A MISTAKE.
I ordered my horses at an early hour; and long before Sparks--lover that
he was--had opened his eyes to the light, was already on my way towards
Gurt-na-Morra. Several miles slipped away before I well determined how I
should open my negotiations: whether to papa Blake, in the first instance,
or to madame, to whose peculiar province these secrets of the home
department belonged; or why not at once to Baby?--because, after all, with
her it rested finally to accept or refuse. To address myself to the heads
of the department seemed the more formal course; and as I was acting
entirely as an “envoy extraordinary,” I deemed this the fitting mode of
proceeding.
It was exactly eight o’clock as I drove up to the door. Mr. Blake was
standing at the open window of the breakfast-room, sniffing the fresh air
of the morning. The Blake mother was busily engaged with the economy of the
tea-table; a very simple style of morning costume, and a nightcap with a
flounce like a petticoat, marking her unaffected toilet. Above stairs, more
than one head _en papillate_ took a furtive peep between the curtains; and
the butler of the family, in corduroys and a fur cap, was weeding turnips
in the lawn before the door.
Mrs. Blake had barely time to take a hurried departure, when her husband
came out upon the steps to bid me welcome. There is no physiognomist like
your father of a family, or your mother with marriageable daughters.
Lavater was nothing to them, in reading the secret springs of action, the
hidden sources of all character. Had there been a good respectable bump
allotted by Spurzheim to “honorable intentions,” the matter had been
all fair and easy,--the very first salute of the gentleman would have
pronounced upon his views. But, alas! no such guide is forthcoming; and the
science, as it now exists, is enveloped in doubt and difficulty. The gay,
laughing temperament of some, the dark and serious composure of others; the
cautious and reserved, the open and the candid, the witty, the sententious,
the clever, the dull, the prudent, the reckless,--in a word, every variety
which the innumerable hues of character imprint upon the human face divine
are their study. Their convictions are the slow and patient fruits of
intense observation and great logical accuracy. Carefully noting down
every lineament and feature,--their change, their action, and their
development,--they track a lurking motive with the scent of a bloodhound,
and run down a growing passion with an unrelenting speed. I have been
in the witness-box, exposed to the licensed badgering and privileged
impertinence of a lawyer, winked, leered, frowned, and sneered at with all
the long-practised tact of a _nisi prius_ torturer; I have stood before the
cold, fish-like, but searching eye of a prefect of police, as he compared
my passport with my person, and thought he could detect a discrepancy in
both,--but I never felt the same sense of total exposure as when glanced at
by the half-cautious, half-prying look of a worthy father or mother, in a
family where there are daughters to marry, and “nobody coming to woo.”
“You’re early, Charley,” said Mr. Blake, with an affected mixture of
carelessness and warmth. “You have not had breakfast?”
“No, sir. I have come to claim a part of yours; and if I mistake not, you
seem a little later than usual.”
“Not more than a few minutes. The girls will be down presently; they’re
early risers, Charley; good habits are just as easy as bad ones; and, the
Lord be praised! my girls were never brought up with any other.”
“I am well aware of it, sir; and indeed, if I may be permitted to take
advantage of the _apropos_, it was on the subject of one of your daughters
that I wished to speak to you this morning, and which brought me over at
this uncivilized hour, hoping to find you alone.”
Mr. Blake’s look for a moment was one of triumphant satisfaction; it was
but a glance, however, and repressed the very instant after, as he said,
with a well got-up indifference,--
“Just step with me into the study, and we’re sure not to be interrupted.”
Now, although I have little time or space for such dallying, I cannot help
dwelling for a moment upon the aspect of what Mr. Blake dignified with the
name of his study. It was a small apartment with one window, the panes of
which, independent of all aid from a curtain, tempered the daylight through
the medium of cobwebs, dust, and the ill-trained branches of some wall-tree
without.
Three oak chairs and a small table were the only articles of furniture,
while around, on all sides, lay the _disjecta membra_ of Mr. Blake’s
hunting, fishing, shooting, and coursing equipments,--old top-boots,
driving whips, odd spurs, a racing saddle, a blunderbuss, the helmet of the
Galway Light Horse, a salmon net, a large map of the county with a marginal
index to several mortgages marked with a cross, a stable lantern, the
rudder of a boat, and several other articles representative of his daily
associations; but not one book, save an odd volume of Watty Cox’s
Magazine, whose pages seemed as much the receptacle of brown hackles for
trout-fishing as the resource of literary leisure.
“Here we’ll be quite cosey, and to ourselves,” said Mr. Blake, as, placing
a chair for me, he sat down himself, with the air of a man resolved to
assist, by advice and counsel, the dilemma of some dear friend.
After a few preliminary observations, which, like a breathing canter before
a race, serves to get your courage up, and settle you well in your seat,
I opened my negotiation by some very broad and sweeping truisms about the
misfortunes of a bachelor existence, the discomforts of his position,
his want of home and happiness, the necessity for his one day thinking
seriously about marriage; it being in a measure almost as inevitable
a termination of the free-and-easy career of his single life as
transportation for seven years is to that of a poacher. “You cannot go on,
sir,” said I, “trespassing forever upon your neighbors’ preserves; you must
be apprehended sooner or later; therefore, I think, the better way is to
take out a license.”
Never was a small sally of wit more thoroughly successful. Mr. Blake
laughed till he cried, and when he had done, wiped his eyes with a snuffy
handkerchief, and cried till he laughed again. As, somehow, I could not
conceal from myself a suspicion as to the sincerity of my friend’s mirth,
I merely consoled myself with the French adage, that “he laughs best who
laughs last;” and went on:--
“It will not be deemed surprising, sir, that a man should come to the
discovery I have just mentioned much more rapidly by having enjoyed the
pleasure of intimacy with your family; not only by the example of perfect
domestic happiness presented to him, but by the prospect held out that
a heritage of the fair gifts which adorn and grace a married life may
reasonably be looked for among the daughters of those themselves the
realization of conjugal felicity.”
Here was a canter, with a vengeance; and as I felt blown, I slackened my
pace, coughed, and resumed:--
“Mary Blake, sir, is, then, the object of my present communication; she
it is who has made an existence that seemed fair and pleasurable before,
appear blank and unprofitable without her. I have, therefore, to come at
once to the point, visited you this morning, formally to ask her hand in
marriage; her fortune, I may observe at once, is perfectly immaterial, a
matter of no consequence [so Mr. Blake thought also]; a competence fully
equal to every reasonable notion of expenditure--”
“There, there; don’t, don’t!” said Mr. Blake, wiping his eyes, with a sob
like a hiccough,--“don’t speak of money! I know what you would say, a
handsome settlement,--a well-secured jointure, and all that. Yes, yes, I
feel it all.”
“Why, yes, sir, I believe I may add that everything in this respect will
answer your expectations.”
“Of course; to be sure. My poor dear Baby! How to do without her, that’s
the rub! You don’t know, O’Malley, what that girl is to me--you can’t know
it; you’ll feel it one day though--that you will!”
“The devil I shall!” said I to myself. “The great point is, after all, to
learn the young lady’s disposition in the matter--”
“Ah, Charley, none of this with me, you sly dog! You think I don’t know
you. Why, I’ve been watching,--that is, I have seen--no, I mean I’ve
heard--They--they,--people will talk, you know.”
“Very true, sir. But, as I was going to remark--”
Just at this moment the door opened, and Miss Baby herself, looking most
annoyingly handsome, put in her head.
“Papa, we’re waiting breakfast. Ah, Charley, how d’ye do?”
“Come in, Baby,” said Mr. Blake; “you haven’t given me my kiss this
morning.”
The lovely girl threw her arms around his neck, while her bright and
flowing locks fell richly upon his shoulder. I turned rather sulkily away;
the thing always provokes me. There is as much cold, selfish cruelty in
such _coram publico_ endearments, as in the luscious display of rich rounds
and sirloins in a chop-house to the eyes of the starved and penniless
wretch without, who, with dripping rags and watering lip, eats imaginary
slices, while the pains of hunger are torturing him!
“There’s Tim!” said Mr. Blake, suddenly. “Tim Cronin!--Tim!” shouted he
to, as it seemed to me, an imaginary individual outside; while, in the
eagerness of pursuit, he rushed out of the study, banging the door as he
went, and leaving Baby and myself to our mutual edification.
I should have preferred it being otherwise; but as the Fates willed it
thus, I took Baby’s hand, and led her to the window. Now, there is one
feature of my countrymen which, having recognized strongly in myself, I
would fain proclaim; and writing as I do--however little people may suspect
me--solely for the sake of a moral, would gladly warn the unsuspecting
against. I mean, a very decided tendency to become the consoler, the
confidant of young ladies; seeking out opportunities of assuaging their
sorrow, reconciling their afflictions, breaking eventful passages to
their ears; not from any inherent pleasure in the tragic phases of
the intercourse, but for the semi-tenderness of manner, that harmless
hand-squeezing, that innocent waist-pressing, without which consolation is
but like salmon without lobster,--a thing maimed, wanting, and imperfect.
Now, whether this with me was a natural gift, or merely a “way we have in
the army,” as the song says, I shall not pretend to say; but I venture
to affirm that few men could excel me in the practice I speak of some
five-and-twenty years ago. Fair reader, do pray, if I have the happiness
of being known to you, deduct them from my age before you subtract from my
merits.
“Well, Baby, dear, I have just been speaking about you to papa. Yes,
dear--don’t look so incredulous--even of your own sweet self. Well, do you
know, I almost prefer your hair worn that way; those same silky masses look
better falling thus heavily--”
“There, now, Charley! ah, don’t!”
“Well, Baby, as I was saying, before you stopped me, I have been asking
your papa a very important question, and he has referred me to you for the
answer. And now will you tell me, in all frankness and honesty, your mind
on the matter?”
She grew deadly pale as I spoke these words, then suddenly flushed up
again, but said not a word. I could perceive, however, from her heaving
chest and restless manner, that no common agitation was stirring her bosom.
It was cruelty to be silent, so I continued:--
“One who loves you well, Baby, dear, has asked his own heart the question,
and learned that without you he has no chance of happiness; that your
bright eyes are to him bluer than the deep sky above him; that your soft
voice, your winning smile--and what a smile it is!--have taught him that he
loves, nay, adores you! Then, dearest--what pretty fingers those are! Ah,
what is this? Whence came that emerald? I never saw that ring before,
Baby!”
“Oh, that,” said she, blushing deeply,--“that is a ring the foolish
creature Sparks gave me a couple of days ago; but I don’t like it--I don’t
intend to keep it.”
So saying, she endeavored to draw it from her finger, but in vain.
“But why, Baby, why take it off? Is it to give him the pleasure of putting
it on again? There, don’t look angry; we must not fall out, surely.”
“No, Charley, if you are not vexed with me--if you are not--”
“No, no, my dear Baby; nothing of the kind. Sparks was quite right in not
trusting his entire fortune to my diplomacy; but at least, he ought to have
told me that he had opened the negotiation. Now, the question simply is:
Do you love him? or rather, because that shortens matters: Will you accept
him?”
“Love who?”
“Love whom? Why Sparks, to be sure!”
A flash of indignant surprise passed across her features, now pale as
marble; her lips were slightly parted, her large full eyes were fixed
upon me steadfastly, and her hand, which I had held in mine, she suddenly
withdrew from my grasp.
“And so--and so it is of Mr. Sparks’s cause you are so ardently the
advocate?” she said at length, after a pause of most awkward duration.
“Why, of course, my dear cousin. It was at his suit and solicitation I
called on your father; it was he himself who entreated me to take this
step; it was he--”
But before I could conclude, she burst into a torrent of tears and rushed
from the room.
Here was a situation! What the deuce was the matter? Did she, or did she
not, care for him? Was her pride or her delicacy hurt at my being made the
means of the communication to her father? What had Sparks done or said to
put himself and me in such a devil of a predicament? Could she care for any
one else?
“Well, Charley!” cried Mr. Blake, as he entered, rubbing his hands in a
perfect paroxysm of good temper,--“well, Charley, has love-making driven
breakfast out of your head?”
“Why, faith, sir, I greatly fear I have blundered my mission sadly. My
cousin Mary does not appear so perfectly satisfied; her manner--”
“Don’t tell me such nonsense. The girl’s manner! Why, man, I thought you
were too old a soldier to be taken in that way.”
“Well, then, sir, the best thing, under the circumstances, is to send over
Sparks himself. Your consent, I may tell him, is already obtained.”
“Yes, my boy; and my daughter’s is equally sure. But I don’t see what we
want with Sparks at all. Among old friends and relatives as we are, there
is, I think, no need of a stranger.”
“A stranger! Very true, sir, he is a stranger; but when that stranger is
about to become your son-in-law--”
“About to become what?” said Mr. Blake, rubbing his spectacles, and placing
them leisurely on his nose to regard me,--“to become what?”
“Your son-in-law. I hope I have been sufficiently explicit, sir, in making
known Mr. Sparks’s wishes to you.”
“Mr. Sparks! Why damn me, sir--that is--I beg pardon for the
warmth--you--you never mentioned his name to-day till now. You led me to
suppose that--in fact, you told me most clearly--”
Here, from the united effects of rage and a struggle for concealment, Mr.
Blake was unable to proceed, and walked the room with a melodramatic stamp
perfectly awful.
“Really, sir,” said I at last, “while I deeply regret any misconception or
mistake I have been the cause of, I must, in justice to myself, say that
I am perfectly unconscious of having misled you. I came here this morning
with a proposition for the hand of your daughter in behalf of--”
“Yourself, sir. Yes, yourself. I’ll be--no! I’ll not swear; but--but just
answer me, if you ever mentioned one word of Mr. Sparks, if you ever
alluded to him till the last few minutes?”
I was perfectly astounded. It might be, alas, it was exactly as he stated!
In my unlucky effort at extreme delicacy, I became only so very mysterious
that I left the matter open for them to suppose that it might be the Khan
of Tartary was in love with Baby.
There was but one course now open. I most humbly apologized for my blunder;
repeated by every expression I could summon up, my sorrow for what had
happened; and was beginning a renewal of negotiation “in re Sparks,” when,
overcome by his passion, Mr. Blake could hear no more, but snatched up his
hat and left the room.
Had it not been for Baby’s share in the transaction I should have laughed
outright. As it was, I felt anything but mirthful; and the only clear and
collected idea in my mind was to hurry home with all speed, and fasten a
quarrel on Sparks, the innocent cause of the whole mishap. Why this thought
struck me let physiologists decide.
A few moments’ reflection satisfied me that under present circumstances,
it would be particularly awkward to meet with any others of the family.
Ardently desiring to secure my retreat, I succeeded, after some little
time, in opening the window-sash; consoling myself for any injury I was
about to inflict upon Mr. Blake’s young plantation in my descent, by the
thought of the service I was rendering him while admitting a little fresh
air into his sanctum.
For my patriotism’s sake I will not record my sensations as I took my way
through the shrubbery towards the stable. Men are ever so prone to revenge
their faults and their follies upon such inoffensive agencies as time and
place, wind or weather, that I was quite convinced that to any other but
Galway ears my _exposé_ would have been perfectly clear and intelligible;
and that in no other country under heaven would a man be expected to marry
a young lady from a blunder in his grammar.
“Baby may be quite right,” thought I; “but one thing is assuredly true,--if
I’ll never do for Galway, Galway will never do for me. No, hang it! I have
endured enough for above two years. I have lived in banishment, away from
society, supposing that, at least, if I isolated myself from the pleasures
of the world I was exempt from its annoyances.” But no; in the seclusion of
my remote abode troubles found their entrance as easily as elsewhere, so
that I determined at once to leave home; wherefor, I knew not. If life had
few charms, it had still fewer ties for me. If I was not bound by the bonds
of kindred, I was untrammelled by their restraints.
The resolution once taken, I burned to put it into effect; and so
impatiently did I press forward as to call forth more than one remonstrance
on the part of Mike at the pace we were proceeding. As I neared home, the
shrill but stirring sounds of drum and fife met me; and shortly after a
crowd of country people filled the road. Supposing it some mere recruiting
party, I was endeavoring to press on, when the sounds of a full military
band, in the exhilarating measure of a quick-step, convinced me of my
error; and as I drew to one side of the road, the advanced guard of an
infantry regiment came forward. The men’s faces were flushed, their
uniforms dusty and travel-stained, their knapsacks strapped firmly on, and
their gait the steady tramp of the march. Saluting the subaltern, I asked
if anything of consequence had occurred in the south that the troops were
so suddenly under orders. The officer stared at me for a moment or two
without speaking, and while a slight smile half-curled his lip, answered:--
“Apparently, sir, you seem very indifferent to military news, otherwise you
can scarcely be ignorant of the cause of our route.”
“On the contrary,” said I, “I am, though a young man, an old soldier, and
feel most anxious about everything connected with the service.”
“Then it is very strange, sir, you should not have heard the news.
Bonaparte has returned from Elba, has arrived at Paris, been received with
the most overwhelming enthusiasm, and at this moment the preparations for
war are resounding from Venice to the Vistula. All our forces, disposable,
are on the march for embarkation. Lord Wellington has taken the command,
and already, I may say, the campaign has begun.”
The tone of enthusiasm in which the young officer spoke, the astounding
intelligence itself, contrasting with the apathetic indolence of my own
life, made me blush deeply, as I, muttered some miserable apology for my
ignorance.
“And you are now _en route?_”
“For Fermoy; from which we march to Cove for embarkation. The first
battalion of our regiment sailed for the West Indies a week since, but a
frigate has been sent after them to bring them back; and we hope all to
meet in the Netherlands before the month is over. But I must beg your
pardon for saying adieu. Good-by, sir.”
“Good-by, sir; good-by,” said I, as still standing in the road, I was so
overwhelmed with surprise that I could scarcely credit my senses.
A little farther on, I came up with the main body of the regiment, from
whom I learned the corroboration of the news, and also the additional
intelligence that Sparks had been ordered off with his detachment early in
the morning, a veteran battalion being sent into garrison in the various
towns of the south and west.
“Do you happen to know a Mr. O’Malley, sir?” said the major, coming up with
a note in his hand.
“I beg to present him to you,” said I, bowing.
“Well, sir, Sparks gave me this note, which he wrote with a pencil as we
crossed each other on the road this morning. He told me you were an old
Fourteenth man. But your regiment is in India, I believe; at least Power
said they were under orders when we met him.”
“Fred Power! Are you acquainted with him? Where is he now, pray?”
“Fred is on the staff with General Vandeleur, and is now in Belgium.”
“Indeed!” said I, every moment increasing my surprise at some new piece of
intelligence. “And the Eighty-eighth?” said I, recurring to my old friends
in that regiment.
“Oh, the Eighty-eighth are at Gibraltar, or somewhere in the Mediterranean;
at least, I know they are not near enough to open the present campaign
with us. But if you’d like to hear any more news, you must come over to
Borrisokane; we stop there to-night.”
“Then I’ll certainly do so.”
“Come at six then, and dine with us.”
“Agreed,” said I; “and now, good-morning.”
So saying, I once more drove on; my head full of all that I had been
hearing, and my heart bursting with eagerness to join the gallant fellows
now bound for the campaign.