Phelim Otoole's Courtship and Other Stories Part 37

"Come," said Art, "let us go; he may be richer, but there's the blood, and the honesty, and good name of the Maguires against his wealth--"

A gentle pressure on his arm, when he mentioned the word wealth, and he was silent.

"My darlin' Margaret," said he, "oh how unworthy I am of you!"

"Now," said she, "lave me to manage this business my own way. Your good sense will tell you when to spake; but whatever my father says, trate him with respect--lave the rest to me."

On entering, they found Murray and his wife in the little parlor--the former smoking his pipe, and the latter darning a pair of stockings.

"Father," said Margaret, "Art Maguire convoyed me home; but, indeed, I must say, I was forced to ask him."

"Art Maguire. Why, then, upon my sounds, Art, I'm glad to see you. An'

how are you, man alive? an' how is Frank, eh? As grave as a jidge, as he always was--ha, ha, ha! Take a chair, Art, and be sittin'. Peggy, gluntha me, remimber, you must have Art at your weddin'. It's now widin three days of the time I'm to know who he is; and upon my sounds, I'm like a hen on a hot griddle till I hear it."

"You're not within three days, father."

"But I say I am, accordin' to your own countin'."

"You're not within three hours, father;"--her face 'glowed, and her whole system became vivified with singular and startling energy as she spoke;--"no, you are not within three hours, father; not within three minutes, my dear father; for there stands the man," she said, pointing to Art. She gave three or four loud hysterical sobs, and then stood calm, looking not upon her father, but upon her lover; as much as to say, Is this love, or is it not?

Her mother, who was a quiet, inoffensive creature, without any principle or opinion whatsoever at variance with those of her husband, rose upon hearing this announcement; but so ambiguous were her motions, that we question whether the most sagacious prophet of all antiquity could antic.i.p.ate from them the slightest possible clue to her opinion. The husband, in fact, had not yet spoken, and until he had, the poor woman did not know her own mind. Under any circ.u.mstances, it was difficult exactly to comprehend her meaning. In fact, she could not speak three words of common English, having probably never made the experiment a dozen times in her life. Murray was struck for some time mute.

"And is this the young man," said he, at length, "that has been the mains of preventin' you from being so well married often and often before now?"

"No, indeed, father," she replied, "he was not the occasion of that; but I was. I am betrothed to him, as he is to me, for five years."

"And," said her father, "my consent to that marriage you will never have; if you marry him, marry him, but you will marry him without my blessin'."

"Jemmy Murray," said Art, whose pride of family was fast rising, "who am I, and who are you?"

Margaret put her hand to his mouth, and said in a low voice--

"Art, if you love me, leave it to my management."

"Ho, Jemmy," said the mother, addressing her husband, "only put your ears to this! _Ho, dher manim_, this is that skamin' piece of _feasthealagh_ (* nonesense) they call _grah_ (*love). Ho, by my sowl, it shows what moseys they is to think that--what's this you call it?--low-lov-loaf, or whatsomever the devil it is, has to do wid makin'

a young couple man and wife. Didn't I hate the ground you stud on when I was married upon you? but I had the _airighid_. Ho, faix, I had the shiners."

"Divil a word o' lie in that, Madjey, asth.o.r.e. You had the money, an'

I got it, and wern't we as happy, or ten times happier, than if we had married for love?"

"To be sartin we am; an' isn't we more unhappier now, nor if we had got married for loaf, glory be to G.o.dness!"

"Father," said Margaret, anxious to put an end to this ludicrous debate, "this is the only man I will ever marry."

"And by Him that made me," said her father, "you will never have my consent to that marriage, nor my blessin'."

"Art," said she, "not one word. Here, in the presence of my father and mother, and in the presence of G.o.d himself, I say I will be your wife, and only yours."

"And," said her father, "see whether a blessin' will attend a marriage where a child goes against the will of her parents."

"I'm of age now to think and act for myself, father; an' you know this is the first thing I ever disobeyed you in, an' I hope it 'ill be the last. Am I goin' to marry one that's discreditable to have connected with our family? So far from that, it is the credit that is comin' to us. Is a respectable young man, without spot or stain on his name, with the good-will of all that know him, and a good trade--is such a person, father, so very high above us? Is one who has the blood of the great Fermanagh Maguires in his veins not good enough for your daughter, because you happen to have a few bits of metal that he has not? Father, you will give us your consent an' your blessin' too; but remember that whether you do, or whether you don't, I'll not break my vow; I'll marry him."

"Margaret," said the father, in a calm, collected voice, "put both consent and blessin' out of the question; you will never have either from me."

"Ho _dher a Ihora heena_," exclaimed the mother, "I'm the boy for one that will see the buckle crossed against them, or I'd die every day this twelve months upon the top and tail o' Knockmany, through wind an'

weather. You darlin' scoundrel," she proceeded, addressing Art, in what she intended to be violent abuse--"G.o.d condemn your sowl to happiness, is I or am my husband to be whillebelewin' on your loaf? Eh, answer us that, if you're not able, like a man, as you is?"

Margaret, whose humor and sense of the ludicrous were exceedingly strong, having seldom heard her mother so excited before, gave one arch look at Art, who, on the contrary, felt perfectly confounded at the woman's language, and in that look there was a kind of humorous entreaty that he would depart. She nodded towards the door, and Art, having shook hands with her, said--

"Good-by, Jemmy Murray, I hope you'll change your mind still; your daughter never could got any one that loves her as I do, or that could treat her with more tendherness and affection."

"Be off, you darlin' vagabone," said Mrs. Murray, "the heavens be your bed, you villain, why don't you stay where you is, an' not be malivogin an undacent family this way."

"Art Maguire," replied Murray, "you heard my intention, and I'll never change it." Art then withdrew.

Our readers may now antic.i.p.ate the consequences of the preceding conversation. Murray and his wife having persisted in their refusal to sanction Margaret's marriage with Maguire, every argument and influence having been resorted to in vain, Margaret and he made what is termed a runaway match of it, that is, a rustic elopement, in which the young couple go usually to the house of some friend, under the protection of whose wife the female remains until her marriage, when the husband brings her home.

And now they commence life. No sooner were they united, than Art, feeling what was due to her who had made such and so many sacrifices for him, put his shoulder to the wheel with energy and vigor. Such aid as his father could give him, he did give; that which stood him most in stead, however, was the high character and unsullied reputation of his own family. Margaret's conduct, which was looked upon as a proof of great spirit and independence, rendered her, if possible, still better loved by the people than before. But, as we said, there was every confidence placed in Art, and the strongest hopes of his future success and prosperity in life expressed by all who knew him; and this was reasonable. Here was a young man of excellent conduct, a first-rate workman, steady, industrious, quiet, and, above all things, sober; for the three or four infractions of sobriety that took place during his apprenticeship, had they even been generally known, would have been reputed as nothing; the truth is, that both he and Margaret commenced life, if not with a heavy purse, at least with each a light heart. He immediately took a house in Ballykeerin, and, as it happened that a man of his own trade, named Davis, died about the same time of lockjaw, occasioned by a chisel wound in the ball of the thumb, as a natural consequence, Art came in for a considerable portion of his business; so true is it, that one man's misfortune is another man's making. His father did all he could for him, and Margaret's sisters also gave them some a.s.sistance, so that, ere the expiration of a year, they found themselves better off than they had reason to expect, and, what crowned their happiness--for they were happy--was the appearance of a lovely boy, whom, after his father, they called. Arthur. Their hearts had not much now to crave after--happiness was theirs, and health; and, to make the picture still more complete, prosperity, as the legitimate reward of Art's industry and close attention to business, was beginning to dawn upon them.

One morning, a few months after this time, as she sat with their lovely babe in her arms, the little rogue playing with the tangles of her raven hair, Art addressed her in the fulness of as affectionate a heart as ever beat in a human bosom:--

"Well, Mag," said he, "are you sorry for not marryin' Mark Hanratty?"

She looked at him, and then at their beautiful babe, which was his image, and her lip quivered for a moment; she then smiled, and kissing the infant, left a tear upon its face.

He started, "My G.o.d, Margaret," said he, "what is this?"

"If that happy tear," she replied, "is a proof of it, I am."

Art stooped, and kissing her tenderly, said--"May G.o.d make me, and keep me worthy of you, my darling wife!"

"Still, Art," she continued, "there is one slight drawback upon my happiness, and that is, when it comes into my mind that in marryin' you, I didn't get a parent's blessin'; it sometimes makes my mind sad, and I can't help feelin' so."

"I could wish you had got it myself," replied her husband, "but you know it can't be remedied now."

"At all events," she said, "let us live so as that we may desarve it; it was my first and last offence towards my father and mother."

"And it's very few could say as much, Mag, dear; but don't think of it, sure, may be, he may come about yet."

"I can hardly hope that," she replied, "after the priest failin'."

"Well, but," replied her husband, taking up the child in his arms, "who knows what this little man may do for us--who knows, some day, but we'll send a little messenger to his grandfather for a blessin' for his mammy that he won't have the heart to refuse."

This opened a gleam of satisfaction in her mind. She and her husband having once more kissed the little fellow, exchanged glances of affection, and he withdrew to his workshop.

Every week and month henceforth added to their comfort. Art advanced in life, in respectability, and independence; he was, indeed, a pattern to all tradesmen who wish to maintain in the world such a character as enforces esteem and praise; his industry was incessant, he was ever engaged in something calculated to advance himself; up early and down late was his constant practice--no man could exceed, him in punctuality--his word was sacred--whatever he said was done; and so general were his habits of industry, integrity, and extreme good conduct appreciated, that he was mentioned as a fresh instance of the high character sustained by all who had the old blood of the Fermanagh Maguires in their veins. In this way he proceeded, happy in the affections of his admirable wife--happy in two lovely children--happy in his circ.u.mstances--in short, every way happy, when, to still add to that happiness, on the night of the very day that closed the term of his oath against liquor--that closed the seventh year--his wife presented him with their third child, and second daughter.

In Ireland there is generally a very festive spirit prevalent during christenings, weddings, or other social meetings of a similar nature; and so strongly is this spirit felt, that it is--or was, I should rather say--not at all an unusual thing for a man, when taking an oath against liquor, to except christenings or weddings, and very frequently funerals, as well as Christmas and Easter. Every one acquainted with the country knows this, and no one need be surprised at the delight with which Art Maguire hailed this agreeable coincidence. Art, we have said before, was naturally social, and, although he did most religiously observe his oath, yet, since the truth must be told, we are bound to admit that, on many and many an occasion, he did also most unquestionably regret the restraint that he had placed upon himself with regard to liquor. Whenever his friends were met together, whether at fair, or market, wedding, christening, or during the usual festivals, it is certain that a gla.s.s of punch or whiskey never crossed his nose that he did not feel a secret hankering after it, and would often have snuffed in the odor, or licked his lips at it, were it not that he would have considered the act as a kind of misprision of perjury. Now, however, that he was free, and about to have a christening in his house, it was at least only reasonable that he should indulge in a gla.s.s, if only for the sake of drinking the health of "the young lady." His brother Frank happened to be in town that evening, and Art prevailed on him to stop for the night.