The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain: The Works of William Carleton, Volume OneCarleton, William
General
The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain: The Works of William Carleton, Volume One
Carleton, William
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
On arriving at Father M'Mahon's, he found that excellent man at home;
and it was upon this occasion that he observed with more attention than
before the extraordinary neatness of his dwelling-house and premises.
The cleanliness, the order, the whiteness, the striking taste displayed,
the variety of culinary utensils, not in themselves expensive, but
arranged with surprising regularity, constituting a little paradise of
convenience and comfort, were all perfectly delightful to contemplate.
The hall-door was open, and when the stranger entered, he found no one
in the kitchen, for it is necessary to say here that, in this neat but
unassuming abode of benevolence and goodness, that which we have termed
the hall-door led, in the first instance, to the beautiful little
kitchen we have just described. The stranger, having heard voices
in conversation with the priest, resolved to wait a little until his
visitors should leave him, as he felt reluctant to intrude upon him
while engaged with his parishioners. He could not prevent himself,
however, from overhearing the following portion of their I conversation.
“And it was yesterday he put in the distraint?”
“It was, your reverence.”
“Oh, the dirty Turk; not a landlord at all is half so hard to ourselves
as those of our own religion: they'll show some lenity to a Protestant,
and I don't blame them for that, but they trample those belonging to
their own creed under their inhuman hoofs.”
“How much is it, Nogher?”
“Only nine pounds, your reverence.”
“Well, then, bring me a stamp in the course of the day, and I'll pass my
bill to him for the amount.”
“Troth, sir, wid great respect, your reverence will do no such thing.
However I may get it settled, I won't lug you in by the head and
shoulders. You have done more of that kind of work than you could
afford. No, sir; but if you will send Father James up to my poor wife
and daughter that's so ill with this faver--that's all I want.”
“To be sure he'll go, or rather I'll go myself, for he won't be home
till after station. Did this middleman landlord of yours know that there
was fever in your family when he; sent in the bailiffs?”
“To do him justice, sir, he did not; but he knows it since the day
before yesterday, and yet he won't take them off unless he gets either
the rent or security.”
“Indeed, and the hard-hearted Turk will have the
security;--whisper,--call down tomorrow with a stamp, and I'll put my
name on it; and let these men, these keepers, go about their business.
My goodness! to think of having two strange fellows night and day in a
sick and troubled family! Oh, dear me! one half the world doesn't know
how the other lives. If many of the rich and wealthy, Michael, could
witness the scenes that I witness, the sight might probably soften their
hearts. Is this boy your son, Nogher?”
“He is, sir.”
“I hope you are giving him a good education; and I hope, besides, that
he is a good boy. Do you attend to your duty regularly, my good lad?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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