you will not attempt to do it. I see what is before her, but it is for her own good that she should not know it until the time I mention. On that day this prophecy of her fortune will be fulfilled. Charles Stuart." Maria, on hearing this read, said : — " Very well, mother, sign to him that we will act in obedience to his wishes." The mother accordingly did so, upon which he once more approached Maria, looked upon her with evident complacency and satisfaction, and taking her hand, he placed it on her own heart, and turning up his eyes, pointed towards heaven. " He means, darling," observed her mother, " that if you fear God, and put your trust in heaven, there will be no danger.

His face, too, seems full of satisfaction, which surely would not be the case if he thought or knew that there was evil before you." She then put her hand in her pocket, in order to offer him money, but, observing her intention, he abruptly, and somewhat angrily, prevented her, and having raised his hand solemnly to en force the obligation which he had imposed upon her, he once more pointed to the open paper, lest he might be misunderstood, after which he took his departure, with that slow and solemn pace which was peculiar to him. This incident created quite a sensation in the little world about them. The neighbours, both young and old, flocked in to hear Maria's for tune, but on finding that it was a sealed docu ment, their curiosity, especially that of the wo men, was inflamed to such a pitch, that poor Mrs. Brindsley felt herself and her daughter literally in a state of persecution.

They were assailed by every variety of logic and eloquence, not to omit piety, friendship, sincere interest for their welfare, and the natural feelings of good neighbourhood ; for through all those shapes and disguises did curiosity pass. If curiosity, however, assumed so many aspects, so also did rumour. In the course of a few days the whole neighbourhood seemed to have been made per fectly well acquainted with the full particulars of this most mysterious affair, but as every ac count of it differed from another, her acquaint ances flocked to her for the purpose of hearing the authentic version. The first that entered was her next-door neighbour, Mrs. Nelson, who, having taken her seat, commenced with all the adroitness of a diplomatist, to insinuate herself into the secret. She drew, however, a very wide circle around the question, but with singular tact contrived to narrow it gradually, and as if without design, until she could get Mrs. Brindsley into what is termed a vicious circle, in other words, a circle from which she could not escape without giving up the information required.