The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes

by John Brougham

  THE MORNING DREAM.

  The dream of the night, there's no reason to rue, But the dream of the morning is sure to come true.

  OLD SAYING.

  Pretty Peggy May; a bright-eyed, merry-hearted, little darling you are,Peggy! there's no gainsaying that fact; a cunning little gipsy, andmost destructive too, as many an aching heart can testify. But who canblame _thee_ for that? as well might the summer's sun be blamed forwarming the sweet flowers into life. It is a natural ordination thatall who see you should love you.

  Pretty Peg has just completed her eighteenth year; in the heedlessgaiety of youth, she has hitherto gambolled through the road of life,without a grief, almost without a thought. Oh! for the sunny days ofchildhood, ere, wedded to experience, the soul brings forth its progenyof cares. Why can we not add the knowledge of our wiser years, andlinger over that most blessed, least prized period of our existence,when every impulse is at once obeyed, and the ingenuous soul beamsforth in smiles, its every working indexed in the face--ere Prudencestarts up like a spectre, and cries out: "Beware! there is a pryingworld that watches every turn, and does not always make a true report."Prudence! how I hate the cold, calculating, heartless phrase. Be loyalin word, be just in act, be honest in all; but Prudence! 'tistwin-brother to Selfishness, spouse of Mistrust, and parent ofHypocrisy! But, me-thinks I hear some one say, "This is a mostcavalierly way of treating one of the cardinal virtues"--to which Ireply, "It certainly has, by some means or another, sneaked in amongstthe virtues, and thereby established a right to the position; but it isthe companionship only which makes it respectable, and it must beaccompanied by _all the rest_ to neutralize its mischievous tendency."

  But what has all this to do with Peggy and her dreams? Pshaw! don't beimpatient--we are coming to that. If you have taken the slightestinterest in little Peg, prepare to sympathize in her first heart-deepsorrow. She is in love! Now, if she herself were questioned about thematter, I'm pretty sure she would say it's no such thing; but I takeupon myself to declare it to be true, and for fear you should thinkthat I make an assertion which I cannot substantiate, permit me torelate the substance of a conversation which took place between Peg andher scarcely less pretty, but infinitely more mischievous cousin,Bridget O'Conner. They had just returned from one of those gregariousmerry-meetings, where some spacious granary, just emptied of itscontents, gives glorious opportunity for the gladsome hearts of thevillage, and "all the country round" to meet and astonish therats--sleek, well-fed rascals, dozing in their holes--with uproariousfun and revelry.

  A sudden, and indeed, under the circumstances, extremely significantsigh from Peg, startled Bridget from the little glass where she wasspeculating as to how she looked, for the last hour or two. I may aswell say the scrutiny was perfectly satisfactory--she had not dancedall her curls out.

  "Gracious me!" she exclaimed, "Peg, how you do sigh!"

  "And no wonder," rejoined Peggy, with a slight squeeze of acid, "afterhaving danced down twenty couple twenty times, I should like to knowwho wouldn't?"

  "Ah! but that wasn't a tired sigh, Peg. I know the difference; oneneedn't dive as low as the _heart_ for them; a tired sigh comesflying out upon a breath of joy, and turns into a laugh before itleaves the lips; you are sad, Peg!"

  "How you talk; why, what on earth should make me sad?"

  "That's exactly what I want to know; now there's no use in your tryingto laugh, for you can't do it. Do you think I don't know the_difference_ between a laugh and that nasty deceitful croak?"

  "Bridget!" exclaimed Peg, with a look which she intended should be verysevere and very reproachful, "I'm sleepy."

  "Well, then, kiss me, and go to bed," replied Bridget. "Ho! ho!"thought she, "there's something curious about Peg to-night. I thinkwhat I think, and if I think right, I'm no woman if I don't find outbefore I sleep." Craftily she changed the conversation, abused thewomen's dresses, and criticised their complexions, especially thepretty ones. At last, when she had completely lulled the commotion ofPeg's thoughts into a calm, she suddenly cried out: "Oh! Peg, I forgotto tell you, that one of the boys we danced with had his leg brokecoming home to-night!"

  Peggy, surprised into an emotion she found it impossible to conceal,started up, pale as snow, and gasped out:

  "Who was it--who?"

  Ha! ha! thought the other, the fox is somewhere about--now to beat thecover.

  "Did you hear me ask you who?" said Peg, anxiously.

  "I did, dear," replied Bridget, "but I'm trying to recollect. I think,"and she looked steadily into Peggy's eyes, "I think it was Ned Riley."Peg didn't even wink.

  She doesn't care about him, and I'm not sorry for that, thoughtBridget, thereby making an acknowledgment to herself, which thesagacious reader will no doubt interpret truly.

  "No, it wasn't Ned," she continued, "now I think of it, it was--itwas--a"----

  "Who? who?" cried Peg, now sensibly agitated, "do tell me, there's adear."

  Not she, not a bit of it, but lingered with feminine ingenuity, nowmaking as though she recollected the name, and then with a shake of herhead, pretending to dive back into memory, just as the inquisitors ofold used to slacken the torture, to enable the recipient to enjoyanother dose.

  "Now I have it," said she, "no, I haven't; I do believe I've forgottenwho it was, but this I know, it was the pleasantest-mannered and nicestyoung fellow in the whole heap."

  "Then it _must_ have been Mark!" exclaimed Peg, throwing prudenceoverboard, and fixing her large, eloquent eyes full on Bridget's mouth,as if her everlasting fate depended upon the little monosyllable aboutto issue from it.

  "It _was_ Mark! that _was_ the name!"

  Peggy gave a gasp, while Bridget went on, with a triumphant twinkle inher wicked little eye which did not show over-favorably for herhumanity.

  "_Mark Brady!_" dwelling on the name with slow, distinct emphasis,which made Peggy's heart jump at each word as though she had receivedan electric shock.

  She knew the tenderest part of the sentient anatomy, Bridget did, andtook intense delight in stabbing exactly there; not mortal stabs,_that_ would be mercy, but just a little too far for tickling. Thatsort of a woman was Bridget, who, if possessed of an incumbrance inhusband shape, would take infinite pains to discover the weakest pointsin his temper, and industriously attack those quarters, piling up pettyprovocations, one upon another; none in themselves of sufficientimportance to induce a sally, but making altogether a breastwork ofaggravation, that must at last o'ertop the wall of temper. And if theunfortunate besieged don't take his hat, and make a not very honorableretreat, philosophy will be obliged to strike its flag, the signal fora civil war, which, like all such unnatural conflicts, strikes at theroot of all domestic comfort, and whichever side may remain thevictors, the trophy is a home destroyed.

  But to return to Peg, for whose benefit I have indulged in theforegoing rather spiteful digression, in order that she might have timeto recover herself; or rather, I should say, to be thoroughly consciousof the extent of her unhappiness. Remember, 'tis her first grief, sopardon its intensity. Phantoms of crutches and of wooden legs camecrowding on her imagination, contrasting themselves with the curiousagility with which poor Mark had "_beat the floor_" in the merryjig, until he made it echo to every note of the pipes. Then rose upvague spectres of sanguinary-minded surgeons, with strange butcherlyinstruments; then she saw nothing but fragmentary Marks, unattachedlegs, a whole room-full dancing by themselves; there they were,twisting and twirling about, in the various difficult complications ofthe "toe and heel," "double shuffle," "ladies' delight," and "cover thebuckle;" she shut her eyes in horror, and was sensible of nothing but agloomy blood-red. There's no knowing to what lengths her terriblefancies might have gone, had they not been dispersed like wreaths ofvapor by a hearty laugh from the mischievous Bridget. Peggy opened hereyes in astonishment. Was she awake? Yes, there was her cousin enjoyingone of the broadest, merriest, wickedest laughs that ever mantled overthe face of an arch little female.


  "Poor Mark!" she cried, and then burst forth again into ringinglaughter, which dimpled her crimson cheeks like--what shall Isay?--like a fine healthy-looking cork-red potatoe, an Irish simile, Imust say; but had we seen Bridget, and were acquainted with thefeatures of the aforesaid esculent, I'm pretty certain you wouldacknowledge its aptness.

  "What in the name of gracious are you laughing at?" exclaimed Peggy, agleam of hope breaking on the darkness of her thought.

  "Why, that you should take on so, when I told you Mark had broken hisleg," gaily replied Bridget.

  "Hasn't he?"

  "Not half as much as your poor little heart would have been broken ifhe had," said the tormentor.

  "Bridget! Cousin!" said poor Peg, now enduring much more pain from thesudden revulsion of feeling, "you should not have done this; you havecrowded a whole life-time of agony in those few moments past."

  "Well, forgive me, dear Peggy. I declare I didn't know that you had theaffection so strong on you, or I wouldn't have joked for the world. Butnow, confess, doesn't it serve you right, for not confiding in me, yournatural born cousin? Did I ever keep a secret from you? Didn't I tellyou all about Pat Finch, and Johnny Magee, and Jack, the hurler, eh?"

  "But not one word about Edward Riley, with whom you danced so oftento-night," observed Peg, with a very pardonable dash of malice.

  It was now Bridget's turn to change color, as she stammered out, "I--Iwas going to, not that I care much about _him_; no, no, Mark is theflower of the flock, and I've a mighty great mind to set my cap at himmyself."

  Peggy smiled, a very small, but a peculiar, and it might have been,perfectly self-satisfied smile, as she replied: "Try, Miss Bridget, andI wish you success."

  "Truth is scarce when liars are near," said Bridget. "But I say, Peg,does Mark know you love him so hard?"

  "Don't be foolish; how should he?"

  "Did you never tell him?"

  "What do you take me for?"

  "Did he never tell _you_?"

  "What do you take _him_ for?"

  "For a man, and moreover a conceited one; don't you mean to let himknow his good fortune?"

  "It isn't leap year, and if it was, I'd rather die than do such athing," said Peggy!

  "Come, I'll bet you a new cap, that I mean to wear at your wedding, you_will_ let him know the state of your feelings, and that, before a weekis over your head," provokingly replied Bridget.

  Peggy, said nothing. Prudent Peg.

  "Is it a bet?"

  "Yes, yes, anything, but go to sleep, or we shan't get a winkto-night."

  "True for you, cousin, for it's _to-morrow_ already! Look at thedaybreak, how it has frightened our candle, until it's almost as paleas your cheek."

  "Good night, Bridget."

  "Good night, dear Peg, don't forget to remember your dreams. Recollectit's morning, now, and whatever we dream, _is sure to come true_."

  Before she slept, Bridget formed a project in her mind to ensure thewinning of her bet. What it was, it will be time enough to find outby-and-by.

  Very early in the day, Mark Brady and Ned called to inquire after thehealth of their respective partner. It so happened that Bridgetreceived them; and very quickly, for she was one of those tyrants inlove who make their captives feel their chains, on some frivolouspretence or another, dismissed her swain and began to develop her plotwith Mark.

  Now, Mark, I may as well tell you now as at any other time, was a veryfavorable specimen of a class I regret to say, not over numerous inIreland; a well to-do farmer, his rent always ready, his cropscarefully gathered, and a trifle put by yearly, so that he enjoyed thatmost enviable condition in life, "a modest competence." As to hispersonal appearance, there's scarcely any occasion to describe that,for, with the exception of one individual, I don't suppose he has afeature or characteristic which would be considered by any one at alluncommon or interesting. Suffice it to say, Mark was a _man_! A volumeof eulogy could not say more.

  And, moreover, Mark _did_ love pretty Peggy May; with a whole-hearted,manly, and unselfish love, he loved her. I tell you this, dear reader,in order that you may not waste time in speculating on the subject ofMark's thoughts, as he sat silent and fidgety, a passive victim to themischievous Bridget, who, shrewd little puss, knew every turn of hismind as though imprinted on his face; and for the matter of that, sothey were, in nature's own characters, type most readable.

  Mark was apparently very busy, sketching imaginary somethings on thefloor with his blackthorn stick, and seemingly unconscious of Bridget'spresence, when she suddenly interrupted his revery by saying:

  "A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Brady!"

  "Eh! what!" he replied, blushing 'till it fairly stung his cheek like amillion of needles. "A penny, is it, Miss? faith, an' it's _dear_they'd be at that same."

  "And what might you be thinking of, may I ask, Mr. Mark?" said Bridget,accompanying the question with one of her very sweetest smiles.

  "Just nothing at all, Miss," replied Mark.

  "'Nothing!' then they _would_ be '_dear_,' and that's true Mark; butsupposing, now," she continued, archly; "I only say, supposing ithappened to be your sweetheart you were thinking of, you might findanother meaning for that same little word!"

  Mark felt as though he had been detected in some fault, as he replied,sketching away on the floor faster than ever, "But what if I hadn't asweetheart to think of, Miss O'Conner." It was a miserable attempt atprevarication, and he felt that it was.

  "Why, then, I should say, as you're not blind, it's mighty lucky thatyou don't carry such a thing as a heart about you. I'd be ashamed if Iwere you, rising twenty years old, and neither crooked nor ugly; it'sdisgraceful to hear you say so--a pretty example to set to the boys!"

  "True for you, and so it is," said Mark, "and more betoken, it's a muchgreater shame for me to tell any lies about the matter; I _have_ asweetheart, though she doesn't know it; ay, and have had one for thisnigh hand a twelve-month."

  "Only to think," replied Bridget, casting down her eyes, and affectingto conceal some sudden emotion, "and for a twelve-month nigh hand! Oh,dear! I don't feel well!"

  Mark was puzzled, in point of fact, embarrassed. There was something inBridget's manner which he couldn't understand; he had a vaguepresentiment that there was a mistake somewhere, but when she,pretending to be overcome, flung herself into his arms, the truth burstupon him at once. He was in a precious dilemma; Bridget was in lovewith him, and he felt downright ashamed of himself for being sofascinating. What he was to do, or how to extricate himself, hecouldn't tell, as she, casting a fascinating glance right at him, said,softly:

  "Dear Mark, those good-looking eyes of yours told me of your love,long, long before your lazy tongue."

  "Love," interrupted Mark, endeavoring to put in a demurrer.

  "To be sure," said she, "I saw it, I knew it and well;" she continued,seeing he was about to speak. "When do you mean to talk to Aunty? Youknow my fifty pounds are in her hands." She was an heiress, wasBridget.

  "Pounds! Aunty! yes, to be sure," replied Mark, perfectly bewildered,"but I thought Ned Riley was"----

  "Peggy's sweetheart--well, we all know that," interrupted Bridget, inlyenjoying the consternation that painted Mark's cheek a livid white."And you to be so jealous of Riley," she went on, "not to dance with melast night; I knew the reason, but the jealousy that springs from loveis soon forgot, so I forgot yours."

  "Peggy! _his_ sweetheart? Riley's?"

  "To be sure, don't you know they are going to be married?"

  "No!" vacantly replied the sorely bewildered Mark.

  "Oh, yes! and now I want to tell you a pet plan of mine, if you don'tthink me too bold, Mark, and that is, how nice and cozy it would be, ifwe could only all be married on the same day."

  This was too much for Mark; he couldn't endure it any longer; hestarted up, pushed his hat very far on his head, saying, in what heintended to be a most severe tone:

  "Miss O'Conner, I don't know what could have put such an idea into yourh
ead. Marry, indeed! I've enough to do to take care of myself. No, I'msorry to wound _your_ feelings, but I shall never marry!"

  "Oh! yes, you will," said Bridget, placing her arm in his, which hedisengaged, saying bitterly:

  "Never! never!"

  "Nonsense, I'll bet you will, and, if it was only to humor me, Mark, onthe very same day that Peggy is!"

  "Bridget, I didn't think I could hate a woman as I'm beginning to hateyou."

  "Better before marriage than after, Mr. Mark. Come, I'll bet you a newSunday coat, against a calico gown, and that's long odds in your favor,that what I've said will come true."

  "Nonsense!"

  "Is it a bet?"

  "Pooh! I'll bet my life, against"----

  "What it's worth, Mr. Mark--just nothing at all."

  "True for you, now, Bridget; true for you," and Mark suddenly quittedthe house in such real sorrow that it touched for a moment evenBridget's heart; but only for a moment. Pshaw! thought she, let himfret; it will do him good, and make the joy greater when he comes toknow the truth. A hunt would be nothing without hedges and ditches.Proceeding to the window, she uttered an exclamation of surprise.

  "Ha! as I live, here comes Peg herself. She must meet Mark; what fun!He sees her and stops short; what a quandary he's in. She sees _him_!How the little fool blushes; now they meet. Mark doesn't take her hand.I wonder what he's saying. 'It's a fine day,' I suppose, or somethingequally interesting; he passes on, and Peg looks as scared as if shehad seen a ghost."

  A sudden thought at this moment seemed to strike Bridget; she clappedher hands together and laughed a little, sharp laugh, saying, "I'll doit, I will; I'll have a bit of fun with Peg, too," so she pretended tobe very busy at her spinning-wheel as Peggy entered, and hanging upher, cloak and bonnet, sat down without saying a word.

  "Ah! Peg," Bridget began, "is that you? Mark has just been here."

  "Indeed?" replied Peggy, twisting up one pretty curl so tightly as tohurt her head.

  "The blessed truth," continued the wicked little tormentor. "Did youmeet him?"

  A very desponding "yes," was the response.

  "Well," demanded Bridget, anxiously, "did he say anything--I mean,anything _particular_?"

  "He only said the weather was pleasant, and then passed on, withoutever even shaking hands with me," sadly replied Peggy.

  "Mark needn't have done that; whatever happens, he ought to be civil to_you_," said Bridget, with a peculiar expression that made Peggy'sheart flutter within her like a pigeon.

  "Civil to me! what _do_ you mean, Bridget?"

  Bridget hummed an air, and, as if suddenly wishing to change theconversation, said, gaily:

  "Oh! I forgot, we were to tell each other's dreams this morning. Peg,you begin, what did _you_ dream about?"

  "Nothing, Bridget, I didn't sleep."

  "Then you couldn't have dreamed," sagely responded the other, "but Idid."

  "What?"

  "I dreamed that I had a beautiful new gown given to me, and by whom doyou think?"

  "I don't know; Ned Riley, may-be."

  "Ned Riley, indeed," replied Bridget with a sneer; "not a bit of it. Bya finer man than ever stood in _his_ shoes. Who but Mark Brady?"

  Peg's heart sank within her.

  "That wasn't all I dreamed," and she fixed her wild eyes full on Peg,in a way that made hers fall instantly, "I dreamed that I was marriedto him."

  "To Mark?" whispered Peggy.

  "_To Mark!_"

  Peggy didn't utter another syllable; didn't even look up, but satmotionless and pale, very pale. Bridget couldn't understand her seemingapathy; a more acute observer would have but contrasted it with theintense emotion which she felt within--an emotion not a whit lessenedas Bridget continued, with marked expression:

  "I dreamed all that this blessed morning, and morning dreams, you know,_always come true_."

  Peggy, still silent, seemed to be wholly occupied in demolishing, pieceby piece, the remnant of a faded flower which she had taken from herbosom, lingering over its destruction as though a portion of her heartwent with each fragment--when Bridget suddenly started up, exclaiming,"Here comes Mark, I declare."

  A painful spasm shot through Peggy's frame, yet she did not stir fromher seat; the only evidence that she heard Bridget's exclamation wasthat her lips grew as pallid as her cheek.

  "But, law, what am I thinking about? I must go and tidy my hair."

  And away flew Bridget up to her room, from whence she crept stealthilydown, and snugly ensconced herself behind the door. Naughty girl! tolisten to what transpired.

  Mark, who, since his conversation with Bridget, had seriouslycontemplated suicide, but was puzzled about the best mode of makingaway with himself, had come to the conclusion that to enter the army asa common soldier would be the least criminal, although certainly themost lingering process, and it was to lacerate his feelings by aparting interview with his dearly-loved Peg, before he consummated theact of enlistment, that he now came.

  Arrived at the door, he hesitated a moment, then giving one big gulp,he lifted the latch and entered. There he saw Peggy herself, lookingstraight into the fire, never once turning aside or raising her eyes,proof positive to Mark, if he wanted it, that she cared nothing forhim. He sat down, and for several minutes there was a dead silence.Mark had fully intended to say something frightfully cutting to hissweetheart, but as he gazed upon her white, sad face, his resentmentvanished, and he felt more inclined to implore than to condemn. Hewanted to speak, but what to say he had not the remotest idea. At lastPeg broke the silence, by murmuring softly, as though it were but athought, to which she had given involuntary expression--

  "May you be happy, Mark! May you be happy!"

  "Happy!" echoed Mark, with a sharp emphasis, that thrilled painfullythrough Peggy, "Faith, it's well for _you_ to be wishing me happiness."

  "Indeed, indeed I do, Mark--I mean Mr. Brady," meekly replied the poorgirl.

  "Oh, that's right!" said Mark, bitterly. "Mr. Brady! It used to beMark."

  "But never can again."

  "You're right! never!"

  "Never!" and poor Peggy sighed deeply.

  After another embarrassing pause, broken only by a sort of smotheredsound, which _might_ have been the wind, but wasn't, Mark startedup, exclaiming:

  "I see my company is displeasing to you, but I shan't trouble you long.That will be done to-morrow which will separate us for ever."

  "To-morrow! so soon?" replied Peggy, with a stifled sob.

  "Yes! the sooner the better. What is it _now_ to you?"

  "Oh, nothing, nothing! But I thought--that is--I'm very, very foolish."

  Poor Peggy's heart overflowed its bounds; burying her face in herhands, she burst into tears.

  Mark didn't know what to make of it. She must have liked me a little,thought he, or why this grief? Well, it's all my own fault. Why didn'tI tell her of my love, like a man? and not sneak about, afraid of thesound of my own voice. I've lost her, lost the only thing that madelife to me worth enduring, and the sooner I relieve her of my presencethe better.

  "Miss May! Peggy!" he said, with an effort at calmness, "this is thelast time we may meet on earth; won't you give me your hand atparting?"

  Peggy stretched out both hands, exclaiming through her tears--"Mark!Mark! this is, indeed, cruel!"

  "It is, I know it is!" said Mark, brushing away an obtrusive tear. "So,God bless you, and good angels watch over you; and if you ever caredfor me"----

  "If I ever cared for you! oh, Mark!"

  "Why! did you?" inquired Mark.

  "You were my only thought, my life, my happiness!" There was the samecurious sound from the chamber door, but the innocent wind had again tobear the blame. Peggy continued--"Mark, would that you had the samefeeling for me!"

  "I had! I had!" frantically he replied. "And more, oh! much more than Ihave words to speak. Why didn't we know this sooner?"

  "Ah! why, indeed?" sadly replied Peggy, "but it is too late."

&
nbsp; "_double_" replied Mark, "_too late!_"

  "Not a bit of it!" exclaimed Bridget, bursting into the room, streamingwith tears of suppressed laughter, "Don't look so frightened, goodpeople; I'm not a ghost. Who lost a new cap? eh, Peg. And more,betoken, who is likely to lose a new gown? I'll have my bets, if I diefor it. So, you've spoke out at last, have you? You're a pretty pair oflovers. You'd have gone on everlastingly, sighing and frettingyourselves, until there wouldn't have been enough between you to make adecent fiddlestring, if I hadn't interfered."

  "You?" cried Peggy and Mark, simultaneously.

  "Yes, indeed, it made me perfectly crazy to see the two of you groaningand fussing, without the courage to say what your hearts dictated.There, go and kiss each other, you pair of noodles."

  It is hardly necessary to say that Bridget's explanation brought abouta pleasant understanding between all parties, and it will be onlyneedful to add that a few weeks afterwards there was a _double_wedding at the little parish chapel. One of the brides wore a bran newcalico gown of such wonderful variety of color, and moreover a new capof so elaborate a style of decoration, that she was the admiration and,of necessity, the envy of the entire female population.

  Bridget had won both her wagers, thereby establishing, just asinfallibly as all such matters _can_ be established, the truth ofthe old saying:

  _The dream of the morning is sure to come true._