Amy Paul; a tale

Chapter I

Wherein one of two fellow-travellers relieves the tediousness of a journey by a relation, to which the attention of the reader is necessarily requested. On a road which leaves the city of Dublin in a southerly direction, and touching upon the borders of Kildare, traverses the county of Wicklow, there journeyed, some few years now past, one of those nondescript vehicles, stdl seen in many parts of Ireland, and caUed (though not without the ambiguity of an alias) a caravan. It is true, that it could boast of four horses, but the stages were long and the drivers had general orders to be considerate, VOL. I. B so that the pace was in no way alarming, and if six mdes were accomplished in the hour, it was held to be both safe and fair work. The caravan, for whatever originaUy intended, was on aU necessary occasions strenuously main tained to be eminently adapted for, and quite adequate to the carriage of as many passengers outside as chose, or were forced to avail them selves of its accommodation.

Under the roof it was divided into two compartments ; one of which, sheltered over head, was exposed on both sides, whde the other, set apart (by price) for those who wished to be peculiarly select, resembled the inside of an ordinary stage coach, and, being cushioned and altogether the most comfortable part of the vehicle, was dignified with the name of the " parlour." In this department of our vehicle, on the day on which its rumbling motion attracts our notice, sat two traveUers, led no doubt to im mure themselves within it by the drizzling, gloomy appearance of the morning. As the road, never very interesting, was not rendered more so by this state of the weather, they had both leaned back in their opposite corners and devoted themselves, after a few common place remarks, to the observance of a most frigid sdence.

An exhibition of trappism on the part of traveUers, and the adoption for ever so short a time of the distinguishing characteristic of that most unsocial community, ahvays renders probable the continuation of the practice to the end of the journey ; for, sinking through a certain depth of sdence, conversation is sure to become fixed, and not a word thenceforward bubbles to the surface. There was a restlessness about one of the two companions, which showed that he at aU events did not relish this taciturn system ; when luckily to prevent its further encroachment on his happiness, the caravan stopped, and the driver, bending down from his seat to address them through the window, informed them that the coach would stop some minutes, to give them an opportunity of seeing " the fad." The waterfaU was the legendary one of Poul- B a-fouka, and our travellers descended together to view it.

Passing over a stde and treading the pathway beaten through the grass for a few paces, they stood and watched, whde the water ghded silently forward, and how steadying itself into a solemn pause close under their feet, it burst away aU at once, leaping madly down the dizzy precipice into dark, foaming chasms. They had read (as every one has) in legends of the country, of the wdd horse with its frighted rider, and the bound of the river seemed to them not urdike a leap in a terror-dream : away, away — down, down — until it was dashed start lingly against the hard rocks below. Selecting points of view, expressing their admiration and recalling such things as they thought worthy of mutual narration, our travellers returned to their places in the caravan, much better acquaintances and much more disposed to assist one another in whding away the time, for a heavy length of road lay yet before them.

If one were to judge from the contrast in their appearance, they must have had stories of ■i a widely different experience. One was smaU, quick in his step and tone of voice, with rounded shoulders that almost approached to a malformation, but with a countenance that was very frank and open and pleasing from its kind liness to look upon. He possessed a smde of much good-nature and softness, that was weU set off by the grey hairs which crowned his brow. The other was taU, with a mihtary bearing and a black hardness about his face that, joined to an unshrinking boldness of look, gave him an air of audacity at times from which one would turn with feelings very close to aversion. It would scarcely have been expected, but when he spoke, his voice had a meUow7, soft sound. " I do not know," he said, when they were once more in motion, " whether I am deceived or not in my recoUection, my memory has to bear me back some years, but I believe I address Mr. Elt of London."

" London, Sir," replied his companion, " is a large place, and ' of London ' would be far too ambitious a title for me, however coveted by some. Your recoUection, Sir, has not deceived you. My name is Jeremy Elt, and I am, formerly of London." "It is many years since I had the pleasure of meeting you," said he, who had spoken first, " and no doubt I have passed altogether from your remembrance. My name is Simon Burge, I at present reside in the city which we have just left behind us." Trappism was evidently not Mr. Elt's forte. It was easy to see that he was already bristling with points of speech. " And, I suppose, like myself," he inquired, " you are not a native of these parts ?" " No, Uke you, I am an Englishman." was the reply ; "and like you also, I am cockney-born." " Do you travel far this way ?" inquired Mr. Elt.

" Between forty and fifty mdes, I believe," rejoined Simon Burge. "To a town, indeed, that I have never seen, and of which I hardly know the name : Kd — something. There is always Kil in an Irish name." " Kdblank," suggested Mr. Elt ; to which the other nodded assent. " It is my destination, too," continued Mr. Elt ; " at least, close to it. You last saw me, you say, in London, and you will be somewhat surprised to hear that I at present reside not far from the town you have named; at a viUage caUed LisnadiU." " Here — in Ireland ?" interrogated his com panion, with some surprise. " Here, and in Ireland, of course," rejoined Mr. Elt. " Is it not a great change for one like me, accustomed to London streets so long, and to London ways." " A most marvedous change," responded Mr. Burge. " From the dust, and bustle, and hurried occupations of the greatest of aU cities, to such a quiet, out-of-the-way place as this viUage of LisnadiU must be.

It is remote and uninterrupted enough for the enjoyment of all rural felicity. But, truly, do you ever find it very stupid ?" " I am not more than eight months a resident at LisnadiU," repUed Mr. Elt. " I have taken my present house on a lease for three years, and I hope and have some expectation that I shaU not find it stupid. I have employment in agricultural and horticultural pursuits for seasonable weather, as I have three acres and two roods of land attached to my house. I can assure you, there is great pleasure in such occupation. My ears were old enough to wish for something more agreeable than the noise of our great city ; and such cheerful, happy sounds as do ring in my ears instead. Then, there are the wide meadows, stretching away in green, that the sight rests upon so gratefuUy, and the sky bright and undimmed with that eternal smoke."

" StiU," urged his companion, " must you not wish at times for the company of your fellow-men ?" " I have friends, Sir," returned Mr. Elt, with the vividness of feeling in his voice ; " very dear friends, who hve near me ; and I have not separated myself altogether from my fellow men. I have a taste for mechanics, Sir; in that I have a tie, believing that I wdl yet turn it to some advantage. Then, Sir, I have my library. When I walk out at all times and at aU hours, whatever faUs upon my ear or eye, with what I may call Nature's rhythm, I go back and find it aU told me in the choicest language by great men, who, in their own way, you see, are also to be numbered as my friends." " I am glad," said Mr. Burge, " that you like your change so weU, and can deal with it with such hearty fervour. StiU, I confess, it seems to me a great change from London to Lisnaddl."

" Doubtless, it is strange," rejoined Mr. Elt ; " but the circumstances w7hich induced it are equaUy so." Mr. Elt, as he said this, fixed himself in a position so easy and so adapted for narration, that it would have been hard-hearted not to have encouraged him to proceed. Mr. Burge may have been unwiUing to incur such an imputa tion, or he may have had some general curiosity or particular purpose of his own ; but, at aU events, he said it would serve to lessen the tedium of the way, if Mr. Elt would teU how it had aU come to pass. There would be time sufficient afterwards, to recall the circumstances under which they had previously met. " Knowing me," began Mr. Elt, " you, of course, must have known the old street near Golden Square, in which I carried on business. Many make fortunes by amusing the fuU-grown chUdren of our race.

I made my smaU com petency by manufacturing playthings for little men and women. You recollect the old ware house ? It was a queer spot ?" His hearer assented to Loth questions, and Mr. Elt continued: " I do not know whether you were sufficiently well acquainted with the neighbourhood to have remarked, or to recall now7 the house or person of old Samuel Weld ? He kept a book-shop, some few doors above mine." The other answered, but only when Mr. Elt paused, by confessing his want of both recol lection and knowledge ; yet a close observer might have seen that the sound of the name brought memory, like some visible power, into every lineament of his face. " Samuel Weld," resumed Mr. Elt, " had only one chdd — a daughter. She was con sidered very handsome, and in my opinion" — this was said with the emphasis of one com petent to judge — " she was.

There was a young man — he was from this country — called Edward Paul, who used to come frequently to her father's shop ; for he was a lover of books ; and old Weld w7as delighted to meet with one who could appreciate the rare volumes he had so zealously collected. Somehow, Edw7ard Paul got introduced to Barbara Weld ; fell in love with her with all his heart, and persuaded her to go with him one morning to church, and come away again his wife. " This, Sir," continued Mr. Elt, " was aU very weU ; and seeing that they were both hand some, and both young and thoughtless, not altogether unnatural. Mr. Weld, when he heard Edward Paul's explanation of his prospects and hopes, did not prove very inexorable. He was easily induced to forgive. It was a different thing with Mr. Paul's friends in this country.

They, it seemed, were people very high up in society, and were very indignant at the idea of an alliance with an old bookseUer, who was not even wealthy. Young Paul was altogether dependent on the bounty of his friends. He had great hopes ; he married on great hopes ; but as he could not live on great hopes, he was obliged, much against his wdl, to be a suppliant to his proud relations. Have you ever con sidered, Sir, how many people pride slays ?" Mr. Burge, to whom the question was suddenly addressed, owned that he never had. " Ah, Sir," resumed Mr. Elt, " in all its forms, one way and another, pride kids not a few ; and perhaps no form is more fatal than that of which I speak — famdy pride. It kiUed Edward Paul, did this arrogant, self-complacent pride. He had his own share of pride and he soon ceased to be a supphant, and looked upon the way that lay before him — the rough, rugged path of life, as one who weU knew aU the difficulties that awaited him, but who was determined to cope manftdly with them.

And he did. He raised up for himself a cheerful, pleasant home, where he dearly loved to spend aU his leisure moments with his wife and his two young chddren. He laboured, however, too severely to gain the object that he so much desired. He awTakened the seeds of a malady which proved -fatal to him. I do not know whether the pride of his famdy faded before the inteUigence of his early death ; but no notice, none whatever, was taken of it when it occurred nor after. He died, leaving his wife with her young famdy totaUy un provided for, had it not been for her father. Samuel Weld took them aU home to live with him. Do you beUeve in the existence of such a thing as sympathy of hearts ?" " I fear," replied his hearer, smding at the sudden manner in which the question was propounded ; " that I must acknowledge myself an infidel therein.

Even in sound, it is too romantic for my worldly unbelief." " I," said Mr. Elt with a quiet simplicity of manner, " believe in its existence, for I have seen it exemplified ; nor is romance the least real part of our life and nature. Edward Paul's wife died from such sympathy, and from no other cause. She drooped from the hour of his death. The chiU from his lips must have reached her heart, for not even her love for her children was strong enough to persuade her to remain. In a very short time she foUowed her husband ; and then the children were left alone under their grandfather's care." The caravan stopping at a farm-house on the way-side for the purpose of changing horses, and as their experience of a simdar proceeding at a former stage warned them that it was one of considerable noise and much delay, Mr. Elt proposed to his companion that they should walk on and stretch their cramped limbs.

They foUowed this suggestion, and it was when they had resumed their seats that Mr. Elt proceeded with his narrative. " I watched the chddren growing up under their grandfather's care, and it was pleasant to see the amount of love and tender nurture that he bestowed upon them. The death of his daughter wrought a great change in Samuel Weld. He became close and saving ; almost and in aU respects, except in regard to his grandchddren, a complete miser. I could see — knowing the old man well — that this change was part and parcel of his love for them. It was prompted by his affection, which made him fear that if he did not provide for them, they might suffer from want. Either his love or his fear was prophetic, for he did die leaving them almost destitute. You see how death marks every step of my progress, but death came to old Samuel WTeld, untimely and unnaturaUy.

Poor old man ! he wTas, I believe, basely murdered." " Murdered !" exclaimed Mr. Burge ; and his face changed as if imagination slowly conjured up all that the word implied. "Well do I recoUect," continued Mr. Elt, "the night of his death. The night was darkened with clouds above, and a dense fog in the streets, which you may suppose was not lighter in our street than elsewhere. A neighbour came breathlessly to teU me that something had happened to Mr. Weld. I at once accompanied him. By the back entrance, we got into the shop which was already closed. Not easdy shaU I forget the sight that met my eyes. The old man was there, indeed, with his two grandchddren ; but he lay senseless upon the floor, the blood trickling from a wound in his forehead, and painting with its sickening hue his cold face.

Barbara, his eldest grandchild, stood motionless before him, with clasped hands and frightened face ; while Amy was lying cowering, almost lifeless, upon his breast, her hands and clothing stained with his blood." And what came of it?" asked his hearer. with a voice lowered to a tone which showed the interest he felt. " Stained with his blood," repeated Mr. Elt, pausing to commune with his own thoughts. " I cannot teU how that hot life-blood found out her heart and brain, to affect them as it did. She was young, almost an infant ; not more than four years of age." Agam Mr. Elt seemed to dweU on some image present to his mind, but soon rousing himself from his reverie, resumed : " What came of it ? you ask me. Why there was a coroner's inquest ; a jury impanneUed, and aU the witnesses examined whom they could lay hands on, but nothing came of it.

There w7as no mark of any robbery having been committed ; nothing was broken open, nor anything carried off. They said it was too purposeless for a murder, so they returned a verdict of " found dead ;" and the next day the whole affair was forgotten, swept away into that sea of oblivion — the past. I had my own suspicions, but I could never get more than suspicions made of them, and vol. i. c in that shape they were worse than useless. The children could give no account of it. It was thought that the younger, Amy, might have done so, but the slightest approach to the subject scared aU her poor wits away." " And what became of the children ?" asked Simon Burge. " Why," said Mr. Elt, with the simple man ner of one narrating matters of course, " I found it necessary to take charge of them myself.

They were utterly unfriended and deserted. I wrote letters, representing the w7hole affair, to their friends in this country. To some of my apphcations I received no answer whatever, and to others a mere profession of ignorance. Some of their father's relations were great people, and I think it is hard in these matters to soften the hearts of your great folk, for pride is an unre penting sin. I became administrator to Mr. Weld, and managed to save a Uttle from his pro perty. Besides, from the time the chddren came to Uve with me — and the cost of their main tenance was but smaU — my business prospered, and continued every day to prosper. Providence in its care and kindness, blessed my efforts." It would not be easy to explain the shadowed look and bitter smde, with which in quick succession his hearer received these last words.

They may have denoted scepticism or a contrary ex perience. Nevertheless, Jeremy Elt, happy in the very inference, may have been right. Surely Heaven loves charity, for it is the chief virtue born of its own strength and man's weakness. " Ah, Sir," continued Mr. Elt, " they were two lovely chddren. When they came to me, Barbara was about seven years of age, and Amy four. I grew to love them dearly, and they, I believe, nay, I know, they loved me with a love second only to that which they bore each other. The clasping fondness which Barbara ever showed towards her young sister, was beautiful. She was a wise Uttle woman from the very first, and, as if it were right and necessary, became a mother to Amy." "And do they stdl reside with you?" inc quired Mr. Burge, interrupting Mr. Elt, for his narrative, whde he dwelt upon these matters, seemed hkely to be converted into a fond soUloquy.

" They Uved with me," he answered, " for six years — six years the happiest of the many years of my life. About the end of that period, a gentleman caUed upon me, who turned out to be a solicitor and agent for an uncle of the children, who lived abroad." " An uncle," repeated his hearer, with some surprise. "Just so," said Mr. Elt. "One Stephen Paul." " Stephen Paul !" was again the surprised interruption. " Do you know him ?" asked Mr. Elt. " I believe I have met him, or a person of the same name abroad," replied Simon Burge, after a momentary pause. " But pray proceed." " The gentleman had instructions to seek out the chddren," resumed Mr. Elt, " and to pro vide them with everything they required. He had instructions also to send them to a board ing-school, and selected one of the very highest character.

I was much grieved to lose my chddren, for I had begun to consider them such ; but it was not for me to stand in the way of their good fortune. Their uncle, I was told, wras very rich, and at aU events the chUdren were removed to one of the best schools, and kindly and carefuUy treated. They did not forget their love for one another, nor yet (God bless them !) their love for poor old Jeremy Elt, who many and many a time journeyed out for the pleasure and comfort of looking upon them. And if they grew in love, they grew also in beauty. I had every reason to be proud of my children." " And their uncle had reason to be grateful to you for your care and kindness," said Mr. Burge. " But how after aU did you become fixed in Ireland ?" " My care and kindness amply repaid them selves," said Mr. Elt, with a dash of pride in his tone.

" ' Measure for measure,' is not the drama love ever plays. But, Sir, word came at last, that their uncle had returned from abroad. He had selected the place to which we now journey, LisnadiU, for his residence. He was tired, doubtless, of the world, for a quieter place he could not have chosen. It is out of the way, perhaps, but it is healthfuUy and pleasantly situated. His two nieces shortly after he was settled, came to reside with him. About twelve months ago I gave up business, and looking about for a place to settle down, I yielded to my own inclination and their per suasion, and made choice of LisnadiU. From London to LisnadiU is a long change, and a strange one, as I said before, but such are the circumstances which brought it about." As Mr. Burge seemed curious to know more of Stephen Paul, and had many questions to ask for that purpose, Mr. Elt once more resumed.

He said that Mr. Paul appeared a quiet, kind-hearted man, gentle jn his manner, and anxious to assist those around him. His residence abroad, or his Ul-health, for he was not very strong, made him appear older than his years would warrant. Above aU, however, Mr. Elt said, he seemed very much attached to his nieces, anticipating and gratifying aU their wishes. The place where they lived, did not afford much opportunity for social amusements, but they had aU other things they could desire, and had grown up with increased beauty and strength, nurtured by the pure mountain air in which they lived. Another interruption ensued, in consequence of another change of horses. Mr. Elt's ideas were thereupon diverted, and he remembered his luncheon. His companion refusing the share offered to him, leaned back and either slept or remained silent untd they reached their destination.

He forgot to teU Mr. Elt, as he had promised to do, the circumstances under which they had once before met, and which had induced his present recognition. When they alighted in the straggling town of Kilblank, and w7ere about to take leave of each other, he said, that it was probable he w7ould be detained in the neighbourhood, and would find an opportunity of seeing Mr. Elt again. With a shrug of his shoulders at the appearance of the hotel (so called) which stood open to receive him, and a rough reply to a bare-footed urchin who offered himself to carry " his honour's luggage any place for sixpence," he once more turned to bid Mr. Elt adieu, and with a smde, thanked him for having so pleasantly relieved the tediousness of the way. Mr. Elt ordered a car to take him on to the viUage of Lisnaddl.

After some delay, it was (with no little flourish) brought out ; after some further delay the horse was produced, and by the help of sundry hasty repairs (which Mr. Elt, with a due foresight to his own safety carefuUy superintended) harnessed for the road ; and after a longer delay, occasioned by a necessary search, the " boy," who was to act as driver, was discovered, and Mr. Elt on one side of the car, and his luggage on the other, w7ent off at a rapid gallop, that gave hasty promise of home. Mr. Elt was never stinted in his gratuity, and the " boy who drove his honour," and who was the " boy that always drove him," certainly earned his allowance, not alone by keeping his gaunt, tough steed to its utmost speed, but by carrying Mr. Elt with the " hoith of good luck," through perils and past difficulties, that none but a true son of the sod could emulate, and where any other had most assuredly and most unmitigatedly foundered.

Chapter II

How Mr. Elt arrived at LisnadiU, and how he was received at his own particular mansion. The viUage of LisnadiU, creeping Uke a timid chdd within the open arms of the lofty hdls that closed around it, nestled there ■ as much through love as for protection. It con sisted of about forty houses, which divided into clusters of three or four, congregated to that number wherever it was imagined that the sunshine would gleam more warmly, or the winds be broken into mddness. There were two shops which furnished the neighbourhood with everything requisite, at a per centage of profit adjusted, with the accuracy of practical science, to the indolence of the vdlagers, and the possibdity of a supply from the adjoining town. An hotel reared its white-washed front loftily and proudly, conscious of the dignity of its emblazoned sign-board, and weU aware of its importance whenever it became the residence of some wayfarer whom business or pleasure stayed beneath its roof.

It was chiefly supported, however, by the coming together of the neighbourhood on ad occasions when the smaUest excuse or most shadowy pretext could be found, either to broach some tremendous modicum of news, or to discuss the lamentable accident of a sprained wrist or ankle. At certain seasons, moreover, the quiet routine of drink and smad gossip was broken in upon by the arrival of some wandering minstrel, and the dance which was then and there improvised, in order to make the most of such a fortunate occurrence. These scenes of dissipation, it must be confessed, were but few, for LisnadiU was out of the beaten track, and its inhabitants were of that turn of mind which prefers being quietly mystified out of its sobriety to any amount or form of noisy roystering whatever. The house of Mr. Jeremy Elt, standing apart and separate, might yet be considered to belong to the vdlage.

It was prominent amongst the others, both by its appearance of respectability and its greater neatness. Though not long in his possession, it already exhibited signs of his care and love for order. The shutters of the windows, which looked out upon, and indeed overlooked the road, and which shutters (to Mr. Elt's annoyance) opened on the outside, were kept painted in the newest and most spot less green. Of the rose-trees that twined round them, blooming every month with fragrant profusion, coaxed by a southern aspect to be liberal of their sweetness ; or of the woodbine that hung over the door (it was upon an enclosed side of the house, and a smaU green gate first gave you entrance), it was not possible at any time, not even when the wind came, and strove like a blustering reveUer to toss them into confusion, to find a single branch left trading helplessly dragged down by the very weight of beauty it might bear.

Standing at the haU door, and looking over a narrow intervening space, and a low hedge, you had a ghmpse of Mr. Elt's garden. You could see flowers suc ceeded by fruit-trees, and those foUowed by vegetables ; and in the distance a grassy bank, with quaintly formed flower knots, interspersed and set, as it were, amidst its fresh green. In one remote corner, placed near a shade of trees, listening attentively, you could hear the trickling of some pebbly streamlet on the other side ; and in the midst of plots of mignionette and other food flowering through successive seasons, were five beehives, aU of the old-fashioned, straw built kind, about which the "busy nations" thronged, accumulating their stores of thymy, mountain-gathered honey. In these realms Mr. Elt pursued and practised horticulture, adopting every new theory with great zeal, if without much success.