LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 850, 15 March 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

BRIAN TAAFE,

( Concluded.) Next day the farmer lent him 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 I scarce thirty yards from her, she saw an old man seated counting out gold on a broad stone at his feet. At first she thought it must be one of the good people—or fairies — cr else she must be dreaming; but no! cocking her head 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 news rather than spoke it. ‘ Nonsense, woman 1 ’ said Shaums, roughly ; ‘it is 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 tip-toe, and made a sort of semicircle 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 the 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 lie 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 towards the old man, one on each side. Lurcher rose and snarled, and old Brian hurried his gold into his ample pockets and stood on the defensive.

‘ Oh, father ! and is it you come back ? Oh, the weary day since you left us, and all our good luck wid ye !’ Bryan received this and similar speeches with fury and reproaches. Then they humbled themselves, and wept ; and cursed their ill-governed tongues, and bewailed the men’s folly in listening to them. They flattered him and cajoled him, and ordered their husbands 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 ! it is not far, but I can’t carry it; give me two boys to fetch it. ’ ‘ Oh 1 Guillaum and Shamus would carry it or anything else to oblige a long-lost father.’

So they went went with him to the farmer’s cart, and brought in the box, which was pretty large, and above all very full and hi-avy. He was once more king of his own house, and flattered and petted as he had never been since he gave away his estate. To be sure he fed this by mysterious hints that he had other lands besides those in that part of the country, and that indeed the full extent of his possessions would never bo known until his will was read; which 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 Garret. Lurcher also was taken care of, and became old and lazy. But shocks, that do not kill, undermine ; before he reached threescore and ten, Brian Taafe’s night-work and troubles told upon him, and he drew near his end. He was quite conscious of it, and announced his own departure, but not in a regretful way. He had become quite a philosopher ; and indeed there was a sort of chuckle about the old fellow in speaking of his own death, which his daughters-in law secretly denounced as unchristian, and what was worse, unchancy. Whenever he did mention the expected event, he was sure to say, ‘ And mind, boys, my will is in that chest. ’ ‘ Don’t spake of it, father,’ was the reply directly. When he was dying, he called forth 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, an’ a gran’ funeral.’ They promised this very heartily. ‘ And after the funeral ye’ll all come here together, and open the will, the children an’ all. All but Garret. I’ve left him nothing, poor boy, for sure he’s not in this world. I’ll maybe see him where I’m goin’, ’ So thee 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 hurried on, because they were in a hurry to open the chest. The funeral was joined 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 farmer, sure of his welcome, and praying God he might find huu alive. Perhaps his brothers would not have let him go so easily had they known he had made a large fortune in America, and was going to buy quite a slice of the county. ' >n the way he kept talking to Lurcher, and reminding him of certain sports they Lad enjoyed together, and feats of poaching they had performed. Boor old Lurcher kept pricking his ears all the time, and cudgelled his memory as to the tones of the voice that was addressing him. 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 tire first ardour of welcome, lie told them he had arrived only just in time to bury his father; ‘ and this old dog,’ said he, ‘is all that’s left mo of him. Ho was mine first, but Ayheu 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 I blurt it all out, but her man said, ‘ Another Ij time!’ and gave her a look as black as t thunder ; which wasn’t his way at all, but he explained to her after; ‘ They are friends, those three, over the old man’s grave. We should think twice, before we stir ill blood betune ’em.’ So when he stopped her, she turned it off cleverly enough, and said the dear old dog must have his supper. Supper they gave him, and a new sheepskin to lie on by the great fire. So there he lay, and seemed to dose.

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 towards Garret, and lick In's hand ; then he lay down again all of a piece, as who should 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 always a wonderful wise dog.’ In the morning they found Lurcher dead and stiff on the sheepskin. It was a long good-night he had bid so quietly to the friend of his youth. Garret shed tears over him, and said, ‘lf 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 bedroom of the deceased. Every trace of feigned regret had left their faces, and all their eyes sparkled with joy and curiosity. They went to open the chest. It was locked. They hunted for the key ; first quietly, then fussily. The women found it 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 thej 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, ‘ The Last Wile 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 for 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 Shakspeare, but it was well told by Gerald Griffin, who was a man of genius. Of course I claim little merit but that of setting the jewels. Were Ito tell you that is an art, I suppose you would not believe it.

I have put the two stories together, not without a hope that the juxtaposition may set a few intelligent people thinking. It is very interesting, curious, and instructive, to observe how differently the same events operate upon men who differ in character ; and perhaps ‘ the two Lears ’ may encourage that vein of observation; its field is boundless.