The Tithe-Proctor. William Carleton

disposition in these matters.”

      “But, papa,” said Julia, with an arch look, “if there be not the value of sixpence between the two creeds, perhaps there is more than that between the two clergy?”

      The proctor shook his head and laughed.

      “Ah, Judy, my girl, you have me there,” he replied; “that goes home to the proctor, you baggage. Devil a thing, however, like an endowed church, and may God keep me and all my friends from the voluntary system!—ha! ha! ha! Come, now, for that same hit at the old proctor, you must walk over here and play me my old favorite, the 'Cannie Soogah,' just to pull down your pride. The 'Cannie Soogah,' you know, is the Irish for Jolly Pedlar, and a right jolly pedlar your worthy father was once in his days.”

      “By the way, papa,” said Mary, “talking of that—what has become of the pleasant man that goes under that name or nickname—the pedlar that calls here occasionally?”

      “I saw him in the market yesterday,” replied her father, “and a fine, hale fellow he is of his years. For a man of fifty he's a miracle of activity and energy.”

      “They say he is wealthy,” observed John, “and I shouldn't wonder. You ought to give a good guess at that, father—ha! ha! ha!”

      “Right, John, I ought, and I think he is. You don't know how money gathers with a successful pedlar, who is up to his business. I am inclined to think that the Cannie Soogah is the only man who can throw any light on the history of Buck English.”

      “Who the devil is that impudent scoundrel, father? for it appears that, as regards his birth, family, and origin, nobody knows anything certain about him.”

      “And that is just the position in which I stand,” replied his father. “It is a subject on which he himself gives no satisfaction to any one. When asked about it, he laughs in jour face, and replies that he doesn't exactly know, but is of the opinion that he is the son of his father—whoever that was; but that, he says, he is not wise enough to know either, and then, after another laugh at you, he leaves you.”

      “How does he live?” asked John, “for he has no visible means of support—he neither works nor is engaged in any profession, and yet he dresses well.”

      “Well! John;” exclaimed Julia.

      “Perhaps I ought not to say—well, Julia; but at all events, he is very fond of being considered a buck, and he certainly dresses up to that character.”

      “He admits that he was eight years in England,” said his father; “although, for my part, it's just as likely that he spent seven years of that time in Botany Bay; if not, I should have no objection that something should occur to make him spend the remainder of his life there.”

      “Why should you wish the man so ill, papa'?” asked Mary.

      “Why, Mary—faith for a very good reason, my dear child; because I don't wish to see your sister annoyed and persecuted by the scoundrel. The fellow is so impudent that he will take no rebuff.”

      “By the way, father, where does M'Carthy stop, now that he is in the country?” asked Alick, with some hesitation, and a brow a little heightened in color.

      “For the present,” replied the other, “he stops with our friend, O'Driscol, the new magistrate. Faith, it's a shove-up for O'Driscol to get on the Bench. Halloo! there's M'Carthy's knock—I'm sure I know it.”

      The proctor was right; but notwithstanding his quickness and sagacity, there was another individual in the room at that moment who recognized it sooner than he did. Julia arose, and withdrew under some pretence which we cannot now remember, but I really because she felt that had she remained until M'Carthy's entrance, her blushes would have betrayed her.

      “M'Carthy is a very handsome young-fellow,” observed John—“would he think of entering any pretensions to Katherine O'Driscol?”

      “What d—d stuff you often talk, John—begging your pardon,” replied his brother; “he has hard reading, and his profession to think of—both of which he will find enough for him, setting Katherine O'Driscol and love out of the question.”

      “Very good, Alick,” said John. “Ha! ha ha! I thought I would touch you there. The bait took, my boy; jealousy, jealousy, father.”

      Alick, on finding that he was detected, forced himself into a confused laugh, and, in the meantime, M'Carthy entered.

      Nothing could surpass the cordiality of his reception. A holiday spirit was obvious among the family—at least among all who were then visible. Secretly, however, did his eye glance about in search of one, on whose reception of him more depended than a thousand welcomes from all the rest. In about twenty minutes Julia made her appearance, but to any person in the secret, it was obvious that she was combating with much inward, if not with some appearance of external confusion and restraint. After the first greetings were over, however, she gradually recovered her self-possession, and was able to join in the conversation without embarrassment or difficulty.

CHAPTER III.—Mountain Legislation, and its Executive of Blood.

       Table of Contents

      After dinner that day, and while the gentlemen were yet at table, Mary and Julia, who, as we have said, had relieved their mother of those benevolent attentions which she had been in the habit of paying to the neighboring sick and poor, proceeded on their way to the cottage of a destitute woman in the next village, who was then lying in what was considered to be a hopeless state. The proctor himself, while he exacted with a heartless and rapacious hand the last penny due to him, was yet too good a tactician to discountenance these spontaneous effusions of benevolence on the part of his wife and daughters. With a good deal of ostentation, and that peculiar swagger for which many shrewd and hard-hearted men of the world are remarkable, he actually got the medicine himself for the helpless invalid in question, not forgetting at the same time to make the bystanders in the apothecary's shop acquainted with the extent of his own private charity and that of his family besides. The girls had proceeded a part of the way on their charitable errand, when it occurred to them that the medicine, which their father had procured on the preceding day, had been forgotten, and as the sick woman was to commence taking it at a certain hour that evening, it was necessary that either one or both should return for it.

      “You needn't come back, Julia,” said Mary; “I will myself run home and fetch it. And accordingly her sister went back at a quick step towards her father's house. The spot where Julia stood to await the return, of her sister was within a few yards of a large white-thorn double ditch, on each side of which grew a close hedge of thorns, that could easily afford room for two or three men to walk abreast between them. Here she had not remained more than a minute or two, when, issuing from the cover of the thorns, and approaching her with something of a stage strut, our friend, Buck English, made his appearance.

      “Miss Joolia,” he exclaimed, with what was intended for a polite bow, “I hope you will pardon me for this third liberty I teek in offering to spake to you. I see,” he proceeded, observing her rising indignation, “that you are not inclined to hear me, but I kim here to give you a bit of advice as a friend—listen to my proposals, if you're wise—and don't make me the enemy of yourself or your family, for so sure as you reject me, so certainly will you bring ruin upon both yourself and them. I say this as a friend, and merk me, the day may come when you will oll remember my words too late.”

      There was a vehemence in his language, which could admit of no mistake as to the fixed determination of his purpose; his lips were compressed, his eyebrows severely knit, and his unfeeling, hyena eye scintillated with a fire that proceeded as much from an inclination to revenge as affection. Julia Purcel, however, though a women, possessed no whit of her sex's cowardice; on the contrary, her bosom heaved with indignant scorn, and her eye gave him back glance for glance, in a spirit that disdained to quail