a payoock when the sup's in your head, an' 'ud spake as big widout the
sign o' money in your pocket, as if you had the rint of an estate.”
“What do you say about the sign o' money?” exclaimed Phelim, with a
swagger. “Maybe you'll call that the sign o' money!” he added, producing
the ten guineas in gold. The father and mother looked at it for a
considerable time, then at each other, and shook their heads.
“Phelim!” said the father, solemnly. “Phelim!” said the mother, awfully;
and both shook their heads again.
“You wor never over-scrupulous,” the father proceeded, “an' you know
you have many little things to answer for, in the way of pickin' up what
didn't belong to yourself. I think, too, you're not the same boy you wor
afore you tuck to swearin' the alibies.
“Faith, an' I doubt I'll haye to get some one to swear an alibi for
myself soon,” Phelim replied.
“Why, blessed hour!” said Larry, “didn't I often tell you never to join
the boys in anything that might turn out a hangin' matther?”
“If this is not a hangin' matther,” said Phelim, “it's something nearly
as bad: it's a marryin' matther. Sure I deluded another since you seen
me last. Divil a word o' lie in it. I was clane fell in love wid this
mornin' about seven o'clock.”
“But how did you get the money, Phelim?”
“Why, from the youthful sprig that fell in love wid me. Sure we're to be
'called' in the Chapel on Sunday next.”
“Why thin now, Phelim! An' who is the young crathur? for in throth she
must be young to go to give the money beforehand!”
“Murdher!” exclaimed Phelim, “what's this for! Was ever any one done
as I am? Who is she! Why she's--oh, murdher, oh!--she's no other
than--hem--divil a one else than Father O'Hara's housekeeper, ould Biddy
Doran!”
The mirth of the old couple was excessive. The father laughed till he
fell off his stool, and the mother till the tears ran down her cheeks.
“Death alive; ould man! but you're very merry,” said Phelim. “If you wor
my age, an' in such an' amplush, you'd laugh on the wrong side o' your
mouth. Maybe you'll tarn your tune when you hear that she has a hundhre
and twenty guineas.”
“An' you'll be rich, too,” said the father. “The sprig an' you will be
rich!--ha, ha, ha!”
“An' the family they'll have!” said the mother, in convulsions.
“Why, in regard o' that,” said Phelim, rather nettled, “if all fails us,
sure we can do as my father and you did: kiss the Lucky Stone, an' make
a Station.”
“Phelim, aroon,” said the mother, seriously, “put it out o' your head.
Sure you wouldn't go to bring me a daughter-in-law oulder nor myself?”
“I'd as soon go over,” (* be transported) said Phelim; “or swing itself,
before I'd marry sich a piece o' desate. Hard feelin' to her! how she
did me to my face!”
Phelim then entered into a long-visaged detail of the scene at
Father O'Hara's, dwelling bitterly on the alacrity with which the old
housekeeper ensnared him in his own mesh.
“However,” he concluded, “she'd be a sharp one if she'd do me
altogether. We're not married yet; an' I've a consate of my own, that
she's done for the ten guineas, any how!”
A family council was immediately held upon Phelim's matrimonial
prospects. On coming close to the speculation of Miss Patterson, it
was somehow voted, notwithstanding Phelim's powers of attraction, to be
rather a discouraging one. Gracey Dalton was also given up. The matter
was now serious, the time short, and Phelim's bounces touching his own
fascinations with the sex in general, were considerably abated. It was
therefore resolved that he ought to avail himself of Sam Appleton's
clothes, until his own could be made. Sam, he said, would not press him
for them immediately, inasmuch as he was under obligations to Phelim's
silence upon some midnight excursions that he had made.
“Not,” added Phelim, “but I'm as much, an' maybe more in his power, than
he is in mine.”
When breakfast was over, Phelim and the father, after having determined
to “drink a bottle” that night in the family of an humble young woman,
named Donovan, who, they all agreed, would make an excellent wife for
him, rested upon their oars until evening. In the meantime, Phelim
sauntered about the village, as he was in the habit of doing, whilst the
father kept the day as a holiday. We have never told our readers that
Phelim was in love, because in fact we know not whether he was or not.
Be this as it may, we simply inform them, that in a little shed in
the lower end of the village, lived a person with whom Phelim was very
intimate, called Foodie Flattery. He was, indeed, a man after Phelim's
own heart, and Phelim was a boy after his. He maintained himself by
riding country races; by handing, breeding, and feeding cocks; by
fishing, poaching, and serving processes; and finally, by his knowledge
as a cow-doctor and farrier--into the two last of which he had given
Phelim some insight. We say the two last, for in most of the other
accomplishments Phelim was fully his equal. Phelim frequently envied him
his life. It was an idle, amusing, vagabond kind of existence, just
such a one as he felt a relish for. This man had a daughter, rather
well-looking; and it so happened, that he and Phelim had frequently
spent whole nights out together, no one knew on what employment. Into
Flattery's house did Phelim saunter with something like an inclination
to lay the events of the day before him, and to ask his advice upon his
future prospects. On entering the cabin he was much surprised to find
the daughter in a very melancholy mood; a circumstance which puzzled
him not a little, as he knew that they lived very harmoniously together.
Sally had been very useful to her father; and, if fame did not belie
her, was sometimes worthy Foodie's assistant in his nocturnal exploits.
She was certainly reputed to be “light-handed;” an imputation which
caused the young men of her acquaintance to avoid, in their casual
conversations with her, any allusion to matrimony.
“Sally, achora,” said Phelim, when he saw her in distress, “what's the
fun? Where's your father?”
“Oh, Phelim,” she replied, bursting into tears, “long runs the fox, but
he's cotch at last. My father's in gaol.”
Phelim's jaw dropped. “In gaol! _Chorp an diouol_, no!”
“It's thruth, Phelim. Curse upon this Whiteboy business, I wish it never
had come into the counthry at all.”
“Sally, I must see him; you know I must. But tell me how it happened?
Was it at home he was taken?”
“No; he was taken this mornin' in the market. I was wid him sellin' some
chickens. What'll you and Sam Appleton do, Phelim?”
“Uz! Why, what danger is there to either Sim or me, you darlin'?”
“I'm sure, Phelim, I don't know; but he tould me, that if I was provided
for, he'd be firm, an' take chance of his thrial. But, he says, poor
man, that it 'ud break his heart to be thransported, lavin' me behind
him wid' nobody to take care o' me.--He says, too, if anything 'ud make
him stag, it's fear of the thrial goin' against himself; for, as he said
to me, what 'ud become of you, Sally, if anything happened me?”
A fresh flood of tears followed this disclosure, and Phelim's face,
which was certainly destined to undergo on that day many variations of
aspect, became remarkably blank.
“Sally, you insinivator, I'll hould a thousand guineas you'd never guess
what brought me here to-day?”
“Arrah, how could I, Phelim? To plan some thin' wid my fadher, maybe.”
“No, but to plan somethin' wid yourself, you coaxin' jewel you. Now
tell me this--Would you marry a certain gay, roguish, well-built young
fellow, they call Bouncin' Phelim?”
“Phelim, don't be gettin' an wid your fun now, an' me in affliction.
Sure, I know well you wouldn't throw yourself away upon a poor girl like
me, that has nothin' but a good pair of hands to live by.”
“Be me sowl, an' you live by them. Well, but set in
case--supposin'--that same Bouncin' Phelim was willing to make you
mistress of the Half Acre, what 'ud you be sayin'?”
“Phelim, if a body thought you worn't jokin' them--ah, the dickens go
wid you, Phelim--this is more o' your thricks--but if it was thruth you
wor spakin', Phelim?”
“It is thruth,” said Phelim; “be the vestment, it's nothin' else. Now,
say yes or no; for if it's a thing that it's to be a match, you must go
an' tell him that I'll marry you, an' he must be as firm as a rock. But
see, Sally, by thim five crasses it's not bekase your father's in I'm
marryin' you at all. Sure I'm in love wid you, acushla! Divil a lie in
it. Now, yes or no?”
“Well--throth--to be sure--the sorra one, Phelim, but you have quare
ways wid you. Now are you downright in airnest?”
“Be the stool I'm sittin' on!”
“Well, in the name o' Goodness, I'll go to my father, an' let him know
it. Poor man, it'll take the fear out of his heart. Now can he depind on
you, Phelim?”
“Why, all I can say is, that we'll get ourselves called on Sunday next.
Let himself, sure, send some one to autorise the priest to call us.
An' now that's all settled, don't I desarve somethin'? Oh, be gorra,
surely.”
“Behave, Phelim--oh--oh--Phelim, now--there you've tuck it--och, the
curse o' the crows on you, see the way you have my hair down! There now,
you broke my comb, too. Troth, you're a wild slip, Phelim. I hope you
won't be goin' on this way wid the girls, when you get married.”
“Is it me you coaxer? No, faith, I'll wear a pair of winkers, for fraid
o' lookin' at them at all! Oh be gorra, no, bally, I'll lave that to the
great people. Sure, they say, the divil a differ they make at all.”
“Go off now, Phelim, till I get ready, an' set out to my father. But,
Phelim, never breathe a word about him bein' in goal. No one knows it
but ourselves--that is, none o' the neighbors.”
“I'll sing dumb,” said Phelim. “Well, _binaght lath, a rogarah!_* Tell
him the thruth--to be game, an' he'll find you an' me sweeled together
whin he comes out, plase Goodness.”
* My blessing be with you, you rogue!
Phelim was but a few minutes gone, when the old military cap of Fool Art
projected from the little bed-room, which a wicker wall, plastered with
mud, divided from the other part of the cabin.
“Is he gone?” said Art.
“You may come out, Art,” said she, “he's gone.”
“Ha!” said Art, triumphantly, “I often tould him, when he vexed me an'
pelted me wid snow-balls, that I'd come along sides wid him yet. An'
it's not over aither. Fool Art can snore when he's not asleep, an' see
wid his eyes shut. Wherroo for Art!”
“But, Art, maybe he intinds to marry the housekeeper afther all?”
“Hi the colic, the colic!
An' ho the colic for Phelim!”
“Then you think he won't, Art?”
“Hi the colic, the colic!
An' ho the colic for Phelim!”
“Now, Art, don't say a word about my father not bein' in gaol. He's to
be back from my grandfather's in a short time, an' if we manage well,
you'll see what you'll get, Art--a brave new shirt, Art.”
“Art has the lane for Phelim, but it's not the long one wid no turn in
it. Wherroo for Art!”
Phelim, on his return home, felt queer; here was a second matrimonial
predicament, considerably worse than the first, into which he was hooked
decidedly against his will. The worst feature in this case was the
danger to be apprehended from Foodie Flattery's disclosures, should
he take it into his head to 'peach upon his brother Whiteboys. Indeed,
Phelim began to consider it a calamity that he ever entered into their
system at all; for, on running over his exploits along with them, he
felt that he was liable to be taken up any morning of the week, and
lodged in one of his majesty's boarding-houses. The only security he had
was the honesty of his confederates; and experience took the liberty of
pointing out to him many cases in which those who considered themselves
quite secure, upon the same grounds, either dangled or crossed the
water. He remembered, too, some prophecies that had been uttered
concerning him with reference both to hanging and matrimony.
Touching the former it was often said, that “he'd die where the bird
flies”--between heaven and earth; on matrimony, that there seldom was a
swaggerer among the girls but came to the ground at last.
Now Phelim had a memory of his own, and in turning over his situation,
and the prophecies that had been so confidently pronounced concerning
him, he felt, as we said, rather queer. He found his father and mother
in excellent spirits when he got home. The good man had got a gallon of
whiskey on credit; for it had been agreed on not to break the ten golden
guineas until they should have ascertained how the matchmaking would
terminate that night at Donovan's.
“Phelim,” said the father, “strip yourself, an' put on Sam's clo'es: you
must send him down yours for a day or two; he says it's the least he may
have the wearin' o' them, so long as you have his.”
“Right enough,” said Phelim; “Wid all my heart; I'm ready to make a fair
swap wid him any day, for that matther.”
“I sent word to the Donovans that we're to go to coort there to night,”
said Larry; “so that they'll be prepared for us; an' as it would be
shabby not to have a friend, I asked Sam Appleton himself. He's to folly
us.”
“I see,” said Phelim, “I see. Well, the best boy in Europe Sam is, for
such a spree. Now, Fadher, you must lie like the ould diouol tonight.
Back everything I say, an' there's no fear of us. But about what she's
to get, you must hould out for that. I'm to despise it, you know. I'll
abuse you for spakin' about fortune, but don't budge an inch.”
“It's not the first time I've done that for you, Phelim; but in regard
o' these ten guineas, why you must put them in your pocket for fraid
they be wantin' to get off wid layin' down guinea for guinea. You see,
they don't think we have a rap; an' if they propose it we'll be up to
them.”
“Larry,” observed Sheelah, “don't make a match except they give that pig
they have. Hould out for that by all means.”
“Tare-an'-ounze!” exclaimed Phelim, “am I goin' to take the counthry out
o' the face? By the vestments, I'm a purty boy! Do you know the fresh
news I have for yez?”
“Not ten guineas more, Phelim?” replied the father.
“Maybe you soodhered another ould woman,” said the mother.
“Be asy,” replied Phelim. “No, but the five crasses, I deluded a young
one since! I went out!”
The old couple were once more disposed to be mirthful; but Phelim
confirmed his assertion with such a multiplicity of oaths, that they
believed him. Nothing, however, could wring the secret of her name
out of him. He had reasons for concealing it which he did not wish to
divulge. In fact, he could never endure ridicule, and the name of Sally
Flattery, as the person whom he had “deluded,” would constitute, on his
part, a triumph quite as sorry as that which he had achieved in
Father O'Hara's. In Ireland no man ever thinks of marrying a female
thief--which Sally was strongly suspected to be--except some worthy
fellow, who happens to be gifted with the same propensity.
When the proper hour arrived, honest Phelim, after having already made
arrangements to be called on the following Sunday, as the intended
husband of two females, now proceeded with great coolness to make,
if possible, a similar engagement with a third. There is something,
however, to be said for Phelim. His conquest over the housekeeper was
considerably out of the common course of love affairs. He had drawn
upon his invention, only to bring himself and the old woman out of the
ridiculous predicament in which the priest found them. He had, moreover,
intended to prevail on her to lend him the hat, in case the priest
himself had refused him. He was consequently not prepared for the
vigorous manner in which Mrs. Doran fastened upon the subject of
matrimony. On suspecting that she was inclined to be serious, he
pleaded his want of proper apparel; but here again the liberality of
the housekeeper silenced him, whilst, at the same time, it opened an
excellent prospect of procuring that which he most required--a decent
suit of clothes. This induced him to act a part that he did not feel.
He saw the old woman was resolved to outwit him, and he resolved to
overreach the old woman.
His marriage with Sally Flattery was to be merely a matter of chance. If
he married her at all, he knew it must be in self-defence. He felt that
her father had him in his power, and that he was anything but a man to
be depended on. He also thought that his being called with her, on the
Sunday following, would neutralize his call with the housekeeper; just
as positive and negative quantities in algebra cancel each other. But he
was quite ignorant that the story of Flattery's imprisonment was merely
a plan of the daughter's to induce him to marry her.
With respect to Peggy Donovan, he intended, should he succeed in
extricating himself from the meshes which the other two had thrown
around him, that she should be the elected one to whom he was anxious to
unite himself. As to the confusion produced by being called to three at
once, he knew that, however laughable in itself, it would be precisely
something like what the parish would expect from him. Bouncing Phelim
was no common man, and to be called to three on the same Sunday, would
be a corroboration of his influence with the sex. It certainly chagrined
him not a little that one of them was an old woman, and the other of
indifferent morals; but still it exhibited the claim of three women
upon one man, and that satisfied him. His mode of proceeding with Peggy
Donovan was regular, and according to the usages of the country. The
notice had been given that he and his father would go a courting, and of
course they brought the whiskey with them, that being the custom among
persons in their circumstances in life. These humble courtships very
much resemble the driving of a bargain between two chapmen; for, indeed,
the closeness of the demands on the one side, and the reluctance of
concession on the other, are almost incredible. Many a time has a match
been broken up by a refusal on the one part, to give a slip of a pig,
or a pair of blankets, or a year-old calf. These are small matters
in themselves, but they are of importance to those who, perhaps, have
nothing else on earth with which to begin the world. The house to
which Phelim and his father directed themselves was, like their own,
of the-humblest description. The floor of it was about sixteen feet by
twelve; its furniture rude and scanty. To the right of the fire was a
bed, the four posts of which ran up to the low roof; it was curtained
with straw mats, with the exception of an opening about a foot and a
half wide on the side next the fire, through which those who slept in it
passed. A little below the foot of the bed were ranged a few shelves of
deal, supported by pins of wood driven into the wall. These constituted
the dresser. In the lower end of the house stood a potato-bin, made up
of stakes driven into the floor, and wrought with strong wicker-work.
Tied to another stake beside this bin stood a cow, whose hinder part
projected so close to the door, that those who entered the cabin were
compelled to push her over out of their way. This, indeed, was effected
without much difficulty, for the animal became so habituated to the
necessity of moving aside, that it was only necessary to lay the hand
upon her. Above the door in the inside, almost touching the roof, was
the hen-roost, made also of wicker-work; and opposite the bed, on the
other side of the fire, stood a meal-chest.
Its lid on a level with the little pane of glass which served as a
window. An old straw chair, a few stools, a couple of pots, some wooden
vessels and crockery, completed the furniture of the house. The pig to
which Sheolah alluded was not kept within the cabin, that filthy custom
being now less common than formerly.
This catalogue of cottage furniture may appear to our English readers
very miserable. We beg them to believe, however, that if every cabin
in Ireland were equally comfortable, the country would be comparatively
happy. Still it is to be remembered, that the _dramatis personae_ of our
story are of the humblest class.
When seven o'clock drew nigh, the inmates of this little cabin placed
themselves at a clear fire; the father at one side, the mother at the
other, and the daughter directly between them, knitting, for this is
usually the occupation of a female on such a night. Everything in the
house was clean; the floor swept; the ashes removed from the hearth;
the parents in their best clothes, and the daughter also in her holiday
apparel. She was a plain girl, neither remarkable for beauty, nor
otherwise. Her eyes, however, were good, so were her teeth, and an
anxious look, produced of course by an occasion so interesting to
a female, heightened her complexion to a blush that became her. The
creature had certainly made the most of her little finery. Her face
shone like that of a child after a fresh scrubbing with a strong towel;
her hair, carefully curled with the hot blade of a knife, had been
smoothed with soap until it became lustrous by repeated polishing, and
her best red ribbon was tied tightly about it in a smart knot, that
stood out on the side of her head with something of a coquettish air.
Old Donovan and his wife maintained a conversation upon some indifferent
subject, but the daughter evidently paid little attention to what they
said. It being near the hour appointed for Phelim's arrival, she sat
with an appearance of watchful trepidation, occasionally listening, and
starting at every sound that she thought bore any resemblance to a man's
voice or footstep.
At length the approach of Phelim and his father was announced by a verse
of a popular song, for singing which Phelim was famous;--
“A sailor coorted a farmer's daughter
That lived contagious to the Isle of Man,
A long time coortin', an' still discoorsin'
Of things consarnin' the ocean wide;
At linth he saize, 'My own dearest darlint,
Will you consint for to be my bride?'”
“An' so she did consint, the darlin', but what the puck would she do
else? God save the family! Paddy Donovan, how is your health? Molly,
avourneen, I'm glad to hear that you're thrivin'. An' Peggy--eh? Ah, be
gorra, fadher, here's somethin' to look at! Give us the hand of you, you
bloomer! Och, och! faith you're the daisey!”
“Phelim,” said the father, “will you behave yourself? Haven't you the
night before you for your capers? Paddy Donovan, I'm glad to see you!
Molly, give us your right hand, for, in troth, I have a regard for you!
Peggy, dear, how are you? But I'm sure, I needn't be axin when I look at
you! In troth, Phelim, she is somethin' to throw your eye at.”
“Larry Toole, you're welcome,” replied Donovan and his wife, “an' so
is your son. Take stools both of you, an' draw near the hearth. Here,
Phelim,” said the latter, “draw in an' sit beside myself.”
“Thank you kindly, Molly,” replied Phelim; “but I'll do no sich thing..
Arrah, do you think, now, that I'd begin to gosther wid an ould woman,
while I have the likes o' Peggy, the darlin', beside me? I'm up to a
thrick worth nine of it. No, no; this chest 'll do. Sure you know, I
must help the 'duck of diamonds' here to count her stitches.”
“Paddy,” said Larry, in a friendly whisper, “put this whiskey past for
a while, barrin' this bottle that we must taste for good luck. Sam
Appleton's to come up afther us an', I suppose, some o' your own
cleavens 'll be here afther a while.”
“Thrue for you,” said Donovan. “Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin is to come
over presently. But, Larry, this is nonsense. One bottle o' whiskey was
lashins; my Goodness, what'll we be doin' wid a whole gallon?”
“Dacency or nothin', Paddy; if it was my last I'd show sperit, an' why
not? Who'd be for the shabby thing?”
“Well, well, Larry, I can't say but you're right afther all! Maybe I'd
do the same thing myself, for all I'm spakin' aginst it.”
The old people then passed round an introductory glass, after which they
chatted away for an hour or so, somewhat like the members of a committee
who talk upon indifferent topics until their brethren are all assembled.
Phelim, in the meantime, grappled with the daughter, whose knitting he
spoiled by hooking the thread with his finger, jogging her elbow until
he ran the needles past each other, and finally unravelling her clew;
all which she bore with great good-humor. Sometimes, indeed, she
ventured to give him a thwack upon the shoulder, with a laughing frown
upon her countenance, in order to correct him for teasing her.
When Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin arrived, the spirits of the party got
up. The whiskey was formally produced, but as yet the subject of the
courtship, though perfectly understood, was not introduced. Phelim and
the father were anxious to await the presence of Sam Appleton, who was
considered, by the way, a first-rate hand at match-making.
Phelim, as is the wont, on finding the din of the conversation raised
to the proper pitch, stole one of the bottles and prevailed on Peggy to
adjourn with him to the potato-bin. Here they ensconced themselves very
snugly; but not, as might be supposed, contrary to the knowledge and
consent of the seniors, who winked at each other on seeing Phelim
gallantly tow her down with the bottle under his arm. It was only
the common usage on such occasions, and not considered any violation
whatsoever of decorum. When Phelim's prior engagements are considered,
it must be admitted that there was something singularly ludicrous in
the humorous look he gave over his shoulder at the company, as he went
toward the bin, having the bottom of the whiskey-bottle projecting
behind his elbow, winking at them in return, by way of a hint to mind
their own business and allow him to plead for himself. The bin, however,
turned out to be rather an uneasy seat, for as the potatoes lay in
a slanting heap against the wall, Phelim and his sweetheart were
perpetually sliding down from the top to the bottom. Phelim could be
industrious when it suited his pleasure. In a few minutes those who sat
about the fire imagined, from the noise at the bin, that the house was
about to come about their ears.
“Phelim, you thief,” said the father, “what's all that noise for?”
“_Chrosh orrin!_” (* The cross be about us!) said Molly Donovan, “is that
tundher?”
“Devil carry these piatees,” exclaimed Phelim, raking them down with
both hands and all his might, “if there's any sittin' at all upon them!
I'm levellin' them to prevint Peggy, the darlin', from slidderin' an' to
give us time to be talkin', somethin' lovin' to one another. The curse
o' Cromwell an them! One might as well dhrink a glass o' whiskey wid his
sweetheart, or spake a tinder word to her, on the wings of a windmill as
here. There now, they're as level as you plase, acushla! Sit down,
you jewel you, an' give me the egg-shell, till we have our Sup o' the
crathur in comfort. Faith, it was too soon for us to be comin' down in
the world?”
Phelim and Peggy having each emptied the egg-shell, which among the
poorer Irish is frequently the substitute for a glass, entered into
the following sentimental dialogue, which was covered by the loud and
entangled conversation of their friends about the fire; Phelim's arm
lovingly about her neck, and his head laid down snugly against her
cheek.
“Now, Peggy, you darlin' o' the world--bad cess to me but I'm as glad as
two ten-pennies that I levelled these piatees; there was no sittin' an
them. Eh, avourneen?”
“Why, we're comfortable now, anyhow, Phelim!”
“Faith, you may say that--(a loving squeeze). Now, Peggy, begin an' tell
us all about your bachelors.”
“The sarra one ever I had, Phelim.”
“Oh, murdher sheery, what a bounce! Bad cess to me, if you can spake
a word o' thruth afther that, you common desaver! Worn't you an' Paddy
Moran pullin' a coard?”
“No, in throth; it was given out on us, but we never wor, Phelim.
Nothin' ever passed betune us but common civility. He thrated my father
an' mother wanst to share of half a pint in the Lammas Fair, when I was
along wid them; but he never broke discoorse wid me barrin', as I sed,
in civility an' friendship.”
“An' do you mane to put it down my throath that you never had a
sweetheart at all?”
“The nerra one.”
“Oh, you thief! Wid two sich lips o' your own, an' two sich eyes o' your
own, an' two sich cheeks o' your own! Oh,--, by the tarn, that won't
pass.”
“Well, an' supposin' I had--behave Phelim--supposin' I had, where's the
harm? Sure it's well known all the sweethearts, you had, an' have yet, I
suppose.”
“Be gorra, an' that's thruth; an' the more the merrier, you jewel you,
till, one get's married. I had enough of them, in my day, but you're the
flower o' them all, that I'd like to spend my life wid”--(a squeeze.)
“The sorra one word the men say a body can trust. I warrant you tould
that story to every one o' them as well as to me. Stop Phelim--it's well
known that what you say to the colleens is no gospel. You know what they
christened you 'Bouncin' Phelim!”
“Betune you an' me, Peggy, I'll tell you a sacret; I was the boy for
deludin them. It's very well known the matches I might a got; but you
see, you little shaver, it was waitin' for yourself I was.”
“For me! A purty story indeed I'm sure it was! Oh, afther that! Why,
Phelim, how can you----Well, well, did any one ever hear the likes?”
“Be the vestments, it's thruth. I had you in my eye these three years,
but was waitin' till I'd get together as much money as ud' set us up in
the world dacently. Give me that egg-shell agin. Talkin's dhruthy
work. _Shudorth, a rogarah!_ (* This to you you rogue) an' a pleasant
honeymoon to us!”
“Wait till we're married first, Phelim; thin it'll be time enough to
dhrink that.”
“Come, acushla, it's your turn now; taste the shell, an' you'll see how
lovin' it'll make us. Mother's milk's a thrifle to it.”
“Well, if I take this, Phelim, I'll not touch another dhrop to-night.
In the mane time here's whatever's best for us! Whoo! Oh, my! but that's
strong! I dunna how the people can dhrink so much of it!”
“Faith, nor me; except bekase they have a regard for it, an' that it's
worth havin' a regard for, jist like yourself an' me. Upon my faix,
Peggy, it bates all, the love an likin' I have for you, an' ever
had these three years past. I tould you about the eyes, mavourneen,
an'--an'--about the lips--”
“Phelim--behave--I say--now stop wid you--well--well--but you're the
tazin' Phelim!--Throth the girls may be glad when you're married,”
exclaimed Peggy, adjusting her polished hair.
“Bad cess to the bit, if ever I got so sweet a one in my life--the
soft end of a honeycomb's a fool to it. One thing, Peggy, I can tell
you--that I'll love you in great style. Whin we're marrid it's I that'll
soodher you up. I won't let the wind blow on you. You must give up
workin', too. All I'll ax you to do will be to nurse the childhre; an'
that same will keep you busy enough, plase Goodness.”
“Upon my faix, Phelim, you're the very sarra, so you are. Will you be
asy now? I'll engage when you're married, it'll soon be another story
wid you. Maybe you'd care little about us thin!”
“Be the vestments, I'm spakin' pure gospel, so I am. Sure you don't know
that to be good husbands runs in our family. Every one of them was as
sweet as thracle to their wives. Why, there's that ould cock, my fadher,
an' if you'd see how he butthers up the ould woman to this day, it 'ud
make your heart warm to any man o' the family.”
“Ould an' young was ever an' always the same to you, Phelim. Sure the
ouldest woman in the parish, if she happened to be single, couldn't
miss of your blarney. It's reported you're goin' to be marrid to an ould
woman.'
“He---hem--ahem! Bad luck to this cowld I have! it's stickin' in my
throath entirely, so it is!--hem!--to a what?”
“Why to an ould woman, wid a great deal of the hard goold!”
Phelim put his hand instinctively to his waistcoat pocket, in which he
carried the housekeeper's money.
“Would you oblage one wid her name?”
“You know ould Molly Kavanagh well enough, Phelim.”
Phelim put up an inward ejaculation of thanks.
“To the sarra wid her, an' all sasoned women. God be praised that the
night's line, anyhow! Hand me the shell, an' we'll take a _gauliogue_
aich, an' afther that we'll begin an' talk over how lovin' an' fond o'
one another we'll be.”
“You're takin' too much o' the whiskey, Phelim. Oh, for Goodness'
sake!--oh--b--b--n--now be asy. Faix, I'll go to the fire, an' lave you
altogether, so I will, if you don't give over slustherin' me, that way,
an' stoppin' my breath.”
“Here's all happiness to our two selves, _acushla machree!_ Now thry
another _gauliogue_, an' you'll see how deludin' it'll make you.”
“Not a sup, Phelim.”
“Arrah, nonsense! Be the vestment, it's as harmless as new milk from the
cow. It'll only do you good, alanna. Come now, Peggy, don't be ondacent,
an' it our first night's coortin'! Blood alive! don't make little o' my
father's son on sich a night, an' us at business like this, anyhow!”
“Phelim, by the crass, I won't take it; so that ends it. Do you want
to make little o' me? It's not much you'd think o' me in your mind, if
I'd dhrink it.”
“The shell's not half full.”
“I wouldn't brake my oath for all the whiskey in the kingdom; so don't
ax me. It's neither right nor proper of you to force it an me.”
“Well, all I say is, that it's makin' little of one Phelim O'Toole, that
hasn't a thought in his body but what's over head an' ears in love wid
you. I must only dhrink it for you myself, thin. Here's all kinds o'
good fortune to us! Now, Peggy,--sit closer to me acushla!--Now, Peggy,
are you fond o' me at all? Tell thruth, now.”
“Fond o' you! Sure you know all the girls is fond of you. Aren't you the
boy for deludin' them?--ha, ha, ha?”
“Come, come, you shaver; that won't do. Be sarious. If you knew how my
heart's warmin' to you this minute, you'd fall in love wid my shadow.
Come, now, out wid it. Are you fond of a sartin boy not far from you,
called Bouncin' Phelim?”
“To be sure I am. Are you satisfied now? Phelim! I say,”--
“Faith, it won't pass, avourneen. That's not the voice for it. Don't
you hear me, how tendher I spake wid my mouth brathin' into your ear,
_acushla machree?_ Now turn about, like a purty entisin' girl, as you
are, an' put your sweet bill to my ear the same way, an' whisper what
you know into it? That's a darlin'! Will you, achora?”
“An' maybe all this time you're promised to another?”
“Be the vestments, I'm not promised to one. Now! Saize the one!”
“You'll say that, anyhow!”
“Do you see my hands acrass? Be thim five crasses, I'm not promised to
a girl livin', so I'm not, nor wouldn't, bekase I had you in my eye. Now
will you tell me what I'm wantin' you? The grace o' Heaven light down
an you, an' be a good, coaxin darlin' for wanst. Be this an' be that,
if ever you heerd or seen sich doin's an' times as we'll have when we're
marrid. Now the weeny whisper, a colleen dhas.”
“It's time enough yet to let you know my mind, Phelim. If you behave
yourself an' be-----Why thin is it at the bottle agin you are? Now don't
dhrink so much, Phelim, or it'll get into your head. I was sayin' that
if you behave yourself, an' be a good boy, I may tell you somethin'
soon.”
“Somethin' soon! Live horse, an' you'll get grass! Peggy, if that's the
way wid you, the love's all on my side, I see clearly. Are you willin'
to marry me, anyhow?”
“I'm willin' to do whatsomever my father an' mother wishes.”
“I'm for havin' the weddin' off-hand; an' of coorse, if we agree
to-night, I think our best plan is to have ourselves called on Sunday.
An' I'll tell you what, avourneen--be the holy vestments, if I was to be
'called' to fifty on the same Sunday, you're the darlin' I'd marry.”
“Phelim, it's time for us to go up to the fire; we're long enough here.
I thought you had only three words to say to me.”
“Why, if you're tired o' me, Peggy, I don't want you to stop. I wouldn't
force myself on the best girl that ever stepped.”
“Sure you have tould me all you want to say, an' there's no use in us
stayin' here. You know, Phelim, there's not a girl in the Parish 'ud
believe a word that 'ud come but o' your lips. Sure there's none o' them
but you coorted one time or other. If you could get betther, Phelim, I
dunna whether you'd be here to-night at all or not.”
“Answer me this, Peggy. What do you! think your father 'ud be willin' to
give you? Not that I care a _cron abaun_ about it, for I'd marry you wid
an inch of candle.”
“You know my father's but a poor man, Phelim, an' can give little or
nothing. Them that won't marry me as I am, needn't come here to look for
a fortune.”
“I know that, Peggy, an' be the same token, I want no fortune at all wid
you but yourself, darlin'. In the mane time, to show you that I could
get a fortune--_Dhera Lorha Heena_, I could have a wife wid a hundre an'
twenty guineas!”
Peggy received this intelligence much in the same manner as Larry and
Sheelah had received it. Her mirth was absolutely boisterous for at
least ten minutes. Indeed, so loud had it been, that Larry and her
father could not help asking:--
“Arrah, what's the fun, Peggy, achora?”
“Oh, nothin',” she replied, “but one o' Phelim's bounces.”
“Now,” said Phelim, “you won't believe me? Be all the books--”
Peggy's mirth prevented his oaths from being heard. In vain he declared,
protested, and swore. On this occasion, he was compelled to experience
the fate peculiar to all liars. Even truth, from his lips, was looked
upon as falsehood.
Phelim, on finding that he could neither extort from Peggy an
acknowledgment of love, nor make himself credible upon the subject
of the large fortune, saw that he had nothing for it now, in order to
produce an impression, but the pathetic.
“Well,” said he, “you may lave me, Peggy achora, if you like; but out o'
this I'll not budge, wid a blessing, till I cry my skinful, so I won't.
Saize the toe I'll move, now, till I'm sick wid cryin'! Oh, murdher
alive, this night! Isn't it a poor case entirely, that the girl I'd
suffer myself to be turned inside out for, won't say that she cares
about a hair o' my head! Oh, thin, but I'm the misfortunate blackguard
all out! Och, oh! Peggy, achora, you'll break my heart! Hand me that
shell, acushla--for I'm in the height of affliction!”
Peggy could neither withhold it, nor reply to him. Her mirth was even
more intense now than before; nor, if all were known, was Phelim less
affected with secret laughter than Peggy.
“It is makin' fun o' me you are, you thief, eh?--Is it laughin' at my
grief you are?” exclaimed Phelim. “Be the tarn' o' wor, I'll punish you
for that.”
Peggy attempted to escape, but Phelim succeeded, ere she went, in taking
a salutation or two, after which both joined those who sat at the fire,
and in a few minutes Sam Appleton entered.
Much serious conversation had already passed in reference to the
courtship, which was finally entered into and debated, pro and con.
“Now, Paddy Donovan, that we're altogether, let me tell you one thing:
there's not a betther natur'd boy, nor a stouther, claner young fellow
in the parish, than my Phelim. He'll make your daughther as good, a
husband as ever broke bread!”
“I'm not sayin' against that, Larry. He is a good-nathur'd boy: but I
tell you, Larry Toole, that my daughter's his fill of a wife any day.
An' I'll put this to the back o' that--she's a hard-workin' girl, that
ates no idle bread.”
“Very right,” said Sam Appleton. “Phelim's a hairo, an' she's a beauty.
Dang me, but they wor made for one another. Phelim, _abouchal_, why
don't you--oh, I see you are. Why, I was goin' to bid you make up to
her.”
“Give no gosther, Sam,” replied Phelim, “but sind round the bottle, an'
don't forget to let it come this way. I hardly tasted a dhrop to-night.”
“Oh, Phelim!” exclaimed Peggy.
“Whisht!” said Phelim, “there's no use in lettin' the ould fellows be
committin' sin. Why, they're hearty (* Tipsy) as it is, the sinners.”
“Come, nabors,” said Burn, “I'm the boy that's for close work. How does
the match stand? You're both my friends, an' may this be poison to me,
but I'll spake like an honest man, for the one as well as for the other.
“Well, then,” said Donovan, “how is Phelim to support my daughther,
Larry? Sure that's a fair questin', any way.”
“Wiry, Paddy,” replied Larry, “when Phelim gets her, he'll have a patch
of his own, as well as another. There's that 'half-acre,' and a betther
piece o' land isn't in Europe!”
“Well, but what plenishin' are they to have, Larry? A bare half acre's
but a poor look up.”
“I'd as soon you'd not make little of it, in the mane time,” replied
Larry, rather warmly. “As good a couple as ever they wor lived on that
half acre; along wid what they earned by hard work otherwise.”
“I'm not disparagin' it, Larry; I'd be long sorry; but about the
furniture? What are they to begin the world wid?”
“Hut,” said Devlin, “go to the sarra wid yez!--What 'ud they want, no
more nor other young people like them, to begin the world wid? Are you
goin' to make English or Scotch of them, that never marries till they're
able to buy a farm an' stock it, the nagurs. By the staff in my hand, an
Irish man 'ud lash a dozen o' them, wid all then prudence! Hasn't Phelim
an' Peggy health and hands, what most new-married couples in Ireland
begins the world wid? Sure they're not worse nor a thousand others?”
“Success, Antony,” said Phelim. “Here's your health for that!”
“God be thanked they have health and hands,” said Donovan. “Still,
Antony, I'd like that they'd have somethin' more.”
“Well, then, Paddy, spake up for yourself,” observed Larry. “What will
you put to the fore for the colleen? Don't take both flesh an' bone!”
“I'll not spake up, till I know all that Phelim's to expect,” said
Donovan. “I don't think he has a right to be axin' anything wid sich a
girl as my Peggy.”
“Hut, tut, Paddy! She's a good colleen enough; but do you think she's
above any one that carries the name of O'Toole upon him? Still, it's but
raisonable for you to wish the girl well settled. My Phelim will have
one half o' my worldly goods, at all evints.”
“Name them, Larry, if you plase.”
“Why, he'll have one o' the goats--the gray one, for she's the best o'
the two, in throth. He'll have two stools; three hens, an' a toss-up
for the cock. The biggest o' the two pots; two good crocks; three good
wooden trenchers, an'--hem--he'll have his own--I say, Paddy, are
you listenin' to me?--Phelim, do you hear what I'm givin' you, _a
veehonee?--his own bed!_ An' there's all I can or will do for him. Now
do you spake up for Peggy.”
“I'm to have my own bedstead too,” said Phelim, “an' bad cess to the
stouter one in Europe. It's as good this minute as it was eighteen years
agone.”
“Paddy Donovan, spake up,” said Larry.
“Spake up!” said Paddy, contemptuously. “Is it for three crowns' worth
I'd spake up? The bedstead, Phelim! _Bedhu husth_, (* hold your tongue)
man!”
“Put round the bottle,” said Phelim, “we're dhry here.”
“Thrue enough, Phelim,” said the father. “Paddy, here's towarst you
an' yours--nabors--all your healths--young couple! Paddy, give us your
hand, man alive! Sure, whether we agree or not, this won't put between
us.”
“Throth, it won't, Larry--an' I'm thankful to you. Your health, Larry,
an' all your healths! Phelim an' Peggy, success to yez, whether or not!
An' now, in regard o' your civility, I will spake up. My proposal is
this:--I'll put down guinea for guinea wid you.”
Now we must observe, by the way, that this was said under the firm
conviction that neither Phelim nor the father had a guinea in their
possession.
“I'll do that same, Paddy,” said Larry; “but I'll lave it to the present
company, if you're not bound to put down the first guinea. Nabors, amn't
I right?”
“You are right, Larry,” said Burn; “it's but fair that Paddy should put
down the first.”
“Molly, achora,” said Donovan to the wife, who, by the way, was engaged
in preparing the little feast usual on such occasions--“Molly, achora,
give me that ould glove you have in your pocket.”
She immediately handed him an old shammy glove, tied up into a hard
knot, which he felt some difficulty in unloosing.
“Come, Larry,” said he, laying down a guinea-note, “cover that like a
man.”
“Phelim carries my purse,” observed the father; but he had scarcely
spoken when the laughter of the company rang loudly through the
house--The triumph of Donovan appeared to be complete, for he thought
the father's alusion to Phelim tantamount to an evasion.
“Phelim! Phelim carries it! Faix, an' I, doubt he finds it a light
burdyeen.”
Phelim approached in all his glory.
“What am I to do?” he inquired, with a swagger.
“You're to cover that guinea-note wid a guinea, if you can,” said
Donovan.
“Whether 'ud you prefar goold or notes,” said Phelim, looking pompously
about him; “that's the talk.”
This was received with another merry peal of laughter.
“Oh, goold--goold by all manes!” replied Donovan.
“Here goes the goold, my worthy,” said Phelim, laying down his guinea
with a firm slap upon the table.
Old Donovan seized it, examined it, then sent it round, to satisfy
himself that it was a _bona fide_ guinea.
On finding that it was good, he became blank a little; his laugh lost
its strength, much of his jollity was instantly neutralized, and his
face got at least two inches longer. Larry now had the laugh against
him, and the company heartily joined in it.
“Come, Paddy,” said Larry, “go an!--ha, ha, ha!”
Paddy fished for half a minute through the glove; and, after what was
apparently a hard chase, brought up another guinea, which he laid down.
“Come, Phelim!” said he, and his eye brightened again with a hope that
Phelim would fail.
“Good agin!” said Phelim, thundering down another, which was instantly
subjected to a similar scrutiny.
“You'll find it good,” said Larry. “I wish we had a sackful o' them. Go
an, Paddy. Go an, man, who's afeard?”
“Sowl, I'm done,” said Donovan, throwing down the purse with a hearty
laugh--“give me your hand, Larry. Be the goold afore us, I thought to do
you. Sure these two guineas is for my rint, an' we mustn't let them come
atween us at all.”
“Now,” said Larry, “to let you see that my son's not widout something to
begin the world wid--Phelim, shill out the rest o' the yallow boys.”
“Faix, you ought to dhrink the ould woman's health for this,” said
Phelim. “Poor ould crathur, many a long day she was savin' up these for
me. It's my mother I'm speakin' about.”
“An' we will, too,” said the father; “here's Sheelah's health,
neighbors! The best poor man's wife that ever threwn a gown over her
shouldhers.”
This was drank with all the honors, and the negotiation proceeded.
“Now,” said Appleton, “what's to be done? Paddy, say what you'll do for
the girl.”
“Money's all talk,” said Donovan; “I'll give the girl the two-year ould
heifer--an' that's worth double what his father has promised Phelim;
I'll give her a stone o' flax, a dacent suit o' clo'es, my blessin'--an'
there's her fortune.”
“Has she neither bed nor beddin'?” inquired Larry.
“Why, don't you say that Phelim's to have his own bed?” observed
Donovan. “Sure one bed 'ill be plinty for them.”
“I don't care a damn about fortune,” said Phelim, for the first time
taking a part in the bargain--“so long as I get the darlin' herself. But
I think there 'ud be no harm in havin' a spare pair o' blankets--an',
for that matther, a bedstead, too--in case a friend came to see a body.”
“I don't much mind givin' you a brother to the bedstead you have,
Phelim,” replied Donovan, winking at the company, for he was perfectly
aware of the nature of Phelim's bedstead.
“I'll tell you what you must do,” said Larry, “otherwise I'll not stand
it. Give the colleen a chaff bed, blankets an' all other parts complate,
along wid that slip of a pig. If you don't do this, Paddy Donovan, why
we'll finish the whiskey an' part friends--but it's no match.”
“I'll never do it, Larry. The bed an' beddin' I'll give; but the pig
I'll by no manner o' manes part wid.”
“Put round the bottle,” said Phelim, “we're gettin' dhry agin--sayin'
nothin' is dhroothy work. Ould man, will you not bother us about
fortune!”
“Come, Paddy Donnovan,” wid Devlin, “dang it, let out a little,
considher he has ten guineas; and I give it as my downright maxim an
opinion, that he's fairly entitled to the pig.”
“You're welcome to give your opinion, Antony, an' I'm welcome not to
care a rotten sthraw about it. My daughter's wife enough for him, widout
a gown to her back, if he had his ten guineas doubled.”
“An' my son,” said Larry, “is husband enough for a betther girl nor ever
called you father--not makin' little, at the same time, of either you or
her.”
“Paddy,” said Burn, “there's no use in spakin' that way. I agree wid
Antony, that you ought to throw in the 'slip.'”
“Is it what I have to pay my next gale o' rint wid? No, no! If he won't
marry her widout it, she'll get as good that will.”
“Saize the 'slip,” said Phelim, “the darlin' herself here is all the
slip I want.”
“But I'm not so,” said Larry, “the 'slip' must go in, or it's a brake
off. Phelim can get girls that has money enough to buy us all out o'
root. Did you hear that, Paddy Donovan?”
“I hear it,” said Paddy, “but I'll b'lieve as much of it as I like.”
Phelim apprehended that as his father got warm with the liquor, he
might, in vindicating the truth of his own assertion, divulge the affair
of the old housekeeper.
“Ould man,” said he “have sinse, an' pass that over, if you have any
regard for Phelim.”
“I'd not be brow-bate into anything,” observed Donovan.
“Sowl, you would not,” said Phelim; “for my part, Paddy, I'm ready to
marry your daughther (a squeeze to Peggy) widout a ha'p'orth at all,
barrin' herself. It's the girl I want, an' not the slip.”
“Thin, be the book, you'll get both, Phelim, for your dacency,” said
Donovan; “but, you see I wouldn't be bullied into' puttin' one foot past
the other, for the best man that ever stepped on black leather.”
“Whish!” said Appleton, “that's the go! Success ould heart! Give us your
hand, Paddy,--here's your good health, an' may you never button an empty
pocket!”
“Is all settled?” inquired Molly.
“All, but about the weddin' an' the calls,” replied her husband. “How
are we to do about that, Larry?”
“Why, in the name o' Goodness, to save time,” he replied, “let them be
called on Sunday next, the two Sundays afther, an thin marrid, wid a
blessin'.”
“I agree wid that entirely,” observed Molly; “an' now Phelim, clear
away, you an' Peggy, off o' that chist, till we have our bit o' supper
in comfort.”
“Phelim,” said Larry, “when the suppers done, you must slip over to
Roche's for a couple o' bottles more o' whiskey. We'll make a night of
it.”
“There's two bottles in the house,” said Donovan; “an', be the
saikerment, the first man that talks of bringin' in more, till these is
dhrunk, is ondacent.”
This was decisive. In the meantime, the chest was turned into a table,
the supper laid, and the attack commenced. All was pleasure, fun,
and friendship. The reader may be assured that Phelim, during the
negotiation, had not misspent the time with Peggy, Their conversation,
however, was in a tone too low to be heard by those who were themselves
talking loudly.
One thing, however, Phelim understood from his friend Sam Appleton,
which was, that some clue had been discovered to an outrage in which he
(Appleton) had been concerned. Above all other subjects, that was one on
which Phelim was but a poor comforter. He himself found circumspection
necessary; and he told Appleton, that if ever danger approached him, he
had resolved either to enlist, or go to America, if he could command the
money.
“You ought to do that immediately,” added Phelim.
“Where's the money?” replied the other. “I don't know,” said Phelim;
“but if I was bent on goin', the want of money wouldn't stop me as long
as it could be found in the counthry. We had to do as bad for others,
an' it can't be a greater sin to do that much for ourselves.”
“I'll think of it,” said Appleton. “Any rate, it's in for a penny, in
for a pound, wid me.”
When supper was over, they resumed their drinking, sang songs, and told
anecdotes with great glee and hilarity. Phelim and Peggy danced jigs and
reels, whilst Appleton sang for them, and the bottle also did its duty.
On separating about two o'clock, there was not a sober man among them
but Appleton. He declined drinking, and was backed in his abstemiousness
by Phelim, who knew that sobriety on the part of Sam would leave himself
more liquor. Phelim, therefore, drank for them both, and that to such
excess, that Larry, by Appleton's advice, left him at his father's in
consequence of his inability to proceed homewards. It was not, however,
without serious trouble that Appleton could get Phelim and the father
separated; and when he did, Larry's grief was bitter in the extreme. By
much entreaty, joined to some vigorous shoves towards the door, he was
prevailed upon to depart without him; but the old man compensated for
the son's absence, by indulging in the most vociferous sorrow as he
went along, about “Ma Phelim.” When he reached home, his grief burst out
afresh; he slapped the palms of his hands together, and indulged in a
continuous howl, that one on hearing it would imagine to be the very
echo of misery, When he had fatigued himself, he fell asleep on the bed,
without having undressed, where he lay until near nine o'clock the next
morning. Having got up and breakfasted, he related to his wife, with an
aching head, the result of the last night's proceedings. Everything
he assured her was settled: Phelim and Peggy were to be called the
following Sunday, as Phelim, he supposed, had already informed her.
“Where's Phelim?” said the wife; “an' why didn't he come home wid you
last night?”
“Where is Phelim? Why, Sheelah, woman sure he did come home wid me last
night.”
“_Ghrush orrin_, Larry, no! What could happen him? Why, man, I thought
you knew where he was; an' in regard of his bein' abroad so often at
night, myself didn't think it sthrange.”
Phelim's absence astounded them both, particularly the father, who
had altogether forgotten everything that had happened on the preceding
night, after the period of his intoxication. He proposed to go back to
Donovan's to inquire for him, and was about to proceed there when Phelim
made his appearance, dressed in his own tender apparel only. His face
was three inches longer than usual, and the droop in his eye remarkably
conspicuous.
“No fear of him,” said the father, “here's himself. Arrah, Phelim, what
became of you last night? Where wor you?”
Phelim sat down very deliberately and calmly, looked dismally at his
mother, and then looked more dismally at his father.
“I suppose you're sick too, Phelim,” said the father. “My head's goin'
round like a top.”
“Ate your breakfast,” said his mother; it's the best thing for you.”
“Where wor you last night, Phelim?” inquired the father.
“What are you sayin', ould man?”
“Who wor you wid last night?”
“Do, Phelim,” said the mother, “tell us, aroon. I hope it wasn't out you
wor. Tell us, avourneen?”
“Ould woman, what are you talking about?”
Phelim whistled “_ulican dim oh_,” or, “the song of sorrow.” At length
he bounced to his feet, and exclaimed in a loud, rapid voice:--“_Ma
chuirp an diouol!_ ould couple, but I'm robbed of my ten guineas by Sam
Appleton!”
“Robbed by Sam Appleton! Heavens above!” exclaimed the father.
“Robbed by Sam Appleton! _Gra machree_, Phelim! no, you aren't!”
exclaimed the mother.
“_Gra machree_ yourself! but I say I am,” replied Phelim; “robbed clane
of every penny of it!”
Phelim then sat down to breakfast--for he was one of those happy mortals
whose appetite is rather sharpened by affliction--and immediately
related to his father and mother the necessity which Appleton's
connection had imposed on him of leaving the country; adding, that while
he was in a state of intoxication, he had been stripped of Appleton's
clothes; that his own were left beside him; that when he awoke the next
morning, he found his borrowed suit gone; that on searching for his own,
he found, to his misery, that the ten guineas had disappeared along with
Appleton, who, he understood from his father, had “left the neighborhood
for a while, till the throuble he was in 'ud pass over.”
“But I know where he's gone,” said Phelim, “an' may the divil's luck go
wid him, an' God's curse on the day I ever had anything to do wid
that hell-fire Ribbon business! 'Twas he first brought me into it, the
villain; an' now I'd give the town land we're in to be fairly out of
it.”
“_Hanim an diouol!_” said the father, “is the ten guineas gone? The
curse of hell upon him, for a black desaver! Where's the villain,
Phelim?”
“He's gone to America,” replied the son* “The divil tare the tongue
out o' myself,' too! I should be puttin' him up to go there, an' to get
money, if it was to be had. The villain bit me fairly.”
“Well, but how are we to manage?” inquired Larry. “What's to be done?”
“Why,” said the other, “to bear it an say nothin'. Even if he was in his
father's house, the double-faced villain has me so much in his power,
that I couldn't say a word about it. My curse on the Ribbon business, I
say, from my heart out!”
That day was a very miserable one to Phelim and the father. The loss of
the ten guineas, and the feverish sickness produced from their debauch,
rendered their situation not enviable. Some other small matters, too,
in which Phelim was especially concerned, independent of the awkward
situation in which he felt himself respecting the three calls on the
following day, which was Sunday, added greater weight to his anxiety. He
knew not how to manage, especially upon the subject of his habiliments,
which certainly were in a very dilapidated state. An Irishman, however,
never despairs. If he has not apparel of his own sufficiently decent to
wear on his wedding-day, he borrows from a friend. Phelim and his father
remembered that there were several neighbors in the village, who would
oblige him with a suit for the wedding; and as to the other necessary
expenses, they did what their countrymen are famous for--they trusted to
chance.
“We'll work ourselves out of it some way,” said Larry. “Sure, if all
fails us, we can sell the goats for the weddin' expenses. It's one
comfort that Paddy Donovan must find the dinner; an' all we have to get
is the whiskey, the marriage money, an' some other thrifies.”
“They say,” observed Phelim, “that people have more luck whin they're
married than whin they're single. I'll have a bout at the marriage, so
I will; for worse luck I can't have, if I had half a dozen wives, than I
always met wid.”
* This is another absurd opinion peculiar to the
Irish, and certainly one of the most pernicious that
prevail among them. Indeed, I believe there is no
country in which so many absurd maxims exist.
“I'll go down,” observed Larry, “to Paddy Donovan's, an' send him to the
priest's to dive in your names to be called to-morrow. Faith, it's well
that you won't have to appear, or I dunna how you'd get over it.”
“No,” said Phelim, “that bill won't pass. You must go to the priest
yourself, an' see the curate: if you go near Father O'Hara, it 'ud knock
a plan on the head that I've invinted. I'm in the notion that I'll make
the ould woman bleed agin. I'll squeeze as much out of her as I'll
bring me to America, for I'm not overly safe here; or, if all fails,
I'll marry her, an' run away wid the money. It 'ud bring us all across.”
Larry's interview with the curate was but a short one. He waited on
Donovan, however, before he went, who expressed himself satisfied with
the arrangement, and looked forward to the marriage as certain. As for
Phelim, the idea of being called to three females at the same time, was
one that tickled his vanity very much. Vanity, where the fair sex was
concerned, had been always his predominant failing. He was not finally
determined on marriage with any of them; but he knew that should he
even escape the three, the _eclat_, resulting from so celebrated a
transaction would recommend him to the sex for the remainder of his
life. Impressed with this view of the matter, he sauntered about as
usual; saw Foodie Flattery's daughter, and understood that her uncle had
gone to the priest, to have his niece and worthy Phelim called the next
day. But besides this hypothesis, Phelim had another, which, after all,
was the real one. He hoped that the three applications would prevent the
priest from calling him at all.
The priest, who possessed much sarcastic humor, on finding the name of
Phelim come in as a candidate for marriage honors with three different
women, felt considerably puzzled to know what he could be at. That
Phelim might hoax one or two of them was very probable, but that he
should have the effrontery to make him the instrument of such an affair,
he thought a little too bad.
“Now,” said he to his curate, as they talked the matter over that night.
“it is quite evident that this scapegrace reckons upon our refusal to
call him with any of those females to-morrow. It is also certain that
not one of the three to whom he has pledged himself is aware that he is
under similar obligations to the other two.”
“How do you intend to act, sir?” inquired the curate.
“Why,” said Mr. O'Hara, “certainly to call him to each: it will give
the business a turn for which he is not prepared. He will stand exposed,
moreover, before the congregation, and that will be some punishment to
him.”
“I don't know as to the punishment,” replied the curate. “If ever a
human being was free from shame, Phelim is. The fellow will consider it
a joke.”
“Very possible,” observed his superior, “but I am anxious to punish this
old woman. It may prevent her from uniting herself with a fellow who
certainly would, on becoming master of her money, immediately abandon
her--perhaps proceed to America.”
“It will also put the females of the parish on their guard against him,”
said the innocent curate, who knew not that it would raise him highly in
their estimation.
“We will have a scene, at all events,” said Mr. O'Hara; “for I'm
resolved to expose him. No blame can be attached to those whom he has
duped, excepting only the old woman, whose case will certainly excite
a great deal of mirth. That matters not, however; she has earned the
ridicule, and let her bear it.” It was not until Sunday morning that the
three calls occurred to Phelim in a new light.
He forgot that the friends of the offended parties might visit upon his
proper carcase the contumely he offered to them. This, however, did not
give him much anxiety, for Phelim was never more in his element than
when entering upon a row.
The Sunday in question was fine, and the congregation unusually large;
one would think that all the inhabitants of the parish of Teernarogarah
had been assembled. Most of them certainly were.
The priest, after having gone through the usual ceremonies of the
Sabbath worship, excepting those with which he concludes the mass,
turned round to the congregation, and thus addressed them:--
“I would not,” said he, “upon any other occasion of this kind, think it
necessary to address you at all; but this is one perfectly unique, and
in some degree patriarchal, because, my friends, we are informed that
it was allowed in the times of Abraham and his successors, to keep
more than one wife. This custom is about being revived by a modern,
who wants, in rather a barefaced manner, to palm himself upon us as a
patriarch. And who do you think, my friends, this Irish Patriarch is?
Why, no other than bouncing Phelim O'Toole!”
This was received precisely as the priest anticipated: loud were the
snouts of laughter from all parts of the congregation.
“Divil a fear o' Phelim!” they exclaimed. “He wouldn't be himself, or
he'd kick up a dust some way.”
“Blessed Phelim! Just like him! Faith, he couldn't be marrid in the
common coorse!”
“Arrah, whisht till we hear the name o' the happy crathur that's to be
blisthered with Phelim! The darlin's in luck, whoever she is, an' has
gained a blessed prize in the 'Bouncer.'”
“This bouncing patriarch,” continued the priest, “has made his selection
with great judgment and discrimination. In the first place, he has
pitched upon a hoary damsel of long standing in the world;--one blessed
with age and experience. She is qualified to keep Phelim's house well,
as soon as it shall be built; but whether she will be able to keep
Phelim himself, is another consideration. It is not unlikely that
Phelim, in imitation of his great prototypes, may prefer living in a
tent. But whether she keeps Phelim or the house, one thing is certain,
that Phelim will keep her money. Phelim selected this aged woman, we
presume, for her judgment; for surely she who has given such convincing
proof of discretion, must make a useful partner to one who, like Phelim,
has that virtue yet to learn. I have no doubt, however, but in a short
time he will be as discreet as his teacher.”
“Blood alive! Isn't that fine language?”
“You may say that! Begad, it's himself can discoorse! What's the
Protestants to that?”
“The next upon the list is one who, though a poor man's daughter, will
certainly bring property to Phelim. There is also an aptness in this
selection, which does credit to the 'Patriarch.' Phelim is a great
dancer, an accomplishment with which we do not read that the patriarchs
themselves were possessed: although we certainly do read that a light
heel was of little service to Jacob. Well, Phelim carries a light heel,
and the second female of his choice on this list carries a 'light hand;'
(* Intimating theft) it is, therefore, but natural to suppose that, if
ever they are driven to extremities, they will make light of many things
which other people would consider as of weighty moment. Whether Phelim
and she may long remain stationary in this country, is a problem
more likely to be solved at the county assizes than here. It is not
improbable that his Majesty may recommend the 'Patriarch' and one of
his wives to try the benefit of a voyage to New South Wales, he himself
graciously vouch-saving to bear their expenses.”
“Divil a lie in that, anyhow! If ever any one crossed the wather, Phelim
will. Can't his Reverence be funny whin he plases?”
“Many a time it was prophecized for him: an' his Reverence knows best.”
“Begad, Phelim's gettin' over the coals. But sure it's all the way the
father an' mother reared him.”
“Tunder-an'-trff, is he goin' to be called to a pair o' them?”
“Faix, so it seems.”
“Oh, the divil's clip! Is he mad? But let us hear it out.”
“The third damsel is by no means so, well adapted for Phelim as either
of the other two. What she could have seen in him is another problem
much more difficult than the one I have mentioned. I would advise her
to reconsider the subject, and let Phelim have the full benefit of the
attention she may bestow upon it. If she finds the 'Patriarch' possessed
of any one virtue, except necessity, I will admit that it is pretty
certain that she will soon discover the longitude, and that has puzzled
the most learned men of the world. If she marries this 'Patriarch', I
think the angels who may visit him will come in the shape of policemen;
and that Phelim, so long as he can find a cudgel, will give them
anything but a patriarchal reception, is another thing of which we may
rest pretty certain.
“I. now publish the bans of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of
Teernarogarah, and Bridget Doran of Dernascobe. If any person knows of
any impediment why these two should not be joined in wedlock, they are
bound to declare it.
“This Bridget Doran, my friends, is no other than my old housekeeper;
but when, where, or how, Phelim could have won upon her juvenile
affections is one of those mysteries which is never to be explained.
I dare say, the match was brought about by despair on her side, and
necessity on his. She despaired of getting a husband, and he had a
necessity for the money. In point of age I admit she would make a very
fit wife for any 'Patriarch.'”
Language could not describe the effect which this disclosure produced
upon the congregation. The fancy of every one present was tickled at
the idea of a union between Phelim and the old woman. It was followed by
roars of laughter which lasted several minutes.
“Oh, thin, the curse o' the crows upon him, was he only able to butther
up the ould woman! Oh, _Ghe dldven!_ that flogs. Why, it's a wondher he
didn't stale the ould slip, an' make a run-away match of it--ha, ha, ha!
Musha, bad scran to her, but she had young notions of her own! A purty
bird she picked up in Phelim!--ha, ha, ha!”
“I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of
Teernarogarah and Sally Flattery of the same place. If any of you knows
of any impediment why they should not be joined in wedlock you are bound
to declare it.”
The mirth rose again, loud and general. Poodle Flattery, whose character
was so well known, appeared so proper a father-in-law for Phelim, that
his selection in this instance delighted them highly.
“Betther an' betther, Phelim! More power to you! You're fixed at last.
Poodle Flattery's daughter--a known thief! Well, what harm? Phelim
himself has pitch on his fingers--or had, anyhow, when he was growin'
up--for many a thing stuck to them. Oh, bedad, now we know what his
Reverence was at when he talked about the 'Sizes, bad luck to them!
Betune her an' the ould woman, Phelim 'ud be in Paradise! Foodie
Flattery's daughter! Begad, she'll 'bring him property' sure enough, as
his Reverence says.”
“I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole--whom we
must in future call the 'Patriarch'--of Teernarogarah, and Peggy Donovan
of the same place. If any of you knows any impediment in the way of
their marriage, you are bound to declare it.”
“Bravo! Phelim acushla. 'Tis you that's the blessed youth.
Tundher-an'-whiskey, did ever any body hear of sich desate? To do three
o' them. Be sure the Bouncer has some schame in this. Well, one would
suppose Paddy Donovan an' his daughter had more sinse nor to think of
sich a runagate as Bouncin' Phelim.”
“No, but the Pathriark! Sure his Reverence sez that we musn't call him
anything agin but the Pathriark! Oh, be gorra, that's the name!--ha, ha,
ha!”
When the mirth of the congregation had subsided, and their comments
ended, the priest concluded in the following words:--
“Now, my friends, here is such a piece of profligacy as I have never,
in the whole course of my pastoral duties, witnessed. It is the act of
Phelim O'Toole, be it known, who did not scruple to engage himself for
marriage to three females--that is, to two girls and an old woman--and
who, in addition, had the effrontery to send me his name and theirs, to
be given out all on the same Sunday; thus making me an instrument in his
hands to hoax those who trusted in his word. That he can marry but
one of them is quite clear; but that he would not scruple to marry the
three, and three more to complete the half-dozen, is a fact which no one
who knows him will doubt. For my part, I know not how this business may
terminate. Of a truth he has contrived to leave the claims of the three
females in a state of excellent confusion. Whether it raise or lessen
him in their opinion I cannot pretend to determine. I am sorry for
Donovan's daughter, for I know not what greater calamity could befall
any honest family than a matrimonial union with Phelim O'Toole. I trust
that this day's proceedings will operate as a caution to the females
of the parish against such an unscrupulous reprobate. It is for this
purpose only that I publish the names given in to me. His character was
pretty well known before; it is now established; and having established
it, I dismiss the subject altogether.”
Phelim's fame was now nearly at its height. Never before had such a case
been known; yet the people somehow were not so much astonished as might
be supposed. On the contrary, had Phelim's courtship gone off like that
of another man, they would have felt more surprised. We need scarcely
say, that the “giving out” or “calling” of Phelim and the three damsels
was spread over the whole parish before the close of that Sunday. Every
one had it--man, woman, and child. It was told, repeated, and improved
as it went along. Now circumstances were added, fresh points made out,
and other _dramatis personae_ brought in--all with great felicity, and
quite suitable to Phelim's character.
Strongly contrasted with the amusement of the parishioners in general,
was the indignation felt by the three damsels and their friends. The old
housekeeper was perfectly furious; so much so, indeed, that the priest
gave some dark hints at the necessity of sending for a strait waistcoat.
Her fellow-servants took the liberty of breaking some strong jests upon
her, in return for which she took the liberty of breaking two strong
churnstaves upon them. Being a remarkably stout woman for her years,
she put forth her strength to such purpose that few of them went to bed
without sore bones. The priest was seriously annoyed at it, for he found
that his house was a scene of battle during the remainder of the day.
Sally Flattery's uncle, in the absence of her father, indignantly
espoused the cause of his niece. He and Donovan each went among their
friends to excite in them a proper resentment, and to form a faction for
the purpose of chastising Phelim. Their chagrin was bitter on finding
that their most wrathful representations of the insult sustained by
their families, were received with no other spirit than one of the most
extravagant mirth. In vain did they rage and fume, and swear; they could
get no one to take a serious view of it. Phelim O'Toole was the author
of all, and from him it was precisely what they had expected.
Phelim himself, and the father, on hearing of the occurrence after mass,
were as merry as any other two in the parish. At first the father was
disposed to lose his temper; but on Phelim telling him he would bear no
“gosther” on the subject, he thought proper to take it in good humor.
About this time they had not more than a week's provision in the house,
and only three shillings of capital. The joke of the three calls was too
good a one to pass off as an ordinary affair; they had three shillings,
and although it was their last, neither of them could permit the
matter to escape as a dry joke. They accordingly repaired to the little
public-house of the village, where they laughed at the world, got drunk,
hugged each other, despised all mankind, and staggered home, Fagged and
merry, poor and hearty, their arms about each other's necks, perfect
models of filial duty and paternal affection.
The reader is aware that the history of Phelim's abrupt engagement
with the housekeeper, was conveyed by Fool Art to Sally Flattery. Her
thievish character rendered marriage as hopeless to her as length of
days did to Bridget Doran. No one knew the plan she had laid for Phelim,
but this fool, and, in order to secure his silence, she had promised him
a shirt on the Monday after the first call. Now Art, as was evident
by his endless habit of shrugging, felt the necessity of a shirt very
strongly.
About ton o'clock on Monday he presented himself to Sally, and claimed
his recompense.
“Art,” said Sally, “the shirt I intended for you is upon Squire Nugent's
hedge beside their garden. You know the family's goin' up to Dublin on
Thursday, Art, an' they're gettin' their washin' done in time to be off.
Go down, but don't let any one see you; take the third shirt on the row,
an' bring it up to me till I smooth it for you.”
Art sallied down to the hedge on which the linen had been put out to
dry, and having reconnoitered the premises, shrugged himself, and cast a
longing eye on the third shirt. With that knavish penetration, however,
peculiar to such persons, he began to reflect that Sally might have
some other object in view besides his accommodation. He determined,
therefore, to proceed upon new principles--sufficiently safe, he
thought, to protect him from the consequences of theft. “Good-morrow,
Bush,” said Art, addressing that on which the third shirt was spread.
“Isn't it a burnin' shame an' a sin for you,” he continued, “to have
sich a line white shirt an you, an' me widout a stitch to my back. Will
you swap?”
Having waited until the bush had due time to reply.
“Sorra fairer,” he observed; “silence gives consint.”
In less than two minutes he stripped, put on one of the Squire's best
shirts, and spread out his own dusky fragment in its place.
“It's a good thing,” said Art, “to have a clear conscience; a fair
exchange is no robbery.”
Now, it so happened that the Squire himself, who was a humorist, and
also a justice of the peace, saw Art putting his morality in practice at
the hedge. He immediately walked out with an intention of playing off
a trick upon the fool for his dishonesty; and he felt the greater
inclination to do this in consequence of an opinion long current, that
Art, though he had outwitted several, had never been outwitted himself.
Art had been always a welcome guest in the Squire's kitchen, and never
passed the “Big House,” as an Irish country gentleman's residence is
termed, without calling. On this occasion, however, he was too cunning
to go near it--a fact which the Squire observed. By taking a short cut
across one of his own fields, he got before Art, and turning the angle
of a hedge, met him trotting along at his usual pace.
“Well, Art, where now?”
“To the crass roads, your honor.”
“Art, is not this a fine place of mine? Look at these groves, and the
lawn, and the river there, and the mountains behind all. Is it not equal
to Sir William E-----'s?”
Sir William was Art's favorite patron.
“Sir William, your honor, has all this at his place.”
“But I think my views are finer.”
“They're fine enough,” replied Art; “but where's the lake afore the
door?”
The Squire said no more about his prospects.
“Art,” he continued, “would you carry a letter from me to M-----?”
“I'll be wantin' somethin' to dhrink on the way,” said Art.
“You shall get something to eat and drink before you go,” said the
Squire, “and half-a-crown for your trouble.”
“Augh,” exclaimed Art, “be dodda, sir, you're nosed like Sir William,
and chinned like Captain Taylor.” This was always Art's compliment when
pleased.
The Squire brought him up to the house, ordered him refreshment, and
while Art partook of it, wrote a _letter of mittimus_ to the county
jailor, authorizing him to detain the bearer in prison until he should
hear further from him.
Art, having received the half-crown and the letter, appeared delighted;
but, on hearing the name of the person to whom it was addressed, he
smelt a trick. He promised faithfully, however, to deliver it, and
betrayed no symptoms whatever of suspicion. After getting some distance
from the big house, he set his wits to work, and ran over in his mind
the names of those who had been most in the habit of annoying him. At
the head of this list stood Phelim O'Toole, and on Phelim's head did
he resolve to transfer the revenge which the Squire, he had no doubt,
intended to take on himself.
With considerable speed he made way to Larry O'Toole's, where such a
scene presented itself as made him for a moment forget the immediate
purport of his visit.
Opposite Phelim, dressed out in her best finery, stood the housekeeper,
zealously insisting' on either money or marriage. On one side of him
stood old Donovan and his daughter, whom he had forced to come, in the
character of a witness, to support his charges against the gay deceiver.
On the other were ranged Sally Flattery, in tears, and her uncle in
wrath, each ready to pounce upon Phelim.
Phelim stood the very emblem of patience and good-humor. When one of
them attacked him, he winked at the other two when either of the other
two came on, he Winked still at those who took breath. Sometimes he trod
on his father's toe, lest the old fellow might lose the joke, and not
unfrequently proposed their going to a public-house, and composing their
differences over a bottle, if any of them would pay the expenses.
“What do you mane to do?” said the housekeeper; “but it's asy known
I'm an unprojected woman, or I wouldn't be thrated as I am. If I had
relations livin' or near me, we'd pay you on the bones for bringin' me
to shame and scandal, as you have done.”
“Upon my sanies, Mrs. Doran, I feel for your situation, so I do,” said
Phelim. You've outlived all your friends, an' if it was in my power to
bring any o' them back to you I'd do it.”
“Oh, you desaver, is that the feelin' you have for me, when I thought
you'd be a guard an' a projection to me? You know I have the money, you
sconce, an' how comfortable it 'ud keep us, if you'd only see what's
good for you. You blarnied an' palavered me, you villain, till you
gained my infections an' thin you tuck the cholic as an excuse to lave
me in a state of dissolution an' disparagement. You promised to marry
me, an' you had no notion of it.”
“You're not the only one he has disgraced, Mrs. Doran,” said Donovan.
“A purty way he came down, himself an' his father, undher pretence of
coortin' my daughter. He should lay down his ten guineas, too, to show
us what he had to begin the world wid, the villain!--an' him had no
notion of it aither.”
“An' he should send this girl to make me go to the priest to have him
and her called, the reprobate,” said Nick Flattery; “an' him had no
notion of it aither.”
“Sure he sent us all there,” exclaimed Donovan.
“He did,” said the old woman.
“Not a doubt of it,” observed Flattery.
“Ten guineas!” said the housekeeper. “An' so you brought my ten guineas
in your pocket to coort another girl! Aren't you a right profligate?”
“Yes,” said Donovan, “aren't you a right profligate?”
“Answer the dacent people,” said Mattery, “aren't you a right
profligate?”
“Take the world asy, all of ye,” replied Phelim. “Mrs. Doran, there was
three of you called, sure enough; but, be the vestments, I intinded--do
you hear me, Mrs. Doran? Now have rason--I say, do you hear me? Be the
vestmints, I intinded to marry only one of you; an' that I'll do still,
except I'm vexed--(a wink at the old woman). Yet you're all flyin' at
me, as if I had three heads or three tails upon me.”
“Maybe the poor boy's not so much to blame,” said Mrs. Doran. “There's
hussies in this world,” and here she threw an angry eye upon the other
two, “that 'ud give a man no pace till he'd promise to marry them.”
“Why did he promise to them that didn't want him thin?” exclaimed
Donovan. “I'm not angry that he didn't marry my daughther--for I
wouldn't give her to him now--but I am at the slight he put an her.”
“Paddy Donovan, did you hear what I said jist now?” replied Phelim, “I
wish to Jamini some people 'ud have sinse! Be them five crasses, I knew
thim I intinded to marry, as well as I do where I'm standin'. That's
plain talk, Paddy. I'm sure the world's not passed yet, I hope”--(a wink
at Paddy Donovan.)
“An' wasn't he a big rascal to make little of my brother's daughter as
he did?” said Flattery; “but he'll rub his heels together for the same
act.”
“Nick Flathery, do you think I could marry three wives? Be that
horseshoe over the door, Sally Flathery, you didn't thrate me dacent.
She did not, Nick, an' you ought to know that it was wrong of her to
come here to-day.”
“Well, but what do you intind to do Phelim, avourn--you profligate?”
said the half-angry, half-pacified housekeeper, who, being the veteran,
always led on the charge. “Why, I intind to marry one of you,” said
Phelim. “I say, Mrs. Doran, do you see thim ten fingers acrass--be thim
five crasses I'll do what I said, if nothing happens to put it aside.”
“Then be an honest man,” said Flattery, “an' tell us which o' them you
will marry.”
“Nick, don't you know I always regarded your family. If I didn't that
I may never do an ill turn! Now! But some people can't see anything.
Arrah, fandher-an'-whiskey, man, would you expect me to tell out before
all that's here, who I'll marry--to be hurtin' the feelin's of the rest.
Faith, I'll never do a shabby thing.”
“What rekimpinse will you make my daughter for bringin' down her name
afore the whole parish, along wid them she oughtn't to be named in the
one day wid?” said Donovan.
“An' who is that, Paddy Donovan?” said the housekeeper, with a face of
flame.
“None of your broad hints, Paddy,” said Nick. “If it's a collusion to
Sally Flattery you mane, take care I don't make you ate your words.”
“Paddy,” exclaimed Phelim, “you oughtn't to be hurtin' their
feelin's!”--(a friendly wink to Paddy.)
“If you mane me,” said the housekeeper, “by the crook on the fire, I'd
lave you a mark.”
“I mane you for one, thin, since you provoke me,” replied Donovan.
“For one, is it?” said Nick; “an' who's the other, i' you plase?”
“Your brother's daughter,” he replied. “Do you think I'd even (*
compare) my daughter to a thief?”
“Be gorra,” observed Phelim, “that's too provokin', an' what I wouldn't
bear. Will ye keep the pace, I say, till I spake a word to Mrs Doran?
Mrs. Doran, can I have a word or two wid you outside the house?”
“To be sure you can,” she replied; “I'd give you fair play, if the
diouol was in you.”