Murad the Unlucky, and Other Tales

by Maria Edgeworth

  THE LIMERICK GLOVES

  CHAPTER I

  It was Sunday morning, and a fine day in autumn; the bells of HerefordCathedral rang, and all the world, smartly dressed, were flocking tochurch.

  "Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill!--Phoebe! Phoebe! There's the cathedral bell, Isay, and neither of you ready for church, and I a verger," cried Mr.Hill, the tanner, as he stood at the bottom of his own staircase. "I'mready, papa," replied Phoebe; and down she came, looking so clean, sofresh, and so gay, that her stern father's brows unbent, and he couldonly say to her, as she was drawing on a new pair of gloves, "Child, youought to have had those gloves on before this time of day."

  "Before this time of day!" cried Mrs. Hill, who was now coming downstairscompletely equipped--"before this time of day! She should know better, Isay, than to put on those gloves at all: more especially when going tothe cathedral."

  "The gloves are very good gloves, as far as I see," replied Mr. Hill."But no matter now. It is more fitting that we should be in proper timein our pew, to set an example, as becomes us, than to stand here talkingof gloves and nonsense."

  He offered his wife and daughter each an arm, and set out for thecathedral; but Phoebe was too busy in drawing on her new gloves, and hermother was too angry at the sight of them, to accept of Mr. Hill'scourtesy. "What I say is always nonsense, I know, Mr. Hill," resumed thematron: "but I can see as far into a millstone as other folks. Was itnot I that first gave you a hint of what became of the great dog that welost out of our tan-yard last winter? And was it not I who first tooknotice to you, Mr. Hill, verger as you are, of the hole under thefoundation of the cathedral? Was it not, I ask you, Mr. Hill?"

  "But, my dear Mrs. Hill, what has all this to do with Phoebe's gloves?"

  "Are you blind, Mr. Hill? Don't you see that they are Limerick gloves?"

  "What of that?" said Mr. Hill, still preserving his composure, as it washis custom to do as long as he could, when he saw his wife was ruffled.

  "What of that, Mr. Hill! why, don't you know that Limerick is in Ireland,Mr. Hill?"

  "With all my heart, my dear."

  "Yes, and with all your heart, I suppose, Mr. Hill, you would see ourcathedral blown up, some fair day or other, and your own daughter marriedto the person that did it; and you a verger, Mr. Hill."

  "God forbid!" cried Mr, Hill; and he stopped short and settled his wig.Presently recovering himself, he added, "But, Mrs. Hill, the cathedral isnot yet blown up; and our Phoebe is not yet married."

  "No; but what of that, Mr. Hill? Forewarned is forearmed, as I told youbefore your dog was gone; but you would not believe me, and you see howit turned out in that case; and so it will in this case, you'll see, Mr.Hill."

  "But you puzzle and frighten me out of my wits, Mrs. Hill," said theverger, again settling his wig. "_In that case and in this case_! Ican't understand a syllable of what you've been saying to me this half-hour. In plain English, what is there the matter about Phoebe's gloves?"

  "In plain English, then, Mr. Hill, since you can understand nothing else,please to ask your daughter Phoebe who gave her those gloves. Phoebe,who gave you those gloves?"

  "I wish they were burnt," said the husband, whose patience could endureno longer. "Who gave you those cursed gloves, Phoebe?"

  "Papa," answered Phoebe, in a low voice, "they were a present from Mr.Brian O'Neill."

  "The Irish glover!" cried Mr. Hill, with a look of terror.

  "Yes," resumed the mother; "very true, Mr. Hill, I assure you. Now, yousee, I had my reasons."

  "Take off the gloves directly: I order you, Phoebe," said her father, inhis most peremptory tone. "I took a mortal dislike to that Mr. BrianO'Neill the first time I ever saw him. He's an Irishman, and that'senough, and too much for me. Off with the gloves, Phoebe! When I ordera thing, it must be done."

  Phoebe seemed to find some difficulty in getting off the gloves, andgently urged that she could not well go into the cathedral without them.This objection was immediately removed by her mother's pulling from herpocket a pair of mittens, which had once been brown, and once been whole,but which were now rent in sundry places; and which, having been longstretched by one who was twice the size of Phoebe, now hung in hugewrinkles upon her well-turned arms.

  "But, papa," said Phoebe, "why should we take a dislike to him because heis an Irishman? Cannot an Irishman be a good man?"

  The verger made no answer to this question, but a few seconds after itwas put to him observed that the cathedral bell had just done ringing;and, as they were now got to the church door, Mrs. Hill, with asignificant look at Phoebe, remarked that it was no proper time to talkor think of good men, or bad men, or Irishmen, or any men, especially fora verger's daughter.

  We pass over in silence the many conjectures that were made by several ofthe congregation concerning the reason why Miss Phoebe Hill should appearin such a shameful shabby pair of gloves on a Sunday. After service wasended, the verger went, with great mystery, to examine the hole under thefoundation of the cathedral; and Mrs. Hill repaired, with the grocer'sand the stationer's ladies, to take a walk in the Close, where sheboasted to all her female acquaintance, whom she called her friends, ofher maternal discretion in prevailing upon Mr. Hill to forbid herdaughter Phoebe to wear the Limerick gloves.

  In the meantime, Phoebe walked pensively homewards, endeavouring todiscover why her father should take a mortal dislike to a man at firstsight, merely because he was an Irishman: and why her mother had talkedso much of the great dog which had been lost last year out of the tan-yard; and of the hole under the foundation of the cathedral! "What hasall this to do with my Limerick gloves?" thought she. The more shethought, the less connection she could perceive between these things: foras she had not taken a dislike to Mr. Brian O'Neill at first sight,because he was an Irishman, she could not think it quite reasonable tosuspect him of making away with her father's dog, nor yet of a design toblow up Hereford Cathedral. As she was pondering upon these matters, shecame within sight of the ruins of a poor woman's house, which a fewmonths before this time had been burnt down. She recollected that herfirst acquaintance with her lover began at the time of this fire; and shethought that the courage and humanity he showed, in exerting himself tosave this unfortunate woman and her children, justified her notion of thepossibility that an Irishman might be a good man.

  The name of the poor woman whose house had been burnt down was Smith: shewas a widow, and she now lived at the extremity of a narrow lane in awretched habitation. Why Phoebe thought of her with more concern thanusual at this instant we need not examine, but she did; and, reproachingherself for having neglected it for some weeks past, she resolved to godirectly to see the widow Smith, and to give her a crown which she hadlong had in her pocket, with which she had intended to have bought playtickets.

  It happened that the first person she saw in the poor widow's kitchen wasthe identical Mr. O'Neill. "I did not expect to see anybody here butyou, Mrs. Smith," said Phoebe, blushing.

  "So much the greater the pleasure of the meeting; to me, I mean, MissHill," said O'Neill, rising, and putting down a little boy, with whom hehad been playing. Phoebe went on talking to the poor woman; and, afterslipping the crown into her hand, said she would call again. O'Neill,surprised at the change in her manner, followed her when she left thehouse, and said, "It would be a great misfortune to me to have doneanything to offend Miss Hill, especially if I could not conceive how orwhat it was, which is my case at this present speaking." And as thespruce glover spoke, he fixed his eyes upon Phoebe's ragged gloves. Shedrew them up in vain; and then said, with her natural simplicity andgentleness, "You have not done anything to offend me, Mr. O'Neill; butyou are some way or other displeasing to my father and mother, and theyhave forbid me to wear the Limerick gloves."

  "And sure Miss Hill would not be after changing her opinion of her humbleservant for no reason in life but because her father and mother, who havetaken a prejudice against him, are a little contrary."

&
nbsp; "No," replied Phoebe; "I should not change my opinion without any reason;but I have not yet had time to fix my opinion of you, Mr. O'Neill."

  "To let you know a piece of my mind, then, my dear Miss Hill," resumedhe, "the more contrary they are, the more pride and joy it would give meto win and wear you, in spite of 'em all; and if without a farthing inyour pocket, so much the more I should rejoice in the opportunity ofproving to your dear self, and all else whom it may consarn, that BrianO'Neill is no fortune-hunter, and scorns them that are so narrow-mindedas to think that no other kind of cattle but them there fortune-hunterscan come out of all Ireland. So, my dear Phoebe, now we understand oneanother, I hope you will not be paining my eyes any longer with the sightof these odious brown bags, which are not fit to be worn by any Christianarms, to say nothing of Miss Hill's, which are the handsomest, withoutany compliment, that ever I saw, and, to my mind, would become a pair ofLimerick gloves beyond anything: and I expect she'll show her generosityand proper spirit by putting them on immediately."

  "You expect, sir!" repeated Miss Hill, with a look of more indignationthan her gentle countenance had ever before been seen to assume."Expect!" "If he had said hope," thought she, "it would have beenanother thing: but expect! what right has he to expect?"

  Now Miss Hill, unfortunately, was not sufficiently acquainted with theIrish idiom to know that to expect, in Ireland, is the same thing as tohope in England; and, when her Irish admirer said "I expect," he meantonly, in plain English, "I hope." But thus it is that a poor Irishman,often, for want of understanding the niceties of the English language,says the rudest when he means to say the civillest things imaginable.

  Miss Hill's feelings were so much hurt by this unlucky "I expect" thatthe whole of his speech, which had before made some favourable impressionupon her, now lost its effect: and she replied with proper spirit, as shethought, "You expect a great deal too much, Mr. O'Neill; and more thanever I gave you reason to do. It would be neither pleasure nor pride tome to be won and worn, as you were pleased to say, in spite of them all;and to be thrown, without a farthing in my pocket, upon the protection ofone who expects so much at first setting out.--So I assure you, sir,whatever you may expect, I shall not put on the Limerick gloves."

  Mr. O'Neill was not without his share of pride and proper spirit; nay, hehad, it must be confessed, in common with some others of his countrymen,an improper share of pride and spirit. Fired by the lady's coldness, hepoured forth a volley of reproaches; and ended by wishing, as he said, agood morning, for ever and ever, to one who could change her opinion,point blank, like the weathercock. "I am, miss, your most obedient; andI expect you'll never think no more of poor Brian O'Neill and theLimerick gloves."

  If he had not been in too great a passion to observe anything, poor BrianO'Neill would have found out that Phoebe was not a weathercock: but heleft her abruptly, and hurried away, imagining all the while that it wasPhoebe, and not himself, who was in a rage. Thus, to the horseman who isgalloping at full speed, the hedges, trees, and houses seem rapidly torecede, whilst, in reality, they never move from their places. It is hethat flies from them, and not they from him.

  On Monday morning Miss Jenny Brown, the perfumer's daughter, came to payPhoebe a morning visit, with face of busy joy.

  "So, my dear!" said she: "fine doings in Hereford! But what makes youlook so downcast? To be sure you are invited, as well as the rest ofus."

  "Invited where?" cried Mrs. Hill, who was present, and who could neverendure to hear of an invitation in which she was not included. "Invitedwhere, pray, Miss Jenny?"

  "La! have not you heard? Why, we all took it for granted that you andMiss Phoebe would have been the first and foremost to have been asked toMr. O'Neill's ball."

  "Ball!" cried Mrs. Hill; and luckily saved Phoebe, who was in someagitation, the trouble of speaking. "Why, this is a mighty sudden thing:I never heard a tittle of it before."

  "Well, this is really extraordinary! And, Phoebe, have you not receiveda pair of Limerick gloves?"

  "Yes, I have," said Phoebe, "but what then? What have my Limerick glovesto do with the ball?"

  "A great deal," replied Jenny. "Don't you know that a pair of Limerickgloves is, as one may say, a ticket to this ball? for every lady that hasbeen asked has had a pair sent to her along with the card; and I believeas many as twenty, besides myself, have been asked this morning."

  Jenny then produced her new pair of Limerick gloves, and as she triedthem on, and showed how well they fitted, she counted up the names of theladies who, to her knowledge, were to be at this ball. When she hadfinished the catalogue, she expatiated upon the grand preparations whichit was said the widow O'Neill, Mr. O'Neill's mother, was making for thesupper, and concluded by condoling with Mrs. Hill for her misfortune innot having been invited. Jenny took her leave to get her dress inreadiness: "for," added she, "Mr. O'Neill has engaged me to open the ballin case Phoebe does not go; but I suppose she will cheer up and go, asshe has a pair of Limerick gloves as well as the rest of us."

  There was a silence for some minutes after Jenny's departure, which wasbroken by Phoebe, who told her mother that, early in the morning, a notehad been brought to her, which she had returned unopened, because sheknew, from the handwriting of the direction, that it came from Mr.O'Neill.

  We must observe that Phoebe had already told her mother of her meetingwith this gentleman at the poor widow's, and of all that had passedbetween them afterwards. This openness on her part had softened theheart of Mrs. Hill, who was really inclined to be good-natured, providedpeople would allow that she had more penetration than any one else inHereford. She was, moreover, a good deal piqued and alarmed by the ideathat the perfumer's daughter might rival and outshine her own. Whilstshe had thought herself sure of Mr. O'Neill's attachment to Phoebe, shehad looked higher, especially as she was persuaded by the perfumer's ladyto think that an Irishman could not but be a bad match; but now she beganto suspect that the perfumer's lady had changed her opinion of Irishmen,since she did not object to her own Jenny's leading up the ball at Mr.O'Neill's.

  All these thoughts passed rapidly in the mother's mind, and, with herfear of losing an admirer for her Phoebe, the value of that admirersuddenly rose in her estimation. Thus, at an auction, if a lot is goingto be knocked down to a lady who is the only person that has bid for it,even she feels discontented, and despises that which nobody covets; butif, as the hammer is falling, many voices answer to the question, "Whobids more?" then her anxiety to secure the prize suddenly rises, and,rather than be outbid, she will give far beyond its value.

  "Why, child," said Mrs. Hill, "since you have a pair of Limerick gloves;and since certainly that note was an invitation to us to this ball; andsince it is much more fitting that you should open the ball than JennyBrown; and since, after all, it was very handsome and genteel of theyoung man to say he would take you without a farthing in your pocket,which shows that those were misinformed who talked of him as an Irishadventurer; and since we are not certain 'twas he made away with the dog,although he said its barking was a great nuisance; there is no greatreason to suppose he was the person who made the hole under thefoundation of the cathedral, or that he could have such a wicked thoughtas to blow it up; and since he must be in a very good way of business tobe able to afford giving away four or five guineas' worth of Limerickgloves, and balls and suppers; and since, after all, it is no fault ofhis to be an Irishman, I give it as my vote and opinion, my dear, thatyou put on your Limerick gloves and go to this ball; and I'll go andspeak to your father, and bring him round to our opinion, and then I'llpay the morning visit I owe to the widow O'Neill and make up your quarrelwith Brian. Love quarrels are easy to make up, you know, and then weshall have things all upon velvet again, and Jenny Brown need not comewith her hypocritical condoling face to us any more."

  After running this speech glibly off, Mrs. Hill, without waiting to heara syllable from poor Phoebe, trotted off in search of her consort. Itwas not, however, quite so easy a
task as his wife expected, to bring Mr.Hill round to her opinion. He was slow in declaring himself of anyopinion; but when once he had said a thing, there was but little chanceof altering his notions. On this occasion Mr. Hill was doubly bound tohis prejudice against our unlucky Irishman; for he had mentioned withgreat solemnity at the club which he frequented the grand affair of thehole under the foundation of the cathedral, and his suspicions that therewas a design to blow it up. Several of the club had laughed at thisidea; others, who supposed that Mr. O'Neill was a Roman Catholic, and whohad a confused notion that a Roman Catholic must be a very wicked,dangerous being, thought that there might be a great deal in the verger'ssuggestions, and observed that a very watchful eye ought to be kept uponthis Irish glover, who had come to settle at Hereford nobody knew why,and who seemed to have money at command nobody knew how.

  The news of this ball sounded to Mr. Hill's prejudiced imagination likethe news of a conspiracy. "Ay! ay!" thought he; "the Irishman is cunningenough! But we shall be too many for him: he wants to throw all the goodsober folks of Hereford off their guard by feasting, and dancing, andcarousing, I take it, and so to perpetrate his evil design when it isleast suspected; but we shall be prepared for him, fools as he takes usplain Englishmen to be, I warrant."

  In consequence of these most shrewd cogitations, our verger silenced hiswife with a peremptory nod when she came to persuade him to let Phoebeput on the Limerick gloves and go to the ball. "To this ball she shallnot go, and I charge her not to put on those Limerick gloves as shevalues my blessing," said Mr. Hill. "Please to tell her so, Mrs. Hill,and trust to my judgment and discretion in all things, Mrs. Hill. Strangework may be in Hereford yet: but I'll say no more; I must go and consultwith knowing men who are of my opinion."

  He sallied forth, and Mrs. Hill was left in a state which only those whoare troubled with the disease of excessive curiosity can rightlycomprehend or compassionate. She hied her back to Phoebe, to whom sheannounced her father's answer, and then went gossiping to all her femaleacquaintance in Hereford, to tell them all that she knew, and all thatshe did not know, and to endeavour to find out a secret where there wasnone to be found.

  There are trials of temper in all conditions, and no lady, in high or lowlife, could endure them with a better grace than Phoebe. Whilst Mr. andMrs. Hill were busied abroad, there came to see Phoebe one of the widowSmith's children. With artless expressions of gratitude to Phoebe thislittle girl mixed the praises of O'Neill, who, she said, had been theconstant friend of her mother, and had given her money every week sincethe fire happened. "Mammy loves him dearly for being so good-natured,"continued the child; "and he has been good to other people as well as tous."

  "To whom?" said Phoebe.

  "To a poor man who has lodged for these few days past next door to us,"replied the child; "I don't know his name rightly, but he is an Irishman,and he goes out a-haymaking in the daytime along with a number of others.He knew Mr. O'Neill in his own country, and he told mammy a great dealabout his goodness."

  As the child finished these words, Phoebe took out of a drawer someclothes, which she had made for the poor woman's children, and gave themto the little girl. It happened that the Limerick gloves had been throwninto this drawer; and Phoebe's favourable sentiments of the giver ofthose gloves were revived by what she had just heard, and by theconfession Mrs. Hill had made, that she had no reasons, and but vaguesuspicious, for thinking ill of him. She laid the gloves perfectlysmooth, and strewed over them, whilst the little girl went on talking ofMr. O'Neill, the leaves of a rose which she had worn on Sunday.

  Mr. Hill was all this time in deep conference with those prudent men ofHereford who were of his own opinion, about the perilous hole under thecathedral. The ominous circumstance of this ball was also considered,the great expense at which the Irish glover lived, and his giving awaygloves, which was a sure sign he was not under any necessity to sellthem, and consequently a proof that, though he pretended to be a glover,he was something wrong in disguise. Upon putting all these thingstogether, it was resolved by these over-wise politicians that the bestthing that could be done for Hereford, and the only possible means ofpreventing the immediate destruction of its cathedral, would be to takeMr. O'Neill into custody. Upon recollection, however, it was perceivedthat there was no legal ground on which he could be attacked. At length,after consulting an attorney, they devised what they thought an admirablemode of proceeding.

  Our Irish hero had not that punctuality which English tradesmen usuallyobserve in the payment of bills; he had, the preceding year, run up along bill with a grocer in Hereford, and, as he had not at Christmas cashin hand to pay it, he had given a note, payable six months after date.The grocer, at Mr. Hill's request, made over the note to him, and it wasdetermined that the money should be demanded, as it was now due, andthat, if it was not paid directly, O'Neill should be that night arrested.How Mr. Hill made the discovery of this debt to the grocer agree with hisformer notion that the Irish glover had always money at command we cannotwell conceive, but anger and prejudice will swallow down the grossestcontradictions without difficulty.

  When Mr. Hill's clerk went to demand payment of the note, O'Neill's headwas full of the ball which he was to give that evening. He was muchsurprised at the unexpected appearance of the note: he had not readymoney by him to pay it; and after swearing a good deal at the clerk, andcomplaining of this ungenerous and ungentleman-like behaviour in thegrocer and the tanner, he told the clerk to be gone, and not to bebothering him at such an unseasonable time: that he could not have themoney then, and did not deserve to have it at all.

  This language and conduct were rather new to the English clerk'smercantile ears: we cannot wonder that it should seem to him, as he saidto his master, more the language of a madman than a man of business. Thiswant of punctuality in money transactions, and this mode of treatingcontracts as matters of favour and affection, might not have damned thefame of our hero in his own country, where such conduct is, alas! toocommon; but he was now in a kingdom where the manners and customs are sodirectly opposite, that he could meet with no allowance for his nationalfaults. It would be well for his countrymen if they were made, even by afew mortifications, somewhat sensible of this important difference in thehabits of Irish and English traders before they come to settle inEngland.

  But to proceed with our story. On the night of Mr. O'Neill's grand ball,as he was seeing his fair partner, the perfumer's daughter, safe home, hefelt himself tapped on the shoulder by no friendly hand. When he wastold that he was the king's prisoner, he vociferated with sundry strangeoaths, which we forbear to repeat. "No, I am not the king's prisoner! Iam the prisoner of that shabby, rascally tanner, Jonathan Hill. None buthe would arrest a gentleman in this way, for a trifle not worthmentioning."

  Miss Jenny Brown screamed when she found herself under the protection ofa man who was arrested; and, what between her screams and his oaths,there was such a disturbance that a mob gathered.

  Among this mob there was a party of Irish haymakers, who, after returninglate from a hard day's work, had been drinking in a neighbouringale-house. With one accord they took part with their countryman, andwould have rescued him from the civil officers with all the pleasure inlife if he had not fortunately possessed just sufficient sense andcommand of himself to restrain their party spirit, and to forbid them, asthey valued his life and reputation, to interfere, by word or deed, inhis defence.

  He then despatched one of the haymakers home to his mother, to inform herof what had happened, and to request that she would get somebody to bebail for him as soon as possible, as the officers said they could not lethim out of their sight till he was bailed by substantial people, or tillthe debt was discharged.

  The widow O'Neill was just putting out the candles in the ball-room whenthis news of her son's arrest was brought to her. We pass over Hibernianexclamations: she consoled her pride by reflecting that it wouldcertainly be the most easy thing imaginable to procure bail for Mr.O'Neill in
Hereford, where he had so many friends who had just beendancing at his house; but to dance at his house she found was one thingand to be bail for him quite another. Each guest sent excuses, and thewidow O'Neill was astonished at what never fails to astonish everybodywhen it happens to themselves. "Rather than let my son be detained inthis manner for a paltry debt," cried she, "I'd sell all I have withinhalf an hour to a pawnbroker." It was well no pawnbroker heard thisdeclaration: she was too warm to consider economy. She sent for apawnbroker, who lived in the same street, and, after pledging goods totreble the amount of the debt, she obtained ready money for her son'srelease.

  O'Neill, after being in custody for about an hour and a half, was set atliberty upon the payment of his debt. As he passed by the cathedral inhis way home, he heard the clock strike; and he called to a man, who waswalking backwards and forwards in the churchyard, to ask whether it wastwo or three that the clock struck. "Three," answered the man; "and, asyet, all is safe."

  O'Neill, whose head was full of other things, did not stop to inquire themeaning of these last words. He little suspected that this man was awatchman whom the over-vigilant verger had stationed there to guard theHereford Cathedral from his attacks. O'Neill little guessed that he hadbeen arrested merely to keep him from blowing up the cathedral thisnight. The arrest had an excellent effect upon his mind, for he was ayoung man of good sense: it made him resolve to retrench his expenses intime, to live more like a glover and less like a gentleman; and to aimmore at establishing credit, and less at gaining popularity. He found,from experience, that good friends will not pay bad debts.