Samuel Lover, born at Dublin on February 24, 1797, was the
most versatile man of his age. He was a song-writer, a
novelist, a painter, a dramatist, and an entertainer; and in
each of these parts he was remarkably successful. In 1835 he
came to London, and set up as a miniature painter; then he
turned to literature, and in "Rory O'More," published in 1837,
and "Handy Andy, a Tale of Irish Life," which appeared in
1842, he took the town. Lover was a typical Irishman of the
old school--high-spirited, witty, and jovially humorous; and
his work is informed with a genuine Irish raciness that gives
it a perennial freshness. He is a man gaily in love with life,
and with a quick eye for all the varied humours of it. "Handy
Andy" is one of the most amusing books ever written; a roaring
farce, written by a man who combined the liveliest sense of
fun with a painter's gift of portraying real character in a
few vivid touches. Samuel Lover died on July 6, 1868.
_I.--The Squire Gets a Surprise_
Andy Rooney was a fellow with a most ingenious knack of doing everything
the wrong way. "Handy" Andy was the nickname the neighbours stuck on
him, and the poor simple-minded lad liked the jeering jingle. Even Mrs.
Rooney, who thought that her boy was "the sweetest craythur the cun
shines on," preferred to hear him called "Handy Andy" rather than
"Suds."
For sad memories attached to the latter nickname. Knowing what a hard
life Mrs. Rooney had had--she had married a stranger, who disappeared a
month after marriage, so Andy came into the world with no father to beat
a little sense into him--Squire Egan of Merryvale engaged the boy as a
servant. One of the first things that Andy was called upon to do was to
wait at table during an important political dinner given by the squire.
Andy was told to ice the champagne, and the wine and a tub of ice were
given to him.
"Well, this is the quarest thing I ever heered of," said Andy. "Musha!
What outlandish inventions the quality has among them! They're not
content with wine, but they must have ice along with it--and in a tub,
too, like pigs! Troth, its a' dirty thrick, I think. But here goes!"
said he; and opening a bottle of champagne, he poured it into the tub
with the ice.
Andy distinguished himself right at the beginning of the dinner. One of
the guests asked him for soda-water.
"Would you like it hot or cold, sir?" he said.
"Never mind," replied the guest, with a laugh. But Andy was anxious to
please, and the squire's butler met him hurrying to the kitchen,
bewildered, but still resolute.
"One of the gintlemen wants some soap and wather with his wine,"
exclaimed Andy. "Shall I give it hot or cold?"
The distracted and irate butler took Andy to the sideboard and pushed a
small soda into his hand, saying, "Cut the cord, you fool!" Andy took it
gingerly, and holding it over the table, carried out the order. Bang I
went the bottle, and the cork, after knocking out two of the lights,
struck the squire in the eye, while the hostess had a cold bath down her
back. Poor Andy, frightened by the soda-water jumping out of the bottle,
kept holding it out at arm's-length, exclaiming at every fizz, "Ow, ow,
ow!"
"Send that fellow out of the room," said the squire to the butler, "and
bring in the champagne."
In staggered Andy with the tub.
"Hand it round the table," said the squire.
Andy tried to lift up the tub "to hand it round the table," but finding
he could not, he whispered, "I can't get it up, sir!"
"Draw it then," murmured his master, thinking that Andy meant he had got
a bottle which was not effervescent enough to expel its own cork.
"Here it is," said Andy, pulling the tub up to the squire's chair.
"What do you mean, you stupid rascal?" exclaimed the squire, staring at
the strange stuff before him. "There's not a single bottle there!"
"To be sure there's no bottle there, sir," said Andy. "I've poured every
dhrop of wine in the ice, as you towld me, sir. If you put your hand
down into it, you'll feel it."
A wild roar of laughter uprose from the listening guests. Happily they
were now too merry to be upset by the mishap, and it was generally voted
that the joke was worth twice as much as the wine. Handy Andy was,
however, expelled from the dining-room in disgrace, and for days kept
out of his master's way, and the servants for months would call him by
no other name but "Suds."
_II.--O'Grady Gets a Blister_
Mr. Egan was a kind-hearted man, and, instead of dismissing Andy, he
kept him on for out-door work. Our hero at once distinguished himself in
his new walk of life.
"Ride into the town and see if there is a letter for me," said the
squire.
"I want a letther, if you plaze!" shouted Andy, rushing into the
post-office.
"Who do you want it for?" asked the postmaster.
"What consarn is that o' yours?" exclaimed Andy.
Happily, a man who knew Andy looked in for a letter, paid the postage of
fourpence on it, and then settled the dispute between Andy and the
postmaster by mentioning Mr. Egan's name.
"Why didn't you tell me you came from the squire?" said the postmaster.
"Here's a letter for him. Elevenpence postage."
"Elevenpence postage!" Andy cried. "Didn't I see you give that man a
letther for fourpence, and a bigger letther than this? Do you think I'm
a fool?"
"No," said the postmaster; "I'm sure of it."
He walked off to serve another customer, and Andy meditated. His master
wanted the letter badly, so he would have to pay the exorbitant price.
He snatched two other letters from the heap on the counter while the
postmaster's back was turned, paid the elevenpence, received the epistle
to which he was entitled, and rode home triumphant.
"Look at that!" he exclaimed, slapping the three letters down under his
broad fist on the table before the astonished squire. "He made me pay
elevenpence, by gor! But I've brought your honour the worth of your
money, anyhow."
"Well, by the powers!" said the squire, as Andy stalked out of the room
with an air of supreme triumph. "That's the most extraordinary genius I
ever came across!"
He read the letter for which he had been anxiously waiting. It was from
his lawyer about the forthcoming election. In it he was warned to beware
of his friend O'Grady, who was selling his interest to the government
candidate.
"So that's the work O'Grady's at!" exclaimed the squire angrily. "Foul,
foul! And after all the money I lent him, too!"
He threw down the letter, and his eye caught the other two that Andy had
stolen.
"More of that mad fool's work! Robbing the mail now. That's a hanging
job. I'd better send them to the parties to whom they're addressed."
Picking up one of the epistles, he found it was a government letter
directed to his new enemy, O'Grady. "All's fair in war," thought the
squire, and pinching the letter until it gaped, he peeped in and read:
"As you very properly remark, poor Egan is a spoon--a mere spoon." "Am I
a spoon, your villain!" roared the squire, tearing the letter and
throwing it into the fire. "I'm a spoon you'll sup sorrow with yet!"
"Get out a writ on O'Grady for all the money he owes me," he wrote to
his lawyer. "Send me the blister, and I'll slap it on him."
Unfortunately, he sent Andy with this letter; still more unfortunately,
Mrs. Egan also gave the simple fellow a prescription to be made up at
the chemist's. Andy surpassed himself on this occasion. He called at the
chemist's on his way back from the lawyer's, and carefully laid the
sealed envelope containing the writ on the counter, while he was getting
the medicine. On leaving, he took up a different envelope.
"My dear Squire," ran the letter Andy brought back, "I send you the
blister for O'Grady, as you insist on it; but I don't think you will
find it easy to serve him with it.--Your obedient, MURTOUGH MURPHY."
When the squire opened the accompanying envelope, and found within a
real instead of a figurative blister, he grew crimson with rage. But he
was consoled when he went to horsewhip his attorney, and met the chemist
pelting down the street with O'Grady tearing after him with a cudgel.
For some years O'Grady had successfully kept out of his door every
process-server sent by his innumerable creditors; but now, having got a
cold, he had dispatched his man to the chemist for a blister, and owing
to Handy Andy, he obtained Squire Egan's writ against him.
"You've made a mistake this time, you rascal," said the squire to Andy,
"for which I'll forgive you."
And this was only fair, for through it he was able to carry the
election, and become Edward Egan, Esq., M.P.
_III.--Andy Gets Married_
Andy was among the guests invited to the wedding feast of pretty Matty
Dwyer and handsome young James Casey; like everybody else he came to the
marriage full of curiosity. Matty's father, John Dwyer, was a hard,
close-fisted fellow, and, as all the neighbours knew, there had been
many fierce disputes between him and Casey over the question of a farm
belonging to Dwyer going into the marriage settlement.
A grand dinner was laid in the large barn, but it was kept waiting owing
to the absence of the bridegroom. Father Phil, the kindly, jovial parish
priest, who had come to help James and Matty "tie with their tongues the
knot they couldn't undo with their teeth," had not broken his fast that
day, and wanted the feast to go on. To the great surprise of the
company, Matty backed him, and full of life and spirits, began to lay
the dinner. For some time the hungry guests were busy with the good
cheer provided for them, but the women at last asked in loud whispers,
"Where in the world is James Casey?" Still the bride kept up her smiles,
but old Jack Dwyer's face grew blacker and blacker. Unable to bear the
strain any longer, he stood up and addressed the expectant crowd.
"You see the disgrace that's put on me!"
"He'll come yet, sir," said Andy.
"No, he won't!" cried Dwyer, "I see he won't. He wanted to get
everything his own way, and he thinks to disgrace me in doing what he
likes, but he shan't;" and he struck the table fiercely. "He goes back
of his bargain now, thinkin' I'll give in to him; but I won't. Friends
and neighbours, here's the lease of the three-cornered field below there
and a snug little cottage, and it's ready for my girl to walk in with
the man that will have her! If there's a man among you here that's
willing, let him say the word, and I'll give her to him!"
Matty tried to protest, but her father silenced her with a terrible
look. When old Dwyer's blood was up, he was capable of murder. No guest
dared to speak.
"Are yiz all dumb?" shouted Dwyer. "It's not every day a farm and a fine
girl falls in a man's way."
Still no one spoke, and Andy thought they were using Dwyer and his
daughter badly.
"Would I do, sir?" he timidly said.
Andy was just the last man Dwyer would have chosen, but he was
determined that someone should marry the girl, and show Casey "the
disgrace should not be put on him." He called up Andy and Matty, and
asked the priest to marry them.
"I can't, if your daughter objects," said Father Phil.
Dwyer turned on the girl, and there was the devil in his eye.
"I'll marry him," said Matty.
So the rites and blessings of the Church were dispensed between two
persons who an hour before had never given a thought to each other. Yet
it was wonderful with what lightness of heart Matty went through the
honours consequent on a peasant bridal in Ireland. She gaily led off the
dance with Andy, and the night was far spent before the bride and
bridegroom were escorted to the cottage which was to be their home.
Matty sat quiet, looking at the fire, while Andy bolted the door; but
when he tried to kiss her she leaped up furiously.
"I'll crack your silly head if you don't behave yourself," she cried,
seizing a stool and brandishing it above him.
"Oh, wirra, wirra!" said Andy. "Aren't you my wife? Why did you marry
me?"
"Did I want owld Jack Dwyer to murther me as soon as the people's backs
was turned?" said Matty. "But though I'm afraid of him, I'm not afraid
of you!"
"Och!" cried poor Andy, "what'll be the end of it?"
There was a tap at the door as he spoke, and Matty ran and opened it.
In came James Casey and half a dozen strong young fellows. Behind them
crept a reprobate, degraded priest who got his living and his name of
"Couple-Beggar" by performing irregular marriages. The end of it was
that Matty was married over again to Casey, whom she had sent for while
the dancing was going on. Poor Andy, bound hand and foot, was carried
out of the cottage to a lonely by-way, and there he passed his
wedding-night roped to the stump of an old tree.
_IV.--Andy Gets Married Again_
Misfortunes now accumulated on Andy's head. At break of day he was
released from the tree-stump by Squire Egan, who was riding by with some
bad news for the man he thought was now a happy bridegroom. Owing to an
indiscreet word dropped by our simple-minded hero, a gang of smugglers,
who ran an illicit still on the moors, had gathered something about Andy
stealing the letters from the post-office and Squire Egan burning them.
They had already begun to blackmail the squire, and in order to defeat
them it was necessary to get Andy out of the country for some time. So
nothing could be done against Casey.
And, on going home to prepare for a journey to England with a friend of
the squire's, Andy found his mother in a sad state of anxiety. His
pretty cousin, Oonah, was crying in a corner of the room, and Ragged
Nance, an unkempt beggar-woman, to whom the Rooneys had done many a good
turn, was screaming, "I tell you Shan More means to carry off Oonah
to-night. I heard them laying the plan for it."
"We'll go to the squire," sobbed Mrs. Rooney. "The villain durst not!"
"He's got the squire under his thumb, I tell you," replied Ragged Nance.
"You must look after yourselves. I've got it," she said, turning to
Andy. "We'll dress him as a girl, and let the smugglers take him."
Andy roared with laughter at the notion of being made a girl of. Though
Shan More was the blackguardly leader of the smugglers who were giving
the squire trouble, Andy was too taken up with the fun of being
transformed into the very rough likeness of a pleasing young woman to
think of the danger. It was difficult to give his angular form the
necessary roundness of outline; but Ragged Nance at last padded him out
with straw, and tied a bonnet on his head to shade his face, saying,
"That'll deceive them. Shan More won't come himself. He'll send some of
his men, and they're all dhrunk already."
"But they'll murdher my boy when they find out the chate," said Mrs.
Rooney.
"Suppose they did," exclaimed Andy stoutly; "I'd rather die, sure, than
the disgrace should fall upon Oonah there."
"God bless you, Andy dear!" said Oonah.
The tramp of approaching horses rang through the stillness of the night,
and Oonah and Nance ran out and crouched in the potato tops in the
garden. Four drunken vagabonds broke into the cottage, and, seeing Andy
in the dim light clinging to his mother, they dragged him away and
lifted him on a horse, and galloped off with him.
As it happened, luck favoured Andy. When he came to the smugglers' den,
Shan More was lying on the ground stunned, and his sister, Red Bridget,
was tending him; in going up the ladder from the underground
whisky-still, he had fallen backward. The upshot was that Andy was left
in charge of Red Bridget. But, alas! just as he was hoping to escape,
she penetrated through his disguise. More unfortunately still, Andy was,
with all his faults, a rather good-looking young fellow, and Red Bridget
took a fancy to him, and the "Couple-Beggar" was waiting for a job.
Smugglers' whisky is very strong, and Bridget artfully plied him with
it. Andy was still rather dazed when he reached home next morning.
"I've married again," he said to his mother.
"Married?" interrupted Oonah, growing pale. "Who to?"
"Shan More's sister," said Andy.
"Wirasthru!" screamed Mrs. Rooney, tearing her cap off her head. "You
got the worst woman in Ireland."
"Then I'll go and 'list for a sojer," said he.
_V.--Andy Gets Married a Third Time_
It was Father Phil that brought the extraordinary news to Squire Egan.
"Do you remember those two letters that Andy stole from the post-office,
and that someone burnt?" he asked, with a smile.
"I've been meaning to tell you, father, that one was for you," said the
squire, looking very uncomfortable.
"Oh, Andy let it out long ago," said the kindly old priest. "But the
joke is that by stealing my letter Andy nearly lost a title and a great
fortune. Ever heard of Lord Scatterbrain? He died a little time ago,
confessing in his will that it was he that married Mrs. Rooney, and
deserted her."
"So Handy Andy is now a lord!" exclaimed the squire, rocking with
laughter.
Andy took it like a true son of the wildest and most eccentric of Irish
peers. On getting over the first shock of astonishment, he broke out
into short peals of laughter, exclaiming at intervals, that "it was
mighty quare." When, after much questioning, his wishes in regard to his
new life were made clear, it was found that they all centred on one
object, which was "to have a goold watch."
The squire was perplexed what to do with a great nobleman of this sort,
and at last he got a kinsman, Dick Dawson, who loved fun, to take Andy
under his especial care to London. When they arrived there it was
wonderful how many persons were eager to show civility to his new
lordship, and he who as Handy Andy had been cried down all his life as a
"stupid rascal," "a blundering thief," "a thick-headed brute," suddenly
acquired, under the title of Lord Scatterbrain, a reputation for being
"vastly amusing, a little eccentric, perhaps, but so droll."
All this was very delightful for Andy--so delightful that he quite
forgot Red Bridget. But Red Bridget did not forget him.
"Lady Scatterbrain!" announced the servant one day; and in came Bridget
and Shan More and an attorney.
The attorney brought out a settlement in which an exorbitant sum was to
be settled on Bridget, and Shan More, with a threatening air, ordered
Andy to sign the deed.
"I can't," cried Andy, retreating to the fire-place, "and I won't!"
"You must sign your name!" roared Shan More.
"I can't, I tell you!" yelled Andy, seizing the poker. "I've never
larned to write."
"Your lordship can make your mark," said the attorney.
"I'll make my mark with this poker," cried Andy, "if you don't all clear
out!"
The noise of a frightful row brought Dick Dawson into the room, and he
managed to get rid of the intruders by inducing the attorney to conduct
the negotiations through Lord Scatterbrain's solicitors.
But while the negotiations were going on, a fact came to light that
altered the whole complexion of the matter, and Andy went post-haste
over to Ireland to the fine house in which his mother and his cousin
were living.
Bursting into the drawing-room, he made a rush upon Oonah, whom he
hugged and kissed most outrageously, with exclamations of the wildest
affection.
When Oonah freed herself from his embraces, and asked him what he was
about, Andy turned over the chairs, threw the mantelpiece ornaments into
the fire, and banged the poker and tongs together, shouting! "Hurroo!
I'm not married at all!"
It had been discovered that Red Bridget had a husband living when she
forced Andy to marry her, and as soon as it was legally proved that Lord
Scatterbrain was a free man, Father Phil was called in, and Oonah, who
had all along loved her wild cousin, was made Lady Scatterbrain.
* * * * *