It got confiscated

Like I said, God really does have a bad temper that if you screw up real badly he’s going to cause misfortune and even confiscate what you like. To put it this way, Caitlin Snow gets booted out of the Justice League for threatening to kill everybody in wolf form. Or if Stephanie Brown throws a tantrum and takes away Tim’s belongings whenever he got lazy.

That’s how angry God gets. This would be like when the manager or other musicians kick out a bandmate for harassing people. (This happened to the band Brockhampton.) Things like those illustrate how punitive he gets. Or if you will, it’s likely army training where a drill instructor confiscates the soldier’s belongings whenever they screw up at all.

That’s giving an example or two.

Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Volume 2 (Google Books)

THE LAST OF THE GERALDINES.

In the early part of my life the system of domestic government and family organisation was totally different from that at present in vogue. The patriarchal authority was then frequently exercised with a rigour which, in days of degenerate relaxation, has been converted into a fruitful subject for even dramatic ridicule. In Ireland the “rule of the patriarchs” has become nearly extinguished. New lights have shone Upon the rising generation; the “rights of women” have become a statute law of society; and the old wholesome Word obedience, by which all wives and children were formerly influenced, has been reversed, by prefacing it with the monosyllable dis.

“Everybody is acquainted,” said an intimate friend of mine to his wife in my presence, “with the ruinous state of obstinacy and contradiction raging in modern times among the subordinate members of families throughout the United Kingdom; as if the word united were applied to the empire only to satirise the disunited habits, manners, politics, religion, and morality of its population. There are,” continued he, “certain functions that must be exercised every day (two or three times a-day if possible) by persons of all descriptions, who do not wish to leave this world within a week at the very latest; but, unless on the absolute necessity of mastication for purposes of self-support, I am not aware of any other subject respecting which unanimity of opinion is even affected among the individuals of any family throughout the country.”

The wife nodded assent, but spake not; first, because she hated all controversy; and second, because though, on the subject of domestic supremacy, she was always sure of getting the worst of the argument, she contented herself with having, beyond doubt, the best of the practice.*

My friend’s observations were, I think, just. In my time the change has been excessive; and to enable my readers to form a better judgment of the matter, I will lay before them a few authentic anecdotes of rather antique dates.

In voL L I mentioned the illustrious exploits of my greataunt, Elizabeth Fitzgerald, of Moret Castle, and the heroic firmness wherewith she bore the afflicting view of my great-uncle Stephen, her husband, “dancing upon nothing” (as the Irish phrase it) at the castle-gate, immediately under the battlements; and though it is possible there may exist some modern ladies who might have sufficient self-possession to look on a similar object without evincing those signs of inconsolability natural to be expected on such an occasion, yet I will venture to say few are to be found who, like my aunt Elizabeth, would risk their lives and property rather than accept of a second husband. Nor do I believe that, since the patriarchal government has been revolutionised by the unnatural rebellion of wives and children, there has existed one lady—young, old, or middle-aged—in the three kingdoms, who could be persuaded to imitate the virtuous Gentoos, and voluntarily undergo conflagration with her departed lord and master.

My great-uncle had a son borne unto him by his magnanimous spouse, who was very young and in the castle at the time his father was corded {Hibemice). Elizabeth led him to the castletop, and showing him his dangling parent, cried, “See there!

* Mrs. Mary Morton of Ballyroan, a Very worthy domestic woman, told me many years since that she had but one way of ruling her husband, which, as it is rather a novel way, and may be of some use to my fair readers, I will mention in her own words.

“You know,” said Mrs. Morton, “that Tom is most horribly nice in his eating, and fancies that both abundant and good food is essential to his health. Now, when he has been out of temper with me, he is sure of having a very bad dinner; if he grumbles, 1 tell him that whenever he puts me into a twitter by his tantrums, I always forget to give the cook proper directions. This is sure,” added she, “of keeping him in good humour for a week at least!”

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you were born a Geraldine; the blood of that noble race is in you, my boy! See—see the sufferings of your own father! Never did a true Geraldine forgive an enemy! I perceive your little face gets flushed; you tremble; ay, ay, ’tis for revenge! Shall a Cahill live?”

“No, mother, no! when I’m able, I’ll kill them all! I’ll kill all the Cahills myself!” cried the lad, worked on by the fury of his respectable mother.

“That’s my dear boy!” said Elizabeth, kissing him fervently. “Shall one live?”

“No, mother, not one,” replied the youngster.

“Man, woman, or child?” pursued the heroine.

“Neither man, woman, nor child,” echoed her precocious son.

“You are a Geraldine,” repeated Elizabeth. “Call the priest,” added she, turning to a warder.

“He made a little too free, my lady mistress,” said the warder, “and is not very fitting for duty, saving your presence; but he’ll soon sleep it off.”

“Bring him up, nevertheless,” cried Elizabeth; “I command you to bring up his reverence.”

The priest was accordingly produced by Keeran Karry. “Father,” said the lady, “where’s your manual?”

“Where should it be,” answered the priest (rather sobered), “but where it always is, lady?” pulling, as he spake, a book out of a pocket in the waistband of his breeches, where (diminished and under the name of a. fob) more modern clergymen carry their watches.

“Now, your reverence,” said Elizabeth, “we’ll swear the young squire to revenge my poor Stephen, his father, on the Cahills, root and branch, as soon as he comes to manhood. Swear him!—swear him thrice!” exclaimed she.

The boy was duly sworn, and the manual reposited in the priest’s smallclothes.

“Now, take the boy down and duck him, head over heels, in the horse-pond!” cried his mother.

Young Fitzgerald roared lustily, but was nevertheless well soused, to make him remember his oath the better. This oath he repeated upon the same spot, while his mother lived, on every anniversary of his father’s murder; and it was said by the old tenants that “young Stephen,” though flourishing in more civilised times, religiously kept the vow as far as he could; and that, so soon as he came into possession of Moret, four of the ablest of the Cahills (by way of a beginning) were missed from the neighbourhood of Timahoe in one night, nobody ever discovering what had become of them,—indeed, the fewest words were considered far the safest.

The skeletons of four lusty fellows, however, were afterwards found in clearing out a pit in the Donane Colliery, and many persons said they had belonged to the four Cahills from Timahoe; but, as the colliers very sapiently observed, there being no particular marks whereby to distinguish the bones of a Cahill from those of any other “boy,” no one could properly identify them.

A bystander, who had been inspecting the relics, protested, on hearing this remark made, that he could swear to one of the skulls at least (which appeared to have been fractured and trepanned); and he gave a very good reason for this assertion— namely, that it was himself who had “cracked the skull of Ned Cahill at the fair of Dysart, with a walloper, and he knew the said skull ever after. It was between jest and earnest,” continued Jemmy Corcoran, “that I broke his head—all about a game-cock, and be d—d to it! and by the same token, I stood by in great grief at Maryborough, while Doctor Stapleton was twisting a round piece out of Ned Cahill’s skull, and laying a two-and-eight-penny-halfpenny* (beaten quite thin on the smith’s forge) over the hole, to cover his brains anyway. The devil a brain in his sconce but I could see plainly; and the said twoand-eight-penny-halfpenny stayed fast under his wig for many a year, till Ned pulled it off (bad luck to it!) to pay for drink

* An Irish silver half-crown piece, the difference of English and Irish currency.

VOL. n. 2 E

with myself at Timahoe. They said he was ever after a little cracked when in his liquor; and I’m right sorry for having art or part in that same fracture, for Ned was a good hoy, so he was, and nobody would strike him a stroke on the head at any rate after the two-and-cight-penny-halj”penny was pledged off his skull.”

Though Mr. Jemmy Corcoran was so confident as to the skull he had fractured, his testimony was not sufficient legally to identify a Cahill, and the four sets of bones heing quietly buried at Clapook, plenty of masses, etc., were said for an entire year by Father Cahill of Stradbally to get their souls clean out of purgatory; that is, if they were in it, which there was not a clergy in the place would lake on to say he was “sartain

en *

sure ot.

This Stephen Fitzgerald—who had killed the Cahills, sure enough, as became the time son and heir of the aforesaid Stephen, who was hanged—lived, as report went, plentifully and regularly at Moret. No better geutleman existed, the old people said, in the quiet way, after once he had put the four CahilLs into the coal-pit, as he promised his worthy mother Elizabeth, “the likes of whom Moret never saw before nor since, nor ever will while time is time, and longer too!”

Stephen had one son only, who is the principal subject of my present observations; and as he and his family (two lovely boys and two splendid girls) were not exactly the same sort of people commonly seen now-a-days, it may not be uninteresting to give my readers a picture of them.

* I recollect (at an interval of more than fifty years) Father Doran of Culrnaghbog, an excellent man, full of humour ami well informed, putting the tovl in the most comprehensible state of personification possible. He said the icvMi could not understand what the soul was by the old explanations.

“I tell you all, my flock,” said Father Doran, “there’s not a man, woman, or child among you that has not his soul this present minute shut up in lii^ body, waiting for the last judgment, according to his faith and actions. 1 tell you fairly, that if flesh could be seen through, like a glass window, you might see every one’s soul at the inside of his body peeping out through the rihs liki,’ the prisoners at the jail of Maryborough through their iron bars; anJ the moment the breath is out of a man or woman, the soul escapes and makes of I” be dealt with as it deserves, and that’s the truth: so say your beads and renumber your clergy ! “—(Aulltor’s note.)

Stephen, the son of Elizabeth, had been persuaded by Mr. John Lodge, an attorney of Bull Alley, in the city of Dublin (who married a maid-servant of my grandfather’s at Cullenagh), that the two-mile race-course of the Great Heath in Queen’s County, which King George pretended was ids property because it had been formerly taken from a papist Geraldine, now reverted to my great-uncle’s family, in consequence of their being Protestants; and Mr. Lodge added, that if Squire Stephen would make his son a counsellor, no doubt he would more aptly trace pedigrees, rights, titles, and attainders, and, in fine, get possession of several miles of the Great Heath, or of the race-course at any rate.

The advice was adopted, and Stephen the son was sent to the Temple in London to study law; and while there, was poisoned at a cook’s shop by the cook’s daughter because he would not marry her. This poisoning (though it was not fatal), he always said, stopped his growth like witchcraft.

The father died in his bed; and my uncle, Stephen the counsellor, became a double relative from marrying Catherine Byrne, daughter of Sir John Byrne, Bart., of Timahoe Castle, and sister to my grandmother, heretofore mentioned. After he had studied Bracton, Fleta, Littleton, the Year Books, the three Cokes, and in short the marrow of the English law, he used to say that he got on very well with the first book, not so well with the second, worse with the third; and at length found that the more he read, the more he was puzzled, knowing less when he left off than when he began—as all the law-books contradicted each other like the lawyers themselves: thus, after two years’ hard work, he gave up all further attempts to expound what he swore ‘fore God was utterly inexplicable. He also relinquished his father’s squabble with King George as to the race-course on the Great Heath; and, concentrating his search after knowledge upon one learned book, the Justice of Quorum’s PocIect Companion, commenced magistrate. He was likewise a horse-racer, country gourmand, tippler, and farmer. His wife, my aunt, was as .ordinary a gentlewoman “as may be seen of a summer’s day;” but then, she was worthy in proportion.

As to my uncle’s figure, nothing resembling it having ever been seen, at least by me, I cannot pretend to give any idea of it, save by an especial description. He was short (which he said was the effect of the poison), and as broad as long—appearing to grow the wrong way. He observed, touching this subject, that where there are materials for growth, if anything does not advance in height, it spreads out like a fir-tree* when the top shoot is broken off and it fills wide at the bottom. He was not actually fat, nor particularly bony: I think his bulk consisted of solid, substantial flesh. His face was neither extravagantly ugly, nor disproportioned to his body; but a double, or rather treble chin descended in layers very nearly to the pit of his stomach, whence his paunch abruptly stretched out, as if placed by Nature as a shelf for the chin to rest upon. His limbs each gained jn thickness what it wanted in length; so that it would seem impossible for him to be thrown down, or if he were, he would roll about like a ball His hands (as if Nature exhibited the contrast for amusement’s sake) were thin, white, and ladylike—so much so, indeed, that did he fall, they could not help him up again. “Each particular hair” was almost of the thickness of a goose-quill; his locks were queued behind, and combed about once or twice a-month. His nostrils were always crammed with snuff (now and then discharged, as from a mortar, by sneezing), and his chins were so well dusted and caked with that material, that the whole visage at times appeared as if it were a magazine thereof.

My uncle’s dress exactly matched his style of person: he

always wore a s/iw^coloured coat and breeches, with a scarlet waistcoat that had been once bound with lace (the strings whereof remained, like ruins in a landscape); blue worsted stockings, and immense silver shoe and knee buckles. His hat was very large, with a blunt cock in front. It had also once been fully laced; but no button had been seen on it since the year succeeding his nuptials.

* This idea was a standing joke with him for some time, till old Kit Julian, the retired exciseman (heretofore mentioned), made a hit at my uncle, which put his comparison to an end. “By my troth, then, Counsellor,” said Kit, “if you arc like a fir, it is not a ‘spruce fir’ anyhow.” This sarcasm cut my uncle in the raw; and it was said that he had an additional shaving-day and clean crmt every week afterward.— (Author’s note.)

The fruits of my uncle’s marriage were, as I have said, two boys and two girls. The eldest of these Geraldines, Tom, took to what ignorant doctors call poison—but country gentlemen, potation. My uncle declared he knew from his own experience that a “little learning was a dangerous thing;” and therefore thought it better that Tom should have none at all! Tom therefore studied nothing but “Cardan’s receipt for drinking!” The art of writing his own name came pretty readily; but his penmanship went no further. At twenty-six he quarrelled with a vicious horse, which was easily offended. The animal, on his master’s striking him with a whip, returned the blow with his hoof; and on Tom being taken to his chamber and examined, it was found that he had left the greater part of his brains in the stable.

Jack, his brother, was now heir-apparent. His figure was nearly as grotesque, but only half the size of his father’s; his eyes were of the most cautious description, one closely watching his nose, the other glancing quite outward, to see that no enemy approached. He loved liquor as well as Tom, but could not get down so much of it. Nevertheless, after a pretty long life, he was concluded by rather extravagant and too frequent doses of port and potteen.

I have already given some account of the castle of Moret as it formerly appeared. When I last saw it, some dozen of years back, it presented nothing remarkable save its ivy covering. The dwelling-house, which, as it stood in my uncle’s time, would have been worth detailing (had not every country gentleman’s mansion been of a similar genus), had declined into an ordinary residence. In Squire Stephen’s day it was low, long, dilapidated, dirty, old, and ugly—and had defied paint, plaster, and whitewash, for at least the better half of a century. The ham, court, dunghill, pigeon-house, horse-pond, piggery, and slaughter-house, formed, as usual, the chief prospects from the parlour-windows; and on hot days the effluvia were so exquisite, that one might clearly distinguish each several perfume.

My uncle never could contrive to stick on horseback, and therefore considered riding as a dangerous exercise for any gentleman. He used to say it was indeed one of his standing jokes, that jockeys and vulgar persons, being themselves leasts, might stick by virtue of mutual attraction upon their own species; but that ladies and gentlemen were, as a matter of course, always subject to tumble off. He bred and kept, notwithstanding, four or five race-horses, which he got regularly trained; and at every running upon the heath or curragh he entered such of them as were qualified by weight, etc.; yet, singularly enough, though the animals were well bred and well trained, not one, during the whole of the five-and-twenty years that he kept them, ever won a plate, prize, or race of any description; for .ill that he would never sell either for any price; and when they got too old to run any more, they were turned out to end their days unmolested in a marsh and the straw-yard. It was said by those competent to judge that some of these animals were excellent, but that Squire Fitzgerald’s old groom used to give trials, and to physic the horses, and that (through his people) they were bought off when there was a probability of their winning. However, my uncle, so that none of them were distanced, was just as well pleased, exhibiting not the least uneasiness at their failure. Indeed, he never attended any of the races personally, or betted a shilling upon the event of one—circumstances which remind me of a certain judge, who was always sufficiently gratified by a simple conviction and by passing sentence on a culprit, eventually saving more lives by pardon than any two of his colleagues.

I was very young when taken to my uncle’s for a stay of some months by my grandmother, but at an age when strong impressions are sometimes made upon the memory. I was a gTe.it

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Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Volume 2
By Sir Jonah Barrington

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favourite, and indulged in everything, even by my uncle; and very frequently afterward, while my aunt lived at Moret in her widowhood, I visited there, every visit reminding me of former times, and recalling persons and things that might otherwise have been lost to my juvenile recollection. This hitter was the period when, having nobody of my own age in the house to chatter to, I took delight in hearing the old people about Moret tell their long traditionary stories, which, as I observed in my first sketch (voL i.) descended from generation to generation with hereditary exactness; and, to the present day, I retain a fondness for hearing old occurrences detailed.

My eldest female cousin, Miss Dolly Fitzgerald, was at least twelve years older than I when I was first taken to Moret by my grandmother; the second, Miss Fanny, ten. Never, sure, did two sisters present such a contrast. Dolly was as like her father as rather more height and an uncommonly fair skin would permit; her tongue was too large for the mouth, and consequently thickened her pronunciation; her hair was yellow; her feet were like brackets, and her hands resembled milkwhite shoulders of mutton. Her features were good, but her nostrils and upper lip displayed considerable love of the favourite comforter of her father. She was very good natured, but ignorance personified.

Her sister was as thin as the handle of a sweeping-brash, and had dark eyes twinkling like stars on a vapoury evening, with yellow skin, black hair, a mouth literally stretching across the face (like a foss to protect her chin), very red lips, and much more vivacity than comprehension. There were few sound teeth in the whole family, and none that a dentist would think worth the expense of dressing.

For these two amiable young ladies it was the principal object of my aunt to procure husbands, if possible, in the neighbourhood . But the squires were shy of matching into the family of so great an oddity as my uncle. They preferred getting wives among people who went on the jog-trot of the world like themselves.

On this point my uncle and aunt entirely differed; and during the discussions as to their differences, time ran on, nothing was done for the ladies, and Miss Dolly was in her sixand-twentieth year before she was fully emancipated from the discipline of the nursery and suffered to dine at papa’s table. When that important period arrived, it was considered as a great epoch at Moret Castle; all the neighbours were invited, and Dolly’s majority was formally announced. She was then given to understand she might thereafter dine at the great table, speak to any gentleman she pleased, and, in short, have full liberty to act entirely as she thought proper, provided she always previously consulted her father’s will, and obeyed it without “questions asked.” She was likewise enjoined to take especial care not to forget her pastry*

On these free and happy terms, Dolly was to have the chariot for a day, and to set the world on fire. The old carriage was accordingly cleared for action from the dust accumulated upon it, the horses’ tails were trimmed, and the young lady was to go to the church of Portarlington the ensuing Sunday— “where,” said my uncle to his spouse, “‘fore Gad, Kate, our Dolly will catch some young fellow after the service is over, either in the aisle or the churchyard. She’ll have some proposals; but, ‘fore Gad, it’s not everybody I’d give her to.”

“Don’t be too sure, Stephen,” rejoined my aunt. “You keep your daughters as if they were haunches of vension. It’s not everybody who has a taste for meat that has been hung a fortnight in the larder to give it a flavour. The men, I tell you, like fresh and fresh, Stephen; and be assured you have kept Dolly too long to suit every man’s palate. I have always been telling you so, but you are perpetually saying you’ll be the head of your own family; so now you’ll see the end of it1”

* The Irish Indies in the country at that period were always taught the art of pie and dumpling making, as a necessary accomplishment; and a husband who bleed a good table always preferred a housekeeper to a gadder. Tanpom mulantur !—(Author’s note.)

The ladies seem to have vexed our author. There are no gadders now; the work of life keeps their noses to the grinding-stone.

“Why, Kate, you were a good while in the larder yourself at Timahoe before you got a husband,” replied my uncle.

“I may thank the smallpox for that, Stephen,” retorted my aunt: “only for that enemy I should never have been mistress of Moret Castle, Counsellor Stephen being governor of it!”

“Well, you’ll see that I am right,” said my uncle. “I tell you, men who look out for wives like a seasoned, obedient woman at the head of their families, and not your tittering, giddy young creatures that have not had time to settle their brains or mature their understandings. No girl should be away from the eye of her natural guardian till she arrives at the full extent of her twenty-sixth year, like Dolly. “You’ll see now she’ll do some mischief at the church or churchyard of Portarlington!”

“Stephen,” said my aunt (who, by-the-by, had her nose nearly stopped by the smallpox, which made her somewhat snuffle, and gave a peculiar emphasis to her vowels) ’tis too late! Dolly knows nothing of the world. It would take a full year at the church and balls at Portarlington, the races of the Great Heath and green of Maryborough, the hurlings at the fort of Dunnally, and a month or two on a visit to our nephew, Jack Barrington, at Blandsfort, before she would learn enough to be able to converse with mankind on any subject—except darning your stockings, or turning off a kitchen-maid.”

My uncle started as much as his form would admit; cocked his eyebrows, and stared with all his might. “Tore Gad, Kate, I believe you are out of your wits! Did you say Jack Barrington’s of Blandsfort? Jack Barrington’s! Why, you know very well, Kate, as everybody knows, that there’s nothing going on at that house but hunting and feasting; dancing all night, and rattling about all day like mad people; and coshering with raking pots of tea, hot cakes, syllabubs, pipers, and the devil knows what! No, no. If Dolly were to get one month among her cousins at Blandsfort, I should never see a day’s comfort after; topsy-turvy would go Moret! I’d never be master of my own house half-an-hour after Dolly had received a course of instruction at Jack Barrington’s. I don’t wish her to know too much of the world. No, no. Tore Gad, Kate, Dolly never puts her foot, while she is a spinster, into Jack Barrington’s house at Blandsfort.”

Folks generally become mulish as their years advance, and my uncle enjoyed that quality in its greatest perfection. The Misses Dolly and Fanny Fitzgerald were commanded, under the pain of displeasure, by their patriarchal father, Stephen, to abjure and give up all thoughts of the festivities of Blandsfort.

“‘Fore Gad, Kate!” said my uncle to their more conceding mother—” ‘Fore Gad, Kate, you had better send the girls a visiting to the antipodes than be turning them upside down at Blandsfort. No rational man would have anything to do with them afterwards. There it is only pull-haul and tear, and the devil take the hindmost!—eh?”

“And for Heaven’s sake, Stephen,” replied my aunt (who was no cosmographer), “what family are these antipodes whom you would send our daughters to visit in preference to their nearest relations ?—I never heard of them: they must be upstarts, Stephen. I thought I knew every family in the county.”

“‘Fore Gad, Kate!” rejoined my uncle, laughing heartily, “your father, old Sir John, ought to be tied to the cart’s tail for so neglecting your education. Why, Kate, the antipodes are at this moment standing on their heads immediately under you— upside down, just as you see a fly on the ceiling, without the danger of falling down from it.”

“And for Heaven’s sake, Stephen,” said my puzzled aunt, “how do the ladies keep down their petticoats in that position?”

“Ask Sir Isaac Newton that,” said my uncle, who was not prepared for that interrogation. “But let me hear no more of the topsy-turvy of their cousins at Blandsfort. I’ll send my daughters to church at Portarlington, Kate, where they cannot fail of being seen and much noticed.”

“And that may not be much in their favour at present, Stephen,” replied my aunt, who was not blind to her progeny— “at least until they are a little better rigged out than in their present nursery dresses, Stephen.”

“Rig away, rig away, Kate!” said my uncle, “rig away; you may make them as tawdry as jackdaws, so as you don’t turn their heads at Jack Barrington’s.”

In fine, they were made sufficiently glaring, and, accompanied by aunt in the resuscitated postchaise, made their first debut at the church of Portarlington. Of course they attracted universal notice. The ladies congratulated my aunt on her showy girls; the parson on their coming of age; and the innkeeper declared they were the most genteelest of all the new subscribers to his ball and supper at the market-house.

The ladies returned to Moret highly delighted with their cordial reception in the churchyard, and Mrs. Gregory, the head mantua-maker of the county, was immediately set to work to fit out the ladies in the newest taste of Dublin fashions, preparatory to the next ball.

Now, Portarlington had been a very small village in the Queen’s County until the French Protestant emigrants, on the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, made a settlement there (it was said from the enormous quantity of fine frogs generated in that neighbourhood), and there they commenced schoolmasters and mistresses, with a good reputation, which they ceased not to keep up, until in time it became an established seminary. Here the numerous schools and academies were always ready to pour out their hobbledehoys and misses in their teens to the dances and assemblies; but very few mature gentlemen assisted at these coteries, and it was the customary prayer of all the young ladies going to those balls—” If I cannot get a man for a partner, 0 Heaven, in thy mercy, send me a big boy!”

Suffice it to say that my cousins, at the first ball, outglared all the females in the room put together; my aunt’s old rings and hereditary paraphernalia had been brought fully into requisition. But, unfortunately, Providence sent them that night neither a grown man-partner nor a big boy in the shape of a man-partner, and, after having sat as full-blown wall-flowers

the whole night, they returned to Moret highly discouraged that their rose-colour satin and family Dresdens, which cut all the other girls out of feather, had no better result than the going home again—my philosophical aunt telling them all the way home, “that balls were no places to catch husbands at, there was so much variety; and I assure you, Dolly,” said my aunt, “men, now-a-days, look more at a girl’s purse than her flounces, and you’ll have nothing very showy in that way whilst your father and mother are alive, Dolly.”

My poor cousin Dolly’s feet also, after three balls more (dead failures), got so crimped and cramped by tight shoes, to restrain her fat brackets within reasonable boundaries, that corns, bunions, callosities, etc., showed a plentiful harvest the ensuing summer, and, conspiring with her winter chilblains, and tortures to match, put my poor cousin’s jigging out of the question for the remainder of her existence.

My cousin Fanny, whose feet were only bone and gristle, made numerous exhibitions both in the minuet and rigadoon, and for the same purpose. But no wooers for the Miss Fitzgeralds of Moret Castle made their advances; not a sigh was exploded for either of the demoiselles, though the church, the balls, the races at the Great Heath, and hurlings at the fort of Dunnally, were all assiduously attended for the laudable purpose aforesaid. All in vain. And after a two years’ vigorous chase the game was entirely given over, and my cousins slunk back into cover, where, in all human probability, they would have remained during their hives, had not heaven sent down a putrid fever to bring my uncle Stephen up to it, as all the old ladies asserted, to please the widow, although old Julian, the exciseman, ungratefully remarked, that “there must have been a great number of vacancies in Heaven when they called up the counsellor there.” However, before her weeds got rusty, my aunt, shaking a loose leg, after having been forty years handcuffed and linked to Counsellor Stephen, set out with the entire family for the great city of Dublin, where, no doubt, the merits if not the beauty of my cousins, with a more proximate reversion, would be duly appreciated.

However, neither their merit nor beauty, nor the reversion, could exorcise the spirit of celibacy, which still pursued them from Moret. Jack, their brother, married a mantua-maker; and my poor uncle, not being a Mahomedan, and, of course, not having any houri in the clouds to solace his leisure hours, and finding himself lonesome without his old Kate, Providence again showed its kindness towards him, and sent down a pulmonary consumption to Dublin to carry my aunt up to her well-beloved Stephen. My unfortunate cousins were now left orphans, of only forty and forty-one years of age, to buffet with the cares of the world, and accept the brevet-rank of old maidens, which they certainly did with as much good-humour and as little chagrin as are generally exhibited on those occasions. Their incomes were ample for all their purposes, and they got on to the end of their career very comfortably. Dolly chose three lap-dogs and a parrot for her favourites, and Fanny adopted a squirrel and four tom-cats to chase away her ennui But those animals having a natural antipathy to each other, got into an eternal state of altercation and hostility, the parrot eternally screeching to make peace between them. So a maidservant, who understood the humour of poodles, cats, etc. etc., was hired to superintend and keep them in peace and proper order.

This maid of natural history got great ascendency; and, as she was what is termed in Ireland a swaddler, in England a canter or psalm-singer, she soon convinced my cousins that there was no certain road to salvation, save through the preachers and love-feasts of those societies. Of course a plate was laid ready for some lank pulpiteer at dinner, every day, and my cousins became thorough-paced swaddlers (singing excepted). But, as years would still roll on, and they could not be always swaddling, and saving their souls, some extra comfort was, as customary, found necessary for their languid hours. The maid of natural history therefore suggested that, as solid food and weak Bordeaux were not of the best efficacy for feeble appetites, which her mistresses were beginning to show symptoms of, a glass of cordial, now and then, in the morning, might restore the tone of their stomachs. Of consequence, a couple of liqueurbottles were prepared, and always properly replenished; the ladies found their liquid appetites daily increase: the preacher got the whole bottle of wine to himself; Lundyfoot’s most pungent was well crammed into my cousin’s nostrils, as an interlude, till snuffling was effected; and the matter went on as cheerily as possible between the dogs and cats, the preacher, snuff, and the cordial comforts, till an ill-natured dropsy, with tappings to match, sent my cousin Dolly to my uncle Stephen; and some other disorder having transmitted cousin Fanny the same journey to her mother, I anticipated very great satisfaction in opening the last will and testament of the survivor; whereupon, all things being regularly prepared, with an audible voice I read the first legacy, bequeathing ” her body to the dust, and her soul to God,” in most pious and pathetic expressions, and of considerable longitude. The second legacy ran: “Item—to my dear cousin, Jonah Barrington, I bequeath my mother’s wedding-ring and my father’s gold sleeve-buttons, as family keepsakes; also all my father’s books and papers of every description, except bonds, or any securities for money, or contracts ;” and so far looked favourable, till, casting my eye over the third legacy, to the wonder of the company I stopped short, and handing it cautiously to the swaddling preacher (who was present), begged he would be so kind as to read it himself. This office he coyly accepted, and performed it in a drawling whine, and with heavy sighs, that made everybody laugh, except myself. In fine, cousin Fanny, after her ” soul to God, and her body to the dust” (the latter of which legacies she could not possibly avoid), as to all her worldly substance, etc., bequeathed it ” to such charitaUc purposes as her maid Mary might think proper, by and with the spiritual advice and assistance of that holy man, Mr. Clarke. This pious philosopher never changed a muscle at his good fortune. The will, indeed, could be no surprise either to him or Mrs. Mary. With the aid of the orator’s brother, who was an attorney (and got snacks), they had prepared it according to their

own satisfaction; and cousin Fanny executed it one evening, after her cordial and prayers had their full operation ; and, in a few days more, her disorder put a conclusive termination to any possibility of revoking it.

This affair had its sequel exactly as any rational person might have anticipated. The preacher and Mrs. Mary, after a decent mourning, united their spiritual and temporal concerns, and became flesh of the flesh and bone of the bone; in which happy state of husband and wife (which happy state they had been in many months before the ceremony was thought necessary) they remained nearly two years, when his reverence, happening to light on a younger and handsomer swaddler and legatee, after beating Mrs. Mary almost to a jelly, embarked with his new proselyte for America, where, changing his name, curling his hair, colouring his eyebrows, etc. etc., he turned Quaker, and is at this moment, I have learned, in good repute at meeting, and solvency as a trader, in the city of Philadelphia.

The entire of my uncle Stephen’s library and manuscripts, with the exception of the year-books, Newcastle on the Manege, seven farriery and several cookery books, I gave to my friend, old Lundyfoot, to envelop his powder in; and most of my books being well impregnated, or rather populously inhabited, by divers minute and nearly impalpable maggots, probably added some poignancy to the sneezing qualities of his celebrated preparation.

I recollect a whimsical expression used by Davy Lander, an Irish counsellor, whom I brought with me to hear the will read. “By my soul, Barrington,” said Lander, “she was right enough in bequeathing her soul to God, out of hand, or the devil would certainly have taken it as heir-at-law! But I hope he has the reversion.”

That branch of the Geraldines is now entirely extinct, having ended with my cousin Fanny, the swaddler; and nothing now remains but the old castle, its celebrated ivy tree, St. Bridget’s stone, and my legends, to preserve even the recollection of Morct.

HANGING AN ATTORNEY BY ACCIDENT.

A Hanging-match of a very curious nature occurred a few days after the breaking out of the same rebellion in Dublin, and its relation will form an excellent companion to that of Lieutenant H ‘s mode of execution.

The attorney’s corps of yeomanry, horse and foot, were at that period little less than 800 or 900 strong; and I really believe it might, in an enemy’s country (or even in a remote district of its own), have passed for as fine a “pulk of Cossacks” as ever came from the banks of the Don or the Danube.

In Ireland, everything has its alias denomination; in the regular army, certain regiments are honoured by the titles of the “King’s own,” the “Queen’s own,” or the “Prince’s own,” etc. Many of the Irish yeomanry corps, in 1798, were indulged with similar distinctions; not indeed by the King himself, but by his majesty’s sovereign mob of Dublin. For example, the attorney’s regiment was christened, collectively, the “Devil’s own;” the infantry part of it, the Rifle Brigade; and the cavalry, the Chargers; the custom-house corps, Ccesar’s {scizer’s) army, etc etc. etc. The pre-eminent titles thus given to the attorneys, who are gentlemen by act of parliament, were devised by one Mr. Murry, a cheese and oilman in Great George Street, whose premises (as he deponed) were stormed one night by a patrol of that legal corps, and divers articles of the first quality—food and luxury, cheeses, hams, tongues, anchovies, Burton ale, and bottled porter, etc., were abstracted against his will therefrom, and feloniously conveyed into, and concealed in, the bodies, bowels, and intestines, of divers ravenous and thirsty attorneys, solicitors, and scriveners; and thereby conveyed beyond the reach or jurisdiction of any search-warrants, replevins, or other

favourite, and indulged in everything, even by my uncle; and very frequently afterward, while my aunt lived at Moret in her widowhood, I visited there, every visit reminding me of former times, and recalling persons and things that might otherwise have been lost to my juvenile recollection. This hitter was the period when, having nobody of my own age in the house to chatter to, I took delight in hearing the old people about Moret tell their long traditionary stories, which, as I observed in my first sketch (voL i.) descended from generation to generation with hereditary exactness; and, to the present day, I retain a fondness for hearing old occurrences detailed.

My eldest female cousin, Miss Dolly Fitzgerald, was at least twelve years older than I when I was first taken to Moret by my grandmother; the second, Miss Fanny, ten. Never, sure, did two sisters present such a contrast. Dolly was as like her father as rather more height and an uncommonly fair skin would permit; her tongue was too large for the mouth, and consequently thickened her pronunciation; her hair was yellow; her feet were like brackets, and her hands resembled milkwhite shoulders of mutton. Her features were good, but her nostrils and upper lip displayed considerable love of the favourite comforter of her father. She was very good natured, but ignorance personified.

Her sister was as thin as the handle of a sweeping-brash, and had dark eyes twinkling like stars on a vapoury evening, with yellow skin, black hair, a mouth literally stretching across the face (like a foss to protect her chin), very red lips, and much more vivacity than comprehension. There were few sound teeth in the whole family, and none that a dentist would think worth the expense of dressing.

For these two amiable young ladies it was the principal object of my aunt to procure husbands, if possible, in the neighbourhood . But the squires were shy of matching into the family of so great an oddity as my uncle. They preferred getting wives among people who went on the jog-trot of the world like themselves.

On this point my uncle and aunt entirely differed; and during the discussions as to their differences, time ran on, nothing was done for the ladies, and Miss Dolly was in her sixand-twentieth year before she was fully emancipated from the discipline of the nursery and suffered to dine at papa’s table. When that important period arrived, it was considered as a great epoch at Moret Castle; all the neighbours were invited, and Dolly’s majority was formally announced. She was then given to understand she might thereafter dine at the great table, speak to any gentleman she pleased, and, in short, have full liberty to act entirely as she thought proper, provided she always previously consulted her father’s will, and obeyed it without “questions asked.” She was likewise enjoined to take especial care not to forget her pastry*

On these free and happy terms, Dolly was to have the chariot for a day, and to set the world on fire. The old carriage was accordingly cleared for action from the dust accumulated upon it, the horses’ tails were trimmed, and the young lady was to go to the church of Portarlington the ensuing Sunday— “where,” said my uncle to his spouse, “‘fore Gad, Kate, our Dolly will catch some young fellow after the service is over, either in the aisle or the churchyard. She’ll have some proposals; but, ‘fore Gad, it’s not everybody I’d give her to.”

“Don’t be too sure, Stephen,” rejoined my aunt. “You keep your daughters as if they were haunches of vension. It’s not everybody who has a taste for meat that has been hung a fortnight in the larder to give it a flavour. The men, I tell you, like fresh and fresh, Stephen; and be assured you have kept Dolly too long to suit every man’s palate. I have always been telling you so, but you are perpetually saying you’ll be the head of your own family; so now you’ll see the end of it1”

* The Irish Indies in the country at that period were always taught the art of pie and dumpling making, as a necessary accomplishment; and a husband who bleed a good table always preferred a housekeeper to a gadder. Tanpom mulantur !—(Author’s note.)

The ladies seem to have vexed our author. There are no gadders now; the work of life keeps their noses to the grinding-stone.

“Why, Kate, you were a good while in the larder yourself at Timahoe before you got a husband,” replied my uncle.

“I may thank the smallpox for that, Stephen,” retorted my aunt: “only for that enemy I should never have been mistress of Moret Castle, Counsellor Stephen being governor of it!”

“Well, you’ll see that I am right,” said my uncle. “I tell you, men who look out for wives like a seasoned, obedient woman at the head of their families, and not your tittering, giddy young creatures that have not had time to settle their brains or mature their understandings. No girl should be away from the eye of her natural guardian till she arrives at the full extent of her twenty-sixth year, like Dolly. “You’ll see now she’ll do some mischief at the church or churchyard of Portarlington!”

“Stephen,” said my aunt (who, by-the-by, had her nose nearly stopped by the smallpox, which made her somewhat snuffle, and gave a peculiar emphasis to her vowels) ’tis too late! Dolly knows nothing of the world. It would take a full year at the church and balls at Portarlington, the races of the Great Heath and green of Maryborough, the hurlings at the fort of Dunnally, and a month or two on a visit to our nephew, Jack Barrington, at Blandsfort, before she would learn enough to be able to converse with mankind on any subject—except darning your stockings, or turning off a kitchen-maid.”

My uncle started as much as his form would admit; cocked his eyebrows, and stared with all his might. “Tore Gad, Kate, I believe you are out of your wits! Did you say Jack Barrington’s of Blandsfort? Jack Barrington’s! Why, you know very well, Kate, as everybody knows, that there’s nothing going on at that house but hunting and feasting; dancing all night, and rattling about all day like mad people; and coshering with raking pots of tea, hot cakes, syllabubs, pipers, and the devil knows what! No, no. If Dolly were to get one month among her cousins at Blandsfort, I should never see a day’s comfort after; topsy-turvy would go Moret! I’d never be master of my own house half-an-hour after Dolly had received a course of instruction at Jack Barrington’s. I don’t wish her to know too much of the world. No, no. Tore Gad, Kate, Dolly never puts her foot, while she is a spinster, into Jack Barrington’s house at Blandsfort.”

Folks generally become mulish as their years advance, and my uncle enjoyed that quality in its greatest perfection. The Misses Dolly and Fanny Fitzgerald were commanded, under the pain of displeasure, by their patriarchal father, Stephen, to abjure and give up all thoughts of the festivities of Blandsfort.

“‘Fore Gad, Kate!” said my uncle to their more conceding mother—” ‘Fore Gad, Kate, you had better send the girls a visiting to the antipodes than be turning them upside down at Blandsfort. No rational man would have anything to do with them afterwards. There it is only pull-haul and tear, and the devil take the hindmost!—eh?”

“And for Heaven’s sake, Stephen,” replied my aunt (who was no cosmographer), “what family are these antipodes whom you would send our daughters to visit in preference to their nearest relations ?—I never heard of them: they must be upstarts, Stephen. I thought I knew every family in the county.”

“‘Fore Gad, Kate!” rejoined my uncle, laughing heartily, “your father, old Sir John, ought to be tied to the cart’s tail for so neglecting your education. Why, Kate, the antipodes are at this moment standing on their heads immediately under you— upside down, just as you see a fly on the ceiling, without the danger of falling down from it.”

“And for Heaven’s sake, Stephen,” said my puzzled aunt, “how do the ladies keep down their petticoats in that position?”

“Ask Sir Isaac Newton that,” said my uncle, who was not prepared for that interrogation. “But let me hear no more of the topsy-turvy of their cousins at Blandsfort. I’ll send my daughters to church at Portarlington, Kate, where they cannot fail of being seen and much noticed.”

“And that may not be much in their favour at present, Stephen,” replied my aunt, who was not blind to her progeny— “at least until they are a little better rigged out than in their present nursery dresses, Stephen.”

“Rig away, rig away, Kate!” said my uncle, “rig away; you may make them as tawdry as jackdaws, so as you don’t turn their heads at Jack Barrington’s.”

In fine, they were made sufficiently glaring, and, accompanied by aunt in the resuscitated postchaise, made their first debut at the church of Portarlington. Of course they attracted universal notice. The ladies congratulated my aunt on her showy girls; the parson on their coming of age; and the innkeeper declared they were the most genteelest of all the new subscribers to his ball and supper at the market-house.

The ladies returned to Moret highly delighted with their cordial reception in the churchyard, and Mrs. Gregory, the head mantua-maker of the county, was immediately set to work to fit out the ladies in the newest taste of Dublin fashions, preparatory to the next ball.

Now, Portarlington had been a very small village in the Queen’s County until the French Protestant emigrants, on the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, made a settlement there (it was said from the enormous quantity of fine frogs generated in that neighbourhood), and there they commenced schoolmasters and mistresses, with a good reputation, which they ceased not to keep up, until in time it became an established seminary. Here the numerous schools and academies were always ready to pour out their hobbledehoys and misses in their teens to the dances and assemblies; but very few mature gentlemen assisted at these coteries, and it was the customary prayer of all the young ladies going to those balls—” If I cannot get a man for a partner, 0 Heaven, in thy mercy, send me a big boy!”

Suffice it to say that my cousins, at the first ball, outglared all the females in the room put together; my aunt’s old rings and hereditary paraphernalia had been brought fully into requisition. But, unfortunately, Providence sent them that night neither a grown man-partner nor a big boy in the shape of a man-partner, and, after having sat as full-blown wall-flowers

the whole night, they returned to Moret highly discouraged that their rose-colour satin and family Dresdens, which cut all the other girls out of feather, had no better result than the going home again—my philosophical aunt telling them all the way home, “that balls were no places to catch husbands at, there was so much variety; and I assure you, Dolly,” said my aunt, “men, now-a-days, look more at a girl’s purse than her flounces, and you’ll have nothing very showy in that way whilst your father and mother are alive, Dolly.”

My poor cousin Dolly’s feet also, after three balls more (dead failures), got so crimped and cramped by tight shoes, to restrain her fat brackets within reasonable boundaries, that corns, bunions, callosities, etc., showed a plentiful harvest the ensuing summer, and, conspiring with her winter chilblains, and tortures to match, put my poor cousin’s jigging out of the question for the remainder of her existence.

My cousin Fanny, whose feet were only bone and gristle, made numerous exhibitions both in the minuet and rigadoon, and for the same purpose. But no wooers for the Miss Fitzgeralds of Moret Castle made their advances; not a sigh was exploded for either of the demoiselles, though the church, the balls, the races at the Great Heath, and hurlings at the fort of Dunnally, were all assiduously attended for the laudable purpose aforesaid. All in vain. And after a two years’ vigorous chase the game was entirely given over, and my cousins slunk back into cover, where, in all human probability, they would have remained during their hives, had not heaven sent down a putrid fever to bring my uncle Stephen up to it, as all the old ladies asserted, to please the widow, although old Julian, the exciseman, ungratefully remarked, that “there must have been a great number of vacancies in Heaven when they called up the counsellor there.” However, before her weeds got rusty, my aunt, shaking a loose leg, after having been forty years handcuffed and linked to Counsellor Stephen, set out with the entire family for the great city of Dublin, where, no doubt, the merits if not the beauty of my cousins, with a more proximate reversion, would be duly appreciated.

However, neither their merit nor beauty, nor the reversion, could exorcise the spirit of celibacy, which still pursued them from Moret. Jack, their brother, married a mantua-maker; and my poor uncle, not being a Mahomedan, and, of course, not having any houri in the clouds to solace his leisure hours, and finding himself lonesome without his old Kate, Providence again showed its kindness towards him, and sent down a pulmonary consumption to Dublin to carry my aunt up to her well-beloved Stephen. My unfortunate cousins were now left orphans, of only forty and forty-one years of age, to buffet with the cares of the world, and accept the brevet-rank of old maidens, which they certainly did with as much good-humour and as little chagrin as are generally exhibited on those occasions. Their incomes were ample for all their purposes, and they got on to the end of their career very comfortably. Dolly chose three lap-dogs and a parrot for her favourites, and Fanny adopted a squirrel and four tom-cats to chase away her ennui But those animals having a natural antipathy to each other, got into an eternal state of altercation and hostility, the parrot eternally screeching to make peace between them. So a maidservant, who understood the humour of poodles, cats, etc. etc., was hired to superintend and keep them in peace and proper order.

This maid of natural history got great ascendency; and, as she was what is termed in Ireland a swaddler, in England a canter or psalm-singer, she soon convinced my cousins that there was no certain road to salvation, save through the preachers and love-feasts of those societies. Of course a plate was laid ready for some lank pulpiteer at dinner, every day, and my cousins became thorough-paced swaddlers (singing excepted). But, as years would still roll on, and they could not be always swaddling, and saving their souls, some extra comfort was, as customary, found necessary for their languid hours. The maid of natural history therefore suggested that, as solid food and weak Bordeaux were not of the best efficacy for feeble appetites, which her mistresses were beginning to show symptoms of, a glass of cordial, now and then, in the morning, might restore the tone of their stomachs. Of consequence, a couple of liqueurbottles were prepared, and always properly replenished; the ladies found their liquid appetites daily increase: the preacher got the whole bottle of wine to himself; Lundyfoot’s most pungent was well crammed into my cousin’s nostrils, as an interlude, till snuffling was effected; and the matter went on as cheerily as possible between the dogs and cats, the preacher, snuff, and the cordial comforts, till an ill-natured dropsy, with tappings to match, sent my cousin Dolly to my uncle Stephen; and some other disorder having transmitted cousin Fanny the same journey to her mother, I anticipated very great satisfaction in opening the last will and testament of the survivor; whereupon, all things being regularly prepared, with an audible voice I read the first legacy, bequeathing ” her body to the dust, and her soul to God,” in most pious and pathetic expressions, and of considerable longitude. The second legacy ran: “Item—to my dear cousin, Jonah Barrington, I bequeath my mother’s wedding-ring and my father’s gold sleeve-buttons, as family keepsakes; also all my father’s books and papers of every description, except bonds, or any securities for money, or contracts ;” and so far looked favourable, till, casting my eye over the third legacy, to the wonder of the company I stopped short, and handing it cautiously to the swaddling preacher (who was present), begged he would be so kind as to read it himself. This office he coyly accepted, and performed it in a drawling whine, and with heavy sighs, that made everybody laugh, except myself. In fine, cousin Fanny, after her ” soul to God, and her body to the dust” (the latter of which legacies she could not possibly avoid), as to all her worldly substance, etc., bequeathed it ” to such charitaUc purposes as her maid Mary might think proper, by and with the spiritual advice and assistance of that holy man, Mr. Clarke. This pious philosopher never changed a muscle at his good fortune. The will, indeed, could be no surprise either to him or Mrs. Mary. With the aid of the orator’s brother, who was an attorney (and got snacks), they had prepared it according to their

own satisfaction; and cousin Fanny executed it one evening, after her cordial and prayers had their full operation ; and, in a few days more, her disorder put a conclusive termination to any possibility of revoking it.

This affair had its sequel exactly as any rational person might have anticipated. The preacher and Mrs. Mary, after a decent mourning, united their spiritual and temporal concerns, and became flesh of the flesh and bone of the bone; in which happy state of husband and wife (which happy state they had been in many months before the ceremony was thought necessary) they remained nearly two years, when his reverence, happening to light on a younger and handsomer swaddler and legatee, after beating Mrs. Mary almost to a jelly, embarked with his new proselyte for America, where, changing his name, curling his hair, colouring his eyebrows, etc. etc., he turned Quaker, and is at this moment, I have learned, in good repute at meeting, and solvency as a trader, in the city of Philadelphia.

The entire of my uncle Stephen’s library and manuscripts, with the exception of the year-books, Newcastle on the Manege, seven farriery and several cookery books, I gave to my friend, old Lundyfoot, to envelop his powder in; and most of my books being well impregnated, or rather populously inhabited, by divers minute and nearly impalpable maggots, probably added some poignancy to the sneezing qualities of his celebrated preparation.

I recollect a whimsical expression used by Davy Lander, an Irish counsellor, whom I brought with me to hear the will read. “By my soul, Barrington,” said Lander, “she was right enough in bequeathing her soul to God, out of hand, or the devil would certainly have taken it as heir-at-law! But I hope he has the reversion.”

That branch of the Geraldines is now entirely extinct, having ended with my cousin Fanny, the swaddler; and nothing now remains but the old castle, its celebrated ivy tree, St. Bridget’s stone, and my legends, to preserve even the recollection of Morct.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ohio Law Journal, Volume 1, Part 2 (Google Books)

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.

Detective Norris Relates a Romance.

“Never condemn a person on circumstantial evidence, it is unreliable, even when the circumstances seem to fit into each other like a couple of cog-wheels,” said John T. Norris, who is an experienced detective of Springfield, Ohio.

“Give us the story, Uncle John.”

“Not long ago there resided in Franklin County a wealthy old maid. Miss Sabina Smith. By inheritance she was the possessor of a large farm, on which was an old-fashioned, though comfortable, dwelling-house. She was reputed to have a good square bank account.”

“How old is she?”

“Well, on the shady side of seventy, but she had a weekness, like all old maids, not for kittens, poodles or canaries, but for children. She had raised several orphan girls, who are now well settled in life. In 1865, she adopted a sixyear-old, black-eyed girl, bright as a button, named Mollie McCann, whose father had fallen in battle fighting for his flag and country, while her mother, crazed with grief, pined and faded away. Mollie soon learned to love her new mother, and from a prattling maid in short-clothes and pinafores she soon bloomed forth into a gushing school-girl, and at eighteen was the belle of every rustic gathering—the pretty Miss Mollie McCann, over whom the boys raved and the girls envied. To all her admirers she turned a deaf ear, and with a pretty toss of her head, and merry twinkle of her rougish eye, bade them ‘be off, and not bothering her.’

“Miss Smith was sensible; knew that Mollie would probably marry, and have a home of her own some day, so she neither discouraged her fondness for society nor harped upon the miseries of wedded life in the maiden’s ear, but when she came back from the State Fair at Columbus in 1878, and told her adopted mother about a young gentleman she had met, his attentions and good qualities, Miss Smith was not pleased, nor did she hesitate to frown her displeasu re,and ad vise her ward to turn a willing ear to the many suitors of the neighborhood, instead of seeking in far-off fields that which was nearer home.

“But Mollie was like many another, struck on a traveling man, and “she carried on a secret correspondence with him through a lady friend for a long time, until at last they were engaged.

“Miss Smith and Mollie were the sole occupants of the house. The bedrooms were four in number, two of which were used as spare rooms, one occupied by Miss Smith and containing two beds, Mollie occupying one, Miss Smith the other. The fourth bedroom was called Mollie’s but was only used by her when a lady friend was visiting her. In one of these spare bedrooms was an old-fashoned bureau and book-case combined, the top drawer of which could be converted into a a desk. The back part of the drawer was fitted u\ with small drawers. In the summer of 1879 th sum of $355 was missed from the drawer; in the summer of 1808 1290 mysteriously disappered, together with a small quantity of gold coins which had been in the family for over a century. On the 29th day of last May, Miss Smith loaned to a neighbor $500 giving him her check and he signing a note in her favor. Sickness prevented his presenting the check at the bank at Columbus, and, learning that Miss Smith was going to that city on the 30th, he requested her to get it cashed. She did so, and returned with Mollie about dark on that day, having the money all in one hundred-dollar bills.

“The house was all securely locked down stairs, and Miss Smith deposited the $500 in the secretary-drawer, closed the drawer, locking it and placing the key in the bureau-drawer Deneath. She then locked the room containing the bureau, and placed the key under some quilts that lay in a wardrobe in her bedroom. Before retiring she locked her bedroom door, and she and Mollie retired for the night in separate beds in the same room. The next morning, April 1, the neighbor who had borrowed the money, having a long journey to perform, during which he expected to make a payment on some land purchated, called as early as five o’clock, before Miss Smith and Mollie had arisen.

“Awakening Miss Smith, she took her key from the wardrobe, unlocked the bedroom, then taking the bureau-drawer key from the under drawer of the secretary, opened this to find the money gone. She went down stairs; every thing was locked and bolted as she had left it the night before.”

“Who took that money?”

“That was the question that confronted me. There were no signs of a burglary; no lock forced, windows and doors all right. No one else in the house but Miss Smith and Mollie. Of course, I at once examined the girl. She talked freely, said she always had a presentiment that the money would be stolen—in fact, had a presentiment that night, but feared to tell the old lady for fear of alarming her. I soon learned that Mollie had a key which fitted the bedroom containing the bureau, hence my suspicions were strengthened that Mollie had arisen in the night, either unlocked the door with her own key or taken the one in the wardrobe, and, securing the money, hid it either in or out of the house without awakening the old lady. I finally told Mollie that I should have to search her, and make a thorough examination of the house.

“‘ Well,’ she naively remarked,’if you do find any money about the home it won’t prove that I stole

“‘ It will be prima facie evidence,’ I said.

“I locked her up in her bedroom and began a thorough search; band-boxes pried into, bureaudrawers pulled out, cupboards ransacked, and finally went through her own room. Under the carpet under her bed I found in a compact wad twelve one hundred-dollar bills. Now the total amount known to be missing was only $1,045. where had the $155 come from? Where had the gold coins gone to? Was the bureau-drawer paying interest on its deposit?

“‘Now I’ve got you Mollie,’ as I confronted her.

“Mollie fainted.

“A bottle of camphor and a little cold water brought her speedily to, yet she sturdily proclaimed her innocence.

“‘ I didn’t take Miss Smith’s money; no I did not,’ she convulsively exclaimed between her sobs.

“Miss Smith, would hot allow me to take her to jail, where, I reasoned, confinement would soon compel her to confess.

“My work, however, was but partially done, for the gold coins had not turned up.

“I determined that those coins must be in the house and resolved upon a thorough search from cellar to garret. The cellar disclosed nothing, and at last I stumbled upon a small stairway leading to the garret, the door to which was a common trap-door securely fastened by padlock, to which was attached three links of a chain.

“‘ Give me the key,’ I said to Miss Smith, ‘to that trap-door up in the attic’

“‘ Oh, no use to look there, the keys have been lost for over five years, and no one has been up there since.’ There were cobwebs on the door, but I noticed that over the crack of the door’s edge they appeared to have been broken away, caused by the door having been recently opened. With an ax I speedily got the door open and saw large foot-prints in the dust. By the aid of a lamp I followed the course of the tracks over the boards which lay across the shaky rafters to the furthest part of the garret, where, over an old cross-beam, hung a pair of old-fashioned saddle-bags. The dust on the bags had been re? cently disturbed. In one of the pockets I found the five one hundred-dollar bills which disappeared on the night of the 30th of May, the $355 that was missed in the summer of 1879, the $290 that was lost in 1880, and, better than all, the rare old gold coins upon which Miss Smith set such store as an heirloom. I had found $1,200 too much. The mystery deepened. I resolved upon one thing, and that was that Mollie must know something about the money that was hid under the carpetbeneath her bed. I talked kindly to her, told her that Miss Smith’s money had all been found, and urged her to tell me how the $1,200 came under the carpet of her bed.

“1 You will not believe me if I tell you, but if Miss Smith will go out I will explain. I put that money there; it was my lovers. He had saved it out of his wages and given it to me to keep. I destroyed his letters, for fear my aunt would find it out. There’s the story.’

“‘ But how did the old lady’s money get into the garret?’

“‘ She carried it there herself. She was a som”nambulist, and walked in her sleep.’

“How did you prove it Mr. Norris^ Did the old lady let you occupy the bedroom and catch her?”

“Oh, no. I got the old lady to take of her shoe and stocking and place her No. 6 foot down on a sheet of white paper. With a lead pencil I marked out her foot on that sheet of paper. With a pair of scissors I carefully cut out the exact shape of the old lady’s foot, which fitted exactly in the tracks in the dust on the garret boards. Besides that Mollie’s foot was much smaller, she only wearing a No. 2£ shoe, and would not fit the track. I also on careful examination found traces of cobwebs in the frill of the old lady’s night-cap, while Mollie wore no night-cap. So you see I proved, it by both ends —the old lady’s head and by her feet. I explained all to the satisfaction of the old lady, she paid me my money, and I predict a wedding soon at the Smith mansion, with Mollie McCann as the bride.”

The Country Gentleman, Volume 25 (Google Books)

To My MoTHER IN HEAVEN.”—A lady residing in the Rue de Rivoli, Paris, returned some time since from a visit she had made in the department of Finisterre, bringing with her a young orphan girl, poor, but very pretty, named Yvonne S–, whom she engaged as her waiting maid. Last month, a short time after her return to Paris, she died. When the body had been prepared for the coffin, and was for a short time left alone, Yvonne was seen to go stealthily into the room, lift up the shroud, and then hastily leave. The first idea was that she had taken a ring which, at the express desire of the deceased, had been left on her finger. On examination, however, the ring was discovered to be untouched, but a paper was seen attached with a pin to the shroud. On inspection it was found to be a letter addressed by the young orphan to her mother, who died two years ago, as follows: “My good Mother.-I have to tell you that M. B.-has made me an offer of marriage. As you are no longer here, I beg you to make known to me in a dream whether I ought to marry him, and to give me your consent. I avail myself, in order to write to you, of the opportunity of my mistress, who is going to heaven.” The letter was addressed “To my Mother in Heaven.” The person alluded to in the letter is one of the tradesmen of the deceased lady, who, having been struck with the good conduct of the young girl, had made her an offer of marriage.

The ladies of Paris, not content with dying their hair red, now dye their lapdogs to match the color of their dresses. Green dogs, yellow dogs, and sky-blue pugs are all the rage. Wealthy parties have sets of lapdogs of all colors. A purple lapdog would be an addition to a fine landscape

“D U R A L AFFAIRs.” THREE VOLUMES.

Godey’s Magazine, Volume 16 (Google Books)

M , June 10, 1835.

DEAR F-, Having a few leisure hours from business to-day, I have taken my seat, in order to give you a few thoughts upon a subject important and highly interesting to us both, and one that should command our deepest solicitude, —the education and management of the little Julia.-I feel impressed with the importance and responsibility in which you and myself stand in relation to her, and have reflected somewhat at large upon the errors and misconceptions of duty on the part of parents generally, in the education and government of children.—I have resolved in my mind a few desultory thoughts upon the subject, which I have to-day committed to paper, intending to present them to your consideration, with the single request, that you will read them attentively; and if, in your future management of her for whose benefit they are intended, you shall discover any suggestions of importance, I hope the fact of their being communicated thus early, will be no just cause for their being forgotten or disregarded. The remark of Addison, that “there is nothing which we receive with so much reluctance as advice,” however true in its general application, I am confident will not hold good as between you and myself. It is an undeniable fact, that in the prosecution of business, or in the discharge of duty, either to ourselves or to others, nothing is more important, and yet nothing, perhaps, is less generally attended to by the great majority of mankind, than the adoption of a few simple and practical rules for the government of our conduct while in the transaction of such business, or in the discharge of such duty; and I know you will appreciate it rather as an act of kindness than dictation, if I suggest to you a few thoughts for your serious consideration in regard to this important and interesting subject.–From the hasty manner in which they have been drawn up, as well as from my inexperience in such matters, they are undoubtedly not what they should be; but such as they are, I am confident you will give them all the attention and consideration which they deserve.—I have arranged them under the following divisions: I. In the first place then, my dear F , let this solemn and important truth be strongly impressed upon your mind, that the moral destiny of the little JULIA, whether for good or for evil, is principally, if not exclusively placed in your own hands—that it belongs to you, in the high and responsible character of a mother, to train her budding intellect into a ripened and unblemished maturity—to mould her feelings and habits of thinking and acting into a strict conformity with the principles of virtue, and to elevate her moral sense above the frailties and frivolities, which, without intending to be sarcastic or cynical, I must say, characterise but too many of the sex.-Who can say what influence a mother’s teaching may have upon the formation and development of character?—Who is there, who recollects any thing of a mother’s habits and conduct in early life, but feels that he owes much of his ideas and moral perceptions to her influence and example?—I venture to say that no individual who has risen to distinction, whether in the annals of crime or of virtue, but can trace back the cause of such pre-eminence either to the indiscreet indulgence or moral precepts of maternal education.—This high moral responsibility now rests upon you,-one eminently calculated to call out the better feelings of our nature, in the endeavor to promote another’s happiness and welfare.—In that, as yet, innocent and unconscious little creature, you have an exhibition of all the elements which go to constitute all that is vicious or all that is virtuous in human nature.—You have placed before you, in that dear little miniature of humanity that cherub-like epitome of all the passions and all the feelings of our common nature, an object, if not a source, both to itself and to ourselves of much good or much evil, in after life. God grant that she may be so reared and so instructed as to partake alone of the first, without a tincture of the latter. II. There is, perhaps, no part of a mother’s duty less understood, or, at least, less prudently W.”. than that of correcting a child for any ittle misdemeanor that it may be guilty of.

Upon such occasions, the conduct of some mothers resembles that of a fury more than a woman of sense and discretion. After threatening a child for its inattention to her commands, time after time, until it no longer believes her, all at once, upon some new exhibition of disobedience, she flies into an ungovernable passion, seizes the little delinquent, and belabors it most unmercifully with any thing she can lay her hands upon, using, all the while, the most vulgar and indecent language, by way of menace and intimidation. The consequence is, the child does not know what it is whipped for, or thinks it has been extremely abused for doing that which it has been so frequently permitted to do with impunity, and thinking so, it strives most lustily to rival its mother’s violence, by its own vociferous screaming. Then follow, by way of peace-offering and pacification on the part of the mother, the most endearing epithets of condolence, and any quantity of sugar plumbs, sweetmeats, &c. This is a great and grievous fault, and should be guarded against with the most assiduous care. In regard to the little JULIA, always endeavor to keep your temper cool and calm, but your purpose firm and determined, when chastising her for any misdemeanor she may have committed. Never allow yourself, upon such an occasion to get into a violent passion, or show any petulence of feeling. Children, however young in years, have more powers of discrimination, and observe the things around them with a more scrutinizing intelligence, than one half of the parents of the present day are aware of. If a child discovers its parents to be peevish and inconsistent in their conduct, it will either become disgusted and rise superior to the example set before it, or it will imitate and adopt their character and habits— the latter of which is by far the most usual exhibition of the human mind, in its earlier and more ductile manifestations of character. When you threaten her, therefore, do so seriously, and with a full determination of carrying it into execution, if she disobeys you ; and when such chastisement is absolutely necessary, (and it should never be resorted to unless it is so) never let it appear to her that you are gratifying your own passions, rather than correcting her own misconduct; but impress her mind fully with the duty of obedience and the propriety of good behaviour. III. In all your intercourse with her, although you should undoubtedly be affectionate and even playful in your daily treatment of her, never allow your manner to sink into the common badinage of the day,or the namby-pamby manifestations of maternal love, which we see every hour in the modern nursery, but always maintain a proper degree of elevated self-respect (the true dignity of the mother) and you never will be mortified in after life, by any want of respect on her * How often do we see, even in grown up daughters, a degree of contumelious disregard and disrespect to paternal wishes and feelings, which is utterly unworthy of a civilized state of society, and subversive of that kind and considerate attention, that dutiful and affectionate acquiescence, so peculiarly due from a daughter to a mother ‘And yet, if we look into the cause of this state of things, we will find, nine times in ten, that

the fault is exclusively on the side of a mother, in her early indulgence and want of discretion. Far be it from my intention to advance a single idea that would tend to repudiate, or even diminish that state of confidential and unsophisticated interchange of thought and feeling, which should ever exist between the mother and the child; amid all the heartless selfishness and treachery which break the ties of other relations in life, that should be preserved holy and inviolate; but notwithstanding this proposition, I still think it possible for even a mother to be too familiar with her daughter.—Now, do not be startled at this declaration. I do not mean that a mother should be in the least reserved in any thing, however delicate, that has, or may have, the most remote bearing upon the happiness or welfare of her daughter; but I mean that there are many little weaknesses in a mother, (because all who are human have some weak points) which should be most scrupulously concealed from the observation of her child. For instance, how common is it for many mothers to entertain their daughters with the repetition of the lowest species of gossip, the veriest dregs of scandal, that ever emanated from the vile sinks of petty detraction. This is a degree of familiarity which should not exist between any persons of genteel pretensions, much less between a mother and her daughter; between whom, on the one side, there should exist the highest respect, and on the other, the deepest solicitude. From our child’s imbibing this disgraceful habit through your example, dear F-, I have not the least apprehension, but if from her intercourse with her associates in society, she should ever evince a disposition of the kind, crush it in the bud at once; depict to her the disgraceful consequences of so vile a habit, and she will arm herself against its influence, and discountenance it for ever. IV. Upon the subject of a child’s dress, although my notions may appear trifling and frivolous, yet if you will look round among your juvenile associates, perhaps you may discover in their habits some reason in my views in this particular. There is no person more ready than myself to acknowledge the propriety, and even importance, of a proper attention and regard to personal appearance; because that attention is not more in accordance with what is due to a proper spirit of self-respect in ourselves, than it is a decorous manifestation of regard for the good opinion and respect of others; but in our attention to such appearance, we should endeavor to be genteel rather than showy ; plain, rather than extravgant; more anxious to wear a diamond in the heart, than in the ears, or upon the fingers; and more ambitious of intellectual than of personal or mere physical superiority. To be sure, extravagance in female attife, is less reprehensible than in that of the male; because, in the intercourse of fashionable life, much more depends upon their personal appearance; but nothing can justify a foolish and improvident expenditure, such as we frequently see displayed by those who can but ill afford it. The passion for dress and ostentatious parade, I am confident from the little observation I have made, is sown at a very early age in the female mind; through

the indiscreet lavishment of finery, and trinkets, and toys, which too many mothers mistake for an affectionate solicitude for the welfare and happiness of their offspring. A child from the age of three to ten years, should be dressed neatly and with correct taste—it should be early inducted into the habit of personal cleanliness, and incited by a just pride of personal appearance; but it should not be bedizzened out with laces, and feathers, and flounces, and furbelows, more like an infant circus-rider, than a child intended to be educated in a rational and proper manner. Such foolish decorations are indicative of any thing else than good sense in parents; but if it involved nothing more than their folly, it would be a subject of but trifling comparative importance.—Its effects, however, upon the character and disposition of children, cannot be other than pernicious; and being so, the practice should be discountenanced by all sensible and discreet mothers. V. Never foster or encourage selfishness in a child, especially in a daughter.—Nothing is so beautiful an adornment of the female character, as a pure and disinterested benevolence.—It is that, more than all else, which marks the distinctive traits in the character of the two sexes; it is that peculiar and amiable sweetness of temper in the female constitution, which gives to woman’s character all its loveliness and all its influence, and makes her, as she really is, when thus happily constituted, a “ministering angel” upon earth. It should be a mother’s highest happiness to exhibit to society such a specimen of her moral culture; it should be her daily care to check any ebullition of passion, or any evidence of vicious propensity, calculated to mar the beauty of her workmanship. There is a native vanity and selfishness enough in the human heart, without giving aliment to its growth, or encouragement & its development.— The passions will cultivate and take care of themselves; the great object of education should be to give impulse and energy to the moral and intellectual faculties.—Without such artificial incitement, the passions will fructify and expand themselves with fearful power, and ultimately overcome those salutary and conservative checks of the moral constitution, without which man is but a rudderless vessel, completely at the mercy of the winds and waves of a tempestious life.— There is some, I may say, an imperious necessity for selfishness in the other sex, who have to struggle with a world that is full of it; but with a female, there is no such necessity, or at least not to the same extent, because the theatre of her influence and power is circumscribed within the limits of the domestic circle, where all the social and milder virtues should blend in a harmonious interchange of affection, and in a bland exercise of a pure and disinterested benevolence. There is no way better calculated to make a child selfish and overbearing in its disposition, than the manner in which many parents manage their servants in relation to their care of it. They are made to gratify every whim of the child, however capricious; minister to every desire, however improper; and submit to every indignity, however disgusting. Children indulged in this manner, become perfect little tyrants.

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Sure of being sustained in their conduct, however exceptionable, by their parents, they exact the most exorbitant services, and manifest an insolence of manner, which so far from displeasing or alarming the parent, is frequently appreciated and commended as the most promising evidence of spirit and talent. Such a course of conduct is extremely improper, and should not be encouraged. VI. Always endeavor to be clear, distinct and uniform, in your discriminations between right and wrong. The just appreciation of right, as distinct in its acquirement from precept, is not so much an intuitive faculty as some writers upon moral philosophy have intimated. The philosophy of Locke, whatever may be its errors in other respects, is certainly sound in regard to the inanition of the human mind in its original condition, unaffected by surrounding circumstances. The formation or creation of primary ideas of right and wrong in the infant minds, depends entirely upon the doctrine of induction. There is no such thing as innate principle in the }. of original intellection: the mind, ike the body, is the creature, if not the result of circumstances; it is moulded according to the influences around it; different combinations of circumstances produce different combinations of mind. If this theory be true, how important is it to act with circuinspection and prudence in the presence of children, who watch our conduct closely, and copy with equal facility, both our virtues and our vices. In your elucidations, therefore, of that which is right, as distinct from and superior to that which is wrong, always observe the strictest consistency of reasoning. Let no temptation, however inviting, seduce you from the most rigid adherence to this rule. Never call that right to-day which you have repudiated as wrong yesterday, and you will thus erect in her young mind a fixed standard of discrimination between right and wrong, that not all the sophistry and ingenuity of false reasoning during her subsequent life, can ever unsettle or disturb. VII. Never practice deception, however innocent in its nature, either with the child herself, or with any one else in her presence. This is a very common, and a very pernicious fault with most of mothers. Nothing could be better calculated to destroy that confidence which every child should feel in its parent, than a deceitful and double-dealing spirit, exhibited in the daily conduct of such parent. The child that has observation enough to discover this trait in the character of its mother, will always doubt her most solemn statements, and be sceptical in its belief, with regard to her professions generally. And o a child, under these circumstances, may possibly be obedient and dutiful, yet it never can feel that respect and veneration which a correct and consistent mother so naturally inspires in the breasts of her children. VIII. “Every man thinks his own geese swans” is a maxim, founded upon the universal principles of the human heart; and if it were changed into “Every mother thinks her own children persect,” it would answer quite as many illustrations in every day practice. This is an inveterate prejudice, but it is far from being a discred

itable one, because it is an evidence of warmth ** w

of affection, though it certainly manifests any thing else than a sound and discriminating judgment. In any difficulties that may occur between your child and those of others, never allow your feelings to become excited before you have a true and impartial statement of all the facts connected with the matter in dispute. This is another great error in the conduct of a great majority of parents. They think their children, like the regal estate in the English government, can do no wrong; and consequently when any of these little infallibles get into a quarrel, or perhaps fight with those of their neighbors, the idea that they may be in the wrong, never once enters their minds; and upon these occasions, instead of each properly correcting their children, they seem to strive who can say the most low and vulgar things of each other ; thus affording a fine example for their respective children to applaud and imitate. These ebullitions of a too common prejudice, which we frequently see taking place between mothers of . even refined and elegant general manners, are not only ridiculous and discreditable in themselves, but they have a very injurious influence upon the dispositions of their children; inasmuch as they naturally induce them to believe that they have an indisputable right to infringe upon the immunities and privileges of others with impunity. A habit of thus sustaining children, whether they are right or wrong, will tend to destroy all ideas of social duty, and instil into their youthful minds a spirit of captious and ill-natured contention, which may follow them through life, and not only make their own situations, unhappy, but all those with whom they may be connected. IX. 1 recollect reading, a few days since, in some of the Magazines, Blackwood’s I think, an admirable essay upon the subject of the style of language which mothers generally use in conversations with young children, and was forcibly struck with the truth and propriety of its criticism. I myself have been frequently astonished at hearing even sensible and well-informed mothers address their children in a style of affected endearment, more becoming a finical old maid’s address to her favorite poodle, than of rational and intelligent creatures. For instance, what must be a child’s idea of correct language, when its ears are eternally greeted with expressions like the following: “Poor baby wants to tum to its muzzy,” “tum Turley, and div muzzy a buff, dat’s a dood tild,” &c. &c. These ridiculous corruptions of the “King’s English,” you may frequently hear mothers using to children who are two or three years old, an age when they should have learned to pronounce words with tolerable correctness and perspicuity. X. There is a great deal of diversity of opinion among parents as to the kind of punishment a child should receive for doing that which is wrong; and there is quite as much diversity, also, in the different degrees of punishment adopted by them in relation to the misbehaviour of their children. Severe whipping is as repugnant to kind and correct feeling, as it is generally ineffectual in working a reformation in the little delinquent itself. Personal chastisement should be resorted to as seldom as possible; and then only from aboslute necessity. When, through some

improper dereliction of duty on the part of the child, the mother thinks it necessary to resort to the rod, it should be used with a full and clear explanation of what it is used for, without the addition of a single epithet, and with no more words than are necessary to the communication of such explanation. The mother, on such an occasion, should not allow herself to be betrayed into any violence of manner, but should preserve a cool and even temper. She should not afterwards, as too many do, use any arts of persuasion to hush up and pacify the child, but should make it take a seat quietly and submissively beside her; and when necessary to speak to it, do so in her ordinary tone of voice, and with her usual kindness of manner. The child will then feel that it has been in the fault, if for no other reason than the apparent justice of the punishment, as evinced and exhibited through the dignified and dispassionate deportment of the mother in administering it; and that child will love and respect its mother in proportion to the consciousness which it feels of having done wrong. XI. The world, my dear F-, is a great mirror, in which we may see ourselves fully and faithfully delineated; so, that to understand the world in all its Protean shapes and aspects, we should also perfectly understand ourselves. In giving a daughter, however, an insight into the character of that world, in which she will have some day to enter and act her part in the great drama of life, too much care cannot be taken in presenting her with a true and faithful picture of all the lights and shadows of human character. That is, the picture should be drawn to life, without exaggeration, as well as without extenuation—“nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.” The natural gloom of the canvass should be relieved by the redeeming light which husnan virtue and human excellence can shed upon it—so, that, while she may not, with a full knowledge of all the world’s corruption and wickedness, sink into the dark and sunless philosophy of the cynie, she may also not become, through her innocent unconsciousness of evil, a credulous enthusiast, in looking only at the sunshine of its existence. This representation she should have, in order that through the same means by which she would be prevented from herself becoming an adept in the wiles and deceit she would also be saved from falling a dupe to the snares and temptations of that world. Much of the diversity of character and conduct which we see exhibited in social life, results from a difference of instruction in regard to this subject —and if the dark and bright sides of the picture of human life were presented in their natural, stript of all their artificial, aspect, at the same time to the youthful mind, that mind would exercise the proper discrimination in their contemplation, and thus blend the two extremes into a correct and rational appreciation of truth, unexposed to the delusions, and unseduced by the temptations, of error. Upon her arriving, therefore, at that age in which children usually begin to take an interest in such matters, in your descriptions of the gaieties, amusements, and pleasures of fashionable life, which you may see fit to offer her as a stimulus to exertion on her part;

in endeavoring to excel in those accomplishments which lend a charm to the intercourse of young society, do not neglect to warn her against the hypocrisy, the selfishnesss, and the treachery, which lurk beneath its sunny waters, in order that she may be armed against its assaults, and come out harmless from the fiery furnace of fashionable rivalry. But in thus giving her an insight into the nature and propensities of the species, you can do so without animadverting upon individual character—a course of conduct that would naturally tend to make her the most despicable of all creatures, a common retailer of gossip and scandal. XII. Upon the subject of religious, as distinct from an abstract moral instruction, it would perhaps, be, as incompetent as it is improper, and certainly out of place, for me to say much. It is a subject, indeed, upon which I have allow. ed myself to think and reflect very little; perhaps too little; but that it is one of great vital importance, philosophically considered, in all its bearings upon human feelings and human conduct; that it has done much to elevate the moral sense, and restrain the vicious propensities of mankind in all ages and under all circumstances, there can be no reasonable doubt. In its effect, however, upon the mind, or rather upon our final destiny, it is a matter of comparative indifference as to our belief, whether professional religion, as expounded through its technical creeds, or the great ultimatum of humanity, death, wili furnish the only infallible revelation of the sublime mysteries of a future existence. Mankind may fight, and theorize, and debate, upon this question for a thousand years to come, as they have already for more than a thousand years that are gone, and they will know as much as they now do, of its profound and unfathomable incomprehensibility. That is a point which human knowledge, however mighty in its grasp; however deep in its researches, can never com. prehend. Whether as a system, religion is founded upon the principles of reason, as some philosophers, eminent for talents and mere abstract intellectual, unaccompanied by high moral power, have contended that it is not, or whether it is a great and inevitable truth, capable of the clearest demonstration, as learned doctors of the church of equal profundity of intellect and knowledge, have labored to prove, it is not now my province or wish to inquire. I acknowledge my insignificance in such acquirement, and my utter incapacity to thread the intricacies of so metaphysical a labyrnth. But whether the philosophy of that religion as now understood and adopted by the Christian world, be based upon the great principles of eternal truth, or owes its existence to the prolific invention of human ingenuity, there can be no doubt in the mind of any individual who understands human nature, that it is the source of all that is virtuous and elevated, in human conduct. To your own wishes, then, dear F , I leave it, whether she shall be instructed in any of the pecu. liar tenets of professional religion; because that is a subject, either in regard to the little JULIA, or to yourself, upon which no interference of mine shall ever obtrude itself. I deem it of the utmost importance, however, that her mind * * *

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should be early imbued with the beautiful spirit of rational, unfettered piety, and the excellence of an enlightened moral instruction. If my views would have any weight in the formation of your determination in this particular, I would recommend that you be extremely careful not to warp her mind into bigotted or sectarian notions; that you discard the conflicting and ridiculous dogmas of the various creeds, and bring her up in that catholic spirit of benevolence, and that charitable appreciation of the feelings and motives of others, which is the true characteristic of a mind impressed with a just sense of the impartial and universal love of Deity. I have now, my dear F , presented you with a few hasty and desultory thoughts upon a number, of what I conceive to be, important points in female education. They are affectionately and kindly submitted to you, not in the spirit of command or dictation, but with anxious desire to aid you in the serious discharge of a duty, which but few in your situation seem perfectly to understand, and still fewer consistently and methodically practice. Adopt them as your own, if you think they are worthy of it—but reject them at once, if they do not coincide with your own ideas of what is due to so important a subject. From the limited means of observation which I have enjoyed, in consequence of the isolated condition from domestic affairs, which has marked the greater portion of my life, the opportunities of knowing much of the habits of children has been, of course, denied to me. My knowledge, therefore, of this subject, must necessarily be more theoretical than practical, in consequence of that fact. I do not, then, urge them upon your attention as containing infallible truths; they are presented to you in a spirit of deep and anxious solicitude, for the welfare and happiness of one dear to you and to myself, and I only ask of you to give them that serious consideration which the subject, not the author, so imperiously demands. Affectionately and devotedly yours, D

As authentic as it gets

I still think when it comes to x superhero being made by x nationality, it feels a lot more authentic than if x superhero’s conceived by writer of y nationality. Maybe not always the case but still. I remember somebody saying that the problem with Captain Britain’s that he doesn’t feel authentically British.

Actually and parsimoniously, it’s safe to say a good number of British superheroes are practically derived from their US counterparts. Captain America gave way to Captain Britain, Spider-Man’s got a feline counterpart in Leopard of Lime Street. Marvelman owes a lot to Shazam (given some of his earlier stories were based on the latter’s).

That’s not to say the British or any other nationality can’t come up with their own superheroes. They did to some extent but I think 2000AD’s Vigilant gives a better idea of what a British superhero team were truly like (chances are some of them come from much unlikelier sources). Excalibur if I’m not mistaken still had American members in it.

For another matter, Peni Parker seems like a Westerner’s idea of what a Japanese Spider-Man could be like but with Toei Spider-Man being the real thing (made in Japan, feels like Power Rangers with Spidey taking on actual monsters). Power Rangers is practically close to the Japanese take on superheroes but because it’s based on those productions.

I haven’t read My Hero Academia yet but I feel as if the original Japanese productions give a better idea of what the Japanese take on superheroes could be like with 2000AD’s Vigilant being the British answer to this.