OF O'CONNOR'S MOONLIGHT WALK TO THE "COCK AND ANCHOR," AND WHAT BEFELL
HIM BY THE WAY.
As soon as O'Connor had made some little way from the scene of his
sudden and agitating interview with Miss Ashwoode, he slackened his
pace, and with slow steps began to retrace his way toward the city. So
listless and interrupted was his progress, that the sun had descended,
and twilight was fast melting into darkness before he reached that
point in the road at which diverged the sequestered path which he had
followed. As he approached the spot, he observed a small man, with a
pipe in his mouth, and his person arranged in an attitude of ease and
graceful negligence, admirably calculated to exhibit the symmetry and
perfection of his bodily proportions. This man had planted himself in
the middle of the road, so as completely to command the pass, and, as
our reader need scarcely be informed, was no other than Larry
Toole--the important personage to whom we have already introduced him.
As O'Connor approached, Larry advanced, with a slow and dignified
motion, to receive him: and removing his pipe from his mouth with a
_nonchalant_ air, he compressed the lighted contents of the bowl with
his finger, and then deposited the utensil in his coat pocket, at the
same time, executing, in a very becoming manner, his most courtly bow.
Somewhat surprised, and by no means pleasantly, at an interruption of
so unlooked-for a kind, O'Connor observed, impatiently, "I have neither
time nor temper, friend, to suffer delay or listen to foolery;" and
observing that Larry was preparing to follow him, he added curtly, "I
desire no company, sirrah, and choose to be alone."
"An' it's exactly because you wish to be alone, and likes solitude,"
observed the little man, "that you and me will shoot, being formed by
the bountiful hand iv nature, barrin' a few small exceptions,"--here he
glanced complacently at his right leg, which was a little in advance of
its companion--"as similiar as two eggs."
Being in no mood to tolerate, far less to encourage this annoying
intrusion, O'Connor pursued his way at a quickened pace, and in
obstinate silence, and in a little time exhibited a total and very
mortifying forgetfulness of Mr. Toole's bodily proximity. That
gentleman, however, was not so easily to be shaken off--he
perseveringly followed, keeping a pace or two behind.
"It's parfectly unconthrovertible," pursued that worthy, with
considerable solemnity and emphasis, "and at laste as plain as the nose
on your face, that you haven't the smallest taste of a conciption who
it is you're spakin' too, Mr. O'Connor."
"And pray who may you be, friend?" inquired he, somewhat surprised at
being thus addressed by name.
"Who else would I be, your honour," rejoined the persevering
applicant--"who else _could_ I be, if you had but a glimmer iv light to
contemplate my forrum and fatures, but Laurence Toole--called by the
men for the most part _Misthur_ Toole, and (he added in a softened
tone) by the girls most commonly designated Larry."
"Ha--Larry--Larry Toole!" exclaimed O'Connor, half reconciled to an
intrusion up to that moment so ill endured. "Well, Larry, tell me
briefly how are the family at the manor, yonder?"
"Why, plase your honour," rejoined Larry, promptly, "the ould masthur,
that's Sir Richard, is much oftener gouty than good-humoured, and
more's the pity. I b'lieve he's breaking down very fast, and small
blame to him, for he lived hard, like a rale honourable gentleman. An'
then, the young masthur, that's Masthur Henry--but you didn't know him
so well--he's getting on at the divil's rate--scatt'ring guineas like
small shot. They say he plays away a power of money; and he and the
masthur himself has often hard words enough between them about the way
things is goin' on; but he ates and dhrinks well, an' the health he
gets is as good as he wants for his purposes."
"Well--but your young mistress," suggested O'Connor--"you have not told
me yet how Miss Ashwoode has been ever since. How have her health and
spirits been--has she been well?"
"Mixed middlin', like belly bacon," replied Mr. Toole, with an air of
profound sympathy--"shilly-shally, sir--off an' on, like an April
day--sometimes atin' her victuals, sometimes lavin' them--no sartainty.
I think the ould masthur's gout and crossness, and the young one's
vagaries, is frettin' her; and it's sorry I am to see it. An' there's
Miss Emily--that's Miss Copland--a rale jovial slip iv a young lady. I
think you've seen her once or twice up at the manor; but now, since her
father, the ould General, died, she is stayin' for good with the
family. She's a fine lady, and" (drawing close to O'Connor, and
speaking with very significant emphasis) "she has ten thousand pounds
of her own--do you mind me, ten thousand--it's a good fortune--is not
it, sir?"
He paused for a moment, and receiving no answer, which he interpreted
as a sign that the announcement was operating as it ought, he added
with a confidential wink--
"I thought I might as well put you up to it, you know, for no one knows
where a blessin' may light."
"Larry," said O'Connor, after a considerable silence, somewhat abruptly
and suddenly recollecting the presence of that little person--"if you
have aught to say to me, speak it quickly. What may your business be?"
"Why, sir," replied he, "the long and short of it is, I left Sir
Richard more than a week since. Not that I was turned away--no, Mr.
O'Connor," continued Mr. Toole, with edifying majesty, "no sich thing
at all in the wide world. My resignation, sir, was the fruit of my own
solemn convictions--for the five years I was with the family, I had no
comfort, or aise, or pace. I may as well spake plain to you, sir, for
_you_, like myself, is young"--Mr. Toole was certainly at the wrong
side of fifty--"you can aisily understand me, sir, when I say that I'm
the victim iv romance, bad cess to it--romance, sir; my buzzam, sir,
was always open to tindher impressions--impressions, sir, that came
into it as natural as pigs into a pittaty garden. I could not shut them
out--the short and the long iv it is, I was always fallin' in love,
since I was the size iv a quart pot--eternally fallin' in love." Mr.
Toole sighed, and then resumed. "I done my best to smother my emotions,
but passion, sir, young and ardent passion, is impossible to be
suppressed: you might as well be trying to keep strong beer in starred
bottles durin' the pariod iv the dog days. But I never knew rightly
what love was all out, in rale, terrible perfection, antil Mistress
Betsy came to live in the family. I'll not attempt to describe
her--it's enough to say she fixed my affections, and done for myself.
She is own maid to the young mistress. I need not expectorate upon the
progress iv my courtship--it's quite enough to observe, that for a
considherable time my path was strewed with flowers, antil a young
chap--an English bliggard, one Peter Clout--an' it's many's the clout
he got, the Lord be thanked for that same!--a lump iv a chap ten times
as ugly as the divil, and without more shapes about him than a pound of
cruds--an impittant, ignorant, presumptious, bothered, bosthoon--antil
this gentleman--this Misthur Peter Clout, made his b----y appearance;
then all at once the divil's delight began. Betsy--the lovely Betsy
Carey--the lovely, the vartious, the beautiful, and the exalted--began
to play thricks. I know she was in love with me--over head and ears, as
bad as myself--but woman is a mystarious agent, an' bangs Banagher.
Long as I've been larnin', I never could larn why it is they take
delight in tormentin' the tindher-hearted."
This reflection was uttered in a tone of tender woe, and the speaker
paused for some symptom of assent from his auditor. It is, however,
hardly necessary to say that he paused in vain. O'Connor had enough to
occupy his mind; and so far from listening to his companion's
narrative, he was scarcely conscious that Mr. Toole, in bodily
presence, was walking beside him. That "tindher-hearted" individual
accordingly resumed the thread of his discourse.
"But, at any rate, she laid herself out to make me jealous of Peter
Clout; and, with the blessin' iv the divil, she succeeded complately.
Things were going on this way--she lettin' on to be mighty fond iv
Peter, an' me gettin' angrier an' angrier, and Mr. Clout more an' more
impittent every day, antill I seen there was no use in purtendin'; so
one mornin' when we were both of us--myself and Mr. Peter
Clout--clainin' up the things in the pantry, I thought I might as well
have a bit iv discourse with him--when I seen, do ye mind, there was no
use in mortifyin' the chap with contempt, for I did not spake to him,
good, bad, or indifferent, for more than a fortnight, an' he was so
ignorant and unmannerly he never noticed the differ. When I seen there
was no use in keepin' him at a distance, says I to him one day in the
panthry--'Mr. Clout,' says I, 'your conduct in regard iv some persons
in this house,' says I, 'is iv a description that may be shuitable to
the English spalpeens,' says I, 'but is about as like the conduct of a
gintleman,' says I, 'as blackin' is to plate powder.' So he turns
round, an' he looks at me as if I was a Pollyphamius. 'Mind your work,'
says I, 'young man, an' don't be lookin' at me as if I was a hathian
godess,' says I. 'It's Mr. Toole that's speakin' to you, an' you
betther mind what he says. The long an' the short iv it is, I don't
like you to be hugger-muggering with a sartain delicate famale in this
establishment; an' if I catch you talkin' any more to Misthress Betsy
Carey, I give you fair notice, it's at your own apparel. Beware of
me--for as sure as you don't behave to my likin', you might as well be
in the one panthry with a hyania,' says I, an' it was thrue for me, an'
it was the same way with my father before me, an' all the Tooles up to
the time of Noah's ark. In pace I'm a turtle-dove all out; but once I'm
riz, I'm a rale tarin' vulture."
Here Mr. Toole paused to call up a look, and after a grim shake of the
head, he resumed.
"Things went on aisy enough for a day or two, antill I happened to walk
into the sarvants' hall, an' who should I see but Mr. Clout sittin' on
the same stool with Misthriss Betsy, an' his arm round her waist--so
when I see that, before any iv them could come between us, with the
fair madness I made one jump at him, an' we both had one another by the
windpipe before you'd have time to bless yourself. Well, round an'
round we went, rowlin' with our heads and backs agin the walls, an'
divil a spot of us but was black an' blue, antill we kem to the
chimney; an' sure enough when we did, down we rowled both together,
glory be to God! into the fire, an' upset a kittle iv wather on top iv
us; an' with that there was sich a screechin' among the women, an'
maybe a small taste from ourselves, that the masthur kem in, an' if he
didn't lay on us with his walkin' stick it's no matter; but, at any
rate, as soon as we recovered from the scaldin' an' the bruises. _I_
retired, an' the English chap was turned away; an' that's the whole
story, an' I tuk my oath that I'll never go into sarvice in a _family_
again. I can't make any hand of women--they're made for desthroyin' all
sorts iv pace iv mind--they're etarnally triflin' with the most sarious
and sacred emotions. I'll never sarve any but single gentlemen from
this out, if I was to be sacrificed for it--never a bit, by the hokey!"
So saying, Mr. Toole, having, in the course of his harangue, reproduced
his pipe from his pocket, with a view to flourish it in emphatic
accompaniment with the cadences of his voice, smote the bowl of it upon
the edge of his cocked hat, which he held in his hand, with so much
passion, that the head of the pipe flew across the road, and was for
ever lost among the docks and nettles. One glance he deigned to the
stump which remained in his hand, and then, with an air of romantic
recklessness which laughs at all sacrifices, he flung it disdainfully
from him, clapped his cocked hat upon his head with a vehemence which
brought it nearly to the bridge of his nose, and, planting his hands in
his breeches pockets, he glanced at the stars with a scowl which, if
they take any note of things terrestrial, must have filled them with
alarm.
Suddenly recollecting himself, Mr. Toole perceived that his intended
master, having walked on, had left him considerably behind; he
therefore put himself into an easy amble, which speedily brought him up
with the chase.
"Mr. O'Connor, plase your honour," he exclaimed, "sure it's not
possible it's goin' to lave me behind you are, an' me so proud iv your
company; an', moreover, after axin' you for a situation--that is,
always supposin' you want the sarvices iv a rale dashin' young fellow,
that's up to everything, an' willing to sarve you in any incapacity.
An' by gorra, sir," continued he, pathetically, "it's next door to a
charity to take me, for I've but one crown in the wide world left, an'
I must change it to-night; an' once I change money, the shillin's makes
off with themselves like a hat full of sparrows into the elements, the
Lord knows where."
With a desolate recklessness, he chucked the crown-piece into the air,
caught it in his palm, and walked silently on.
"Well, well," said O'Connor, "if you choose to make so uncertain an
engagement as for the term of my stay in Dublin, you are welcome to be
my servant for so long."
"It's a bargain," shouted Mr. Toole--"a bargain, plase your honour,
done and done on both sides. I'm your man--hurra!"
They had already entered the suburbs, and before many minutes were
involved in the dark and narrow streets, threading their way, as best
they might, toward the genial harbourage of the "Cock and Anchor."