"I believe what yer honour says is true; but sure it's proud and happy we ought to be to have the truth told of us-it is what does not always happen; if it did, poor Ireland would have had more justice done her long ago than ever came to her share yet."

"And that, James, is also true," said Mr Herrick; "the Irish character has not only its individual differences, which always must be the case, but it has its provincial, its baronial distinctions."

66

Indeed, sir," replied Harragan, "there can be no doubt about that; we should be sorry, civilised as we are here, to be compared to the wild rangers of Connaught, or to the staid, quiet, tradesmanlike people of the north."

"The northerns are a fine prudent people," said Mr Herrick, "notwithstanding your prejudice; but what you have said is only another proof that persons may write very correctly about the north of Ireland, and yet, unless they see the south, form a very limited, or, it may be, erroneous idea of the character of the southerns. The Irish are more difficult to understand than people imagine. You are a very unmanageable people, James," added the gentleman good-humouredly.

“Bedad, sir, I suppose ye're right; some of us are, I daresay. And now, sir, I suppose there is a raison for that?"

"There is," answered his friend. "You are an unmanageable people, because of your prejudices."

"That's your old story against us, Mr Herrick," said James; "and yet you can't deny but I've been often led by your honour, and for my good, I'll own to that."

"James," continued his friend, "will you answer me one question? Were you, or were you not, at Gerald Casey's on Monday week?”

James's countenance fell, it positively elongated, at the question. So great was the change, that those who did not know the man might have imagined he had committed a crime, and anticipated immediate punishment. "At Gerald Casey's?" he repeated.

Mr Herrick drew a letter a soiled, dirty-looking letter-from his pocket, and slowly repeated the question.

"I was, sir," he answered, resting his back against the dresser, and pressing his open palms upon the board, as if the action gave him strength.

"Who was there, James?"

"Is it who was in it, sir? Why, there wasthere was

-Bedad, sir, -Oh, thin, it's the bad head I have at remimbering -I forget who was there." And the countenance of James assumed, despite his exertions, a lying expression that was totally unworthy his honest nature.

"James," observed Mr Herrick, "you used not to have a bad memory. I have heard you speak of many trifling acts of kind

3

ness my father showed you when you were a boy of twelve years old."

#920 100 7 400 "b69d

crimson, and

The farmer's face was in a moment suffused with he interrupted him with the grateful warmth of an affectionate Irish heart. "Oh, sir, sure you don't think I'm worse than the poor dog that follows night and day at my foot? You don't think I've no heart in my body?"

"I was talking of your memory," said Mr Herrick quietly; "and I ask you again to tell me who were at Gerald Casey's on Monday week?"

"I left Gerald Casey's before dusk, sir; and it's what took me in it was—____”,

"I don't ask when you left it, or what took you there. I only ask you who were present?"

James saw there was no use in equivocating, for that Mr Herrick would be answered. He was, as I have said, an excellent fellow; yet he had, in common with his countrymen, a very provoking way of evading a question; but anxious as

evade this, he could not manage it now. Mr Herrick looked him so steadfastly in the face, that he slowly answered, "I'd rather not say one way or other who was there or who was not there. I've an idea, from something I heard this morning, before the little girl went into Wexford, that I know now what your honour's driving at. And sure," and his face deepened in colour as he continued-" and sure, Mr Herrick, 'do you think I'd inform?” ” cm,

Mr Herrick was not astonished at the answer he received? On the contrary, he was quite prepared for it, and prepared also to combat a principle that militates so strongly against the comfort and security of all who reside in Ireland.

"Will you," he inquired, "tell me what you mean by the word inform?""

"It's a mean dirty practice, sir," replied Harragan, "to be repeating every word one hears in a neighbour's house."

"So it is," answered the gentleman; an evil, mean practice, to repeat what is said merely from a love of gossip. But suppose a person, being accidentally one of a party, heard a plot formed' against your character, perhaps your life, and not only concealed the circumstance, but absolutely refused to afford any clue by which such a conspiracy could be detected

Oh, sir," interrupted Harragan, "that's nothing here nor there. I couldn't tell in the gray of the evening who went in or out of the place; I had no call to any one, and I don't want any one to have any call to me."

You must know perfectly well who were there," said Mr Herrick. "The case is simply this: a gentleman in this neighbourhood has received two anonymous letters, attacking the character of a person who has been confidentially employed by him for some years. James Harragan, you know who wrote these

letters; and I ask you how, as an honest man, you can lay your head upon your pillow and sleep, knowing that an equally honest man may be deprived of the means to support his young family, and be turned adrift upon the world, through the positive malice of those who are envious of his prosperity and good name?" James looked very uncomfortable, but did not trust himself to speak.

I repeat, you know by whom these letters were written." "As I hope to be saved!" exclaimed James, "I saw no writing-not the scratch of a !"

pen

Harragan," continued Mr Herrick, "it would be well for our country if many of its inhabitants were not so quick at invention."

"I have not told a lie, sir."

"No, but you have done worse- -you have equivocated. Though you did not see the letter written, you knew it was written; and an equivocation is so cowardly, that I wonder an Irishman would resort to it; a lie is in itself cowardly, but an equivocation is more cowardly still."

Harragan for a moment looked shillalas and crab-thorns at his friend, for such he had frequently proved himself to be, but made no further observation, simply confining himself to the change and repetition of the sentences-"Do you think I'd inform?” "Not one belonging to me ever turned informer."

"Am I then," said Mr Herrick, rising, "to go away with the conviction that you know an injury has been done to an innocent person, and yet will not do anything to convict a man guilty of a moral assassination?"

"A what, sir?"

"A moral murder."

"Look here, sir; one can't fly in the face of the country. If I was to tell, my life would not be safe either in or out of my own house; you ought to know this. Besides, there is something very mean in an informer."

66

"It is very sad," replied Mr Herrick, "that a spirit of combination for evil more than for good destroys the confidence which otherwise the gentry and strangers would be disposed to place in the peasantry of Ireland. As long as a man fears to speak and act like a man, so long as he dare not hear the proud and happy sound of his own voice in condemnation of the wicked, and in praise of the upright-so long, in fact, as an Irishman dare not speak what he knows-so long, and no longer, will Ireland be insecure, and its people scorned as cowards!"

"As cowards!" repeated James indignantly.

"Ay," said Mr Herrick; "there is a moral as well as a physical courage. The man who, in the heat of battle, faces a cannonball, or who, in the hurry and excitement of a fair or pattern, exposes his bare head to the rattle of shillalas and clan-alpines without shrinking from punishment or death, is much inferior

5

to the man who has the superior moral bravery to act in accordance with the dictates of his own conscience, and does right while those around him do wrong."

"I daresay that's all very true, sir," said James, scratching his head; adding, while most anxious to change the subject, "It's a pity yer honour wasn't a councillor or a magistrate, a priest, minister, or friar itself, then you'd have great sway intirely with your words and your learning.”

"Not more than I have at present. Do you think it is a wicked thing to take away the character of an honest man?" "To be sure I do, sir."

"And yet you become a party to the act."

"How so, sir?"

66

By refusing to bring, or assist in bringing to justice those who have endeavoured to ruin the father of a large family. Do you believe so many murders and burnings would take place if the truth was spoken?"

"No, sir."

"That's a direct answer from an Irishman for once. If the evil-disposed, the disturbers of the country, knew that truth would be spoken, disturbances would soon cease; you believe this, and yet, by your silence, you shield those whom you кпого to be bad, and despise with all your heart and soul."

"I don't want to have any call to them one way or other, good, bad, or indifferent," answered James.

"Very well," said Mr Herrick, thoroughly provoked at the man's obstinacy, and rising to leave the cottage; "you say you wish to have no call to them. But mark me, James Harragan: when the spirit of anonymous letter-writing gets into a neighbourhood-when wicked-minded persons can destroy either a man's reputation or his life with equal impunity, there is no knowing where the evil may stop, or who shall escape its influence. The knowledge of the extent to which these secret conspiracies are carried, deters capitalists from settling amongst us; they may have security for their money, but they have none for their lives; if they offend by taking land, or offering opposition to received opinions, their doom may be fixed; those whom they have trusted will know of that doom, and yet no one will come forward to save them from destruction."

66

66 Sir," said Harragan, secret information is sometimes

given."

"I would accept no man's secret information," answered Mr Herrick, for he was an upright man, perhaps too uncompromising for the persons with whom he had to deal; "justice should not only be even-handed, but open-handed; it is a reproach to a country when the law finds it necessary to offer rewards for secret information. I wish I could convince you, James, of the difference which exists between a person who devotes his time to peeping and prying for the purpose of conveying information to

serve himself, and him who speaks the truth from the upright and honourable motive of seeing justice done to his fellowcreatures."

"I see the differ clear enough, sir," replied the farmer; "but none of my people ever turned informers. I'll have no call to it, and it's no use saying any more about the matter; there are plenty of people in the country who can tell who was there as well as I; I'll have no call to it. When I went in the place, I little thought of who I'd meet there, and I'll go bail it's long before I'll trouble it again. There's enough said and done now."

"A good deal said, certainly," rejoined Mr Herrick, "but nothing done. There are parts of the country where I know that my entering into this investigation would endanger my life, but, thank God, that is not the case here. I will pursue my investigation to the uttermost, and do not despair of discovering the delinquent."

"I hope you may, with all my heart and soul, sir,” replied the farmer.

"Then why not aid me? If you are sincere, why not assist?" And again James Harragan muttered, "Do you think I'd inform?"

"but

you

"I declare before heaven!" exclaimed Mr Herrick, "you are the most provoking people under the sun to deal with." "I ask your honour's pardon," said James slyly; have not lived long enough in foreign parts to know that." "Your readiness will not drive me from my purpose. I repeat, you are the most provoking people in the world to deal with. Convince an Englishman or a Scotchman, and having convinced his reason, you may be certain he will act upon that conviction; but you, however convinced your reason may be, continue to act from the dictates of your prejudice. Remember this, however, James Harragan: you have refused to pluck out the arrow which an unseen hand has planted in the bosom of an excellent and industrious man- -take care that the same invisible power does not aim a shaft against yourself."

Mr Herrick quitted the cottage more in sorrow than in anger; and after he was gone, James Harragan thought over what he had said he was quite ready to confess its truth, but prejudice still maintained its ascendancy. "Aim a shaft against myself," he repeated; "I don't think any of them would do that, though I'm sorry to say many as good and better than I have been forced to fly the country through secret malice; it is a bad thing, but times 'Il mend, I hope."

Alas! James Harragan is not the only man in my beloved country who satisfies himself with hoping that times will mend, without endeavouring to mend them. "Aim a shaft against myself," he again repeated. "Well, I'm sure what Mr Herrick said is true; but, for all that, I couldn't inform !"