The death of my friend has left me not only desolate but uncertain.  Like Joshua in earlier days, my mind is unpiloted and unanchored.  Everywhere I see the sifting of competition, and nowhere Christian protection of weakness; everywhere dogma adored, and nowhere Christ realised.  And again I ask, Which is true—­modern society in its class strife and consequent elimination of its weaker elements, or the brotherhood and communism taught by the Jewish Carpenter of Nazareth?  Who will answer me?  Who will make the dark thing clear?

* * * * *

SAMUEL LOVER

Handy Andy

Samuel Lover, born at Dublin on February 24, 1797, was the most versatile man of his age.  He was a song-writer, a novelist, a painter, a dramatist, and an entertainer; and in each of these parts he was remarkably successful.  In 1835 he came to London, and set up as a miniature painter; then he turned to literature, and in “Rory O’More,” published in 1837, and “Handy Andy, a Tale of Irish Life,” which appeared in 1842, he took the town.  Lover was a typical Irishman of the old school—­high-spirited, witty, and jovially humorous; and his work is informed with a genuine Irish raciness that gives it a perennial freshness.  He is a man gaily in love with life, and with a quick eye for all the varied humours of it.  “Handy Andy” is one of the most amusing books ever written; a roaring farce, written by a man who combined the liveliest sense of fun with a painter’s gift of portraying real character in a few vivid touches.  Samuel Lover died on July 6, 1868.

I.—­The Squire Gets a Surprise

Andy Rooney was a fellow with a most ingenious knack of doing everything the wrong way.  “Handy” Andy was the nickname the neighbours stuck on him, and the poor simple-minded lad liked the jeering jingle.  Even Mrs. Rooney, who thought that her boy was “the sweetest craythur the cun shines on,” preferred to hear him called “Handy Andy” rather than “Suds.”

For sad memories attached to the latter nickname.  Knowing what a hard life Mrs. Rooney had had—­she had married a stranger, who disappeared a month after marriage, so Andy came into the world with no father to beat a little sense into him—­Squire Egan of Merryvale engaged the boy as a servant.  One of the first things that Andy was called upon to do was to wait at table during an important political dinner given by the squire.  Andy was told to ice the champagne, and the wine and a tub of ice were given to him.

“Well, this is the quarest thing I ever heered of,” said Andy.  “Musha!  What outlandish inventions the quality has among them!  They’re not content with wine, but they must have ice along with it—­and in a tub, too, like pigs!  Troth, its a’ dirty thrick, I think.  But here goes!” said he; and opening a bottle of champagne, he poured it into the tub with the ice.