The History of an Epitaph [pp. 444-452]

]THE HISTORY OF AN EPITAPH.
But the little cloud no bigger than a
man's hand, that was destined to grow
until it obscured all this sunshine, was
already in the horizon, and, like most
clouds, it had its origin from the sea.
Mr. O'Donnell's place is situated about
twenty miles north of Newport. The
neighborhood offers little attraction in
the way of society, and it was scarcely
to be expected that the dashing young
cavalryman, fresh from the gayety of a
garrison town, should content himself
amid the rustic amusements of a country place, however splendid. At any
rate, his father did not expect he would,
and proposed endless schemes of recreation for the consideration of his favorite son. All were steadily declined by
Tom, who seemed suddenly to have developed an extraordinary love for fieldsports, and would spend days together
on Achill Island, grouse-shooting, as he
informed his father, though the bags that
accompanied him on his return would
have made the veriest tyro in hunter's
craft blush for their emptiness. However, he seemed happy enough, and that
was the principal thing.
It was at this epoch that the manuscript first introduced the name of Bessie
Cotter. She was the daughter of an
Achill fisherman, and of a beauty rarely
met with even among the western Irish.
Tall, dark, and splendidly handsome,
her description fulfilled the ideal I had
formed of what Mrs. O'Donnell might
have been before "sickness, and sorrow,
and childbirth pain" had crushed the
frail flower of beauty from her life forever. Tom met her in the island on
one of his earlier excursions. He was
struck with her and admired her. He
saw her again and again, and soon
learned to love, or fancy he loved, her.
For the girl herself, she was flattered
and dazzled by the attentions of one so
much her superior in station. She, poor
child, in her innocence of the world,
never dreamed that the words of love
breathed in her ear by the handsome
young officer could have any tendency
but one; and he, to do him justice, never
held from the first day any but honorable intentions.
So the time slipped by, and the lovers
inhabited an Arcadia of their own construction, and wandered hand in hand
over the breezy heights of Slieve More,
or along the giant cliffs where their
voices were lost in the ceaseless roar of
the Atlantic. The old, old story was
fairly begun, and was gliding placidly
enough through the opening chapters.
From Tom's journal I should judge that
this was the happiest period of his life.
But a break soon came. He had to return to join his regiment; she, to the
humdrum daily routine of a fisherman's
daughter. The parting was sharply felt,
but Tom swore constancy, preached patience, and promised to return as soon
as possible, and make her his own.
Then they would never part again.
But when, after a few months' absence,
Tom, by making strenuous exertions,
had obtained leave again-this time a
very short one-he began to realize the
magnitude of the task he had undertaken. He was no stranger to his father's
disposition; he knew every turn of his
pride, none the less perfectly that he
often met with its reflex in his own heart.
He knew the old man would rather see
him in his coffin than mated to a lowborn bride; and as we dread the unknown, so he was loth to provoke a
wrath he had never felt. But Tom was
a brave lad. He only postponed the
announcement a day, while he went to
Achill to nerve himself by the sight of
her for whom he was to undergo the
ordeal. The important interview took
place in Mr. O'Donnell's study, and the
manuscript candidly owns to the sinking
of heart experienced by the writer as he
made the dreaded plunge.
"I want to know, sir, if you can increase tny allowance?"
I 874.]
449