on yer darlin' face!' sez he, turnin' to Miss Norah; 'an' may goodness
purtect ye! an' the daisies grow up under yer purty feet! an' may all
the fairies in Ireland bring good luck to ye, an' a dale of it! But oh,
be pl'ased to take pity on a poor boy as is quite dumbfounder'd at yer
b'utyful countenance, and burnt into ashes by the blaze from yer eyes!
An' now don't be afther colloguing wid the ould man that a way, an' I
kep' in the dark, like Shaun Dooley, the blind fiddler.'
"'Indade, an' in throth, 'tis very mystharious,' sez Miss Norah,
whisperin' to the fadher. ''Tisn't the first ha'porth of manners the
crayther has. Sure I am I'll not like him, any way.'
"'L'ave him to me,' sez the ould man. 'May be he's betther nor
he seems. Get ye gone, acushla, an' ordher Michael to bring up a
pitcher of st'amin' hot potheen; that's the raal stuff to bring out
a man's charackther. Misther Sullivan,' sez he, as the daughther
disapp'ared--'Misther Sullivan'----
"'Delaney, av ye pl'ase,' sez Tim.
"'I beg yer pardin, Misther Delaney Sullivan. May I be so bould, an'
m'anin' no offince, as to be axin' ye what makes ye carry all thim
goold chains, an' the han'some goold watch, an' the dimont pin, in sich
a sthrange way?'
"'Oh,' sez Tim, mightily relaved, an' pokin' the ould man for fun
undher the fifth rib, ''tis there ye are! Sure, 'tis raisonable,' sez
he, 'a young jintleman should folly the fashi'ns.'
"'Oh,' sez the squireen, 'an' thim's the fashi'ns, is they?'
"'What 'u'd they be good for, if they worn't?' sez Tim.
"'Faix, nothin' at all, I b'lieve,' sez the squireen. 'Whin did ye
l'ave home, Misther Sullivan?' sez he.
"'Delaney, av ye pl'ase.'
"'Blur an' agars!' sez the ould man, 'don't I know that, Misther
Delaney Sullivan?'
"'Well,' sez Tim to hisself, ''tis no matther. Any way, I'll be kilt
an' transported, whin Masther Maurice comes. Sure, if he will parsist
in callin' me Sullivan, 'tisn't good manners to conthradict him.'
"'An' how did ye l'ave the family?' sez the squireen.
"'Well an' hearty,' sez Tim; 'wid no sarious disordher, barrin' the
loss of a suckin' pig wid the maisles.'
"'A suckin' pig in the family!' sez the ould man. 'A suckin' pig, did
ye say? Sure, thim's not human.'
"'Och! what'll I be sayin' wid the grate blisther on my tongue? Sure,
tworn't any pig at all, at all. 'Twas the babby wid the shmallpox.'
"'The shmallpox!' shrieks the squireen. 'Oh, be aff wid ye! Don't come
a near me! I'm frikened to death a'ready!'
"'Millia murther!' sez Tim. 'I'll be beside myself prisintly. I don't
mane the shmallpox, nor the childher. Where 'u'd they come from, I'd
like to know? But the docther--no, I don't mane that--the masther--no,
not the masther--the weeny. Arrah, botherashin to me, I'd be obleeged
to ye if ye'd tell me what I mane; for, 'deed an' 'deed, the beauty of
the young lady has put the comether on my sinses enthirely!'
"'Faix, I b'lieve so,' sez the squireen. 'But here comes the potheen,'
sez he; 'an' 'tis the sovre'nst thing in the wureld for a crooked
tongue.'
"'Mostha, but it's the raal stuff, too!' sez Tim, takin' a long pull at
the noggin, an' smackin' his lips.
"'An' so ye left the ould folk quite well?' sez the squireen.
"'Brave an' hearty,' sez Tim. 'The ould man wor br'akin' stones to mend
the pike wid, an' the ould mother wor knittin' new heels to an ould
pair of Connemara stockin's.'
"'I'm t'undhersthruck!' sez Misther O'Brien. To think that the blood of
the Sullivans should demane thimselves by br'akin' stones for a road
an' patchin' stockin's!'
"'Thim's figgers of spache,' sez Tim. 'Sure, I mane shuperintindin' of
thim.'
"'Throth, it's hard to tell what ye mane, Misther Delaney Sullivan,'
sez the squireen. 'A young jintleman as is college-bred shouldn't
condiscend to quare figgers the likes o' thim. An' now I'll be pl'ased
to have a taste of yer larnin'.'
"'Sure, it 'u'd nayther be dacent, nor proper, nor expadient, in
one of my birth an' breedin', to show off my parts upon a jintleman
of your wondherful sagashity. The natheral modesty that is the
predominatin' trait in my charackther won't let me. Thim as is my
aquils has acknowledged my shupariority; an' the masther hisself
couldn't folly me in the langwidges, an' the humanities, an' in single
an' double fluckshins, to say nothing of my extinsive ackwiremints in
algebrayickal mattymattocks, an' the other parts of profane histhory of
a similar cognashus charackther.'
"'Spake plainer,' sez the squireen, 'for ye does be puzzlin' me wid the
hard words as seems to have no sinse in 'em.'
"'I'd be bothered to find it if they did,' sez Tim, slyly, to hisself.
But he sez to the squireen, sez he, 'How will I diffinitively expurgate
the profound m'anin' of the anshint frelosophers widout smudherin' ye
wid the classicalities? Isn't it the big words as makes the l'arnin'?
Axin' yer pardin, Misther O'Brien, but 'tis well beknownst to a
jintleman of your exthraordinary mintal an' quizzical fackilties that
the consthruction of the words consthitutes the differ of langwidges,
of which pothooks an' hangers is the ilimints.'
"'Bedad, but there's some thruth in that,' sez the squireen, 'barrin'
the manner of expressin' it.'
"'Arrah, thin,' sez Tim, 'I'm pl'ased to hear ye say so; an', if it's
agreeable to yees, we'll dhrop the discourse for the prisint. To tell
ye the blessed thruth, Misther O'Brien, 'tis dead bate wid the long
thravel I am, an', wid your permission, I'll be bould to throuble yer
sarvint to fling me a clane lock o' sthraw in one corner of yer honor's
kitchen for the night.'
"Oh, but may be the ould squireen didn't stare at Tim wid all his eyes
in raal arnest, thin--
"'Sthraw!' sez he. 'Do ye take this for a boccoch's shealin'? Well, I
must say, Misther Delaney Sullivan,' sez he, 'that, for a jintleman's
son, born an' brid, 'tis monsthrous quare ways ye have.' An', wid
that, he rings for the futman, an' tells him to show Tim to bed. 'I'll
be wantin', Misther Sullivan, to spake the sarious word wid ye the
morrow morn,' sez the ould man, dhrawin' hisself up grand like; 'for,
on my conscience, there's many things about ye as does be puzzlin' me
exthramely.'
"''Tis no matther,' sez Tim to hisself, follyin' afther the sarvint.
'Sure, I'm in for it now, anyhow. Ayeh! is thim the stairs? Musha,
thin, but 'tis wide enough they are for a drove of fat cattle. Hould
on a bit, will ye, or I'll be fallin' over the ballisthers. I wonder
where thim crass passiges lades too beyant? Sure, I'd give all I'll
be like to have in the wureld to quit the place. Och, Tim Delaney,
'tis a bad ind ye're comin' to wid settin' yerself up for a jintleman;
an', begorra, if the young masther murdhers ye enthirely, it sarves ye
right, any way, an' that's no lie.'
"'Will ye be pl'ased to inter?' sez the sarvint, throwin' open the
dure of a big room, where the windys wor all ornaminted wid b'utyful
curt'ins, an' likewise the grate bed wid goold angels at the corners of
the posts, lettin' alone the fringes an' the tassels, an' many other
b'utyful things too tadious to mintion.
"'Och,' sez Tim, 'is that my bid? How will I git in widout tumblin'
myself on the flure? Thim steps, did ye mane? Arrah, now, have done wid
yer nonsince! Sure, I niver heard of goin' to bid wid a step-laddher
afore.'
"'Thim's the fashi'n,' sez the futman.
"'To the divil wid the fashi'n!' sez Tim. 'What are ye laughin' at, ye
ugly spalpeen? L'ave the light, an' go. Oh, murther!' sez Tim, whin
he was all alone by hisself. 'If I wor out of this scrape, a thousand
goold guineas wouldn't timpt me to do the likes agin.'
"An', wid that, he sarches the windys, manein' to make his escape, but
they wor too high; an' thin he opens the dure saftly an' looks into the
passiges, but they twisted all about, so he didn't dare to thry thim
for fear they would be afther takin' him for a robber; so, wid many
muttherin's an' moanin's, he lays hisself down on the bid wid all his
clothes on, an', by an' by, falls into a throubled sleep.
"Well, all this time, ye may be sure young Masther Maurice wor not
lettin' the grass grow undher his feet. So, whin he had bought the
land, he takes a fresh baste an' hurries afther Tim. By hard ridin' he
got to the town late that same night; an', whin he l'arned that Tim
wor gone up to Carrigathroid all cock-a-hoop in his own fine clo'es
an' jooels, he flies into a tearin' passion, and makes bould to ride
over at wanst. As it happened, the squireen an' Miss Norah wor still
up, for the raal genteels do kape mighty late hours; and so it worn't
long afore he makes hisself beknownst to the ould jintleman an' his
daughther, an' up an' tells 'em his sthory. Oh, but thin they all
laughed more nor iver they did in their born days afore; more by token
that the squireen wor glad to have a disilushin of the mysthery, an'
Miss Norah bein' aiquilly pl'ased to find the thrue Masther Maurice wid
the best quality manners, an', at the same time, so mortial han'some.
"'An' now,' sez Maurice, 'what'll I do wid that rogue of a Tim?'
"'L'ave him to me,' sez the squireen, wid a knowin' wink. 'Myself bein'
a justus-o'-p'ace, a good frikenin' 'll be of sarvice to the saucy
Omadhaun. But we'll say no more till the morn,' sez he; 'an', in the
mane time, we'll thry an' find ye a supper an' a bed.'
"Well, to be sure, bright an' airly, while Tim wor tossin' an' tumblin'
about in his fine flahool bid, an' dhramin' of witches, an' spooks,
an' leprawhauns, an' even of the ould bouchal hisself, there's comes a
t'undherin' whack at his dure; an', prisintly, in walks four sthrappin'
fellows right to his bedside.
"'What's wantin'?' sez Tim, settin' boult up, wid his curly hair all
untwistin' itself an' standin' on end like a porkepine's. 'Is it
lookin' for me ye are?'
"'Troth, but ye're a quick hand at guessin',' sez the biggest man.
'Where's yer masther, ye thafe of the wureld? Tell me that.'
"'Oh, murther!' sez Tim. 'It's all out!'
"'Sure, he confisses it a'ready,' sez another. 'Bring him along, Tony.'
"'Confisses what?' sez Tim, wid his face as white as the bed-hangin's.
'Confisses what? Spake out, will ye?'
"'The murther!' sez Tony. 'Isn't thim his clo'es ye're wearin' now?'
"'Murther? Och! ochone! ochone!' sez Tim, wringin' his hands. 'That I
iver lived to see this day! An' is the young masther dead? Why, thin,
upon my oath an' my conscience, I niver had a hand in it! Sure, 'tis
well the darlin' knowed I'd lay down my life for him. Oh, jintlemen,
take pity on a poor innocent boy that's in the black throuble, an' all
bekase he put on the young masther's things for a bit of spoort!'
"'An' a purty spoort ye'll find it,' sez the futman, for be sure he wor
one of thim. 'But here comes Misther O'Brien.'
"'Stand aside, all of yees, an' let me look at the thraitor!' sez the
squireen, burstin' into the room. 'Oh, 'tis there ye are, ye villin,
wid yer mattymattox an' yer single an' double fluxshins. Saize him,
men, wid a sthrong grip, an' bring him to the hall. 'Tis well myself's
a magisther, an' can set upon the case at wanst.'
"'Oh, Misther O'Brien,' sez Tim, dhroppin' on his knees, ''tis innocent
I am the day! I'll tell ye about it. You see, the young masther an'
I'----
"'Isn't thim his clo'es?" sez the squireen.
"'Ayeh, but that's thrue. Let me tell ye, an' hear r'ason. The young
masther an' I'----
"'Kape yer sthories to yerself,' sez the squireen, puttin' on a black
frown. 'Why would I listen to yer diabolickle invintions whin thim
things is witness agin ye? Hould him fast, boys, an' off wid him. May
be I won't live to hang him, afther all.'
"'Help! help! murther!' sez Tim, sthrugglin' wid all the power that
wor in him. 'I didn't do it! It's clane hands I have! I won't be
murthered! L'ave me go, I say! What 'u'd ye hang a poor innocent for?
Murther! murther!'
"All at wanst, as he wor skreekin' and kickin', who should walk in from
behind the dure but Misther Maurice an' Miss Norah.
"'Whoop! whoroo!' sez Tim. 'There's the young masther now! Hands off
wid ye! Don't ye see him wid Miss Norah?'
"'Hould on a minnit, men,' sez the squireen. 'May be 'tis a mistake,
afther all. Is that young jintleman Misther Sullivan?'
"'Oh, to be sure it is,' sez Tim. 'Who else 'u'd it be, I'd like to
know? Misther Maurice! Maurice, achorra, spake to thim, av ye pl'ase,
an' tell thim it's yerself that I see.'
"'Why will I do that?' sez the young jintleman, laughin'. 'Sure,
'twould be wastin' my breath, an' they knowin' it a'ready.'
"'Oh, murther! see that now!' sez Tim. 'An' they a frikenin' me out of
my siven sinses all the while. Ayeh! Maurice a vick, but I forgive ye
the bad thrick yees played me the day.'
"'Musha, thin, an' thank ye for nothin',' sez Maurice; 'for I does be
thinkin' that 'tis yerself, Tim, as is to blame, seein' the fine clo'es
on yer back.'
"'Yea, thin,' sez the squireen, burstin' into a great laugh, ''twore
hisself, sure enough, as played the bould thrick, an' bothered me all
out wid his single an' his double fluxshins; but, bedad, if the thrick
wor in his hands last night, sure he'll confiss I trumped it dacently
this mornin'.'"
AMOR, VIVAX, FRAGILIS.
BY H. H., M. D.
Oh, love! What is love? 'Tis a tender vine,
Amid shadow and sunshine growing;
In the soft summer hours will its tendrils twine,
To cling when the wild winds are blowing.
Though through calm sunny days it will put forth its bloom,
It is greenest when tears are flowing;
And it climbeth--how mournfully!--oft o'er the tomb,
Gray shadows around it throwing.
The germs its fresh blossoms fling forth to the air
Are wafted, on white wings, to heaven;
Here though it may wither, yet, evergreen there,
A crown unto angels 'tis given!
Then tend it most gently. Though care bids it grow,
And it ever roots deepest in sorrow,
Yet the love that to-day smiles o'er dreariest woe,
Neglected, may wither to-morrow.
THE PHILOSOPHY OF SHOPPING.
BY MRS. ALARIC WATTS.
The truly lively and excellent Miss Mitford has, in her story of "The
Black Velvet Bag," dilated very agreeably on the pleasures of the
feminine occupation of Shopping! She has made its charms obvious to the
meanest capacity; nay, more candid still, she has afforded us, now and
then, a glimpse of its many pleasant delusions. She is, throughout,
the busy, intelligent actor in this everyday drama of domestic life.
She has admitted us fully and fairly to her confidence, from the
preliminary "Inventory of Wants," with its accompaniment of a full
purse, to the _finale_ of a full budget and an empty exchequer!
Let not the above admission (honestly made), however, induce any one
to suppose that the subject must necessarily be exhausted. On the
contrary, she has not even alluded, in the remotest degree, to that
which I hold to be its chief delight--its crowning glory; namely, the
harvest of enjoyment which its many phases present to the inactive,
though not uninterested, spectator of its whereabout.
"I _do_ wish that you would lay aside your work, and accompany me in
a round of shopping," was the opening address of an early morning
visitor. "I really have so many commissions to execute that it would
be an act of charity to afford me the benefit of your good taste and
excellent judgment!"
Who could resist a request so flatteringly preferred? The work was
laid aside, and the request complied with on the instant; and within a
quarter of an hour we were set down at the first stage of our pleasant
expedition.
The _magazin_ that was honored by our selection on the present
occasion held a middle rank between the aristocratic pretensions of
Howell and James's, and the honest _bourgeois_ reputation of Tottenham
House! My friend was of that class of elegant economists who go to
the fountain-head for the sample, and to the principal stream for
the supply. The initiated will be at no loss to decide that Swan and
Edgar's was our mart.
As I was not a principal on the present occasion, the _pas_ was, of
course, assumed by my companion. On the moment of our entrance, offers
of services were obsequiously proffered, and, to my great surprise,
were as courteously evaded. My friend was a tactician, and, fully
alive to her own infirmity, was not so rash as to venture on an
unproved agent. Former experience had revealed to her on whose head
the organ of patience was most largely developed, and as its possessor
happened to be engaged, my friend, like a wise general, was content to
forego a present convenience, in order to secure a future advantage.
She, therefore, intimated that she preferred being waited on by Miss
A., and added, she was quite content to await her leisure on the
present occasion.
The martyr-like expression of Miss A.'s countenance gave place to one
of great complacency, the result, perhaps, of the 'compliment implied
by her selection, since it must have been gratifying to feel that
merit is _sometimes_ appreciated; and no one can deny that, among the
virtues, Patience has always ranked as a cardinal!
A few minutes sufficed to surround us with silks and satins, ribbons
and velvets; a few more were consumed in the discussion of "the unusual
prevalence" of "flat colors" and "neutral tints," together with
conjectures as to the duration of this sombre mode, which soon gave
place to the important business before us. My friend became serious and
oracular; murmured of "harmony and contrast;" and, in the words of our
divine Milton--
"With dispatchful looks in haste
She turns on (_most becoming_) thoughts intent,
What choice to choose, for delicacy best,
What order to contrive, as not to mix
Hues not well joined, inelegant; but bring
Shade after shade upheld by kindliest change."
She was fairly in her vocation, and I, well assured that an hour or two
would elapse before my "good taste" would be in requisition, proceeded
to solace my leisure by watching the sayings and doings of my neighbors
of the opposite counter.
"Do you happen to have anything new for dresses?" was the first inquiry
of a pair of languid-looking young ladies, evidently afflicted with
a certain quantity of money and of time to be disposed of. "We want
something very odd and very new." The shopman inquired of "price and
texture." At this leading question the ladies looked aghast. "Oh!
they did not know; only they wanted something very odd and very
pretty--something that had never been seen by anybody else." And with
this luminous description, the young man departed; and, after an
interval of short duration, returned, followed by two subordinates
bending beneath the weight of silk, wool, and cotton, and of patterns
the most diverse and strange. Nondescripts of a genus botanical,
flowers without stalks, and stalks without flowers. Others of the style
geometrical--angles, acute and obtuse; circles, and segments of every
size. A few presented strata of every sombre hue, forcibly reminding
the spectator of geology and Dr. Lyell! The young ladies were more than
satisfied: where all was so exquisitely "odd," the difficulty of choice
was proportionably increased. They selected and rejected, and finally,
embarrassed by the riches before them, ordered a dozen to be sent home
for further consideration, and the final decision of mamma!
Our fair young friends were scarcely seated in their carriage, when
their places were taken by a middle-aged lady of a very different
stamp, who, emerging from one of the suburban omnibuses, bustled into
the shop "and begged to be attended to immediately, as her time was
precious." No one could look upon her and doubt it. That imposing
character--a thoroughly good manager--was revealed in every word and
gesture. There was decision in her voice, her step, her eye; no need
had she of written memoranda to help a slippery memory. Her orders
were issued with distinctness, clearness, and precision. "She desired
to see some lady's four-thread fine white cotton stockings, without
figure and without clocks; some lady's dark French kid habit gloves,
sewed with silk of the same color, with studs at the wrist; some
Irish linen (described with equal minuteness); graduated tapes, and
assorted pins." Here was discrimination; no causeless second journey
did thoughtlessness on her part impose on any one. The pieces of linen
were opened, wetted, rubbed, and finally a thread was loosened, to
test the strength of the fabric. The gloves were singly stretched
across the hand, and finally the stockings were separated and turned
inside out, that their quality might be ascertained beyond a doubt. I
fancied the shopman winced a little at the latter experiment; but who
could gainsay that quiet decision of manner which so plainly announced
"I pay for what I have, and choose to have the best for my money"? A
pencil was quietly drawn forth--a name written by the lady on each
separate article. The bill was carefully examined--found correct--paid,
and with a final chink of the purse, and strict orders as to time
in the delivery of the parcel, the lady departed; and I could not
help thinking we all breathed with more freedom when relieved of the
presence of this very superior woman.
An interesting family group were the next to present themselves in the
persons of a beautiful widow lady, perhaps of some five-and-thirty
years of age; a sister, some ten years younger; a blooming miss in her
teens, and a delicate-looking little boy of some five years old.
Of this party the younger ladies assumed the executive, and requested
to see some dresses for second mourning. The counter forthwith groaned
under the weight of silks and stuffs,
"Black, blue, and gray, with all their trumpery;"
and really the variety was so great that the office of selection seemed
far from an easy one. The younger ladies were in high spirits, and
proceeded to canvass the peculiar merit of each article with great
energy. There certainly is something very attractive in unsunned
fabrics, even though they appertain not to ourselves. I felt quite
interested in the debate, and when the discussion became warm, on the
comparative merits of French gray or French lavender, I could hardly
forbear from offering a casting vote on the subject.
Meantime the person most interested in the decision sat by silent
and abstracted, her eyes fixed on the face of the boy--her thoughts
probably in the tomb of her husband. At length it became necessary
to make a selection. The lady was appealed to. She seemed as though
awaking from a dream, and, glancing at the shining heaps before her,
said, "Too gay, much too gay." Her sister, in a low voice, appeared to
expostulate with her, for the words "two whole years" were distinctly
audible. The animated look of the little girl became subdued as she
gazed on her mother's face. She pushed aside the brighter colors and
drew some black silk over them, and was silent. Not so, however, her
aunt! She had evidently resolved that the children at least should
mourn no longer; with a tone of authority she desired the lavender silk
to be cut off, and with a look of mingled pity and contempt heard her
sister order another "Paramatta." Too indignant to interfere further,
she contented herself with adding "and crape, I suppose." The lady did
not reply--the shopman, probably inferring her wishes from her silence,
produced the anathematized material, a liberal quantity was cut off,
and the party slowly retired.