The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes

"Will it turn into a piece of bacon?" inquired Dan; "for if it won't yez may curl yur hair wid it. It's all very well for you barn-fed gentry to be crammin' the poor wid bits of paper – gim me me shillin'."

The Squire said not a word, but buttoned his pockets up tightly, while, with an expression of the most intense pity for such unparalleled ignorance, his better half followed him out of the cabin.

"May bitther bad luck attend yez both," said Dan, as they quitted the place. "The dirty dhrop's in yez, and it will show itself in spite of all yer money; hollo! ain't that the babby?" he continued, as the tiny voice of a child was heard proceeding from a little bit of a room, their only other apartment.

"Yes, bless his bright eyes," replied Peggy, oblivious now to all the world beside. "He's awake; look at his darlin' little face, wid the laugh comin' all over it like a mealy potato." So saying, she rushed into the room, and commenced hugging and kissing their sole treasure in a most alarming manner.

"Kiss him for me, Peg," cried Dan. "Smother the villain of the world; ah, ha!" he went on, "there's a blessin' ould top-boots hasn't got any way; a fine lump of a fella, wid the health fairly burstin' out of his murdherin' cheeks; as fat as butther, and as lively as a tickled kitten. The Squire's is a poor, wizen-faced leprechaun of a creather, that looks as if he was born forty years ould, and grew backwards ever sence. Ha, ha! the thoughts of that bright-eyed schamer puts the song into my heart, like the risin' sun to the lark."

But soon his thoughts took a more desponding turn. "Poor little gossoon," said he, "when I think that there's nothin' before him but his father's luck in the world, to work, and pine, and toil, until his back is bent before the ould age touches it; it drives away the joy as quick as it came; murdher alive, ain't it too bad to think that ill-lookin' Kippogue over the way, might ate goold if he could only disgist it, and when he grows up, my fine, noble, blessed boy will have to bow, and cringe, and touch his hat to a chap wid no more sowl than a worn-out shoe; that's what puts evil thoughts in my head; the boy that I love, aye! almost as hard as if I was the mother of it instead of bein' only its father; when I think of him and what may be before him, oh! how I wish that I stood in ould Bulworthy's shoes, or his 'tops,' if it was only for his sake. Murdher! how sleepy I am all of a suddent; is it the drink, or the imptyness? a little of both, may-be; it ain't often I have a chance of forgettin' the dirty world for a thrifle o' time, so here goes to have a snooze."

So saying, Dan settled himself to take a mid-day nap, for the lack of better employment; but he had scarcely dropped his head on his breast for that purpose when he became aware of a singular ringing sensation in his ears, which increased until he fancied he heard a sound, loud and sonorous as the tolling of the church-clock; at last there came one bang, so startling that he jumped up suddenly from his chair: "The Saints between us and all harum: who's that?" he cried, in a terrible fright; but he could see nothing; the sounds were also gone; a dead silence was around him, and he must have slept for some time, it appeared, for the shadows of evening were darkening the small window. Moodily he leant his head upon his hands and gazed into the small fire-place; a few sods of turf were burning on the hearth; as he looked fixedly upon the waning embers, he perceived that from either end of one of the sods, a thin, white smoke lazily curled up the chimney, gradually increasing in volume and density; while he was vainly wondering how so small a piece of turf could send out so great an amount of vapor, to his still greater surprise, he saw the spiral columns advance towards him, and gather upon each side – slowly they gathered – and mounted in eddying clouds, until they reached to a level with his head; there they ceased, as though imprisoned in an invisible medium, and commenced wreathing and interwreathing, up and down, in beautiful vapory combinations; silently he contemplated the extraordinary phenomenon, in a state of extreme bewilderment, but yet without the slightest sensation of the dread which should accompany so singular a spectacle, and it was with more admiration than awe he became aware that the smoky pillars beside him were gradually moulding themselves into the most exquisite human forms; at length they stood before him defined and perfect – two female appearances of transcendent loveliness; one fair as a sun-beam, the other dark, but each supreme in its individual type of beauty. Gentleness and heavenly love beamed in the mild, blue eyes of the one, glittering boldness flashed from the coal-black orbs of the other: a shower of delicate golden hair, soft and yielding as silken fibres, shed a bright radiance like a halo around the saintly lineaments of the fairer spirit, while massy clusters of raven hue, through which a warm, purple tint was interwoven, glancing, in the light, like threads of fire, enriched the ample brow, and swept down the full form of the darker one. "I wonder if it's alive they are," thought Dan, as he gazed alternately at each. "I'll be upon me oath I dunno which is the purtiest of the two; the yalla-headed one looks as if she could coax the very heart out through me ribs; but, oh! murdher alive! the lightnin' that darts from them black eyes is enough to strike a fella foolish at onst; bad luck to me if I don't spake to them;" so saying, our friend made one of his best bows, tugging the conventional lock left for that purpose. "Your sarvant, ladies," said he, "and what might it be that brings yez out so airly this cowld mornin'."

The fairer apparition, in a voice like spoken melody, answered: "I am the spirit of your better thoughts."

"You don't tell me that, Miss, then it's glad that I am to see you to the fore, and mighty sorry that I haven't got a sate dacent enough to offer to the likes of such an iligant creather," said Dan, "and who's your frind, may I ax?" he went on, turning to the darker beauty.

"I am the spirit of your evil thoughts," replied the other, in a rich, full tone, bending her lustrous eyes upon the questioner in a way that made his heart bound.

"Oh! you are, are you," he gasped out; "faix, and I don't know, if it's welcome you ought to be, or not; but, for the sake of good manners, I'd ax you to sit too, av I had the convaynience."

"You called upon us both, just now," said the good spirit.

"And we are here," continued the other; "so choose between us, which you will entertain."

"Couldn't I be on the safe side, and entertain the both of yez?" suggested Dan, with a propitiatory wink to each.

"That is impossible," replied the good spirit. "We only meet when there's contention in a mortal mind whether he shall the right or wrong pursue. Did you not wish but now that you could change conditions with the rich man opposite?"

"Well, then, I may's well let the whole truth out, seein' that you're likely to know all about it; I did wish somethin' of the sort."

"And a very reasonable wish it was," said the dark spirit, on his left.

"A very foolish wish," firmly observed the fair one.

"I don't agree with you," replied the other.

"You never do," said the good spirit.

"Nor ever will!"

"I don't lose much by that" —

"Ladies, darlin'," interposed Dan, "I'd rayther you wouldn't disthress yerselves on my account."

"Don't be alarmed, my good friend," said the fair spirit. "We never can agree; but, how do you resolve? Is it still your wish to stand in the Squire's shoes?"

"Top-boots?" suggested Dan.

"Of course it is," replied the evil spirit for him. "Who would not have such wish, to pass his days in luxury and ease, not labor – pinched, in care and penury?"

"Thrue for you," observed Dan, approvingly.

"But who would give up even a small share of joy, contentment, and domestic love, to seek, perchance, for more, perchance, for less?" replied the other.

"There's rayson in that," said Dan.

"Aye, but the boy," said his left-hand companion; "see what a glorious life the heir to such a wealthy man would lead."

"That sets me heart bubblin' like a bilin' pot," cried Dan, joyously.

"You are resolved, then, to be ruled by me?" demanded the suggester of evil thoughts.

"Indeed, and I am, that I am, just for the sake of the babby," said Dan.

"Follow, and I will point out a way," said the dark spirit, gliding towards the door. Dan made a movement to follow, when his footsteps were arrested by a chorus of invisible voices, small, but distinct, and musical as a choir of singing birds, that appeared to sound within his very brain, so that he heard every word as clearly as though he had uttered it himself.

Every mortal has his grief:

Each one thinks that his is chief.

Better keep your present lot,

Than to tempt – you don't know what.

Irresolution made him falter on the threshold through which the spirit of evil thoughts had just passed; it was but for an instant, however, for the same tiny voices sang within his heart the blessings and the joys of wealth, and, above all, the image of his darling child, made happy in its possession.

"Here goes," said he. "The divil a pin's point does it matther what comes of me, so that luck lays a howld of the little gossoon." So saying, he followed the dark spirit, while the other bowed its lovely head upon its breast, and shedding tears of anguish for the tempted one, whose weakness she had not the power to strengthen, slowly and pensively came after, resolved not to abandon her charge while there was yet a hope to save.

CHAPTER III

Our selfish pleasures multiply amain,
But then their countless progeny is pain.

We left the great Squire Bulworthy, preparing to astonish the neighborhood, which he assuredly succeeded in doing, but not in a style at all creditable or satisfactory to himself.

It would appear, indeed, as though the hearty, but uncharitable wish of the irritated cobbler, was curiously prophetic, for, before the purse-proud couple had achieved the half of their accustomed promenade, Mr. Bulworthy's extremities were suddenly and unceremoniously fastened upon by an unusually severe gripe of that enemy to active exercise – the gout. So sharp was the pain, that the Squire roared out right lustily, and executed such a variety of absurd contortions that he became an object of intense amusement, rather than sympathy, to the vagabond portion of the neighborhood.

There being no such extemporaneous means of transit as hacks, or "hansoms," attainable, there was nothing for it but to suffer; so, leaning heavily upon a couple of stray Samaritans, whose commiseration was warmly stimulated by the promised shilling, he managed, by slow and agonizing efforts, to shuffle home, attended by his silent and unsympathizing spouse.

After having undergone the excruciating process of unbooting – an operation whose exquisite sensations are known only to the initiated – he screamed for his universal panacea, whisky-punch. The materials were brought in an incredibly short space of time, for Bulworthy was murderous in his gouty spells. Half a dozen stiff tumblers were disposed of with Hibernian celerity, and the hurried household began to congratulate itself upon a prospect of quiet. Vain hope! "dingle, dingle, ding!" went the big bell at the Squire's elbow. Up started, simultaneously, Barney and Mary from the dish of comfort they were laying themselves out to indulge in down stairs – in their eagerness, tumbling into each other's arms. Barney rushed up the stairway, while Mary listened – as Marys always do, when there's anything interesting going on – receiving, however, in this instance, ample reward for such a breach of good manners, being nearly prostrated by a book flung at Barney's head, to hasten his exit, by the suffering Squire. What the missile had only half done, Barney finished; for, taking the kitchen-stairs at a slide, he came plump against the partially-stunned listener, and down they both rolled comfortably to the bottom. However, as there were no bones broken, the only damage being what Mary called, "a dent in her head," they soon picked themselves up again.

"Well," says Mary, "how is he now?"

"Oh, murdher alive, don't ax me," replied Barney, rubbing his bruises, "it's my belief that there never was sich a cantankerous ould chicken sence the world was hatched. It's a composin' draft that he's schreechin' for now, as av a gallion of punch, strong enough to slide on, wasn't composin'."

In due time, he had his "composin' draft," which, as it contained a pretty considerable dose of laudanum, sufficed, together with his other potations, to lull the pain somewhat, and give him comparative quiet; this was a famous opportunity for Mrs. Bulworthy, who immediately proceeded to "improve" it.