Tales and Novels Volume VIII Part 41

_Clara._ A protege of yours!--Then it is granted, whatever it be.

_Sir W._ (_smiling_) Recollect your promise, Clara.

_Clara._ Oh, true--it must be in writing.

[_She goes hastily to the writing-table, and takes up a pen._

_Sir W._ Read before you write, my dear--I insist upon it.

_Clara._ Oh, sir, when it is a request of yours, how can I grant it soon enough? But it shall be done in the way you like best--slowly--deliberately--(_opening the letter_)--in minuet time. And I will look before I leap--and I'll read before I write. (_She reads the signature._) Gilbert! Honest Gilbert, how glad I shall be to do any thing for you, independently of your master! (_Reads on, suddenly lets the letter drop, and clasps her hands._) Sir--Uncle, my dear uncle, how unfortunate I am! Why did, not you ask me an hour ago?--Within this hour I have promised the new inn to another person.

_Sir W._ Indeed!--that is unfortunate. My poor Gilbert will be sadly disappointed.

_Clara._ How vexed I am! But I never should have thought of Gilbert for the inn: I fancied he disliked Ireland so much that he would never have settled here.

_Sir W._ So thought I till this morning. But love, my dear--love is lord of all. Poor Gilbert!

_Clara._ Poor Gilbert!--I am so sorry I did not know this sooner. Of all people, I should for my own part have preferred Gilbert for the inn, he would have kept it so well.

_Sir W._ He would so. (_Sighs._)

_Clara._ I do so blame myself--I have been so precipitate, so foolish, so wrong--without consulting you even.

_Sir W._ Nay, my dear, I have been as wrong, as foolish, as precipitate as you; for before I consulted you, I told Gilbert that I could almost _promise_ that he should have the inn in consequence of my recommendation. And upon the strength of that _almost_ he is gone a courting. My dear, we are both a couple of fools; but I am an old--you are a young one. There is a wide difference--let that comfort you.

_Clara._ Oh, sir, nothing comforts me, I am so provoked with myself; and you will be so provoked with me, when I tell you how silly I have been.

_Sir W._ Pray tell me.

_Clara._ Would you believe that I have literally given it for a song? A man sent me this morning a copy of verses to the heiress of Bannow. The verses struck my fancy--I suppose because they flattered me; and with the verses came a pet.i.tion setting forth claims, and a tenant's right, and fair promises, and a proposal for the new inn; and at the bottom of the paper I rashly wrote these words--"_The poet's pet.i.tion is granted._"

_Sir W._ A promise in writing, too!--My dear Clara, I cannot flatter you--this certainly is not a wise transaction. So, to reward a poet, you made him an innkeeper. Well, I have known wiser heads, to reward a poet, make him an exciseman.

_Clara._ But, sir, I am not quite so silly as they were, for I did not _make_ the poet an innkeeper--he is one already.

_Sir W._ An innkeeper already!--Whom do you mean?

_Clara._ A man with a strange name--or a name that will sound strange to your English ears--Christy Gallagher.

_Sir W._ A rogue and a drunken dog, I understand: but he is a poet, and knows how to flatter the heiress of Bannow.

_Clara._ (_striking her forehead_) Silly, silly Clara!

_Sir W._ (_changing his tone from irony to kindness_) Come, my dear Clara, I will not torment you any more. You deserve to have done a great deal of mischief by your precipitation; but I believe this time you have done little or none, at least none that is irremediable; and you have made Gilbert happy, I hope and believe, though without intending it.

_Clara._ My dear uncle--you set my heart at ease--but explain.

_Sir W._ Then, my dear, I shrewdly suspect that the daughter of this Christy _What-do-you-call-him_ is the lady of Gilbert's thoughts.

_Clara._ I see it all in an instant. That's delightful! We can pension off the drunken old father, and Gilbert and the daughter will keep the inn. Gilbert is in the green-house, preparing the coloured lamps--let us go and speak to him this minute, and settle it all.

_Sir W._ Speak to him of his loves? Oh, my dear, you'd kill him on the spot! He is so bashful, he'd blush to death.

_Clara._ Well, sir, do you go alone, and I will keep far, far aloof.

[_Exeunt at opposite sides._

SCENE III.

_Parlour of the Inn._

_CHRISTY and Miss GALLAGHER._

_Christy._ (_to Miss GALLAGHER, slapping her on her back_) Hould up your head, child; there's money bid for you.

_Miss G._ Lord, father, what a thump on the back to salute one with.

Well, sir, and if money is bid for me, no wonder: I suppose, it's because I have money.

_Christy._ That's all the rason--you've hit it, Florry. It's money that love always looks for now. So you may be proud to larn the news I have for you, which will fix Mr. Gilbert, your bachelor, for life, I'll engage--and make him speak out, you'll see, afore night-fall. We have the new inn, dear!--I've got the promise here under her own hand-writing.

_Miss G._ Indeed!--Well, I'm sure I shall be glad to get out of this hole, which is not fit for a rat or a Christian to live in--and I'll have my music and my piano in the back parlour, genteel.

_Christy._ Oh! Ferrinafad, are you there? It's your husband must go to that expinse, my precious, if he chooses, _twingling_ and _tweedling_, instead of the puddings and apple pies--that you'll settle betwix yees; and in the honeymoon, no doubt, you've cunning enough to compa.s.s that, and more.

_Miss G._ To be sure, sir, and before I come to the honeymoon, I promise you; for I won't become part or parcel of any man that ever wore a head, except he's music in his soul enough to allow me my piano in the back parlour.

_Christy._ Asy! asy! Ferrinafad--don't be talking about the piano-forte, till you are married. Don't be showing the halter too soon to the shy horse--it's with the sieve of oats you'll catch him; and his head once in the sieve, you have the halter on him clane. Pray, after all, tell me, Florry, the truth--did Mr. Gilbert ever ax you?

_Miss G._ La, sir, what a coa.r.s.e question. His eyes have said as much a million of times.

_Christy._ That's good--but not in law, dear. For, see, you could not _shue_ a man in the four courts for a breach of promise made only with the eyes, jewel. It must be with the tongue afore witness, mind, or under the hand, sale, or mark--look to that.

_Miss G._ But, dear sir, Mr. Gilbert is so tongue-tied with that English bashfulness.

_Christy._ Then Irish impudence must cut the string of that tongue, Florry. Lave that to me, unless you'd rather yourself.

_Miss G._ Lord, sir--what a rout about one man, when, if I please, I might have a dozen lovers.

_Christy._ Be the same more or less. But one rich bachelor's worth a dozen poor, that is, for the article of a husband.

_Miss G._ And I dare say the drum-major is rich enough, sir--for all Scotchmen, they say, is fond of money and _a_conomie; and I'd rather after all be the lady of a military man. (_Sings._)

"I'll live no more at home, But I'll follow with the drum, And I'll be the captain's lady, oh!"

_Christy._ Florry! Florry! mind you would not fall between two stools, and n.o.body to pity you.