brought
together its muster-roll of rheumatism, paralysis, dim eyes, bothered
ears, and invincible stupidity. Over the fire-place in large black
letters, was the legend, 'BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!' and out came the
horn-books and spectacles, and to it they went with their A-B ab, etc.,
and plenty of wheezing and coughing. Aunt Becky kept good fires, and
served out a mess of bread and broth, along with some pungent ethics, to
each of her hopeful old girls. In winter she further encouraged them
with a flannel petticoat apiece, and there was besides a monthly dole.
So that although after a year there was, perhaps, on the whole, no
progress in learning, the affair wore a tolerably encouraging aspect;
for the academy had increased in numbers, and two old fellows, liking
the notion of the broth and the 6d. a month--one a barber, Will Potts,
ruined by a shake in his right hand, the other a drunken pensioner, Phil
Doolan, with a wooden leg--petitioned to be enrolled, and were,
accordingly, admitted. Then Aunt Becky visited the gaols, and had a
knack of picking up the worst characters there, and had generally two or
three discharged felons on her hands. Some people said she was a bit of
a Voltarian, but unjustly; for though she now and then came out with a
bouncing social paradox, she was a good bitter Church-woman. So she was
liberal and troublesome--off-handed and dictatorial--not without good
nature, but administering her benevolences somewhat tyrannically, and,
for the most part, doing more or less of positive mischief in the
process.

And now the general ('old Chattesworth,' as the scornful Magnolia
called him) drew near, with his benevolent smirk, and his stiff bows,
and all his good-natured formalities--for the general had no notion of
ignoring his good friend and officer, Major O'Neill, or his sister or
niece--and so he made up to Mrs. Macnamara, who arrested a narrative in
which she was demonstrating to O'Flaherty the general's lineal descent
from old Chattesworth--an army tailor in Queen Anne's time--and his
cousinship to a live butter dealer in Cork--and spicing her little
history with not a very nice epigram on his uncle, 'the counsellor,' by
Dr. Swift, which she delivered with a vicious chuckle in the
'Fireworker's' ear, who also laughed, though he did not quite see the
joke, and said, 'Oh-ho-ho, murdher!'

The good Mrs. Mack received the general haughtily and slightly, and Miss
Magnolia with a short courtesy and a