CHAPTER V.
HOW IT ALL ENDED.
Slowly, but surely, does the tide of Time carry year after year into theeternity of the Past. As wave chases wave to the shore, on which itbreaks--sometimes in a gentle and diffusing ripple, sometimes intofeathery foam, if it strike against a rock--so does year chase year awayinto the memory of what has been. It is the same with empires andvillages, with the crowded haunts of men, and the humble huts whereinthe poor do vegetate. For each and for all, Time sweeps on; carrying onits tide, amid many things of little value, some with which are linkedsweet and tender associations. To look back, even for a single year, andcontrast what _has been_ with what _is_! How mournful the retrospect, inthe generality of cases! Hopes fondly cherished, alleviating the actualpains of life by the promise of an ideal improvement; day-dreamsindulged in, until they become fixed upon the mind, as if they wererealities; resolutions made, which the heart found it impossible tocarry into practice; sunny friendships in full luxuriance, which a fewhasty words, too quickly taken up, were to throw into shade, at once andforever; love itself, which promised so much in its glorious spring,grown cold and careless. Talk of the changes of a year!--look back, andrecollect what even a single day has given birth to; but, think not thatthere is always change, or that all changes are for the worst. Sometimesthe bright hopes will have the glad fulfilment; the day-dreams, afterpassing through the ordeal of expectation, which, when deferred, makeththe heart sick, will be happily realized; the friendship on which werelied will have gone through the trial, and have stood the test; thelove will have proved itself all that the heart had ventured toanticipate, and have thrown upon the realities of life, an enduringcharm, mingling strength and softness, including in its magic circle,endurance as strong as adamant, and tenderness which subdues even whileit sustains. Aye, life has its lights and shadows; and, in the circlingcourse of time and circumstance, the shadow of to-day glides gently on,until it be lost in the sunshine of the morrow.
Let us return to our story. Imagine, if you please, that six years havepassed by since the mysterious and unforgotten disappearance of RemmyCarroll, our very humble hero. Many changes have taken place, locallyand generally. Fermoy, rapidly rising into opulence, as the greatestmilitary depot in Ireland, still kept a memory of Remmy Carroll. Deathhad laid his icy hand upon Mr. Bartle Mahony, whose fair daughter, Mary,had succeeded to his well-stocked farm and his prudent accumulations,which, joined with her own possessions, made her comparatively wealthy.But, in her, and in such as her, who derive their nobility from God,fortune could make no change--except by enlarging the sphere of heractive virtues. In a very humble and unostentatious way, Mary Mahony wasthe Lady Bountiful of the place. The blessings of the poor were hers.Wherever distress was to be relieved--and Heaven knows that the mournfulinstances were not a few--there did the quiet bounty of Mary Mahonyflow, scattering blessings around by that gentle personal expression offeeling and sympathy, which the highly imaginative and excitable Irishprize far more than the most liberal dole which mere Wealth canhaughtily bestow. Oh, that those who give, could know, or would pause tothink, how much rests on the manner of giving! Any hand can dispense themere _largesse_, which is called "Charity," but the voice, the glance,the touch of hearted kindness soothes the mental pangs of the afflicted.In Ireland, where there are countless calls upon benevolence, casualrelief has been demanded as a sort of _right_; but a kind word, a gentletone, a sympathizing look, makes the gift of double value. And where wasthere ever kindness and gentleness to equal those exercised by MaryMahony? She had had her own experiences in sorrow, and was, therefore,well qualified to yield to others that touching sympathy which mostforcibly awakens gratitude. She had suffered, and, therefore, shesympathized.
Her beauty remained undimmed, but its character was somewhat changed. Ifthere was less of the fire of earlier days, there was more ofintellectual expression, the growth at once of her mind's developmentinto maturity, and of the sorrows which had chastened her, as well as ofthe circumstances which had thrown her thoughts into contemplation. Ather age--she was barely three-and-twenty--it appears absurd to talk ofher loveliness having had its peach-like bloom impaired. As Wordsworthsays,
"She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years."
What the same true poet has said of that fair Lucy, who yet lives in hisexquisite lyric, might have been said, without any breach of truth, ofour own Mary Mahony:
"Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flower On earth was never sown; This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own.'"
At first, after her father's death, when it was known in what aprosperous state she had been left (and rumor, as usual, greatlyexaggerated the fact), she had been pestered with the addresses ofvarious persons who would have been happy to obtain a fair bride withher goodly heritage, but it was soon found that she was notmatrimonially inclined, so, by degrees, they left her "maiden meditationfancy-free." Among her suitors were a few who really were not influencedby interested motives, and sought to win her, out of their admirationfor herself. Gently, but decidedly, they were repulsed, and many ofthem, who were much above her in wealth and station, were proud to bereckoned among her warm friends at a later period. It seemed as if shecould not have made an enemy--as if she could not awaken unkind feelingsin any mind. Even scandal never once thought of inventing stories abouther,--goodness and innocence were around her, like a panoply.
Mary Mahony remained true to the cherished passion of her youth. Itflowed on, a silent and deep stream. None knew what she felt. None wereaware of the arrow in her heart, and her pain was the intenser for itsconcealment. So wholly unsuspected was her secret, that when,immediately after her father's death, she received Remmy Carroll'sbed-ridden relative as an inmate at her own residence; people onlyadmired the charity which had led her to succour the helpless. No oneappeared to think, for they did not know, that Remmy could ever haveawakened an interest in her heart.
The destinies of Europe had been adjusted. The Imperial Eagle of Francehad been struck down at Waterloo, when Napoleon and Wellington had metand battled. After peace bad been proclaimed, the Ministry of the dayproceeded to reduce the war establishment, by disbanding the secondbattalions of many regiments. The result was that some thousands ofex-soldiers wended home. Very many of them were from Ireland, and cameback mere wrecks of manhood--for the casualties of battle, and thecertainties of sharp hospital practice, are only too successful inremoving such superfluities as arms and legs.
In the spring of 1816, two or three persons might have been seen walkingdown the main street of Fermoy. If there could have existed any doubt asto what they _had_ been, their measured walk and martial bearing wouldhave promptly removed it. They, indeed, were disabled soldiers. Theyoungest might have numbered some eight-and-twenty years, and, though hewas _minus_ his left arm, few men could be found whose personalappearance was superior to his own.
They passed on, unnoticed, as any other strangers might have passed on,and found "choicest welcome" in a hostelrie, "for the accommodation ofman and beast," at the lower end of the town. What creature-comfortsthey there partook of I am unable to enumerate, for the bill of fare, ifsuch a document ever existed in that neat but humble inn, has not beenpreserved. The sun had nearly gone down, however, before any of theperipatetic trio manifested any inclination towards locomotion. At last,he, to whom I have more particularly drawn attention, told hiscompanions that he had some business in the town--some inquiries tomake--and would rejoin them in an hour or two at the latest. He might aswell have spoken to the wind, for they had walked that day from Cork (atrifle of some eighteen Irish miles), and were already fast asleep onthe benches. Their companion wrapped himself up in a large militarycloak, lined with fur--whilom, in Russia, it had covered the iron-boundshoulders of a captain in Napoleon's Old Guard. This completelyconcealed his figure, and drawing his hat over his face, so as to shadehis features, he sallied forth, like Don Quixote, in search ofadventures
.
When he reached the Sessions House, at the extremity of the town,instead of pursuing the high road which leads to Lismore, he deviated tothe extreme left, crossed the meadow-bound by the papermill, and foundhimself on the Inch, by that rapid branch of the Blackwater which hasbeen diverted from the main current for the use of the twomills--illegally diverted, I think, for it renders the natural course ofthe river a mere shallow, and prevents a navigation which might becarried on with success and profit, from Fermoy, by Lismore, down to thesea at Youghall.
Rapidly pressing forward, the Stranger soon came to the chasm which hasalready been mentioned as that from which, some years since, RemmyCarroll, the piper, had rescued Mary Mahony from drowning. He threwhimself, at listless length, on the sward by the gurgling stream, andgazed, in silence, on the fair scene before him.
It was, indeed, a scene to delight the eye and charm the mind of anybeholder. Across the broad river were the rocks of Rathhely, clothedhere and there with larches and pines, those pleasantevergreens--before him swept the deep and rapid waters--and, a littlelower down, like a stately sentinel over the fine country around, rosethe tall and precipitous rock, on which stood the ruins, proud in theirvery decay, of the ancient castle of Carrigabrick,--one of the round,lofty, lonely towers, whose origin and use have puzzled so manyantiquaries, from Ledwich and Vallancey, to Henry O'Brien and ThomasMoore, George Petrie and Sir William Betham.
With an eager and yet a saddened spirit, the stranger gazed intently andanxiously upon the scene, varied as it is picturesque, his mind drinkingin its quiet beauty--a scene upon which, in years long since departed,my own boyhood loved to look. And now, in the softened effulgence of thesetting sun, and the silence of the hour, the place looked more like theembodiment of a poet's dream, or a painter's glorious imagining, thananything belonging to this every-day world of hard and cold reality.
The Stranger gazed upon the scene silently for a time, but his feelingsmight thus be embod ed in words:--"It _is_ beautiful, and it is thesame; only, until I saw other places, praised for their beauty, I didnot know how beautiful were the dark river, and the quiet meadows, andthe ivy-covered rock, and the gray ruin. Change has heavily passed overmyself, but has lightly touched the fair Nature around me. Heaven knowswhether _she_ may not be changed also. I would rather be dead than hearshe was another's. The lips that my lips have kissed--the eyes that myeyes have looked into--the hand that my hand has pressed--the form thatmy arms have folded; that another should call them his--the very thoughtof it almost maddens me. Or, she may be dead? I have not had the heartto inquire. This suspense is the worst of all,--let me end it."
Thus he thought--perhaps the thoughts may have unconsciously shapedthemselves into words: but soliloquies may be thought as well as utteredaudibly. He rose from the damp sward, sprang across the chasm, proceededrapidly on, and in ten minutes was sitting on the stile, by which, inother days, he had often parted from Mary Mahony--for, by this time, myreaders must have recognized Remmy Carroll in the Stranger.
How long he rested here, or with what anxious feelings he gazed upon thehouse, just visible through the trees, I am not able to state,--but Ican easily imagine what a contention of hope and fear there must havebeen in his heart. The apprehension of evil, however, was in theascendant, for, though two or three half-familiar faces passed him, hecould not summon courage to ask after Mary and her father. At last, hedetermined to make full inquiries from the next person he saw.
The opportunity was speedily afforded. A female appeared, slowlyadvancing up the path. Could it indeed be herself? She came nearer. Oneglance, and he recognized her, the star of his spirit--bright, beaming,and as beautiful as Memory and Fancy (the dove-winged ministers of Love)had delighted to paint her, amid the darkness and perils of the Past.
He sprang forward to meet her. There was no recognition upon her part.Nor was this very wonderful--though the lover of romance might expect,as a matter of course, that, from pure sympathy, the maiden should haveinstantly known who was before her. Years, which had passed so gentlyover her, softening and mellowing her beauty, had bronzed his face, andalmost changed its very expression. The dark moustache and thickwhiskers, which he now wore, his altered appearance, his militarybearing,--all combined to make him very different from the rustic,however comely, whom she had last seen six years before.
Seeing a stranger advance towards her, Mary paused. He accosted her,with an inquiry whether Mr. Bartle Mahony was to be seen?
"He is dead," said she. "He has been dead nearly six years."
Carroll started back, for the unwelcome news chilled him, and thewell-remembered tones struck some of the most responsive chords of hisheart.
"I am grieved to hear of his death. I knew him once. He was kind to mein former days, when kindness was of value, and I came to thank him now.God's blessing on his soul! He was a good man." There was a slightpause, and he resumed, "Perhaps you can tell me, young lady, whether hisdaughter is alive, and where she may be seen? The trifles which I havebrought from foreign countries, to mark my recollection of his goodnessto me, perhaps she may accept?"
"You are speaking to her," said Mary.
"My little presents are in this parcel," said Remmy. "They are relicsfrom the field of battle. These silver-mounted pistols were given to meby a French officer, whose life I saved,--this Cross of the Legion ofHonor was hastily plucked from the bosom of one of his dead comrades,after a fierce charge at Waterloo. Take them:--I destined them for yourfather from the moment they became mine."
He placed the parcel in her hand.--One question would bring hope ordespair. He feared to ask it. He drew closer, and, as composedly as hecould, whispered into her ear, "Are you married?"
The blood flushed up into Mary's face. She drew back, for hisquestioning vexed her, and she wished to get rid of the inquisitivestranger. She handed him back the parcel, and said, "I hope, sir, thatyou do not mean to annoy or insult me? If you do, there are those withincall who can soon release me from your intrusion. I cannot retain thepresents which a mere stranger tells me were intended for my poorfather.--And, if I must answer your last question, I am _not_ married."
"Thank God!" was Carroll's earnest and involuntary exclamation.
People may talk as they please of the quick-sightedness of love. Marycertainly had little of it, for she did _not_ recognize her lover, and,turning round, prepared to return home. Carroll gently detained her, byplacing his hand upon her arm.
"I pray your pardon," said he, "but I may not have an opportunity ofagain speaking to you, and I have a word to say about a person whom youonce knew, but have probably forgotten. There was a poor, worthlessyoung man, named Carroll, in this neighborhood a few years ago. He was aweak creature, fool enough to love the very ground on which you trod,and vain enough to think that you were not quite indifferent to him."
"I do not know," said Mary, with a flushed cheek, and flashing eyes,"why you should continue to intrude your presence and your conversationwhen you see that both are unpleasant to me. I do not know why youshould ask me questions which a sense of common decency would haveavoided. If I answer you now, it is that my silence may not appear tosanction imputations upon one over whom, I fear, the grave hasclosed--whom, be he alive or dead, it was no dishonor to have known andhave regarded. I did know this Carroll whom you name, but cannot imaginehow you, a stranger, can have learnt that I did. It was his misfortuneto have been poor, but he never was worthless, nor could have been."
"One word more," exclaimed Remmy, "but one more word. Remmy Carroll, solong believed to have been dead, is alive and in health--after manysufferings he returns home, poor as when he left it, rich in nothing butan honest name. He comes back, a disabled soldier, and he dare not askwhether, beautiful and wealthy as you are, you are the Mary Mahony ofother years, and love him still?"
Mary looked at him with intent anxiety. The color which emotion had sentinto her face paled, and then rushed back in a quickened life-tide,mantling her very forehead. Even then she had not recognize
d her lover!
"If he be indeed returned," said she, in a voice so low that Remmy didnot know whether the words were addressed to him, or were the mereimpulse of her thought, involuntarily framed into utterance, "and if hebe the same in heart--the same frank and honest mind--the same true andloving spirit--the same in his contempt of all that is bad, and hisreverence for whatever is good--his poverty is nothing, for _I_ havewealth; and if his health be broken, I yet may soothe the pain I may notcure. Tell me," said she, and the words came forth, this time, freelyspoken, as if she had determined to be satisfied and to act, "tell me,you who seem to know him, though your description wrongs him, where hasRemmy Carroll been during all these long years? Why did he leave us? Whydid he not write to relieve the anxiety of those who cared for him?Where is he now?"
What was the response? Softly and suddenly an arm wound itself aroundthat graceful form, warmly and lovingly fell a shower of kisses on thecoral beauty of those luxuriant lips.
Was she not angry--fiercely indignant? Did not her outraged feelingsmanifest their anger? Was not her maidenly modesty in arms at theliberty thus taken, and by a stranger? _This_ was the crowningmisconduct--did she not reprove it?
No! for, in tones which thrilled through her loving heart, Remmy Carrollwhispered "Mary!--my own, true, dear Mary!" In the struggle (for Mary_did_ struggle at first) which immediately preceded these words, thelarge cloak and the hat fell off, and then she recognized the foreheadand the eyes--then she knew him whom she had loved so well, andmourned so long--then she threw her arms around his neck, in the veryabandonment of affection and delight--then she clung close and yetcloser to him, as if they never more must part--then, remembering howshe was yielding to the warm impulses of her nature, she hid her burningface in his bosom, and then, when he embraced her again and again, shecould not find words to protest against the gentle deed.
Then, arm in arm, they walked into the house, and there Remmy's agedrelative, whose condition and sufferings had been so much improved andalleviated by the kindness and bounty of Mary Mahony--simply because shewas Remmy's relative--was made happy by the presence of him over whomshe had shed so many bitter tears. Perhaps her happiness was augmentedby perceiving on what excellent terms the heiress and he were--perhapsher eyes filled with pleasant tears, when Mary Mahony whispered into herear "Minny, he will stay with us now, forever, and will never leave us."Perhaps, too, the whisper was not unheard by Remmy--and it would be adifficult point to decide whether or not it were intended to reach _his_ear, as well as Minny's. And then, all that both had to learn. There wasso much to be told on both sides. All that Carroll cared to know wasthis--that he loved, and that his love was warmly returned. A thousandtimes, that evening, and forever, did Mary exclaim against herself fornot having recognized him immediately, and a thousand times smilinglyaver, that, from his changed appearance and studied efforts atconcealment, the recognition was all but impossible. And then they sattogether, hand clasped in hand, eyes looking into eyes, until an hourfar into the night, talking of old times and present happiness, andfuture hopes. And they spoke, too, of the good old man who had passedaway, in the fulness of years, into the far and better land. Oldmemories were revived, brightened by new hopes. Oh, how happy they were!it was the very luxury of love--the concentrated spirit of passion,purified by suffering, and tried by absence--the repayment, in one briefhour, for years of doubt, pain, and sorrow.
At last came the time to part; but with it came the certainty of aspeedy meeting. The next day, and day after day, until that arrived whenholiest rites made them man and wife, Remmy Carroll was to be found bythe side of his beloved Mary Mahony; and soon, when the news of hisreturn were noised about, crowds came to see him, and far and near wasspread the announcement that a wedding was on the _tapis_. General wasthe surprise--general, too, the satisfaction, for the young people wereuniversal favorites, and time and circumstances had removed theprincipal objections which even the worldly-minded might have raised tothe union of Mr. Bartle Mahony's daughter and heiress to one who, a fewyears before, had occupied a position in society so much beneath her. Itwas universally conceded that, in every sense, the match was extremelysuitable and proper; but Remmy and Mary did not require popular opinionto sanctify their attachment. They were all in all to each other.
It is not to be supposed that Mary Mahony was allowed to continueignorant of the vicissitudes through which Remmy Carroll had passed. Hetold his story, and
"She gave him for his tale a world of sighs."
It may be expected that of this tale some notice be here given. But, invery truth, those who look for a romantic elucidation of the mysteriousdisappearance, and prolonged absence, and unexpected return of RemmyCarroll, will be greatly disappointed. The main incidents were simpleenough, and here they are.
It may be remembered that Remmy had acted as escort to Minahan, on theirreturn from that wedding at which the Piper had made his lastprofessional appearance. He had found some difficulty in piloting hiscompanion along the high road from Rathcormac to Fermoy; and, indeed,when they reached the mountain, Minahan, in a fit of drunken obstinacy,_would_ throw himself upon the heathy sward, where, in a few minutes,he was fast in the gentle bonds of sleep. Remmy Carroll, havingaccompanied him so far, did not like to leave him, and sat down besidehim to watch for his awakening, with the purpose, also, of seeing thathe fell into no mischief. But, after a time, from the combinedinfluences of the fresh air, want of rest, and what he had partaken atthe wedding, Remmy found himself quite unable to keep his eyes open. Hewas conscious that sleep was creeping over him, and so, taking off hispipes, for fear that he might injure them by lying upon them, hecarefully placed them upon the grass, beside him, and resigned himselfto slumber.
On awaking, he found--to his excessive amazement--that he was lying "onthe sunny side of a baggage-cart," with his head reposing on the lap ofa soldier's wife. In reply to his inquiries, he was recommended to takeit coolly, and, at any rate, not to make any noise until they reachedGlanmire, about four miles from Cork, to which city he was informed thathe was bound. "When the cavalcade of baggage-carts and soldiers reachedGlanmire, he was summarily acquainted with the novel information that hehad been duly enlisted as a recruit, and his informant--afierce-looking, hook-nosed, loud-voiced martinet of a Sergeant--askedhim to put his hand into his pocket, and _that_ would satisfy him thathe had regularly and irrevocably become attached to the militaryservice of "his Most Gracious Majesty King George the Third."Accordingly, Remmy did as he was desired, and in the pocket as aforesaidfound a bright shilling, which certainly had not been there on theprevious night--more particularly, as tenpenny pieces were the currentcoin in Ireland at the period. To Remmy's possession of the solitaryshilling, among a little handful of tenpenny and fivepenny pieces (thesum-total realized by his performance at the wedding), the modernSergeant Kite triumphantly appealed in proof that he had been regularlyenlisted. It is needless to observe that, of this transaction, RemmyCarroll--albeit the person chiefly concerned--had not the slightestrecollection. He appealed to one of the officers, and was told that, ifthe Sergeant said he was enlisted, there could be no doubt of the fact,and that his Majesty was fortunate in having obtained such a promisingrecruit, as the regiment was on the eve of embarkation. Hisremonstrances, and denials, and appeals, were in vain. The significanthint was added, that death was the punishment usually awarded fordesertion. So, making a virtue of necessity--the more so, as heperceived that he was so strongly and suspiciously watched that flightwould have been useless--he had no alternative but to proceed to Corkwith the regiment, as cheerfully as he could, and, in despite ofhimself, as it were, was duly attested, magistrates not being veryparticular in those days. To all his assertions, that he had not theslightest recollection of having been enlisted, the reply was that, ifhe could procure a substitute, they did not require his company--but todo this was impossible.
In a few days, the regiment embarked for the Peninsula, and his friend,the Sergeant, told him on the voyage, as an excellen
t joke, in whatmanner they had trepanned him--namely, that, as the regiment was passingby the mountain, early in the morning, en route for embarkation, one ofthe officers who rode above the highway (for the road is literally cutout of and into the hill) had noticed Remmy and Minahan asleep, and hadremarked what an admirable soldier the former would make; Minahan, itseems, was thought nothing of, being, like Othello, "declined into thevale of years." The remark was taken as a hint, and Remmy was removed,even as he was, fast asleep, to one of the baggage-carts, with the leastpossible delay. The details of the transaction had been executed by theSergeant, who chuckled over this narrative, piquing himself not a littleon the dexterity of the trick.
Carroll was unable to write to Mary Mahony, on account of what hadbefallen him, being afraid of his letter falling into other hands thanher own. He did write to Minahan, in the hope that, in that circuitousway, Mary might obtain a knowledge of his misadventure. The letter, ifever posted, never came to hand, and thus, for more than six wearyyears, Mary Mahony in particular, with the inhabitants of Fermoy ingeneral, was profoundly ignorant of Remmy's fate.
It was fortunate that Remmy was of that easy temperament which takes theworld as it finds it, readily accommodates itself to circumstances, andwisely acts on the sensible aphorism, "what can't be cured must beendured." While he bitterly lamented his enforced absence from the girlof his heart--just at the crisis, too, when he learned that he occupiedan enviable position in her affections--he knew that all the regrets inthe world would not bring him one furlong nearer to her. He determinedto make the best of his situation. In a short time he even came to likeit. Good conduct, good temper, and his ability to read and write, soonrecommended him to his superiors, and obtained his promotion to the rankof Sergeant. In this capacity, he contrived to save a sum of money,which, in former years, he would have considered quite a treasure, andwhich, at any rate, was sufficiently large as to warrant its possessoragainst the imputation of fortune-hunting, should he return to Ireland,find Mary Mahony unmarried, and pay his addresses to her.
When the short peace of 1814 was made, the regiment in which Remmyserved returned to England, and Remmy made application for hisdischarge, and would have purchased it if he could not procure it byother means. But immediately came the renewal of war, by the return ofNapoleon from Elba, and Remmy's regiment was one of the first to returnto the Continent. In the battle of Waterloo, Remmy received a severewound in the left arm, which rendered amputation necessary, afterprolonged and painful sufferings. At length, he was able to return toEngland, with a handsome gratuity for his wound, and a respectablepension, which, with what he had already picked up "in the wars," reallymade him quite a man of independent means. His plea of poverty had beenonly a _ruse_ to try the strength of the maiden's affection. But, in hereyes, of much greater value than his hoard or his pension was atestimonial of courage and character given him by his Colonel, andespecially countersigned by the Duke of Wellington, who had personallynoticed his conduct during the six years he had been in the service.Great pride, be sure, had Carroll in handing over this precious documentto Mary Mahony. Many tears did she shed over the vicissitudes which hadearned it--but tears _will_ flow from bright eyes, when there is ahandsome lover at hand to kiss them off.
The wedding followed, in due course. _Such_ a wedding! that of Camachowas a fool to it. Mr. and Mrs. Carroll, it is true, violated the usageof Irish society (of their rank of life) by quitting the farm, on ahoneymoon excursion, shortly after Father Barry had united them "forbetter, for worse," as it was fully expected that, according to theimmemorial custom among the extensive class which embraces all ranksfrom the wealthy farmer to the poor peasant, the bride and bridegroomshould have presided at the nuptial feast, opened the post-prandialfestivities by leading off the dance, and finally gone through theloosening the bride's garters, and be followed by the ceremonial of her"throwing the stocking." But, except during the performance of thenuptial service, the company at Carrigabrick farm saw little, on thatday of days, of either Remmy Carroll or his fair and faithfulhelpmate. Enough, however, for the gay bachelors to admire the beauty(now bright with happiness) of the bride, while the Waterloo medal andthe Waterloo wound of our hero won him favor in the eyes and from thelips of all the womankind who were "on their promotion." Despite thespeedy flight of "the happy couple," the rites of hospitality were dulycelebrated in their homestead, and, indeed, a general holiday was keptin the neighborhood. The warmth of Irish hearts had its effervescence onthat occasion, and it wished an infinity of joy to Remmy Carroll and hisbride.
About this time, Minahan's character for veracity fell into disrepute,it being pretty clear that Remmy Carroll was anything but apetrifaction--at least Mary Mahony's testimony would go a great way todisprove _that_ imputation. But there ever are people who willmanfully maintain the superiority of the ideal over the real, and a fewof these, vegetating at Fermoy, used to shake their heads when RemmyCarroll walked by, and, having said, all along, that, beyond all doubt,some supernatural agency had removed our hero, think themselves somewhataggrieved in the unromantic commonplace explanation of his enforcedabsence. To the hour of his death, Minahan was ready to say or swearthat _he_ had told no more than the truth--or an equivalent for thetruth--and was wont to appeal, when in his cups (which was whenever hehad anything to put into them), to Carroll's good fortune in proof ofthe advantageous influence of fairy favor. He had a fewsemi-converts--who believed that Remmy Carroll was as much petrified asPhil Connor. Indeed, without any very remarkable development of theorgan of marvellousness, I think so too.
It but remains to add that, in due season, Mr. and Mrs. Carroll returnedto their farm. Remmy never more played the pipes save for his ownamusement (as the Marquis of Carrabas' cat caught mice), and he and hiswife lived happily together, after their many trials. One of theirfamily is settled in the State of New York, and doing well.
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