CHAPTER XI.
EUGENE M’CARTHY.
While on detachment at this place, I became acquainted with Eugene M’Carthy, a young man, whose education and intelligence far exceeded the generality of the people in the village. He was the most liberal-minded Catholic I ever met with; his views of the world and its manners were clear and unprejudiced, and to him I am principally indebted for what I know of the real state of Ireland; for party-spirit exists to such an extent, that it is almost impossible for a stranger to learn anything of it, unless through some prejudiced and distorted medium. There was something congenial in our habits and pursuits, which led us to associate; and in answer to the question from me, how he had managed to cultivate his mind more than the rest of his neighbours? he gave me the following history of his life.
‘My father possessed a farm of 100 acres, about five miles from this, which we still hold. My mother and two sisters, one older, and the other younger than me, composed his family. Being active and industrious, he managed his little estate in such a way that we were enabled to live comfortably and respectably. He was a man of strong sound sense, though in point of education not much above the common, his attention being more turned towards the improvement of his farm than his mind, but he was very anxious that his children should be well informed. Our village school was none of the best, and had it not been for my mother, we would have made little improvement. She was a native of Dublin, where she had received an excellent education, and having a natural taste for literature, she found little pleasure in associating with her neighbours—thus concentrating all her pleasures in her little family. She led us to the source from which she had derived so much pleasure, and early imbued our minds with a thirst for knowledge, which she took care to gratify by every means in her power. But her system of teaching was not that of the schools, unless in learning to read: we had no formal tasks—her book was nature, which she first led us to admire, then to examine, and when our curiosity was raised, she drew speech from stones, sermons from brooks, and good from every thing. The phenomena of nature, as they occurred, furnished subjects for explanation and illustration. The growth and construction of a flower—the change of seasons—the succession of day and night—the thunder, whirlwind, and tempest,—were all pressed into her service; and when our young imaginations were excited, she seized the important moment to impress their nature and use on our minds. Thus we were every moment insensibly acquiring knowledge, not by formal study, or by being pent up in a room, poring over a book for six or eight hours a-day, getting question and answer by rote like a parrot, but by our judgments being brought into action. Books, however, were not excluded: when our curiosity was once excited, and we felt inclined to acquire more information on any subject, we were referred to those which contained it, and by its being made the theme of a subsequent conversation, our doubts were solved, and our perplexities removed. The filial affection which this mode of education cherished, I shall feel to my latest breath. Her instructions were the pleasure of our lives, the withholding them the greatest punishment. We looked up to her as our guide, our comforter, and friend on all occasions.
‘One day I was questioning her with childish simplicity about the horizon, and the form of our earth, as they had been the subject of some of my reveries; and never shall I forget the flood of delight that flowed in upon my soul, when, with the ball I was playing with, suspended from a thread, she conveyed to my mind an idea of its form and motion. In morality her system was much the same; after having taught us its general principles, she left us to the freedom of our own will. She used to say such and such consequences attend on our good and evil actions, your minds will tell you which are most conducive to your happiness; thus, when we committed an error, she did not endeavour to avert the consequences, but seized on that opportunity to describe the pleasure a contrary conduct would have afforded. Her pious exhortations, however, were never formal, she watched the favourable moment for making an impression, when our hearts were uplifted by some unexpected good, or lighted up with pleasure from the appearance of nature; she then led us up to nature’s God, and expatiated on the wonders of his power, and attributes, until we spontaneously bowed in wonder and adoration. She is a Catholic, but not a bigoted one—she does not believe that other sects will be damned, if their hearts are sincere, and their actions good; and although she is regular in the duties of her church, she does not substitute them for the more important ones of mercy and justice. Under the guidance of such a mother, is it to be wondered at, that I am better informed than our neighbours?
‘However, my education did not rest here. From my earliest years, I was destined by my father for the church, in accordance with a foolish vanity prevalent in Ireland, which induces parents often to bring up some favourite son for the priesthood, to the injury of the rest of the family; and it is remarkable with what fond delusion they rely upon this individual for both worldly and spiritual benefits: the child so set aside is treated with as much deference as if he were already in office, and his brothers and sisters are slaved to procure the means for his subsistence, as a gentleman at college.
‘My mother did not take the same view of the subject as my father; she thought there was no want of priests, and she considered that I might be as good a man, and as useful to society, in some other situation of life; but her objections were overruled by my father, who was determined in his purpose.
‘From a preparatory school about forty miles from this, I was sent to Maynooth College, where I had been about two years, when I was summoned home, in consequence of my father’s illness, and arrived only in time to witness his last moments. My mother was in great distress of mind, and urged me strongly to give up my studies, and remain at home; but I needed little solicitation, for I had no taste for the life of a priest. I had been too early taught the sympathies, charities, and pleasures of domestic life, to prefer celibacy and seclusion in their stead; so I left college and settled at home.
‘I have been residing in town for these two months back, in consequence of my uncle’s absence in England, whose business I have to look after; but I expect him home in a few days, when, I trust, you will accompany me to see our little farm, when I will introduce you to her whom I have been describing, and I am sure you will say that I have not done more than justice to her character.’
Accordingly, when Eugene was relieved from his trust, I accompanied him out to B——. At the foot of a small avenue of trees, leading up to his house, we were met by a large Newfoundland dog, who came bounding down to meet his master, followed by Billy M’Daniel, who was a kind of fac totum on the farm.