Hudy III

Chapter III - Weaning

Some shallow theorists on the philosophy of the young mind have deemed that precocity of intellect in youth is by no means favorable to solid acquirements in after life. Now that is all moonshine - talent at any age is talent; and, saving the chance of corporeal injury, may be cultivated. Our proof lies in the life of the Quarterclift, who at three years old was a perfect wonder; and, notwithstanding his admitted precocity, went on improving till no man in any age or nation has surpassed, if any have equalled, him in his line; or, to use his own more correct expression, "at what he prowhessed".

But at the early period of which we speak, there was not a lad in the country of thrice his age could handle a shinny, steal or train a dog, or, without the aid of bridle, saddle or sougán, ride a horse with our hero. Many a time ere this had his goat and his dog borne him over brae and burn - many a time had his father found him on the back of his "ould copal ban" in the open fields, when human agency, save his own ingenuity and fearless daring, could not have placed him in such a position. The fond parent, no doubt, was proud of his boy; but at the same time he dreaded his reckless temper. He had frequently rebuked him for his wild tricks, but all to little purpose: show him a horse, and who could keep him from scraping acquaintance with him? One day his father found him sitting cross-legged like a tailor on the back of the old mare with his face to the tail, and, dragging him down in deep wrath, brought him in to his mother.

"Bad luck to me, Jenny, but that young Clift will get his neck broke some day or other! I got him sitting on the copal's rump, sewing away like ould Larry Roe Hessan!"

"Divil a fear's, Jack aroon;" and the mother's eye, glistening with delight, rested on the young equestrian with more than maternal affection, and she clasped in deep embrace the embryo restorer of the deeds of other days. The father felt hurt at what he deemed his partner's injudicious encouragement.

"Bad luck to me, Jenny, but you might have more wit! - you're as great a Clift as him: by my sowl he's a chip aff the ould block. Well, Cris Christie atween us an' harm, may be you wouldn't like to see him meeting a sudden and unprovided death some day, do you mind!"

"Bido hocht, Jack Roe! - Divil a fear's, acushla - Ne'er a boy in the house nor the parish is like my bouchal bawn!"

Encouraged by the approval of his spirited and discreet mother, the young Clift exclaimed - "Och faix, daddy, an' that's thrue. Bad scran to me but I could slap Atty in two minutes: sure, big as he is, I bate him all to sticks at 'pull-divil-pull' before fifty last night; and ne'er a bit av the copal he can mount widout some wan to lift his leg!"

"And what other way would he mount her, you divil's imp?" said the father, rather piqued for the honour of his own favourite.

"What other way? Faix I can tell you - I jist goes over to her where she's grazin', and I lays my leg over her neck, and she lifts her head, and I speels up to her back; but by my sowl, Atty's afeard to thry that thrick."

"And the more wise he, you young omadhaun!" exclaimed the half-offended half-delighted father, as he turned from his hopeful son to pursue his daily labour.

This incident and colloquy occurred at the very period when Mrs McGuigan, for reasons she never explained, found it necessary to wean her pet from demanding his accustomed nectareous draught - and devil another such weanling the "seven counties" could have produced; but the mother, like her son, never puddled her brain by calculating consequences - she only had one, viz the straightforward, method of doing business - she had never learned to "go about the bush"; so on a certain day she flatly said, after indulging him with a draught, "Well, a mhic mo mhuirnín, you must lose your cow."

"Must I, by the powers! Augh mammy darling, may be not!"

"In thrath you have got the last pull, acushla;" and with a trembling voice she added - "so don't bother me any more about it; - be off wid you now."

And her matronly regret contending with her determination, she half-playfully half-sternly drove him from the door. A party of young companions hailed him with a shout, and his mind was lifted off the contemplation of his misfortune. A couple of hours passed off in gay infantile frolic; but at length hunger admonished the joyous group of the necessity of breaking up their games. Shouldering the shinny, each started for his own home; and Hudy, forgetting the cruel prohibition, came bounding at a scholar's-hop pace into the floor, where his mother was employed at her spinning. With much eagerness, and his own devil-may-care style, he demanded his usual beverage.

"Bad luck to the dhrap, you beggar's brat! How daar you spake to your mother in that way."

Our hero stared in mute astonishment. He marked his mother's flushed and lowering countenance: he was surprised - deeply chagrined - pained with hunger! 'Twas the first time she had ever really thwarted him. He could have forgiven his father even harsher treatment; but this from her, who had hitherto been all softness, all tenderness, to him - he could not stand it - the spirit, the uncontrollable spirit, was up; and with eyes flashing fire he repeated his demand.

But the mother! - yes, from the mother he inherited all that firmness and constancy of mind which afterwards rendered him so famous - the mother was a true Cliftess, and she roundly replied - "Bad luck to the single dhrap you'll taste this blessed day!"

"Won't I, by my sowl! - then here goes!"

And, brandishing his shinny - whack! - smash went the hack in a thousand pieces, and snap went the woollen strings that turned it! Who is it that first said -

When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war.

No matter, - 'tis a capital quotation; and a comfortable thing it is to be able to draw occasionally on another man's brains: besides, it serves a peculiarly good purpose here, as it strikes off at a dash the character of both combatants; for never met in determined contest two such unbending spirits as Hudy McGuigan and his darling mother. Roused by the ruin of her spinning-wheel, she sprang upon the garçon with all the fury of an enraged tigress chastising her rebellious young, and was met by a smack that told admirably upon her knuckles, then becoming rather bony and painfully susceptible of such salutes. The combat was fierce, well-sustained, but unequal; and for the first and last time in his life the Quarterclift was completely floored.

The father dropped in at the critical moment; and though, like all other married men, sometimes bending to a rigid gynecocracy, yet when properly roused he was quite a blood, - he felt for the unfortunate position of Hudy, and much admired his uncommon pluck; therefore, raising the fallen hero, he cheered him on to a renewal of hostilities.

"Capital, ma bouchal! - that's blood!! - stick into your fight, and by my sowl I'll show you fair play!!!" (John Bull might blush at the high sense of honor displayed by a family of Clifts.)

And to work our hero went, with refreshed energies; but it would not do: there was equal mettle and superior weight against him; so the battle resulted in Hudy's sobbing himself asleep.

When Nature stamps the true nobility of soul, the ready forgiveness of injuries is ever found softening down the rude savagery of unschooled animal courage, and bringing forward in bold relief that dignity, and those milder virtues, which constitute the true sublime in the Human Character. Such, even in his infancy, was the prevailing, the proud distinctive trait in our hero's mind. Seldom, through a long life, has the sun set on his wrath; and the first beams of day ever beheld him as innocently gay as the lark that heralds their approach. It was therefore with unfeigned kindliness of feeling that he flung his brawny young arms around his mother's neck on awakening from his first troubled sleep, and the kiss of peace and reconciliation was unaffected and conclusive. But the late transaction had produced a total revolution in his mind as regarded his father; and from that day forward the old gentleman stood a perfect hero in his son's estimation.

Under the training of such judicious parents, can it be subject of wonder that the young Quarterclift should become the very centre of admiration to all within the circle of his acquaintance. There is no such thing as a solecism in nature: every effect is traceable to its cause; therefore was Hudy McGuigan very justly the theme of panegyric in every mouth in the barony.

This page was last updated 7 Nov 2018