Tales and Novels Volume VIII Part 45

So this Scotchman could not list Owen. _Couldn't_ nor _wouldn't_, that's what he says; and the Scotchman looked very hard at me as he spoke: moreover, I seen Mr. Gilbert and him with their two heads close together, and that's a wonder, for I know Gilbert's not nat'rally fond of any sort of Scotchman. There's something brewing:--I must have my wits about me, and see and keep sober this night, if I can, any way.

From the first I suspicted Mr. Gilbert had his heart on Mabel. (BIDDY DOYLE _puts her head in_) Biddy Doyle! what the mischief does that head of yours do there?

_Biddy._ Nothing in life, sir: only just to see who was in it, along with yourself, because I thought I hard talking enough for two.

_Christy._ You, girl, have curiosity enough for two, and two dozen, and too much! So plase take your head and yourself out of that, and don't be overharing my private thoughts; for that was all the talking ye hard, and _my_ thoughts can't abide listeners.

_Biddy._ I'm no listener--I ax your pardon, sir: I scorn to listen to your thoughts, or your words even.

[_Exit BIDDY._

_Christy._ That girl has set me topsy-turvy. Where was I?--Oh! this was it. Suppose even, I say, suppose this Gilbert's fancy should stick to Mabel, I might manage him, nevertheless. I've a great advantage and prerogative over this Englishman, in his having never been dipped in the Shannon. He is so _under cow_ with bashfulness now, that I don't doubt but what in one of his confusions I could asy bring him to say Yes in the wrong place; and sooner than come to a perplexing refusal of a young lady, he might, I'll engage, be brought about to marry the girl he didn't like, in lieu of the girl he did. We shall see--but hark! I hear Ferrinafad's voice, singing, and I must join, and see how the thing's going on, or going off.

[_Exit._

SCENE II.

_Miss GALLAGHER and GILBERT at a Tea-Table._

_Gilb._ (_aside_) Now would I give five golden guineas this minute that her father, or any mortal man, woman, or child in the varsal world, would come in and say something; for 'tis so awk'ard for I to be sitting here, and I nothing to say to she.

_Miss G._ (_aside_) When will the man pay me the compliment to speak, I wonder? Wouldn't any body think he'd no tongue in that mouth of his, screwed up, and blus.h.i.+ng from ear to ear?

_Enter CHRISTY._

_Christy._ Hoo! hoo! hoo!--How's this--both of yees mute as fishes the moment I come in? Why I hard you just now, when my back was turned, singing like turtle-doves--didn't I, Florry?

_Miss G._ Indeed, sir, as to turtle-doves, I'm not sinsible; but Mr.

Gilbert requisted of me to be favouring him with a song, which I was complying with, though I'm not used to be singing without my piano.

_Christy._ (_aside_) Sorrow take your piano! you're not come there yet.

_Miss G._ I wonder the drum-major isn't come yet. Does he expect tea can be keeping hot for him to the end of time? He'll have nothing but slop-dash, though he's a very genteel man. I'm partial to the military school, I own, and a High lander too is always my white-headed boy.

_Gilb._ (_astonished_) Her white-headed boy!--Now, if I was to be hanged for it, I don't know what that means.

_Miss G._ Now where can you have lived, Mr. Gilbert, not to know _that_?

_Christy._ (_aside_) By the ma.s.s, he's such a matter-o'-fact-man, I can't get round him with all my wit.

_Miss G._ Here's the drum-major! Scarlet's asy seen at a distance, that's one comfort!

_Enter Mr. HOPE._

_Mr. H._ I'm late, Miss Florinda, I fear, for the tea-table; but I had a wee-wee bit of business to do for a young friend, that kept me.

_Miss G._ No matter, major, my tapot defies you. Take a cup a tea. Are you fond of music, major?

_Mr. H._ Very fond of music, ma'am--do you sing or play?

_Miss G._ I do play--I plead guilty to that I own. But in this hole that we are in, there's no room fitting for my piano. However, in the new inn which we have got now, I'll fix my piano iligant in the back-parlour.

_Mr. H._ In the mean time, Miss Florinda, will you favour us with a song?

_Christy._ And I'll be making the punch, for I'm no songstress. Biddy!

Biddy Doyle! hot water in a jerry.

_Miss G._ Indeed I'm not used to sing without my piano; but, to oblige the major, I'll sing by note.

_Miss GALLAGHER sings._

Softly breathing through the heart, When lovers meet no more to part; That purity of soul be mine, Which speaks in music's sound divine.

'Midst trees and streams of constant love, That's whispered by the turtle-dove; Sweet cooing cushat all my pray'r, Is love in elegance to share.

_Mr. H._ That's what I call fine, now! Very fine that.

[_GILBERT nods._

_Miss G._ (_aside_) Look at that Englishman, now, that hasn't a word of compliment to throw to a dog, but only a nod. (_Aloud_) 'Tis the military that has always the souls for music, and for the ladies--and I think, gentlemen, I may step for'ard, and say I'm ent.i.tled to call upon you now:--Mr. Gilbert, if you've ever a love-song in your composition.

_Gilb._ Love-song I can't say, ma'am; but such as I have--I'm no great hand at composition--but I have one song--they call it, _My choice of a wife._

_Miss G._ Pray let's have it, sir.

_Christy._ Now for it, by Jabus.

_Mr. H._ Give it us, Mr. Gilbert.

_Enter BIDDY with hot water, and exit._

_GILBERT sings._

There's none but a fool will wed on a sudden, Or take a fine miss that can't make a pudding; If he get such a wife, what would a man gain, O!

But a few ballad-tunes on a wretched piano?

Some ladies than peac.o.c.ks are twenty times prouder, Some ladies than thunder are twenty times louder; But I'll have a wife that's obliging and civil-- For me, your fine ladies may go to the devil!

_Miss G._ (_rising_) Sir, I comprehend your song, coa.r.s.e as it is, and its moral to boot, and I humbly thank ye, sir. (_She curtsies low._) And if I live a hundred year, and ninety-nine to the back of that, sir, I will remember it to you, sir.

_Christy._ (_leaving the punch which he had been making, comes forward with a lemon in his hand_) Wheugh! wheugh! wheugh! Ferrinafad!

_Gilb._ (_aside_) Ferrinafad!--the man's mad!

_Miss G._ Father, go your ways back to your punch. Here stands the only _raal_ gentleman in company (_pointing to the drum-major_), if I'm to make the election.