The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain Part 21

The coach, on arriving at the white gate, pulled up, and two females, deeply and closely veiled, took their seats inside. Of course, the natural politeness of the stranger prevented him from obtruding his conversation upon ladies with whom he was not acquainted. The honest farmer, however, felt no such scruples, nor, as it happened, did one at least of the ladies in question.

"This is a nice affair," he observed, "about the Black Baronet's daughter."

"What is a nice affair?" asked our friend Alley, for she it was, as the reader of course is already aware--"What is a nice affair?"

"Why, that Miss Gourlay, they say, fell in love with a b.u.t.tonmaker's clerk from London, and is goin' to marry him in spite of all opposition."

"Who's your authority for that?" asked Alley; "but whoever is, is a liar, and the truth is not in him--that's what I say."

"Ay, but what do you know about it?" asked the grazier. "You're not in Miss Gourlay's saicrets--and a devilish handsome, gentlemanly lookin'

fellow they say the b.u.t.ton-maker is. Faith, I can tell you, I give tooth-an-egg-credit. The fellow will get a darlin' at all events--and he'll be very bad indeed, if he's not worth a ship-load of that profligate Lord Dunroe."

"Well," replied Alley, "I agree with you there, at all events; for G.o.d sees that the same Lord Dunroe will make the cream of a bad husband to whatsoever poor woman will suffer by him. A bad bargain he will be at best, and in that I agree with you."

"So far, then," replied the grazier, "we do agree; an', dang my b.u.t.tons, but I'll lave it to this gentleman if it wouldn't be betther for Miss Gourlay to marry a daicent b.u.t.ton-maker any day, than such a hurler as Dunroe. What do you say, sir?"

"But who is this b.u.t.ton-maker," asked the stranger, "and where is he to be found?"

Lucy, on recognizing his voice, could scarcely prevent her emotion from becoming perceptible; but owing to the darkness of the night, and the folds of her thick veil, her fellow-travellers observed nothing.

"Why," replied the grazier, who had evidently, from a lapse of memory, subst.i.tuted one species of manufacture for another thing, "they tell me he is stopping in the head inn in Ballytrain; an', dang my b.u.t.tons, but he must be a fellow of mettle, for sure didn't he kick that tyrannical ould scoundrel, the Black Baronet, down-stairs, and out of the hall-door, when he came to bullyrag over him about his daughter--the darlin'?"

Lucy's distress was here incredible; and had not her self-command and firmness of character been indeed unusual, she would have felt it extremely difficult to keep her agitation within due bounds.

"You labor under a mistake there," replied the stranger; "I happen to know that nothing of the kind occurred. Some warm words pa.s.sed between them, but no blows. A young person named Fenton, whom I know, was present."

"Why," observed the grazier, "that's the young fellow that goes mad betimes, an' a quare chap he is, by all accounts. They say he went mad for love."

From this it was evident that rumor had, as usual, a.s.signed several causes for Fenton's insanity.

"Yes, I believe so," replied the stranger.

Alley, who thought she had been overlooked in this partial dialogue, determined to sustain her part in the conversation with a dignity becoming her situation, now resolved to flourish in with something like effect.

"They know nothing about it," she said, "that calls Miss Gourlay's sweetheart a b.u.t.ton-maker. Miss Gourlay's not the stuff to fall in love wid any b.u.t.ton-maker, even if he made b.u.t.tons of goold; an' sure they say that the king an' queen, and the whole royal family wears golden b.u.t.tons."

"I think, in spaiking of b.u.t.tons," observed the grazier, with a grin, "that you might lave the queen out."

"And why should I lave the queen out?" asked Alley, indignantly, and with a towering resolution to defend the privileges of her s.e.x. "Why ought I lave the queen out, I say?"

"Why," replied the grazier, with a still broader grin, "barring she wears the breeches, I don't know what occasion she could have for b.u.t.tons."

"That only shows your ignorance," said Alley; "don't you know that all ladies wear habit-shirts, and that habit-shirts must have b.u.t.tons?"

"I never heard of a shirt havin' b.u.t.tons anywhere but at the neck,"

replied the grazier, who drew the inference in question from his own, which were made upon a very simple and primitive fashion.

"But you don't know either," responded Alley, launching n.o.bly into the purest fiction, from an impression that the character of her mistress required it for her defence, "you don't know that n.o.body is allowed to make b.u.t.tons for the queen but a knight o' the garther."

"Garther!" exclaimed the grazier, with astonishment. "Why what the d.i.c.kens has garthers to do wid b.u.t.tons?"

"More than you think," replied the redoubtable Alley. "The queen wears b.u.t.tons to her garthers, and the knight o' the garther is always obliged to try them on; but always, of course, afore company."

The stranger was exceedingly amused at this bit of by-play between Alley and the honest grazier, and the more so as it drew the conversation from a point of the subject that was painful to him in the last degree, inasmuch as it directly involved the character of Miss Gourlay.

"How do you know, then," proceeded Alley, triumphantly, "but the b.u.t.ton-maker that Miss Gourlay has fallen in love with may be a knight o' the garther?"

"Begad, there maybe a great dale in that, too," replied the unsuspicious grazier, who never dreamt that Alley's knowledge of court etiquette might possibly be rather limited, and her accounts of it somewhat apocryphal;--"begad, there may. Well," he added, with an honest and earnest tone of sincerity, "for my part, and from all ever I heard of that darlin' of a beauty, she deserves a knight o' the shire, let alone a knight o' the garther. They say the good she does among the poor and dest.i.tute since they came home is un-tellable. G.o.d bless her! And that she may live long and die happy is the worst that I or anybody that knows her wishes her. It's well known that she had her goodness from her angel of a mother at all events, for they say that such another woman for charity and kindness to the poor never lived; and by all accounts she led an unhappy and miserable life wid her Turk of a husband, who, they say, broke her heart, and sent her to an early grave."

Alley was about to bear fiery and vehement testimony to the truth of all this; but Lucy, whose bosom heaved up strongly two or three times at these affecting allusions to her beloved mother, and who almost sobbed aloud, not merely from sorrow but distress, arising from the whole tenor of the conversation, whispered a few words into her ear, and she was instantly silent. The farmer seemed somewhat startled; for, in truth, as we have said, he was naturally one of those men who wish to hear themselves talk. In this instance, however, he found, after having made three or four colloquial attacks upon the stranger, but without success, that he must only have recourse either to soliloquy or silence. He accordingly commenced to hum over several old Irish airs, to which he ventured to join the words--at first in a very subdued undertone.

Whenever the coach stopped, however, to change horses, which it generally did at some public house or inn, the stranger could observe that the grazier always went out, and on his return appeared to be affected with a still stronger relish for melody. By degrees he proceeded from a tolerably distinct undertone to raise his voice into a bolder key, when, at last, throwing aside all reserve, he commenced the song of _Cruiskeen Lawn_, which he gave in admirable style and spirit, and with a rich mellow voice, that was calculated to render every justice to that fine old air. In this manner, he literally sang his way until within a few miles of the metropolis. He was not, however, without a.s.sistance, during, at least, a portion of the journey. Our friend Dandy, who was on the outside, finding that the coach came to a level s.p.a.ce on the road, placed the dulcimer on his knees, and commenced an accompaniment on that instrument, which produced an effect equally comic and agreeable. And what added to the humor of this extraordinary duet--if we can call it so--was the delight with which each intimated his satisfaction at the performance of the other, as well as with the terms in which it was expressed.

"Well done, Dandy! dang my b.u.t.tons, but you shine upon the wires. Ah, thin, it's you that is and ever was the wiry lad--and sure that was what made you take to the dulcimer of course. Dandy, achora, will you give us, 'Merrily kissed the Quaker?' and I ask it, Dandy, bekaise we are in a religious way, and have a quakers' meetn' in the coach."

"No," replied Dandy; "but I'll give you the 'Bonny brown Girl,' that's worth a thousand of it, you thief."

"Bravo, Dandy, and so it is; and, as far as I can see in the dark, dang my b.u.t.tons, but I think we have one here, too."

"I thank you for the compliment, sir," said Alley, appropriating it without ceremony to herself. "I feel much obliged to you, sir; but I'm not worthy of it."

"My darling," replied the jolly farmer, "you had betther not take me up till I fall. How do you know it was for you it was intended? You're not the only lady in the coach, avourneen."

"And you're not the only gintleman in the coach, Jemmy Doran," replied Alley, indignantly. "I know you well, man alive--and you picked up your politeness from your cattle, I suppose."

"A better chance of getting it from them than from you," replied, the hasty grazier. "But I tell you at once to take it aisy, achora; don't get on fire, or you'll burn the coach--the compliment was not intended for you, at all events. Come, Dandy, give us the 'Bonny brown Girl,' and I'll help you, as well as I'm able."

In a moment the dulcimer was at work on the top of the coach, and the merry farmer, at the top of his lungs, lending his a.s.sistance inside.

When the performance had been concluded, Alley, who was brimful of indignation at the slight which had been put upon her, said, "Many thanks to you, Misther Doran, but if you plaise we'll dispense wid your music for the rest of the journey. Remember you're not among your own bullocks and swine--and that this roaring and grunting is and must be very disagreeable to polite company."

"Troth, whoever you are, you have the advantage of me," replied the good-natured farmer, "and besides I believe you're right--I'm afraid I've given offince; and as we have gone so far--but no, dang my b.u.t.tons, I won't--I was going to try 'Kiss my Lady,' along wid Dandy, it goes beautiful on the dulcimer--but--but--ah, not half so well as on a purty pair of lips. Alley, darlin'," he proceeded now, evidently in a maudlin state, "I never lave you, but I'm in a hurry home to you, for it's your lips that's--"

"It's false, Mr. Doran," exclaimed Alley; "how dare you, sir, bring my name, or my lips either, into comparishment wid yourself? You want to take away my character, Mr. Doran; but I have friends, and a strong faction at my back, that will make you suffer for this."

The farmer, however, who was elevated into the seventh heaven of domestic affection, paid no earthly attention to her, but turning to the stranger said:

"Sir, I've the best wife that ever faced the sun--"

"I," exclaimed Alley, "am not to be insulted and calumnied, ay, an'

backbitten before my own face, Misther Doran, and take my word you'll hear of this to your cost--I've a faction."

"Sir--gintleman--miss, over the way there--for throth, for all so close as you're veiled, you haven't a married look--but as I was sayin', we fell in love wid one another by mistake--for there was an ould matchmaker, by name Biddlety Girtha, a daughter of ould Jemmy Trailcudgel's--G.o.d be good to him--father of the present strugglin' poor man of that name--and as I had hard of a celebrated beauty that lived about twelve or fifteen miles down the country that I wished to coort--and she, on the other hand, having hard of a very fine, handsome young fellow in my own neighborhood--what does the ould thief do but brings us together, in the fair of Baltihorum, and palms her off on me as the celebrated beauty, and palms myself on her as the fine, handsome young fellow from the parish of Ballytrain, and, as I said, so we fell in love wid one another by mistake, and didn't discover the imposthure that the ould vagabond had put on us until afther the marriage. However, I'm not sorry for it--she turned out a good wife to me, at all events--for, besides bringin' me a stockin' of guineas, she has brought me twelve of as fine childre' as you'd see in the kingdom of Ireland, ay, or in the kingdom of heaven either. Barrin' that she's a little hasty in the temper--and sometimes--do you persave?--has the use of her--there's five of them on each hand at any rate--do you undherstand--I say, barrin' that, and that she often amuses herself--just when she has nothing else to do--and by way of keepin' her hand in--I say, sir, and you, miss, over the way--she now and then amuses herself by turnin' up the little finger of her right hand--but what matter for all that--there's no one widout their little weeny failin's. My own hair's a little sandy, or so--some people say it's red, but I think myself it's only a little sandy--as I said, sir--so out of love and affection for the best of wives, I'll give you her favorite, the 'Red-haired man's wife.' Dandy, you thief, will you help me to do the 'Red-haired man's wife?'"

"Wid pleasure, Misther Doran," replied Dandy, adjusting his dulcimer.

"Come now, start, and I'm wid you."

The performance was scarcely finished, when a sob or two was heard from Alley, who, during this ebullition of the grazier's, had been nursing her wrath to keep it warm, as Burns says.