The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes, Page 2

  CHAPTER I.

  The burthen wearies him who bears it; And the shoe pinches him who wears it.

  A very snug, comfort-suggesting apartment is the parlor of SquireBulworthy, the rich grazier, upon which you and I, friend reader, areabout so unceremoniously to intrude ourselves.

  If you will but look around you, you will see that all the appliancesof home delectation, procurable in so insignificant a town asBallinasquash, are here gathered together; that looking-glass is thepride of the domestic circle and the envy of the neighborhood; thoseeasy-chairs look as though tired humanity might find instant relieffrom their ample plumpness; the side-board, with its brilliant arrayof flashing decanters and hospitable-looking glasses, not mean,tailor-souled, thimble-measure aggravators, but huge whisky-punchgoblets and wines of capacious magnitude; then the carpet,kidderminster to a certainty, dazzling in the variety of its crimsonand blue, and yellow, displaying apochryphal flowers and inexplicableflourishes, such as put to the blush the most profound efforts ofunartistic nature.

  You must agree with me, taken altogether, that there is an air ofsupreme content and well-to-do-ableness about the entire surroundings,rendered absolutely certain by the smirking countenance of theSquire himself, as it smiles complacently upon you from thatprodigiously-ornamented frame--that jolly red nose is unmistakablyindicative of good living--those twinkling eyes display the very fireof self-satisfaction; the town counsellor evidences itself inthe-going-to-address-the-meeting attitude, and the man of means flashesfrom every link of that ponderous watch-chain and coquets amongst thosemassive seals.

  Bulworthy is evidently well off.

  "Hallo, what noise is that proceeding from yonder room?"

  "Get out, you scoundrel."

  It is a fat, gurgling, wheezy kind of voice, Bulworthy's, and speakingsets him coughing an uncomfortable, apoplectic sort of cough, like thesough of wind escaping from a cracked bellows.

  "Get out, you vagabone; ugh! ouf!"

  A singular-looking man-servant makes a sudden exit from the room, veryevidently hurt, physically, just as an equally singular female domesticenters at the door, having a substantial matutinal repast upon alarge-sized tray.

  "Keep us from harum," said she, in a delicious Tipperary brogue, softas honey; "and what's that?"

  "Troth, an it's me, Moll, I b'leeve," replied the ejected, lustilyrubbing the part affected.

  "What's happened, Barney?"

  "Oh! it's ould Bulworthy, bad cess to him," said Barney, in anundertone, wincing and twisting from pain; "he's what he callsastonishin' me."

  "What for?" inquired Mary, forgetting that she was running considerablerisk, from the circumstance of delaying the Squire's breakfast.

  "The devil a one ov me knows; whiniver he's crass, he thinks thathittin' me a lick will bring him straight; bedad, if such showers ofgood luck as he's had all his life drownds a good timper as his isdrownded, I hope I may niver be worth a _scurrig_ as long as Ibreathe."

  "Indeed, an' I have the same sort of comfort wid the mistress," saidMary. "Haven't I had the heart's blood of an illigant scowldin' jestnow, for sugarin' her ladyship's tay wid brown?"

  "Why, murther alive, Mollshee, you don't tell me that it's the_lump_ she uses?"

  "Not a word of a lie in it, nigh hand an ounce of tay in the taypot,too," replied Mary, with a what-do-you-think-of-that expression.

  "Faix, I mind the time," said Barney, "when she thought the smell ofthat same wonst a week was a nosegay.

  "Thrue for you, indade, an' not long ago, aither."

  Here a sudden thought occurred to the gossipping Hebe.

  "Murther alive!" said she, with a start that made the cups rattle; "ifI ain't forgettin' ould Bluebeard's breakfast; there'll be wigs on thegreen, if the could's come at the eggs, for he's mighty perticularentirely."

  So saying, she knocked a timid knock at the door of the dreadedSquire's room; a fierce "Come in," followed by the inevitable cough,hurried her into the apartment, from whence she emerged again veryshortly, and, with stealthy step and a look more eloquent than words,indicated the state of Bulworthy's temperament.

  Just then, there was a quiet little ring at the hall bell. "Run, youdivil, run," says Barney. "It kills him intirely to hear that bellgoin'; who is it? if you let 'em ring twice, he'll massacree me; oh!it's you, is it?" he continued, as a neat, clean, tidy woman enteredthe room, holding in her hand a capacious pair of top boots.

  It was Mrs. Peggy Duff, the comfortable little wife of Dan Duff, thecobbler. "Save all here," said she, as she came in.

  "Amen to that same, includin' yer own purty self, Mrs. Duff," repliedBarney, with a touch of comic gallantry.

  "Sure, an it's the hoighth of polite you are, Mr. Palthogue," repliedPeggy.

  "I wish you wouldn't hurt your purty little mouth by thryin' to squeezesuch a big name out of it," said Barney, giving her a knowing squint."Sure, Barney used to be enough to fill it wonst."

  "Ah! but the times is althered now, Mr. Barney," she rejoined; "ouldPether Bulworthy--the saints be good to us, I mean the Squire's mountedsky-high, like a kite, an ov coorse you've gone up with him like thetail."

  "But it ain't my nater to forget ould friends for all that, Peg_machree_."

  "Sure, an I'm glad to hear that, anyway, for it's mighty few heads thatdoesn't get dizzy whin they're hoisted up upon a hill of fortune,especially on a suddent like."

  Their further conversation was unceremoniously cut short by a roar fromBulworthy's room; now, the Squire's style of using the English languagewas highly original and somewhat peculiar; with him, the greater thenumber of syllables, and the more imposing the sound of the sentences,the better were they qualified to make a proper impression upon the_ignobile vulgus_, amongst whom it was his ambition to pass for a "SirOracle;" but let him speak for himself. You must imagine each word tobe accompanied by that ear-wounding, wheezing cough.

  "What horribly atrocious and propinquitous oration is that goin' on outthere, eh!"

  Barney trembled to the heels of his brogues. "Talk to him, Peg," saidhe, in an agitated whisper, "while I make meself scarce; don't beafeared," he added, as he stole quietly off. "A woman's voice softenshim down like a sun-ray on a snowball."

  "Hallo there," shouted the Squire. "Am I obligated to keepcontinuitously requestin' an elucidation of that rumbunctiousnessoutside; who's there?"

  "If ye plaze sir, it's only me," replied Peggy, "wid ye honor'shonorable 'tops' that wanted heel-piecin'."

  "Oh! Ah!" wheezed Bulworthy. "Wait, my good woman; I'll finish dressin'with all convaynient circumlocution, and come to you."

  "Good woman, indeed," thought Peggy, with a toss of her head and achirp. "Sure an' there's oil on his tongue sense he's turned Squire,"and then, with something akin to envy, she began to scan the variousarticles of home-ornament scattered about the, to her, magnificentparlor, soliloquizing at the same time. "Look at the chairs, stuffedseats, as I'm a sinner, wid hair, too, I'll be bound. Mahogany tables,if you plaze, all covered over wid useless curiosities an' books thatnobody sees the inside ov; did anybody ever see the likes; what'sthis?" as her eye caught sight of a handsome cologne-bottle. "Madamemust have her scints an her sweet wathers, to wash away the smell ofthe shop, may-be; I remimber the time when they kep' a little bit of ahuxtherin' place, and all the parfume they could musther proceeded fromthe soap and candles, and, may-be, a red herrin' or two to give therest a flavior."

  At this moment the Squire lumbered into the room in all the majesty ofa brilliant calico dressing-gown; seating himself grandly in a largearm-chair, and patronizingly waving his hand towards Peggy, in a blandand condescending tone of voice, he moderated his impatience down tothe true keep-your-distance point.

  "Well, ma'm," said he, "so you've brought the tops at last, after mewaitin' for them a tremenjus course of time; tell that waxyconglomeration of cobblin' connubiality, Mr. Duff, your husband, that,in consequence of his haynious neglect, I have been obligated toannihilate my usual run wid the Ballin
asquash hounds. What's theremuneration?"

  "If you mane the pay, sir," replied Peg, with a reverence, "it's on'y ashillin'."

  "I have no small pecuniation in the way of silver," said Bulworthy,plunging his great fist into his enormous pocket, and rattling severalgold pieces about in a most tantalizing manner, a general practice withpurse-proud ignorance, adding, with characteristic meanness, "can youchange me a sovreign?"

  Poor Peggy's face flushed up to the roots of her hair; he knew shecouldn't, and she knew he knew so.

  "Indeed, sir," said she, "It wouldn't be convaynent just now;" and itwas with difficulty she restrained herself from hinting that it wasonly recently that he himself had the power to put the insolentquestion.

  "Well, then, ma'm," said he, pompously; "all I can say is, that youmust pedestrianize in this vicinity on some anterior opportunity; forthe present, you can perambulate--to make myself understandable to yourlimited capacities--walk!"

  "Yes sir, thank you, sir," replied Peggy, humbly courtesying to thedomestic sultan, and only wondering how he _could_ keep any teeth inhis head, using such hard words.

  "Good mornin' to you, Squire," she said, as she retired, "Here'swishin' you safe through the dictionary."

  "What does the oleaginous faymale mane; oh! these abominaceousphlebians laugh at me, in spite of all I can do to impress them withthe importance of my station; with all the pride of my brick building,I can't altogether root out the recollection of the little grocery;and, indeed, if it comes to that," he continued, with a real sigh, "Iused to be a great deal happier when I was scrapin' up money, byweighin' out hay-porths of sustainance to the surroundin' populationthan I am now, and the advantitious title of Squire tacked on to mycognomination."

  His nerves gave a sudden thrill as a shrewish voice from an adjacentroom, squealed out, "Are you there, Pether?"

  "Yes, my love," he replied, quickly, while, in an undertone, hemurmured to himself, "ah! there's a melancholy laceration to mygentility, my _cary spowsy_, I can't instill aristocratical idayasinto her deleterious temperature, anyway."

  Now, Mrs. Peter Bulworthy deserves a distinctive paragraph, and sheshall have it.

  Although morally she was Peter's much better half, yet bodily she couldaspire to no such appellation. In regard of personal weight, they boreabout the same relative affinity as a fine, fat, substantial round ofbeef would to the carving-fork beside it. The physical difference,however, she amply made up for, by keeping her prongs ever activelyemployed pricking the unfortunate Peter at every assailable point.Peter was pinguid, plump, and plethoric--she was thin to attenuation.Peter's voice, though husky, was rich and oily--hers was like theattrition of ungreased cart-wheels. Peter affected dignity and socialstatus--she gloried in her unmitigated vulgarity; he, poor man, hadlong ago given up every idea of resisting her domestic tyranny."Anything for a quiet life," was his motto, and, with something akin toproper retribution, the indignities and annoyances, which he, in theplenitude of his pocket-power, inflicted upon his poorer neighbors, wasrepaid tenfold on his devoted head, when he came within the circle ofMrs. Bulworthy's operations.

  "I wonder how her temper is this morning," thought Peter, as he cast afurtive glance towards her eyes as she sailed into the room, dressedin--I wish I could describe that walking-dress; all I can say, is, thatit looked as if she had laid a wager that she could display in herattire every color in existence, and, won it.

  "Well, Pether dear, and how is my ould man to-day?" said she. TheSquire released an imprisoned sigh, in gratitude for this manifestationof so unusual a mildness of temper; emboldened thereby to remonstrance,he also ventured to remark:

  "I wish, my love, you wouldn't address me by the antiquitousappellation of 'ould man.' It was all very well when we kept a bit of ashop"----

  "Oh, now, Pether, you're comin' over me wid your larning," she replied,with a dash of vinegar. "You know that I never cared a _thranieen_ forthe likes, nor never wants to make myself out anything but what I am.Not all as one, as some folks I know, that's never happy except they'respittin' out mouthfuls of words big an' hard enough to crack filbertswid. You see I can talliate if I like, Mr. Pether."

  "Re-taliate, obscurest of feminines."

  "Well, it's all the same, bless my soul, if one only understands what'smeant, what does it si'nafy what's said?"

  "'Si'nafy,' madame," replied Bulworthy, settling himself into amagisterial position, "do you think that us octo-grammarians take nopride in the purity of our entomology, skintax, and progeny. Go an'busy yourself about the futilities of domestic exuberance and leavepolite literature to the intellectual sect."

  "Meanin' you, I suppose, you concated _omathaun_," said the lady, witha shrug of her pointed shoulders, adding, in a more decided tone, whoseeffect was instantaneously visible on the countenance, and in thecourage of her spouse, "Come, we've had enough of this; put on yourboots, an' take me out for a walk."

  Just snugly ensconced in his favorite arm-chair, his slippered feet onthe cozy fender, and the county paper on his knee as yet unfolded,Peter would have given a great deal to be left in his undisturbedquiet, but one glance at those determined eyes convinced him of thefutility of resistance. With a profound groan, he laid down the covetednewspaper, took up his boots, and, without attempting a remonstrance,walked into his bed-room, saying:

  "Certainly, dear. I shall prepare my perambulating habilimentsdirectly."

  "Pooh, I wish these long words would stick in your throat and choke yousome day," screamed his amiable helpmate; but, when he was out ofearshot, her face relaxed into a more gentle expression. "Poor Pether,"said she, "he wants to stick himself up for a gentleman; now that we'vegot away from the grocer's shop, he can't bear to hear the sound of theplace mentioned, which, as in duty bound I do, twenty times a day; if Ididn't keep him in wholesome subjection, he'd get the upper hand of me,as he does with all the rest. Now Pether," she cried, elevating hershrillness into a whistle, "am I goin' to be kept danglin' here all theblessed mornin'?"

  "I'm coming, I'm coming, impatient individuality," said Peter, from hisroom, where, to do him credit, he was hurrying through the unwelcomeprocess with considerable alacrity; "arrah, how do you suppose agentleman can beatify his external appearance in such a momentous spaceof time? but, here I am, at your service, ma'am," he continued, as, inall the dignity of snowy shirt-frill, bright blue body-coat, and bigbrass buttons, white cord breeches, and shiny top-boots, his greatbunch of watch-seals bobbing about like the pendulum of a clock, ablack thorn stick under his arm, and a wonderfully-furry white hatcovering his moon-looking face, he fancied himself the veryimpersonation of moneyed importance.

  "And maybe you'll tell me, ma'am," said he, as he pulled on a pair ofbig buckskin gloves, "what you want to be gallivantin' about thestreets for at this transitory moment?"

  "I choose it," replied the obedient wife. "It's for the benefit of myhealth, so howld your gab."

  "Ah! what unnatural vulgarity."

  "If you don't let me be, I'll talk about the shop in the street, loud,so that everybody can hear me."

  "I wish to my gracious I had never left it," said he, with a sigh soheavy that it must have carried truth with it.

  "Give me your arm, do, and make haste," cried Mrs. Pether, giving aprecautionary shake to her numerous, but insufficient flounces. "I'mdyin' to dazzle ould Mrs. Magillicuddy with this bran new shawl."

  "Yes," replied Pether, with a glance of resigned conviction, "that'swhat I thought the benefit to your health would amount to."

  So the Squire and his lady--no, I mean Mrs. Peter Bulworthy and herhusband--sallied forth, to astonish a few of their neighbors, and amusea great many more; both Barney, the anomalous man-servant, and Mary,the "maid," pulling up their respective corners of the window-blind tosee them, and watch the effect they produced.

  "There they go," grunted Barney, with a contemptuous toss of hisalready scornfully-elevated nose, "the laughin'-stocks of the wholetown; dressin' me up this way,"--and he gave his nether extremi
ties aglance of derision--"like an overgrown parrot--me, that niver hadanything on me back, but an ould canvas apron, an' a dirty face, now Ican't stir out o' the house, that I'm not fairly ashamed o' meself;there isn't a gossoon in the barony that doesn't know me as well as avI was the town pump, an' I can't show meself in the place, that theydon't hunt me about as av I was a wild nagur. Look at them stockin's,Mary, _acush_, there's flimsy, skimpin things, for a cowld Christian towear on his _gams_; I'll be ketchin' me death wid them, I know I will.Mary, I'll be on me oath av I don't think them legs'll carry me offyit."