Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 23, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 February 1877 — AN IRISH LEAR. [ARTICLE]

AN IRISH LEAR.

GERALD OBIN*Kfe STORY CONDENSED BY CHARLES READS. *Therb is a legend, almost as old as Ijear, of A father whom his children treated as Gonetil -aqd Began treated Lear, but he suffered frnd survived, and his heart turned bitter instead of breaking. Of this' prose Lear the storv is all over Europe, and. like most old stories, told vilely. To that, however, there happens to be one exception, and the readers of this collection shall have the benefit of it. In a certain part of Ireland, a long time ago, lived a wealthy old farmer whose name was Brian Taafe. His three sons, Guillaum, Sham us and Garret, worked on the farm. The old man had a great affection for them all, and, finding himself grow unfit for work, he resolved to hand his farm over to them, and sit <l uiet by the fireside. But as that was not a thine to be done lightly, he thought he would just put them to their trial. He would take the measure of their intelligence, and then of ■ their affection. Proceeding in this order, he gave them each a hundred pognfs. end quietly watched to see- what they did with it. Well, Guillaum and Bhamus put their hundred pounds out to interest, every penny v'hut when the old man questioned Garret where his hundred pounds was, the youpg man said: “I spent it, lather.” “Spent it?” said the old man, aghast “ Is it the whole hundred pounds?” V Sure I thought you told us we might laj/ it out as we plalsed. ’ ’ “Is that a raison ye’d waste the whole of it in a year, ye prodigal?” cried the old man; and he trembled at the idea of his substance falling into such hands. Some months after this, he applied the second test. He convened his sons, and addressed them solemnly: “I’m an old mah, my children; my hair is white on my head, and it’s time I was giving over trade and making mv sowl.” The two elder overflowed with sympathy. He then gave the'dairy-farm and the hill to Shamus, and the meadows to Guillaum. Thereupon these two vied with each other iff expressions of love and gratitude. But Gifret paid never a word; and this, coffpledwttb his behavior about the hundred pounds, so maddened the old man that he gave Garret’s portion, namely, the home and the home farm, to hiß elder brothers to hold in common. Garret he disinherited onthe spot, and in due form. That is to s»y. he did not overlook him nor pass him by; but even as spiteful testators used to leave the disinherited one a shilling, that he might not be able to say he had been inadvertently omitted, and it was all a mistake, old Brian Taafe solemnly presented young Garret Taafe with a hazel staff and a small bag. Poor Garret S&ew Very well what that meant. He shouldered the bag and went forth into the wide world with a sad heart, but a s'lent tongue. His dog, Lurcher, was for following him, but he drove him back with a stone. On the strength of the new arrangement, Guillaum and 3hamus married 3irfcctly, and'brought their'wives home, for large house and room for all. But tne old fanner was not Contented to be quite a cipher, and he kept* finding fault witli this and that. The young men became more and more impatieni of his interference, and the wives fanned the flame with female pertinacity. So that the house was divided and a very home ofAisoord. This went on getting worse and worse, till at last, one winter afternoon, Shamus defied his father openly befepealLthorest, and said: “I’d like to know what would plaiso ye. May-be ye’d like to turn us all out as ye did Woia farmer replied with sudden dignity, “ if I did, I’d take no more than I gave.” “What good was you giving it?” said JcSßSta J comfort ot itwhlle “Do you. talk that way tome?” said the father, deeply^grieved. “If it was peSJr-Gfcrret I had, he wouldn’t use me “ Much thanks the poor boy ever got tr«n yeu,’’’ said pne of the women, with ttruwsifcftTC Sort, suggested to her father-in-law to take is stiok and pick and follow his beloved Garret. “Sure heM find him begging the wounded parent tamed to bay. “ I dn*H wonder at anything I hear ye say. Yn'never yet heard of anything good gut a woman would have a hand in —onlyiriichiei always. If ye ask who 4«Pd» - or & brid «e. or wrote a great hlsthory, or did a great ac tion, youil never hear It’s a womah done it; but if there is a jewel with swords and guns, or two boys cracking each fWI cWjmp with shfHßlahs, or adidly M<m fletuut, or a character ruined, or a MMriiswgßl to the gallovrs, or mischief made between a father and his own flesh and Mood, then I’H engage you’ll hear a wonpun hffd aome call to it. We needn’t bJMWMpme to histhory to know your doin’#, tis under our eyes; for ’twas the likea o' ye two burned Throy, and made the King o' Leinsther rebel against Brian Bom.* < * These shhfteM eloquence struck home; sssssnu saras* rss “ Oh, murther! murther! was ft for this I married you, Gmillaum Taafe?”

“ Och, Shamus, will ya ait an’ hear me compared to the likes ? Would i rebel against Brian Bora, bhamus, a’ra gal ?” “Don’t heed him, avonrneen,” said Shamus; “he is anould man.” But she would not be pacified. “ Oh, vo! voi If ever I thought the likes *ud be said of me, that I’d rebel against Brian Boro!” As for the other, she prepared to leave the house. “Guillaum,” said she, “I'll never stay a day undher your roof with them as would say I’d burn Throy. Does he forget he ever had a mother himself? Ah! ’tU a bad apple, that is what it Is, that despises the tree it sprung from.” All this heated Bhamus, so that he told the women sternly to sit down, for the offender should go; and upon that, to show they were of one mind, Guillaum deliberately opened the door. Lurcher 'ran out, and the wind and the rain rushed in. It was a stormy night. . Then the old man tool fright, and humbled himself: “Ahl Shamus, Guillaum, achree, let ye have it as ye will; I’m sorry for what I said, a’ra gal. Don’t tarn me out on the high-road in my ould days, and Guillaum, I’ll engage I’ll niver open my mouth against one o’ ye the longest day I live. Ah! Shamus, it isn’t long I have to stay wid ye, any way. Yer own hair will be as white as mine yet, plaice God » and ye’ll be thanking him ye showed respect to mine this night.” But they were all young and of one mind, and they turned him out and barred the door. He crept away, shivering in the wind and rain, till he got on the lee side of a stone wall, and there he stopped and asked himself whether he could live through the sight. Presently something cold and smooth poked against his band; it was a large dog that had followed unobserved till• he stopped. By a white mark on hialirfeast he saw it was Lurcher, Garret’s dog. “ Ah!” skid the ‘poor old wanderer, “you arc not so wise a dog as I thought, to follow nle.” When he spake to the dog, the dog fondled him. Then he burst out sdtiMbg and crying: “Ah, Lurcher! Garret was not wise either; hut he would niver have turned me to the door, this bitter night, nor even thee.” And so he moaned and lamented. But Lurcher pulled his ’coat, and by Ms movements conveyed to him that he Bnould not stay there all night;. so then he crept on ana knocked atmfcre than one door, but did not obtain admittance, it was so tempestuous. At Inst he lay down exhausted on some straw in the corner of an out-houae; but Lurcher lay close to him, and it is probable the-karmth of the dog saved his life, that night. Next day, file wind and rain abated; but this had other ills to fight against besjSff'winter and rough weather. The sense of nis sons’ ingratitude and his own folly drove him almost mad. Sometimes he would curse and thirst for vengeance?, Sotaetimes he would shed tears that seemed to scald his withered cheeks. He got into 'another county, and begged from door to door. As for Lurcher, he did not bqgrhe used to disappear, often for an hodr at a time, butalwaysreturned, and often with a rabbit or even a hare In his mouth. Sometimes the friends exchanged them for a gallon of meal, sometimes they roasted them in the woods; Lurcher was a civilized dog, and did not like tfcpn rjwr. Wandering hither and thither, Brian Taafe caffle at,last within a few miles of his own house; but he soon had cause to wish himself farther off it; for here he met his first d6wn-right rebuff, and, cruel to say, he owed it to his hard-hearted sons. One recognized him as the father of that rogue Guillaum Taafe, who had cheated him in the sale of a horse, and another as the father of that thief Shamns, who had sold him a diseased cow that died, the week after. So, for the first time since he Was driven out of his home, he passed the night supperless, for houses did not lie close together in that part. Cold, hungry, houseless and distracted with grief at what he had been and now was, nature gave way at last, and, unable to outlast the weary, bitter night, he lost his senses just before dawn, and lay motionless on the hard road. The chances were he must die; but just at Death*B door his luck turned. Lurcher put his feet over him and his chin upon his breast to guard bim, as he had often guarded Garret’s coat, and that kept a little warmth in his heart; and at the very dawn of dav the door of a farmhouse opened, and the master came out upon his business, and saw something unusual lying in the road a good way off. So he went toward it and found Brian Taafe in that condition. This farmer was very well-to-do, but he had known trouble, and it had made him charitable. He soon hallooed to his men, and had the old man taken in; he called his wife, too, and bade her observe that it was a reverend face, though he was all iu tatters. They laid him between hot blankets, and, when he came to a bit, gave him warm drink, and at last a good meal. He recovered his spirits, and thanked them with a certain dignity. When he was quite comfortable, and not before, they asked his name. “ Aht don’t ask me that,” said he piteously. “ It’s a bad name I have, and it used to be a good one too. Don’t ask me, or may be you’ll put me out, as the others did, for the fault of. my. two sons. It is hard to be turned from my own door, let alone from other honest men’s doors, through the vilyins,” said he. Some farmer was kindly, and said, “ Never mind your name, fill your belly.” But by and by the man went out into the yard, and then the wife could not restrain her curiosity. “ Why, good man,” said she, “ sure you are too decent a man to be ashamed of‘your name.” “ I’m too decent not to be ashamed of it," said Brian. “ But you are right; an honest man should tell his name though they druvhim out of heaven for it. lam Brian Taafe—that was.” r “ Not BrianJTaafe, the strong farmer at Oorrans?” “Ay, madam; I’m all that’s left of himT” “ Have you a son called Garret?” “I had, then” Thq woman spoke no more to him, but ran screaming to the door: “ Here, Tom! Tom! come here!” cried she. “Tom! Tom!” As Lurcher, a very sympathetic dog, flew to the door, and yelled and barked fiercely in support of the invocation, the hullabaloo soon brought the fanner running in. “Oh, Tom asthore,” cried she, “it’s Mr. Taafe, the father of Garret Taafe himself.” .. “O Lord!” cried the fanner, in equal agitation, and stared at him. “My blessing on the day you ever set foot within these doors!” Then he ran to the door and hallooed: “Hy, Morphy! Ellenl come hare, ye imps!” Lurcher supported the call with great energy. In ran a fine little boy and girl. “ Look at this man with all the eyes ip your body!” said he. “This is Misther Taafe, father of Garret Taafe, that saved us all from ruin and destruction entirely.”

He then turned to Mr. Taafe, and told him, a little more calmly, “ that years ago, every haporth they had was going to be carted for the rent: but Garret Taafe came by, put his hand in his pooket, took oat thirty, pounds, and cleared them In a moment. It was a way he had; we were not the only ones he saved that way, so long as he nad it to give.’ Tne bid man did not hear these last words; his eyes were opened, the Iron entered his soul, he overflowed with grief and penitence. “Och! murther! murther!” he cried. “My poor boy! what had Itodo at all to go and turn you adrift, as I done, for no raison in lire!” Then, kith a piteous, apologetic wail: “I tuck the wrong for the right; that’s the way the world is blinded. Oeh, Garret, Garret, what will Ido with the thoughts of it? An’ those two vilyins that I gave it all to, and they turned me out in my ould days, as I done you. No mather!” and he fell into a sobbing and a trembling that nearly killed him for the second time But the true friends of his son Garret nursed him through that, and comforted him; so he recovered. But, as he did Hto, he outlived those tender feelings whose mortal wounds had so nearly killed him. When he recovered this last blow he brooded and brooded, but never shed another tear. One day, seeing him pretty well restored, as he thought, the good farmer came to him with a fat bag of gold. “ Sir,” said he, “ soon after your son helped us, luck set In our way. Mary she had a legacy ; we had a wonderful crop of flax, and with that plant ’tis kill or cure; and then I found lead In the hill, and they pay me a dale o’ money for leave to mine there. I’m almost ashamed to take it. I tell you all this to show ypu I can afford to pay you back that thirty pounds, and if you please, I’ll count it out.” “No!” said Mr. Taafe, “I’ll not take Garret’s money; but if you will do me a favor, fond me the whole bag for a week, for at the sight of it I see a way to—- " Whisper.” Then, with bated breath and in strict confidence, he hinted to the farmer a schemo of vengeance. The farmer was not even to tell itto his wife; “ for,” said old Brian, “the very birds cany these things about; and sure it is knowing scamps I have to do with, especially the women." - Next day, the farmer lent Mm a good suit and drove him to a quiet corner scarce a hundred yards from his old abode. The old farmer got down and left him. Lurcher walked at his master’s heels. It was noon and the sun shining bright. The wife of Shamus Taafe came out to hang up her man’s shirt to dry, when, lo! scarce thirty yards from her, she saw an old man seated counting out gold on a broad stone at her feet. At first she thought it must be one of the good people —or fairies —or else she must be dreaming; but no! cocking her bead on one side, she saw for certain the profile of Brian Taafe, and he was counting a mass of gold. She ran in and screamed her hews rather than spoke it. “Nonsense, woman!" said Shamus, roughly; “ it’s not in nature.” “ Then go and see for yourself, man!” said she. Shamus was not the only one to take this advice. They all stole out on tiptoe, and made a sort of semi-circle of curiosity. It was no dream; there were piles and piles of gold glowing in the sun, and old Brian with a horse-pistol across his knees; and even Lurcher seemed to have his eyes steadily fixed on the glittering booty. When they had thoroughly drunk in this most unexpected scene, they began to talk in agitated whispers; but even in talking they never looked at each other; their eyes were glued on the gold. Said Guillaum: “Ye did very wrong, Shamus, to turn out the old father as you done; see now what we all lost by it. That’s a part of the money he laid by, and we’ll never see a penny of it.” The wives whispered that was a foolish thing to say: “Leave it to us,” said they, “ and we’ll have it all, one day.” This being agreed to, the women stole toward the old man, one on each side. Lurcher rose and snarled,-and old Brian hurried his gold into his ample pockets, and stood on foe defensive. “On, father! and is it you comeback? Oh, the Lord be praised! Oh, the weary day since you left us, apd all our good luck wid ye!” Brian received this and similar speeches with fury and reproaches. Then they humbled themselves and wept, cursed their ill-governed tongues, and bewailed the men’s folly in listening to them. They flattered him and cajoled him, and prdered their hushands to come forward and ask the old man’s pardon, and not let him ever leave them again. The supple sons were all penitence and affection directly. Brian at last consented to stay, but stipulated for a certain chamber with a key to it. “For,” said he, “I have got my strong-box to take care of, as well as myself.” They pricked up their ears directly at mention of the strong-box, and asked where it was. “ Oh I it is not far, but I can’t carry it. Give me two boys to fetch it.” “Oh! Guillaum and Shamus would carry it or anything to oblige a long-lost father.” So thev went with him to the farmer’s cart, and! brought in the box, which was pretty large, aid above all very full and heavy. He was once more king of his own house, and flattered and petted as he never had been since he gave away his estate. To be sure, he fed this by mysterious hints that he had other lands beside those in that part of the country, and that, indeed, the full extent of his possessions would never be known until his will was read; #hich will was safely locked away in his strong-box—with other things. And so he passed a pleasant time, embittered only by regrets, and very poignant they were, that he could hear nothing of his son Garret. Lurcher also was taken great care of, and became old and lazy. But shocks that do not kill undermine. Before he reached three-score-and-ten, Brian Taafe’s night-work and troubles told upon him, and he neared his end. He was quite conscious of it, and announced his own departure, bat not in a regretful way. He had become quite a philosopher; and indeed there was sort of chuckle about the old fellow in speaking of his own death, which his dhnghters-in-law secretly denounced as unchristian, and what was worse, unchancy. he did mention the expected event, he was sure to say, “ And mind, boys, my will is in that chest.” “ Don’t speak of it, father,” was the rehe was dying, he called for bofli his sons, and said, in a feeble voice: “I was a strong farmer, and come of honest folk. Ye’ll give me a good wakin*, boys, air a gran’ funeral.” I They promised this veiy heartily.-

“And after the funeral ye’ll all come here together, and open the will, the children an' all. AU bat Garret. Pvp left him nothing, poor boy. For sore he’B not in this world. I’U maybe see him where I'm goln\” So there Was a grand wake; and the virtues of the deceased and his professional importance were duly howled by an old lady who excelled in this lugubrious art. Then the funeral was hurrieaon, because they were In a hurry -to open the chest. The funeral was joinod In the churchyard by a stranger who muffled his face, and shed the only tears that fell upon that grave. After the funeral he stayed behind all the rest and mourned, but he joined the family at the feast which followed; and, behold! it was Garret, come a day too late. He was welcomed with exuberant affection, not being down in the will; but they did not ask him to sleep there. They wanted to be alone and read the will,. He begged for some reminiscence of his father, and they gave him Lurcher. So he put Lurcher Into his gig. and drove away to that good former, sure of his welcome, and praying God he might find him alive. Perhaps nis brothers would not have left him go so easily had they known he had made a large fortune in America, and was going to buyquite a slice of the county. On the way he kept talking to Lurcher, and reminding him of certain sports they had enjoyed together, and feats of poaching they had performed. Poor old Lurcher kept pricking his ears all the time, and cudgeled his memory as to the tones of the voice that was addressing bim. Garret reached the farm, and was received first with stares, then with cries of joy, and was dragged into the house, so to speak. After the first ardor of welcome, he told them he had arrived only just in time to buiy his father. “And this old dog,” said he, “is all that’s left me of him. Ho was mine first, and, when I left, he took to father. He was always a wise dog.” “We know him,” said the wife; “he has been here before.” And she was going to blurt it all out, but her man said, “ Another time,” and gave her a look as black as thunder, which wasn’t his way at all, but he explained to her afterward: “ They are friends, those three, over the old man’s grave. We should think twice before we stir ill blood betune ’em.” 8o when he stopped her, shp_ .turned.it off cleverly enough, and said the dear old dog must have his supper. Supper they gave him, and a new sheep-skin to lie on before the great fire. So there he lay, and seemed to doze. The best bed in the house was laid for Garret, and when he got up to go to it, didn’t that wise old dog get up too, with an effort, and move stiffly toward Ga»ret, and lick his hand; then he lay down again all of apiece, as who would say: “ I’m very tired of it all.” “He knows me now at last,” said Garret, joyfully. “That is his way of saying good-night, I suppose. He was also a wonderful wise dog.” In the morning they found Lurcher dead and stiff upon the sheep-skin. It was a long good-night he had bid so quietly to the friend of his youth. Garret shed tears over him, and said: “If I had only known what he meant, I’d have sat up with him. But I never could see far. He was a deal wiser for a dog than I shall ever be for a man.” Meantime the family party assembled in the bed-room of the deceased. Every trice of feigned regret had left their faces, and all their eyes sparkled with jovand cariosity. They went.to open the chest. It was locked. They hunted for the key;' first quietly, then fussily. The women found iC at last, sewed up In the bed; they cut it out and opened the chest. The first thing they found was a lot of stones. They glared at them, and the color left their faces. What deviltry was this? Presently they found writing on one stone; “Look below.” Then there was a reaction, and a loud laugh. “The old fox was afraid the money and parchments would fly away, so he kept them down.” They plunged their hands in, and soon cleared out a barrowful of stones, till they came to a kind of paving-stone. They lifted this carefully out, and discovered a good new rope with a running noose, and—the will. It was headed in large letters finely engrossed i “ The last will and testament of Brian Taafe.” But the body of the instrument was in the scrawl of the testator: “ I bequeath all the stones in this box to the hearts that could turn their father and benefactor out on the highway, that stormy night.” “I bequeath this rope to any father to hang himself with who is fool enough to give his property to his children before he dies.” This is a prosaic story compared with the Lear of Shakespeare, but it is well told by Gerald Griflin, who was a man of genius. Of course I claim little merit, but that of setting the jewels. Were 1 to tell you that is an art, I suppose you would not believe it.— Harper’t Weekly.