The Dalys of Dalystown

Book 2 Gopyiight N°

COPYRIGHT DEPOSITS s

THE

*

“ The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows !

If it were not with friendship and love intertwined;

And I care not how soon I may sink to repose,

When these blessings shell cease to be dear to my mind.” — Moore.

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, faint I’ant :

PRINTING COMPANY,

PIONEER

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by DILLON O’BRIEN,

In the Clerk’s Office of tlie District Court of the Distric t of Minnesota.

Introduction

In the winter of 185 — , I was located — perhaps it maybe more expressive to say — -I was frozen in, at La Pointe, Wisconsin.

My house stood on a patch of land overlooking Lake Superior ; Mr. Robins, the Barnum of English auctioneers, would have described it as a romantic, airy residence. I, who wisii to adhere to truth, confess that it was a cold, windy, miserable shanty.

At the. time 1 write of I had charge of the Government Indian ■ hool on the Island. The occupation of teaching was a new one to me, indeed, up to a late period of my childhood, 1 had supposed that a pedagogue came, some how, into the world, spectacles on nose and birch in hand. To imagine that he had ever been a little, helpless child, bandaged in swaddling clothes or that, like myself, in a tew years after the removal of the bandages, his exposed feelings were lacerated with a cane, were things too preposterous to be thought of.

I cannot say that I have ever altogether lost this early impression ; so I accepted the situation of teacher, with a kindred feeling to Mr, Pickwick when he took upon himself the office of coachman. “ All right,” said Mr. Pickwick, “with an inward presentment that all was wrong. But if teaching was new to me, my system, like Dr. O’Toole’s, was new too, which is a great thing nowadays ”

On an evening towards the close of January, I was sitting in my shanty, my wife was getting the children to bed, and I had turned to the stove when their bright faces

THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN.

left me, but though, so far as imparting heat went, it was well enough, there was neither a smile or a story to be had from its black face. Then there came to me a longing— oh ! how intense a longing — for the blazing, cheerful, laughing lire in the big old family grate at home, with its castles and towers toppling down, its red knights and fiery dragons disappearing, little by little, up the wide chimney, until, with the recollection of the old fire place, came memories of those who were wont to sit around it.

My thoughts soon became sad, very sad, so I gave a kick to the stove to rouse myself from them, (thank God, a workingman has not much time to give to sad reveries.) and then went to the door to look out at the night.

The door of my one sitting room was also my hall door, pleasantly opening to the lake, so that the wind could come in, in a free and easy way, without the formal ceremony of passing through a hall, and I have remarked that this is a favorite style of architecture in this part of the world, where the thermometer ranges for four months in the year, from fifteen to forty-five degrees below zero.

I have no great knowledge of architecture, but I should judge this to be the cold, chaste style.

The night was beautifully bright — cold, still and bright, with a million stars twinkling in the sky, but, what a dreary prospect did they look down upon. The snow covering the even surface of the ice, made the lake look like a vast, white desert, bordered by the dark outline of the shore of the main land.

I suppose my short reverie had made me somewhat nervous and discontented, for though the landscape before me was familiar enough, it struck me now with a strange chill ; it appeared desolation itself, not grand or awe-inspiring, but bleak, blank, and dreary. Not a living thing moved, not a leaf stirred in the night air, to speak of life ; the waves dashing against the shore would have done so, but the waters lay locked in their icy sleep. With such a scene before him, one might picture to himself creation at an end, the world, with all its sins and follies, and wonders worn out, the play over, the actors gone.

I shut the door, and returned to the stove.

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O

“ I wonder where they’ll bury it,” I said.

t£ Bury what?” asked my wife, from the inner room.

“The world, my dear;” I replied, “it’s dead outside, there.”

My wife was about making some reply, when the sound of sleigh bells reached us.

“There’s a sleigh,” said she, “I wonder who it can be at this hour.”

“ No one to us, Lizzy,” I replied. “I don’t think any of our friends round here come it higher than dogs, and their approach is generally first announced to the calves of the legs of those who may be unfortunate enough to be in their way.”

“But the sleigh has stopped at our door.” said my wife.

“ Then, you may be sur$, it can’t get on,” I answered.

At that moment there came a loud knocking at the door; I opened it, and a gentleman entered the room.

“ Could you direct me,” he said, “ where” but he sud-

denly stopped, and then added.

“ Perhaps you are the gentleman whose house I was about to inquire for. Is your name ?”

I answered, “yes.”

He at once gave me his hand, and he did this in such a frank, pleasant way, that though I felt certain I had never seen him before, I gave it a hearty shake.

“ If I am not mistaken,” he said, “ you and I have a mutual friend. You know G. C. ?”

“ He is my dearest friend,” I answered.

“ All right,” he said, “ I promised him to hunt you up, should I ever come to this part of the world. I have forgotten, though, to introduce myself; my name is .’

« Of ?” I asked.

“ The same,” he replied.

“ Your name has been familiar to me since childhood,” I said, “and of late 0. has frequently written about you, I am glad to see you.” And again we shook hands.

Very likely, I would have kept him standing in the cold some time longer, for when anything occurs which gives me great pleasure, I am apt to be a little absent minded, but one of the horses stirring made the bells ring.

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“ I fear,” said Mr. , “ you have no place where I can

put up my horses.”

He had had a starlight view of my shanty, and its sur-' roundings, as he drove up.

u A hen-coop—” I began, when he interrupted me.

“ Don’t mention it,” lie said, laughing. u Not for worlds would I disturb the rooster.”

“ No fear of that4” I answered, joining in the laugh, “we ate the sultan and his whole harem, last Christmas. But, I was about to say, that though a hen-coop is the only place I have for live stock, still, I can get a comfortable barn for your horses ; so if you get over to the stove, I will take them along and see that they are attended to.”

J ust then, my wife came into the room, with a young one, half dressed, holding on to her skirt, and peeping at the

stranger from behind its folds. I introduced Mr. to

my wife, put some wood into the stove, whispered to my little boy, who had taken advantage of my lowly position, to climb upon my back and ask me who the stranger was, that “ he was Fin McCool, the great Irish giant,” hoping that the information would induce him to make tracks for bed, telegraphed to m^ wife to get a little supper ready, and then set off to put up the horses.

TV hen I returned, which I did as quickly as possible, I found my guest unshawled, sitting at the stove, with the child upon his knee. It seemed, in the short time that had elapsed between my going and return, they had established that commune of interests so long sighed for by Mr. Owen, for the little fellow had abstracted the pin which held my guest’s scarf, and was in the act of handing it to his mother to put away for him.

We all have met with people to whom we have taken a dislike at first sight, and others again to whom our hearts were drawn the moment we met with them ; the lattev was the feeling with which my guest inspired me. To be sure, I had heard of him before ; heard much in his praise, and was predisposed to like him ; but, apart from this, there was something very winning in that handsome face now turned toward me.

I felt convinced, that clear eye had never sought the

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ground in fear or shame, and the set of that handsome mouth, (*iow so soft in its expression,) showed, that though it might quiver at a tale of sorrow, it could grow stern, nay, fierce, in the presence of danger.

Mr. ’s age, as I afterwards learned, was about fifty,

but he did not look so old. His tall figure was so erect and elastic, his fine intellectual head, sat with such a light grace between his broad shoulders, and his features wore such a fullness of life in their expression, that as yet, there were none of the marks of decay about him; but neither had his features that fresh, effeminate look, which sometimes deceives one, and which I look upon as very frightful. What can be more trying to the nerves, than to meet a man with pinky hair, pinky eyes , and pinky cheeks, and, just as you go up to the little fellow, to ask him what marbles he has got in his pocket, you find out that he is older than your grandfather ?

Before my guest had well warmed himself at my fire, my heart had warmed to him. I found, too, that I was indebted to him for a singular act of kindness, considering that up to this, we had been strangers to each other.

In the course of conversation, he told me that he had come through from Saint Paul, on his way to Superior City, where he had some land he was anxious to see, before disposing of.

“ But,” said I, “ this was not your direct route from Saint Paul to Superior.”

“No,” he replied, “but I came a little out of my way to pay you this visit. I am not pressed for time, and I wished to keep my promise of calling upon you, which I made to C.”

“ C., then,” I replied, “has added another to the many acts of kindness I have experienced from him, by engaging for me this pleasure. But how can I thank you? ”

“l^fever mind doing so,” he answered.

“ C. has often spoken of you, and I was anxious to meet with you.”

“He could not have spoken much in favor of a ‘ne’er do weel,’ like me”

“Oh, you want me to pay you some compliment;” he answered, “ well it is something in your favor that C. calls you his friend. And now tell me, how do you like America ?”

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“ Oh, like, is too poor a term,” I replied, “Hove America, I love it for it has given my children a home ; I love it because it is the sanctuary where millions of my countymen have found refuge ; I love it for the atmosphere of freedom which fills it from the Atlantic to the Pacific !”

“ I am glad to hear you say all this,” replied Mr.

“ But when you speak of this country giving your children a home, why do you not include yourself also ?”

I believe there was a shade of sadness in my voice as I replied:

“ Because I cannot wean my heart from my old home ; it had struck its roots too deep in my native land to allow of their taking hold with the vigor of new shoots in another soil ; it is different with my children, though I would not have you suppose I fail to impress upon them that, wherever my bones may rest, their fortunes, their energies, their lives should be ever at the disposal of our beloved and sorrowing country. I trusfr that fidelity to Ireland will not incapacitate them from being good citizens of this country.”

“ On the contrary,” replied Mr. . “ He who is forget-

ful of his native land is ever ready to be traitor to that of his adoption.”

/My friend, (for I have long since learned to call him such ) remained with me for four days. He intended staying but one, but the morning after his arrival a snow storm, which lasted three days, came to my assistance, and in this short time we became intimate friends.

The evening after his arrival, as we sat around the fire, he remarked the children telegraphing to each other, and then the youngest sent on a whispering deputation to me.

“ Ah, some mystery here ;” said Mr. “ I insist on

being brought into the baby house. Tell me children, what papa is shaking his head and saying, Mio, no,5 at?”

“The fact is,55 1 replied, “ I am in the habit of telliifg the children stories during the winter evenings; but I have claimed immunity for the short time you will be with us.”

“ It is a very pleasant way of passing the evenings,” he replied. “But what say you my little fellow, (jumping the deputy on his knee,) to my taking papa’s place, for this evening ?”

THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN.

There was a general clapping of hands at this proposition, and the children all gathered around him ; he gave them a pleasant smile, and then looked at my wife and myself; I believe we seemed just as well pleased and as anxious as the children.

“ I will tell you,” he said, “ some incidents of my life which may interest you,” and he forthwith commenced.

During the three subsequent evenings he remained, one or other of us drew him into speaking of himself, and his past life, by putting some question to him in reference to that which he had already told, and when he was about to take his departure, I said to him, — *

“ You have seen what gluttons my children are for stories.”

“ Yes,” he replied, “ they seem to have inherited the taste from their father.”

u Well,” continued I, “ when you are gone, my time comes on again. Now, I have traveled so often to Bagdad that I tire of the journey; ‘open sesame,’ has lost its potent charm, my giants are on their last legs, and my fairies have become dull and common place. This being so, I will confess to you that I have, at leisure moments during the day, dotted down that which you told to us the night before, trusting that it would do me good service for many a day.”

u Well,” he replied, “ what is there to confess in that ?”

“ I was so pleased,” I answered, “ with the matter, and my own manner of cooking it, I have been thinking of revising it some day, and perhaps getting it into print, if I had your permission to do so.”

“ What !” he exclaimed, “ make a hero of me ; no, no — there is none of that stuff about me ; don’t think of such a thing my dear fellow.”

I suppose he noticed that I looked a little crestfallen at this, for he immediately added :•

“ But do you really think you could make such commonplace stuff readable ?”

“ I do.”

“ And that it would serve you ?”

“ It might.”

“ Then go ahead, old boy,” he said gaily, and I will assist you all I can. From time to time I have kept a journal,

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this, with some family papers, letters, &c., &c., I will send to you.”

Two months after the above conversation, I received the papers alluded to.

This, reader, is the parentage of the “ Dalys, of Dalystown.”

I have availed myself of the privilege of an author so r as to arrange, as best I could, in a manner sftited for ablication, the materials left at my disposal ; how far I have succeeded, whether well or ill, is for others to say, but, whatever their verdict may be, I have been, to a certain extent, already repaid for my labor, for while dwelling on the past I have been won into forgetfulness of the present.

Chapter II. A Welcome Home, A Gentleman Of The Old School

. Somewhere, about forty years ago, when old gentlemen had faint recollections of their grandfatherswearing swords, hnd fast young gentlemen sneered at the “ old square-toes” for doing so ; before steam had puffed out all recollection of those barbarous days, when a gentleman’s honor was deemed of more value than his bond, and some few years before the laying down of the electric telegraph, or the raising up of 18, B, * on a fine evening in the month of August, 18 — , the “Tallyho” day coach, running between Dublin and L , was seen passing through the

principal entrance of Dalystown, a fine old place, situate and being, (as my friends of the legal profession would say,) in the county of Galway, and bordering the counties of Mayo and Roscommon.

* City police.

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This invasion of private property, on the part of the Tallyho, was. accounted for by the coachman, who informed one of his passengers that by getting in at this gate, driving right through the demesne, and coming out on the opposite side, they avoided the half circle which the public road made, and shortened the distance fully a mile.

It was much pleasanter too, to bowl along the smooth gravelled avenue, than to travel the hilly, rutty road. So he was very glad to avail himself of the privilege of passing through the demesne, kindly given to him by the owner.

As the coach came in view of the house, an elderly gentleman and a young girl were seen standing at the hall door, anxiously watching its approach, while a number of domestics and laborers were grouped around the entrance to the stables and farm yard, evincing, by their eager looks, that the approach of the Tallyho was watched, on this evening, with unusual interest.

Suddenly a man, dressed in an old, faded hunting coat, tattered corduroys, his. feet and legs free from the innovations of shoes and stockings, jumped up from the grass on which he had been lying, and as the coach came within a few .yards of him, he cast a keen look up at its roof, then flinging an old hunting cap high in the air, he shouted, as beheaded the coach, “Yoicks, Tallyho! here he comes, master, Mr. Henry himself, there’s his handsome face, behind Joe. Yoicks, Tallyho.”

Presently the coach stopped in front of the house, at a distance of about forty }^ards, the intervening space being occupied by a round grass plot, encircled by a carriage drive. A young gentleman, who had been sitting behind the coachman, arose, and after shaking hands with one or two of his fellow passengers, lightly clambered down to the ground. The old gentleman and young girl advanced; but tjie step of age was all too slow for her impatience, so withdrawing her hand from the old man’s arm, she ran forward and flung her arms around the neck of the traveler, “Welcome, welcome home, dear Henry,” she said, “a thousand welcomes, dear brother.” Thank you, Emily,” he replied, kissing her sweet lips again and again. “ How are you love, and how is my father ? What, you won’t let me

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go to him, now then,” and lifting her up, he ran forward with the blushing, laughing girl ; then placing her lightly on her feet, he flung himself into the old man’s arms, saying “ at home again, dear father !

“ Bless you, my boy,” exclaimed the old man, “ welcome, welcome back to us Henry, the sun did not shine as of old, while you were away. Let me look at you, (holding him at arm’s length,) I think, Emily, the fellow has actually grown ; ah, miss pussy, you have been at your old tricks, trying to keep him all to yourself. I’ll punish you for the slip you gave me, I will indeed. Come along, Henry, into the house.” And taking his son’s arm, while the young girl took possession of her brother’s disengaged hand, father, son and daughter advanced to the house, pausing at every step to say some endearing word, or to exchange loving, joyous looks.

The sun, just then setting, threw a mellow rich light over the surrounding landscape, and, reflected on the many windows, made the house appear to be brilliantly illuminated, while those whom I have noticed as standing at the entrance to the yard, now crowded to the hall door, for the purpose of giving their young master a homely welcome, ere he entered the house ; a proceeding that had been already gone through by the gentleman in the red coat, and a couple of old hounds, seemingly, to their full satisfaction; for, as the former skipped about, with wonderful agility, the old dogs endeavored to keep up with him, now and then stopping to scent the ground, to raise their heads, and to give forth their sweet melody of tongue, which was answered from the yard by a host of dogs, in every key, from the shrill treble of the terrier to the deep bass of the watch dog.

All and everything around spoke a right joyous welcome home. Even the coachman of the Tallyho seemed touched by the poetry of the scene, for not until the guard, who had been busy handing down the baggage, called out three times, “all right, Joe,” did he prepare to resume his journey; even then, as the coach moved off, he turned his head towards the house more than once, and when a bend in the avenue hid it from view, he said to the traveler who occu-

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pied the box seat with him, “ you seen nice views to-day, Mr. Reynolds, between this and Dublin, but, I hold you now, none of them did you so much good as the sight we’re just after leaving behind us.”

“You are right, Joe,” said the gentleman addressed “That’s a fine young fellow who has just left us, and I do not wonder at the joy his return home seems to give.”

“ Seems, Mr. Reynolds,” replied Joe, “Oh! faith there was no seems about it, it was real, downright joy ; warming the old man’s blood, laughing in the dimples of the young lady’s sweet face, jumping in the heart of the poor half natural you saw in the red coat. By dad, the dogs aself told one that a kind heart had come back to them.”

“By Jove, Joe,” laughed Mr. Reynolds, “you are quite poetical.”

“ He speaks from his heart, sir,” said another of the coach passengers, who seemed to have been an interested observer of the little scene they had just witnessed.. “ And when that is touched your countrymen, I find, are generally poetical.”

“True, sir,” replied Reynolds. Then he added, as he slightly bent his head, “ I believe, Sir, you are a stranger in these parts ; at least, I do not remember to have seen you before in this, our kingdom of Connaught, and they say that John Reynolds, your humble servant, knows every one worth knowing this side of the Shannon.”

The gentleman smiled good humoredly at this, not very happy address, as he replied,

“Then, Sir, I am glad to be able to say, that I am a stranger, as it saves me from being obliged to rank among those unfortunates who are not worth knowing.”

“ Oh, Sir,” replied the other, a little confused, “what I mean is, that all those whose position in society makes them conspicuous in our province, are familiar to the eyes of one who has spent his life amongst them. Your appearance tells me that you belong, in rank at least, to the class I allude to.” "

“Well said, Mr. Reynolds,” exclaimed Joe, “faith you circumvented the mistake you made, well. The best horse will slip as well as the worst ; the differ is, that the good one will have a leg to spare, to save himself.”

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Both gentlemen laughed at Joe’s simile, for the coachman of by-gone days was a privileged person, and, like his brother sovereigns, on his throne, with the reins of power in one hand and the lash in the other, could not be supposed to do wrong. Well, the poor coachman is gone, when will the kings follow?

By this time the coach had left the demesne and entered upon the public road, when he who had announced himself as a stranger remarked:

- 1 have been on this road before, coachman, but do not reme nber having passed through the demesne we have just left behind.”

“ Yes, sir,” answered Joe, “I thought I remembered your face, wasn’t it coming on the assizes I had you down with me?”

“ I believe it was.”

“■So I thought.” Here Joe looked at his passenger and then at a small baize bag that lay at his feet, while ’a puzzled look came to his face.

“Well surely,” said the passenger, “we did not pass through this demesne.”

“No, sir. Miss Daly was sick at the time, I remember, and we went round the road. Many’s the curse Joe Lowry and his coach would get if he disturbed her ! You’re coming down a long time before the assizes this year, Sir. Y’up, my darlings. Ah ! Tom, you rogue, at your old tricks.”

And here I may inform the uninitiated that Joe, like most of his class, was in the habit of giving to his horses the names of those from whom they had been purchased.

“ I am not going to the assizes, nor was I at the time I traveled last with you,” replied the gentleman. “I suppose,” addressing Mr. Reynolds, “you are acquainted with Connemara, your Irish highlands ?”

“With every grouse mountain, trout stream, and pretty girl, in it,” replied Mr. Reynolds.

“Ah, well I was there last year for a short time. I was stopping with my friend Mr. Martin, of Ballinahinch, but I made not war on bird or fish or pretty girl. I have somewhat a taste for botany, and I met in Connemara with some

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.rare plants that I had not seen before, at least, to notice them, so I am now returning to make a more minute investigation of them, and to compare them with others I gathered in the highlands of Scotland.” And he touched the bag that lay at his feet.

“ And it’s nothing but bits of weeds you have in that bag Sir?” said Joe.

“ Nothing, my friend, but what you would very likely call weeds, but which, nevertheless, cost me some money and trouble ; nor would I part with them for ten times the amount they cost me.”

“Faith then, sir,” said Joe, “I have to ask your pardon. (Bad luck to you, Lyons, maybe that will make you keep out from the pole, you’re like the man that bred you, always trying to lean on your betters.) May I never sin, Sir, but 1 thought you were an attorney, you see, Sir, of the bag, and your traveling the assizes’ time ; but it wouldn’t tit in my head after all; for just as the bag was getting it in, your laugh or your smile, or, above all, the clear look you give a body, would knock it out again. But here we are gentlemen, and you can get down to shake your legs, if you like, while we are changing horses. Anything new, Lanty ?”

This was addressed to the hostler, who had brought out the fresh horses.

“ Not a hdporth, Mr. Lowry, but a new collar, that the agent sent down, as he was afraid that Lyons was getting a tinder breast.”

“Faith, Lanty, that’s more than his old master, the Attorney, ever had. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Eh, Lanty, I had you there.”

“ You had so, Mr. Lowry, though sure Attorney Lyons aself is worthv of a new collar, af it was a hemp one. Ha! ha! 1m!”

“ By dad, Lanty, you’re too many for we, I’ll let you alone after 'that. Now then all right, blow your horn, John, for the two gentlemen that were here in front.”

“They’ve run on, Joe,” replied the guard, we’ll pick them up, all right.”