Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  IN THREE ACTS.

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

  MEN.

  MR. CARVER, of Bob’s Fort . . A Justice of the Peace in Ireland.

  OLD MATTHEW McBRIDE . . . . A rich Farmer.

  PHILIP McBRIDE . . . . . His Son.

  RANDAL ROONEY . . . . . Son of the Widow Catherine Rooney

  — a Lover of Honor McBride.

  MR. GERALD O’BLANEY . . . . A Distiller.

  PATRICK COXE . . . . . Clerk to Gerald O’Blaney.

  WOMEN.

  MRS. CARVER . . . . . Wife of Mr. Carver.

  MISS BLOOMSBURY . . . . . A fine London Waiting-maid

  of Mrs. Carver’s.

  MRS. CATHERINE ROONEY,

  commonly called

  CATTY ROONEY . . . . A Widow — Mother of Randal Rooney.

  HONOR McBRIDE . . . . . . Daughter of Matthew McBride, and

  Sister of Philip McBride.

  A Justice’s Clerk — a Constable — Witnesses — and two Footmen.

  ACT I.

  SCENE I.

  A Cottage. — A Table — Breakfast.

  HONOR McBRIDE, alone.

  Honor. Phil! — (calls) — Phil, dear! come out.

  Phil. — (answers from within) Wait till I draw on my boots!

  Honor. Oh, I may give it up: he’s full of his new boots — and singing, see!

  Enter PHIL McBRIDE, dressed in the height of the Irish buck-farmer fashion, singing,

  “Oh the boy of Ball’navogue!

  Oh the dasher! oh the rogue!

  He’s the thing! and he’s the pride

  Of town and country, Phil McBride —

  All the talk of shoe and brogue!

  Oh the boy of Ball’navogue!”

  There’s a song to the praise and glory of your — of your brother, Honor! And who made it, do you think, girl?

  Honor. Miss Caroline Flaherty, no doubt. But, dear Phil, I’ve a favour to ask of you.

  Phil. And welcome! What? But first, see! isn’t there an elegant pair of boots, that fits a leg like wax? — There’s what’ll plase Car’line Flaherty, I’ll engage. But what ails you, Honor? — you look as if your own heart was like to break. Are not you for the fair to-day? — and why not?

  Honor. Oh! rasons. (Aside) Now I can’t speak.

  Phil. Speak on, for I’m dumb and all ear — speak up, dear — no fear of the father’s coming out, for he’s leaving his bird (i.e. beard) in the bason, and that’s a work of time with him. — Tell all to your own Phil.

  Honor. Why then I won’t go to the fair — because — better keep myself to myself, out of the way of meeting them that mightn’t be too plasing to my father.

  Phil. And might be too plasing to somebody else — Honor McBride.

  Honor. Oh, Phil, dear! But only promise me, brother, dearest, if you would this day meet any of the Rooneys —

  Phil. That means Randal Rooney.

  Honor. No, it was his mother Catty was in my head.

  Phil. A bitterer scould never was! — nor a bigger lawyer in petticoats, which is an abomination.

  Honor. ’Tis not pritty, I grant; but her heart’s good, if her temper would give it fair play. But will you promise me, Phil, whatever she says — you won’t let her provoke you this day.

  Phil. How in the name of wonder will I hinder her to give me provocation? and when the spirit of the McBrides is up —

  Honor. But don’t lift a hand.

  Phil. Against a woman? — no fear — not a finger against a woman.

  Honor. But I say not against any Rooney, man or woman. Oh, Phil! dear, don’t let there be any fighting betwixt the McBride and Rooney factions.

  Phil. And how could I hinder if I would? The boys will be having a row, especially when they get the spirits — and all the better.

  Honor. To be drinking! Oh! Phil, the mischief that drinking does!

  Phil. Mischief! Quite and clane the contrary — when the shillelah’s up, the pike’s down. ’Tis when there’d be no fights at fairs, and all sober, then there’s rason to dread mischief. No man, Honor, dare be letting the whiskey into his head, was there any mischief in his heart.

  Honor. Well, Phil, you’ve made it out now cliverly. So there’s most danger of mischief when men’s sober — is that it?

  Phil. Irishmen? — ay; for sobriety is not the nat’ral state of the craturs; and what’s not nat’ral is hypocritical, and a hypocrite is, and was, and ever will be my contempt.

  Honor. And mine too. But —

  Phil. But here’s my hand for you, Honor. They call me a beau and a buck, a slasher and dasher, and flourishing Phil. All that I am, may be; but there’s one thing I am not, and will never be — and that’s a bad brother to you. So you have my honour, and here’s my oath to the back of it. By all the pride of man and all the consate of woman — where will you find a bigger oath? — happen what will, this day, I’ll not lift my hand against Randal Rooney!

  Honor. Oh, thanks! warm from the heart. But here’s my father — and where’s breakfast?

  Phil. Oh! I must be at him for a horse: you, Honor, mind and back me.

  Enter Old McBRIDE.

  Old McB. Late I am this fair day all along with my beard, that was thicker than a hedgehog’s. Breakfast, where?

  Honor. Here, father dear — all ready.

  Old McB. There’s a jewel! always supple o’ foot. Phil, call to them to bring out the horse bastes, while I swallow my breakfast — and a good one, too.

  Phil. Your horse is all ready standing, sir. But that’s what I wanted to ax you, father — will you be kind enough, sir, to shell out for me the price of a daacent horse, fit to mount a man like me?

  Old McB. What ails the baste you have under you always?

  Phil. Fit only for the hounds: — not to follow, but to feed ‘em.

  Old McB. Hounds! I don’t want you, Phil, to be following the hounds at-all-at-all.

  Honor. But let alone the hounds. If you sell your bullocks well in the fair to-day, father dear, I think you’ll be so kind to spare Phil the price of a horse.

  Old McB. Stand out o’ my way, Honor, with that wheedling voice o’ your own — I won’t. Mind your own affairs — you’re leaguing again me, and I’ll engage Randal Rooney’s at the bottom of all — and the cement that sticks you and Phil so close together. But mind, Madam Honor, if you give him the meeting at the fair the day —

  Honor. Dear father, I’m not going — I give up the fair o’ purpose, for fear I’d see him.

  Old McB. (kissing her) Why then you’re a piece of an angel!

  Honor. And you’ll give my brother the horse?

  Old McB. I won’t! when I’ve said I won’t — I wont.

  {Buttons his coat, and exit.

  Phil. Now there’s a sample of a father for ye!

  Old McB. (returning) And, Mistress Honor, may be you’d be staying at home to — Where’s Randal Rooney to be, pray, while I’d be from home?

  Honor. Oh! father, would you suspect —

  Old McB. (catching her in his arms, and kissing her again and again) Then you’re a true angel, every inch of you. But not a word more in favour of the horse — sure the money for the bullocks shall go to your portion, every farthing.

  Honor. There’s the thing! (Holding her father) I don’t wish that.

  Phil. (stopping her mouth) Say no more, Honor — I’m best pleased so.

  Old McB. (aside) I’ll give him the horse, but he sha’n’t know it. (Aloud) I won’t. When I say I won’t, did I ever?

  {Exit Old McBRIDE.

  Phil. Never since the world stud — to do you justice, you are as obstinate as a mule. Not all the bullocks he’s carrying to the fair the day, nor all the bullocks in Ballynavogue joined to ‘em, in one team, would draw that father o’ mine one inch out of his way.

  Honor. (aside, with a deep sigh) Oh, then what will I do about Randal ever!

  Phil. As close a fisted father as ever had the grip of a guinea! If the guineas was all for you — wilcome, Honor! But
that’s not it. Pity of a lad o’ spirit like me to be cramped by such a hunx of a father.

  Honor. Oh! don’t be calling him names, Phil: stiff he is, more than close — and any way, Phil dear, he’s the father still — and ould, consider.

  Phil. He is, — and I’m fond enough of him, too, would he only give me the price of a horse. But no matter — spite of him I’ll have my swing the day, and it’s I that will tear away with a good horse under me and a good whip over him in a capital style, up and down the street of Ballynavogue, for you, Miss Car’line Flaherty! I know who I’ll go to, this minute — a man I’ll engage will lend me the loan of his bay gelding; and that’s Counshillor Gerald O’Blaney. {Going, HONOR stops him.

  Honor. Gerald O’Blaney! Oh, brother! — Mercy! — Don’t! any thing rather than that —

  Phil. (impatiently) Why, then, Honor?

  Honor. (aside) If I’d tell him, there’d be mischief. (Aloud.) Only — I wouldn’t wish you under a compliment to one I’ve no opinion of.

  Phil. Phoo! you’ve taken a prejudice. What is there again Counshillor O’Blaney?

  Honor. Counshillor! First place, why do you call him counshillor? he never was a raal counshillor sure — nor jantleman at all.

  Phil. Oh! counshillor by courtesy — he was an attorney once — just as we doctor the apotecary.

  Honor. But, Phil, was not there something of this man’s being dismissed the courts for too sharp practice?

  Phil. But that was long ago, if it ever was. There’s sacrets in all families to be forgotten — bad to be raking the past. I never knew you so sharp on a neighbour, Honor, before: — what ails ye?

  Honor. (sighing) I can’t tell ye. {Still holding him.

  Phil. Let me go, then! — Nonsense! — the boys of Ballynavogue will be wondering, and Miss Car’line most.

  {Exit, singing,

  “Oh the boys of Ball’navogue.”

  HONOR, alone.

  Honor. Oh, Phil! I could not tell it you; but did you but know how that Gerald O’Blaney insulted your shister with his vile proposhals, you’d no more ask the loan of his horse! — and I in dread, whenever I’d be left in the house alone, that that bad man would boult in upon me — and Randal to find him! and Randal’s like gunpowder when his heart’s touched! — and if Randal should come by himself, worse again! Honor, where would be your resolution to forbid him your presence? Then there’s but one way to be right — I’ll lave home entirely. Down, proud stomach! You must go to service, Honor McBride. There’s Mrs. Carver, kind-hearted lady, is wanting a girl — she’s English, and nice; may be I’d not be good enough; but I can but try, and do my best; any thing to plase the father.

  {Exit HONOR.

  SCENE II.

  O’BLANEY’S Counting-house.

  GERALD O’BLANEY alone at a desk covered with Papers.

  O’Bla. Of all the employments in life, this eternal balancing of accounts, see-saw, is the most sickening of all things, except it would be the taking the inventory of your stock, when you’re reduced to invent the stock itself; — then that’s the most lowering to a man of all things! But there’s one comfort in this distillery business — come what will, a man has always proof spirits.

  Enter PAT COXE.

  Pat. The whole tribe of Connaught men come, craving to be ped for the oats, counsellor, due since last Serapht fair.

  O’Bla. Can’t be ped to-day, let ’em crave never so. — Tell ’em Monday; and give ’em a glass of whiskey round, and that will send ’em off contint, in a jerry.

  Pat. I shall — I will — I see, sir. {Exit PAT COXE.

  O’Bla. Asy settled that! — but I hope many more duns for oats won’t be calling on me this day, for cash is not to be had: — here’s bills plenty — long bills, and short bills — but even the kites, which I can fly as well as any man, won’t raise the wind for me now.

  Re-enter PAT.

  Pat. Tim McGudikren, sir, for his debt — and talks of the sub-sheriff, and can’t wait.

  O’Bla. I don’t ax him to wait; but he must take in payment, since he’s in such a hurry, this bill at thirty-one days, tell him.

  Pat. I shall tell him so, plase your honour. {Exit PAT.

  O’Bla. They have all rendezvous’d to drive me mad this day; but the only thing is to keep the head cool. What I’m dreading beyant all is, if that ould Matthew McBride, who is as restless as a ferret when he has lodged money with any one, should come this day to take out of my hands the two hundred pounds I’ve got of his — Oh, then I might shut up! But stay, I’ll match him — and I’ll match myself too: that daughter Honor of his is a mighty pretty girl to look at, and since I can’t get her any other way, why not ax her in marriage? Her portion is to be —

  Re-enter PAT.

  Pat. The protested note, sir — with the charge of the protest to the back of it, from Mrs. Lorigan; and her compliments, and to know what will she do?

  O’Bla. What will I do, fitter to ax. My kind compliments to Mrs. Lorigan, and I’ll call upon her in the course of the day, to settle it all.

  Pat. I understand, sir. {Exit PAT.

  O’Bla. Honor McBride’s portion will be five hundred pounds on the nail — that would be no bad hit, and she a good, clever, likely girl. I’ll pop the question this day.

  Re-enter PAT.

  Pat. Corkeran the cooper’s bill, as long as my arm.

  O’Bla. Oh! don’t be bothering me any more. Have you no sinse? Can’t you get shut of Corkeran the cooper without me? Can’t ye quarrel with the items? Tear the bill down the middle, if necessary, and sind him away with a flay (flea) in his ear, to make out a proper bill — which I can’t see till to-morrow, mind. I never pay any man on fair-day.

  Pat. (aside) Nor on any other day. (Aloud) Corkeran’s my cousin, counsellor, and if convanient, I’d be glad you’d advance him a pound or two on account.

  O’Bla. ’Tis not convanient was he twenty times your cousin, Pat. I can’t be paying in bits, nor on account — all or none.

  Pat. None, then, I may tell him, sir?

  O’Bla. You may — you must; and don’t come up for any of ’em any more. It’s hard if I can’t have a minute to talk to myself.

  Pat. And it’s hard if I can’t have a minute to eat my breakfast, too, which I have not. {Exit PAT.

  O’Bla. Where was I? — I was popping the question to Honor McBride. The only thing is, whether the girl herself wouldn’t have an objection: — there’s that Randal Rooney is a great bachelor of hers, and I doubt she’d be apt to prefar him before me, even when I’d purpose marriage. But the families of the Rooneys and McBrides is at vareance — then I must keep ’em so. I’ll keep Catty Rooney’s spirit up, niver to consent to that match. Oh! if them Rooneys and McBrides were by any chance to make it up, I’d be undone: but against that catastrophe I’ve a preventative. Pat Coxe! Pat Coxe! where are you, my young man?

  Enter PAT, wiping his mouth.

  Pat. Just swallowing my breakfast.

  O’Bla. Mighty long swallowing you are. Here — don’t be two minutes, till you’re at Catty Rooney’s, and let me see how cliverly you’ll execute that confidential embassy I trusted you with. Touch Catty up about her ould ancient family, and all the Kings of Ireland she comes from. Blarney her cliverly, and work her to a foam against the McBrides.

  Pat. Never fear, your honour. I’ll tell her the story we agreed on, of Honor McBride meeting of Randal Rooney behind the chapel.

  O’Bla. That will do — don’t forget the ring; for I mane to put another on the girl’s finger, if she’s agreeable, and knows her own interest. But that last’s a private article. Not a word of that to Catty, you understand.

  Pat. Oh! I understand — and I’ll engage I’ll compass Catty, tho’ she’s a cunning shaver.

  O’Bla. Cunning? — No; she’s only hot tempered, and asy managed.

  Pat. Whatever she is, I’ll do my best to plase you. And I expict your honour, counsellor, won’t forget the promise you made me, to ask Mr. Carver for that l
ittle place — that situation that would just shute me.

  O’Bla. Never fear, never fear. Time enough to think of shuting you, when you’ve done my business. {Exit PAT. That will work like harm, and ould Matthew, the father, I’ll speak to, myself, genteelly. He will be proud, I warrant, to match his daughter with a gentleman like me. But what if he should smell a rat, and want to be looking into my affairs? Oh! I must get it sartified properly to him before all things, that I’m as safe as the bank; and I know who shall do that for me — my worthy friend, that most consequential magistrate, Mr. Carver of Bob’s Fort, who loves to be advising and managing of all men, women, and children, for their good. ’Tis he shall advise ould Matthew for my good. Now Carver thinks he lades the whole county, and ten mile round — but who is it lades him, I want to know? Why, Gerald O’Blaney. — And how? Why, by a spoonful of the universal panacea, flattery — in the vulgar tongue, flummery. (A knock at the door heard.) Who’s rapping at the street? — Carver of Bob’s Fort himself, in all his glory this fair-day. See then how he struts and swells. Did ever man, but a pacock, look so fond of himself with less rason? But I must be caught deep in accounts, and a balance of thousands to credit. (Sits down to his desk, to account books.) Seven thousand, three hundred, and two pence. (Starting and rising.) Do I see Mr. Carver of Bob’s Fort? — Oh! the honour —

  Mr. Carv. Don’t stir, pray — I beg — I request — I insist. I am by no means ceremonious, sir.

  O’Bla. (bustling and setting two chairs) No, but I’d wish to show respect proper to him I consider the first man in the county.

  Mr. Carv. (aside) Man! gentleman, he might have said.

  {Mr. CARVER sits down and rests himself consequentially.

  O’Bla. Now, Mr. Carver of Bob’s Fort, you’ve been over fartiguing yourself —

  Mr. Carv. For the public good. I can’t help it, really.

  O’Bla. Oh! but, upon my word and honour, it’s too much: there’s rason in all things. A man of Mr. Carver’s fortin to be slaving! If you were a man in business, like me, it would be another thing. I must slave at the desk to keep all round. See, Mr. Carver, see! — ever since the day you advised me to be as particular as yourself in keeping accounts to a farthing, I do, to a fraction, even like state accounts, see!