The Bunsby papers Part 12

"I got married."

"Oh! let us go to work."

From the foregoing characteristic conversation between Mike Riley and his friend, Ned Flynn, it would appear pretty evident that the blind boy's shaft,

"Feathered with pleasure and tipped with pain,"

was fast embedded in the heart of the latter, or in plainer and not less expressive phrase, he was bothered entirely by Miss Nelly Malone.

During an interval of rest from mowing, the dialogue took place; that over, they resumed their labor; the convalescent "married man" humming a sprightly air, which kept time to the stroke of his scythe, while the poor wounded deer, Ned, came in now and then with an accompaniment of strictly orthodox sighs.

It certainly was a most extensive smite on the part of pretty Nell; and a n.o.bler heart never beat under crimson and gold, than the honest, manly one which now throbbed with the first ardor of a pa.s.sion pure and unselfish. A short time longer, and they rested again. Ned was sad and silent; and the never-forgotten respect, which makes suffering sacred in the eyes of an Irish peasant, kept Mike mute also; at last, Ned, with a half downcast, whole sheepish expression, said, the ghost of a smile creeping over his features:

"Mike, do you know what?"

"What?" said Mike.

"I've writ a song about Nelly."

"No," rejoined his friend, with that ambiguous emphasis which might as well mean yes. Adding, with dexterous tact, "Is it a song? An' why the mischief shouldn't you; sure an' haven't you as illigant a heart to fish songs up out as anybody else? Sing us it."

"I'm afeard that you'll laugh if I do, Mike."

"Is it me?" replied Mike, so reproachfully that Ned was completely softened. After the making-your-mind-up minute or two, with a fine, clear voice, he sung.

THE ROSE OF TRALEE.

All ye sportin' young heroes, wid hearts light an' free, Take care how you come near the town of Tralee; For the witch of all witches that iver wove spell In the town of Tralee, at this moment does dwell.

Oh, then, don't venture near her, be warned by me, For the divil all out is the Rose of Tralee.

She's as soft an' as bright as a young summer morn, Her breath's like the breeze from the fresh blossom'd thorn, Her cheek has the sea sh.e.l.l's pale delicate hue, And her lips are like rose leaves just bathed in the dew; So, then, don't venture near her, be warned by me, For she's mighty desthructive, this Rose of Tralee.

Oh! her eyes of dark blue, they so heavenly are Like the night sky of summer, an' each holds a star; Were her tongue mute as silence, man's _life_ they'd control; But eyes an' tongue both are too much for one's _soul_.

Young men, stay at home, then, and leave her to me, For I'd die with delight for the Rose of Tralee.

And now, after this toploftical ill.u.s.tration of the state of Ned's feelings, and inasmuch as they are about to resume their labor, let us leave them to their mowing, and see after Miss Nelly Malone, for love of whom poor Ned had _tasted_ of the Pierian spring.

In a neat little chamber, bearing about it the unmistakable evidence of a tidy woman's care, sits the individual herself, her little fingers busily employed in knitting a very small stocking--her own; no trace of wealth is to be seen in this humble abode, but of its more than equivalent, comfort, it is redolent. At the open cas.e.m.e.nt there peep in the blossoms of the honey-suckle and the sweet-pea, filling the air with a perfume, more grateful than art could ever obtain; sundry _artless_ prints, and here and there a ballad on some heart-breaking subject, probably amongst them the highwayman's autoballadography, wherein he heroically observes,

"I robbed Lord Mansfield, I do declare, And Lady Somebody in Grosvenor Square,"

are fastened to the walls, decorated with festoons of cut paper of most dazzling variety of color; a fine, plump, contented lark, in an open cage, which he scorns to leave, returns his mistress's caress with a wild, grateful song, whilst, tutored into friendliness, a beautiful sleek puss, whose furry coat glances like satin in the sun-ray, dozes quietly upon the window-sill, indulging in that low purr, which is the sure indication of a happy cat. It is the home of innocence and beauty, fitly tenanted.

And what are pretty Nelly's thoughts, I wonder; a shade of something, which may be anxiety or doubt, but scarcely sorrow, softens the brightness of her lovely face. She speaks, 'twill be no treason to listen. You will perceive that the cat is her _confidante_--a discreet one it must be confessed.

"It's foolishness, so it is; isn't it puss?"

Puss doesn't condescend to notice the remark.

"Now, Minny, isn't it, I ask you, isn't it folly, the worst of folly to be thinkin' of one who doesn't think of me? I won't do it any more, that I won't. Heigh 'ho! I wonder if he loves me. I somehow fancy he does, and yet again if he did, why couldn't he say so; there's one thing certain, and that is, I don't love _him_, that is to say, I _won't_ love him; a pretty thing, indeed, to give my heart to one who wouldn't give me his in return. That _would_ be a bad bargain, wouldn't it, puss?"

p.u.s.s.y acquiesced, for silence, they say, is synonymous.

"But, oh!" resumed Nelly, "if I thought he _did_ love me--there, now, I've dropped a st.i.tch--what _am_ I thinkin' of?--I mustn't give way to such foolishness. Why, the bird is done singin', and Minny is looking angry at me out of her big eyes--don't be jealous, puss, you shall always have your saucer of milk, whatever happens, and--hark! that's his step, it is! he's comin'! I wonder how I look," and running to her little gla.s.s, Nelly, with very pardonable vanity, thought those features could not well be improved, and--the most curious part of the matter--she was right.

"He's a long time coming," thought she, as, stealing a glance through the white window-curtain she saw Ned slowly approach the garden gate; gladly would she have flown to meet him, but maidenly modesty restrained her; now he hesitates a moment, takes a full gulp of breath, and nears the house; at every approaching step, Nelly's pulse beat higher; at last she bethought herself it would be more prudent to be employed; so, hastily taking up her work, which was twisted and ravelled into inextricable confusion, with a seeming calm face she mechanically plied her needles, her heart giving one little shiver as Ned rapped a small, chicken-livered rap at the door. Nelly opened it with a most disingenuous, "Ah! Ned, is that you? who _would_ have thought it! Come in, do."

The thermometer of Nelly's feelings was about fever heat, yet she forced the index to remain at freezing point. "Take a chair, won't you?"

And there sat those two beings, whose hearts yearned for each other, looking as frigid as a pair of icicles, gazing on the wall, the floor, p.u.s.s.y, or the lark. Ned suddenly discovered something that wanted a deal of attending to in the band of his hat; whilst Nelly, at the same time, evinced an extraordinary degree of affection for the cat. To say the truth, they were both very far from comfortable. Ned had thoroughly made up his mind to speak this time if ruin followed, and had even gone so far as to have settled upon his opening speech, but Nelly's cold and indifferent "take a chair," frightened every word out of his head; it was essentially necessary that he should try to recover himself, and he seemed to think that twisting his hat into every possible form and tugging at the band were the only possible means by which it could be accomplished. Once more all was arranged, and he had just cleared his throat to begin, when the rascally cat turned sharply round and stared him straight in the face, and in all his life he thought he never saw the countenance of a dumb creature express such thorough contempt.

"It well becomes me," thought he, "to be demeanin' myself before the cat," and away flew his thoughts again.

Of course, all this was very perplexing to Nelly, who, in the expectation of hearing something interesting, remained patiently silent. There was another considerable pause; at last, remembering his friend Mike's advice, and, moreover, cheered by a most encouraging smile from the rapidly-thawing Nell, Ned wound up his feelings for one desperate effort, and bolted out--

"Isn't it fine to day, Miss Malone?"

Breaking the silence so suddenly that Nelly started from her chair, the lark fluttered in the cage, and puss made one jump bang into the garden.

Amazed and terrified by the results of his first essay, fast to the roof of his mouth Ned's tongue stuck once more, and finding it of no earthly use trying to overcome his embarra.s.sment--that the more he floundered about the deeper he got into the mud, he gathered himself up, made one dash through the door, and was off like lightning. Nelly sighed as she resumed her knitting, and this time she was sad in earnest.

"Well, what luck?" said Mike, as, nearly out of breath from running, Ned rejoined him in the meadow. "Have you broke the ice?"

"Bedad, I have," said Ned, "and more betoken, fell into the wather through the hole."

"Why, wouldn't she listen to you?"

"Yes, fast enough, but I didn't give her a chance; my ould complaint came strong upon me. Ora! what's the use in havin' a tongue at all, if it won't wag the words out of a fellow's head. I'm a purty speciment of an omad-haun; there she sot, Mike, lookin' out of the corners of her eyes at me, as much as to say, spake out like a man, with a soft smile runnin' about all over her face, and playing among her beautiful dimples, like the merry moonbame dancin' on the lake. Oh, murther!

Mike, what the mischief am I to do? I can't live without her, an' I haven't the heart to tell her so."

"Well, it is disgraceful," replied Mike, "to see a good-lookin' man disparage his country by flinchin from a purty girl; may-be it might do you good to go an' kiss the BLARNEY STONE."

"That's it," exclaimed Ned, joyously clapping his hands together, and cutting an instinctive caper, "that's it. I wonder I niver thought of it before; I'll walk every st.i.tch of the way, though my legs should drop off before I got half there. Do you think it 'ud do me good to kiss it?"

"Divil a doubt of it--sure it never was known to fail yet," said Mike, oracularly.

"Why, then, may I niver ate a male's vittles, if there's any vartue in the stone, if I don't have it out of it." And that very night, so eager was Ned to get cured of his bashfulness, off he started for Killarney.

It was a long and tedious journey, but the thought of being able to speak to Nelly when he returned, was sufficient to drive away fatigue; in due time he reached the far-famed castle,

"On the top of whose wall, But take care you don't fall, There's a stone that contains all the Blarney!"

Mike climbed with caution, discovered the identical spot, and believing implicitly that his troubles were now at an end, knelt, and with a heart-whole prayer for his absent Nelly, reverently kissed _The Blarney Stone_.

True, devoted love had lent him strength to overcome the difficulties of access, and imagination, that powerful director of circ.u.mstance, did the rest. It was with humility and diffidence he had approached the object of his pilgrimage, but he descended from it with head erect and countenance elated; he could now tell his burning thoughts in _her_ ear; he was a changed man; a very pretty girl, who officiated as guide, and upon whose pouting lips, report says, the efficacy of the charm has been frequently put to the test, met him at the archway of the castle--for no other reason in the world than merely to try if he were sufficiently imbued with the attractive principle--Ned watched an opportunity, and, much more to his own astonishment than to hers, gave her a hearty kiss, starting back to watch the effect. She frowned not, she did not even blush. Ned was delighted; his end was obtained.