Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  Mr. Carv. I don’t know how that may be, sir, but I gave my approbation to the match; and I really am not accustomed to have my advice or opinion neglected or controverted. Yet, on the other hand —

  Enter a Footman with a note, which he gives to Mr. CARVER.

  Old McB. (aside to PHIL) Say something for me, Phil, can’t ye? — I hav’n’t a word.

  Mr. Carv. (rising with a quicker motion than usual) Bless me! bless me! — here is a revolution! and a counter revolution! — Here’s news will make you all in as great astonishment as I own I am.

  Old McB. What is it?

  Randal. I’m made for life — I don’t care what comes.

  Honor. Nor I: so it is not to touch you, I’m happy.

  Catty. Oh! your honour, spake quick, this time — I beg pardon!

  Mr. Carv. Then I have to confess that for once I have been deceived and mistaken in my judgment of a man; and what is more, of a man’s circumstances completely — O’Blaney.

  Old McB. What of his circumstances, oh! sir, in the name of mercy?

  Mr. Carv. Bankrupt, at this instant all under seizure to the supervisor. Mr. Gerald O’Blaney has fled the country.

  Old McB. Then, Honor, you are without a penny; for all her fortune, 500l., was in his hands.

  Randal. Then I’m as happy to have her without a penny — happier I am to prove my love pure.

  Catty. God bless you for my own son! That’s our way of thinking, Mr. McBride — you see it was not for the fortune.

  Honor. Oh! Phil, didn’t I tell you her heart was right?

  Catty. We will work hard — cheer up, McBrides. Now the Roonies and McBrides has joined, you’ll see we’ll defy the world and O’Blaney, the chate of chates.

  Honor. Randal’s own mother!

  Catty. Ay, now, we are all one family — now pull together. Don’t be cast down, Phil dear. I’ll never call you flourishing Phil again, so don’t be standing on pride. Suppose your shister has not a pinny, she’s better than the best, and I’ll love her and fold her to my ould warm heart, and the daughter of my heart she is now.

  Honor. Oh, mother! — for you are my mother now — and happy I am to have a mother in you.

  Mr. Carv. I protest it makes me almost — almost — blow my nose.

  Catty. Why, then, you’re a good cratur. But who tould you I was a vixen, dear — plase your honour?

  Mr. Carv. Your friend that is gone.

  Catty. O’Blaney?

  Randal. Frind! He never was frind to none — least of all to hisself.

  Catty. Oh! the double-distilled villain! — he tould your honour I was a vixen, and fond of law. Now would you believe what I’m going to till you? he tould me of his honour —

  Mr. Carv. Of me, his patron?

  Catty. Of you, his patron, sir. He tould me your honour — which is a slander, as we all here can witness, can’t we? by his honour’s contempt of Pat Coxe — yet O’Blaney said you was as fond and proud of having informers about you as a rat-catcher is of rats.

  Mr. Carv. Mistress Catherine Rooney, and all you good people, — there is a great deal of difference between obtaining information and encouraging common informers.

  Catty. There is, I’m sinsible. (Aside to her son) Then he’s a good magistrate — except a little pompous, mighty good. (Aloud to Mr. CARVER) Then I beg your honour’s pardon for my bad behaviour, and bad language and all. ’Twas O’Blaney’s fau’t — but he’s down, and don’t trample on the fallen.

  Old McB. Don’t defind O’Blaney! Oh! the villain, to rob me of all my hard arnings. Mrs. Catty, I thank you as much as a heavy heart can, for you’re ginerous; and you, Randal, for your —

  Randal. Is it for loving her, when I can’t help it? — who could?

  Old McB. (sighing deeply) But still it goes against the father’s heart to see his child, his pride, go pinnyless out of his house.

  Phil. Then, sir, father dear, I have to tell you she is not pennyless. — But I would not tell you before, that Randal, and Catty too, might show themselves what they are. Honor is not pennyless: the three hundred you gave me to lodge with O’Blaney is safe here. (Opening his pocket-book.) — When I was going to him with it as you ordered, by great luck, I was stopped by this very quarrel and riot in Ballynavogue: — he was the original cause of kicking up the riot, and was summoned before your honour, — and here’s the money.

  Old McB. Oh, she’s not pinnyless! Well, I never saw money with so much pleasure, in all my long days, nor could I think I’d ever live to give it away with half so much satisfaction as this minute. I here give it, Honor, to Randal Rooney and you: — and bless ye, child, with the man of your choice, who is mine now.

  Mrs. Carv. (aside to Mr. CARVER) My dear, I wish to invite all these good people to a wedding dinner; but really I am afraid I shall blunder in saying their names — will you prompt me?

  Mr. Carv. (aside to Mrs. CARVER) Why really I am not used to be a prompter; however, I will condescend to prompt you, Mrs. Carver. (He prompts, while she speaks.)

  Mrs. Carv. Mr. Big Briny of Cloon, Mr. Ulick of Eliogarty, Mr. Charley of Killaspugbrone, and you, Mrs. Catty Rooney, and you, Mr. McBride, senior, and you, Mr. Philip McBride, no longer flourishing Phil; since you are now all reconciled, let me have the pleasure of giving you a reconciliation dinner, at the wedding of Honor McBride, who is an honour to her family, and Randal Rooney, who so well deserves her love.

  The McBRIDES and ROONIES join in the cry of Long life and great luck to your ladyship, that was always good!

  Mr. Carv. And you comprehend that I beg that the wedding may be celebrated at Bob’s Fort.

  All join in crying, Long may your honour’s honour reign over us in glory at Bob’s Fort!

  Catty. (cracking her fingers) A fig for the bog of Ballynascraw! — Now ’tis all Love and no Law!

  THE ROSE, THISTLE, AND SHAMROCK.

  A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS.

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

  MEN.

  SIR WILLIAM HAMDEN . . . An Elderly English Gentleman.

  CHRISTY GALLAGHER . . . . Landlord of an Irish village inn.

  MR. ANDREW HOPE . . . . . A Drum-major in a Scotch regiment.

  OWEN LARKEN . . . . . . . The Son of the Widow Larken

  — a Boy of about fifteen.

  GILBERT . . . . . . . . . An English Servant of Sir William Hamden.

  WOMEN.

  MISS O’HARA . . . . . . . A young Heiress — Niece of Sir William Hamden.

  MISS FLORINDA GALLAGHER . Daughter of Christy Gallagher.

  THE WIDOW LARKEN . . . . Mother of Owen and of Mabel.

  MABEL LARKEN . . . . . . Daughter of the Widow Larken.

  BIDDY DOYLE . . . . . . . Maid of the Inn.

  Band of a Regiment.

  SCENE. — The Village of Bannow, in Ireland.

  ACT I.

  SCENE I.

  A Dressing-Room in Bannow-Castle, in Ireland.

  Enter Sir WILLIAM HAMDEN, in his morning-gown.

  Sir W. Every thing precisely in order, even in Ireland! — laid, I do believe, at the very same angle at which they used to be placed on my own dressing-table, at Hamden-place, in Kent. Exact Gilbert! most punctual of valet de chambres! — and a young fellow, as he is, too! It is admirable! — Ay, though he looks as if he were made of wood, and moves like an automaton, he has a warm heart, and a true English spirit — true-born English every inch of him. I remember him, when first I saw him ten years ago at his father’s, Farmer Ashfield’s, at the harvest-home; there was Gilbert in all his glory, seated on the top of a hay-rick, singing,

  “Then sing in praise of men of Kent,

  So loyal, brave, and free;

  Of Britain’s race, if one surpass,

  A man of Kent is he!”

  How he brought himself to quit the men of Kent to come to Ireland with me is wonderful. However, now he is here, I hope he is tolerably happy: I must ask the question in direct terms; for Gilbert would never speak till spoken to, let him feel what he might.<
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  Sir W. (calls) Gilbert! — Gilbert!

  Enter GILBERT.

  Gilb. Here, sir.

  Sir W. Gilbert, now you have been in Ireland some weeks, I hope you are not unhappy.

  Gilb. No, sir, thank you, sir.

  Sir W. But are you happy, man?

  Gilb. Yes, sir, thank you, sir.

  {GILBERT retires, and seems busy arranging his master’s clothes: Sir WILLIAM continues dressing.

  Sir W. (aside) Yes, sir, thank you, sir. As dry as a chip — sparing of his words, as if they were his last. And the fellow can talk if he would — has humour, too, if one could get it out; and eloquence, could I but touch the right string, the heartstring. I’ll try again. (Aloud) Gilbert!

  Gilb. Yes, sir. (Comes forward respectfully.)

  Sir W. Pray what regiment was it that was passing yesterday through the village of Bannow?

  Gilb. I do not know, indeed, sir.

  Sir W. That is to say, you saw they were Highlanders, and that was enough for you — you are not fond of the Scotch, Gilbert?

  Gilb. No, sir, I can’t say as I be.

  Sir W. But, Gilbert, for my sake you must conquer this prejudice. I have many Scotch friends whom I shall go to visit one of these days — excellent friends they are!

  Gilb. Are they, sir? If so be you found them so, I will do my best, I’m sure.

  Sir W. Then pray go down to the inn here, and inquire if any of the Scotch officers are there.

  Gilb. I will, sir. I heard say the officers went off this morning.

  Sir W. Then you need not go to inquire for them.

  Gilb. No, sir. Only as I heard say, the drum-major and band is to stay a few days in Bannow, on account of their wanting to enlist a new bugle-boy. I was a thinking, if so be, sir, you thought well of it, on account you like these Scotch, I’d better to step down, and see how the men be as to being comfortable.

  Sir W. That’s right, do. Pray, have they tolerable accommodations at the inn in this village?

  Gilb. (smiling) I can’t say much for that, sir.

  Sir W. (aside) Now I shall set him going. (Aloud) What, the inn here is not like one of our English inns on the Bath road?

  Gilb. (suppressing a laugh) Bath road! Bless you, sir, it’s no more like an inn on the Bath road, nor on any road, cross or by-road whatsomdever, as ever I seed in England. No more like — no more like than nothing at all, sir!

  Sir W. What sort of a place is it, then?

  Gilb. Why, sir, I’d be ashamed almost to tell you. Why, sir, I never seed such a place to call an inn, in all my born days afore. First and foremost, sir, there’s the pig is in and out of the kitchen all day long, and next the calf has what they call the run of the kitchen; so what with them brute beasts, and the poultry that has no coop, and is always under one’s feet, or over one’s head, the kitchen is no place for a Christian, even to eat his bread and cheese in.

  Sir W. Well, so much for the kitchen. But the parlour — they have a parlour, I suppose?

  Gilb. Yes, sir, they have a parlour as they may call it, if they think proper, sir. But then again, an honest English farmer would be afeard on his life to stay in it, on account of the ceiling just a coming down a’ top of his head. And if he should go up stairs, sir, why that’s as bad again, and worse; for the half of them there stairs is rotten, and ever so many pulled down and burnt.

  Sir W. Burnt! — the stairs?

  Gilb. Burnt, sir, as sure as I’m standing here! — burnt, sir, for fuel one scarce year, as they says, sir. Moreover, when a man does get up the stairs, sir, why he is as bad off again, and worse; for the floor of the place they calls the bedchamber, shakes at every step, as if it was a coming down with one; and the walls has all cracks, from top to toe — and there’s rat-holes, or holes o’ some sort or t’other, all in the floor: so that if a man don’t pick his steps curiously, his leg must go down through the ceiling below. And moreover, there’s holes over head through the roof, sir; so that if it rains, it can’t but pour on the bed. They tell me, they used for to shift the bed from one place to another, to find, as they say, the dry corner; but now the floor is grown so crazy, they dare not stir the bed for their lives.

  Sir W. Worse and worse!

  Gilb. And moreover, they have it now in the worst place in the whole room, sir. Close at the head of the bed, there is a window with every pane broke, and some out entirely, and the women’s petticoats and the men’s hats just stuck in to stop all for the night, as they say, sir.

  {GILBERT tries to stifle his laughter.

  Sir W. Laugh out, honest Gilbert. In spite of your gravity and your civility, laugh. There is no harm, but sometimes a great deal of good done by laughing, especially in Ireland. Laughing has mended, or caused to be mended, many things that never would have been mended otherwise.

  Gilb. (recovering his gravity) That’s true, I dare to say, sir.

  Sir W. Now, Gilbert, if you were to keep an inn, it would be a very different sort of inn from what you have been describing — would not it?

  Gilb. I hope so, sir.

  Sir W. I remember when we were talking of establishing you in England, that your father told me you would like to set up an inn.

  Gilb. (his face brightening) For sartin, sir, ’tis the thing in the whole world I should like the best, and be the proudest on, if so be it was in my power, and if so be, sir, you could spare me. (Holding his master’s coat for him to put on.)

  Sir W. Could. spare you, Gilbert! — I will spare you, whether I can conveniently or not. If I had an opportunity of establishing advantageously a man who has served me faithfully for ten years, do you think I would not put myself to a little inconvenience to do it? — Gilbert, you do not know Sir William Hamden.

  Gilb. Thank you, sir, but I do — and I should be main sorry to leave you, that’s sartin, if it was even to be landlord of the best inn in all England — I know I should.

  Sir W. I believe it. — But, stay — let us understand one another — I am not talking of England, and perhaps you are not thinking of Ireland.

  Gilb. Yes, sir, but I am.

  Sir W. You are! I am heartily glad to hear it, for then I can serve you directly. This young heiress, my niece, to whom this town belongs, has a new inn ready built.

  Gilb. I know, sir.

  Sir W. Then, Gilbert, write a proposal for this inn, if you wish for it, and I will speak to my niece.

  Gilb. (bowing) I thank you, sir — only I hope I shall not stand in any honest man’s light. As to a dishonest man, I can’t say I value standing in his light, being that he has no right to have any, as I can see.

  Sir W. So, Gilbert, you will settle in Ireland at last? I am heartily glad to see you have overcome your prejudices against this country. How has this been brought about?

  Gilb. Why, sir, the thing was, I didn’t know nothing about it, and there was a many lies told backwards and forwards of Ireland, by a many that ought to have known better.

  Sir W. And now that you have seen with your own eyes, you are happily convinced that in Ireland the men are not all savages.

  Gilb. No, sir, no ways savage, except in the article of some of them going bare-footed; but the men is good men, most of them.

  Sir W. And the women? You find that they have not wings on their shoulders.

  Gilb. No, sir. (Smiling) And I’m glad they have not got wings, else they might fly away from us, which I’d be sorry for — some of them.

  {After making this speech, GILBERT steps back, and brushes his master’s hat diligently.

  Sir W. (aside) Ha! is that the case? Now I understand it all. ’Tis fair, that Cupid, who blinds so many, should open the eyes of some of his votaries. (Aloud.) When you set up as landlord in your new inn, Gilbert, (Gilbert comes forward) you will want a landlady, shall not you?

  Gilb. (falls back, and answers) I shall, sir, I suppose.

  Sir W. Miss — what’s her name? the daughter of the landlord of the present inn. Miss — what’s her name?

  Gilb
. (answers without coming forward) Miss Gallagher, sir.

  Sir W. Miss Gallagher? — A very ugly name! — I think it would be charity to change it, Gilbert.

  Gilb. (bashfully) It would, no doubt, sir.

  Sir W. She is a very pretty girl.

  Gilb. She is, sir, no doubt.

  {Cleaning the brush with his hand, bows, and is retiring.

  Sir W. Gilbert, stay, (GILBERT returns.) I say, Gilbert, I took particular notice of this Miss Gallagher, as she was speaking to you last Sunday. I thought she seemed to smile upon you, Gilbert.

  Gilb. (very bashfully) I can’t say, indeed, sir.

  Sir W. I don’t mean, my good Gilbert, to press you to say any thing that you don’t choose to say. It was not from idle curiosity that I asked any questions, but from a sincere desire to serve you in whatever way you like best, Gilbert.

  Gilb. Oh, dear master! I can’t speak, you are so good to me, and always was — too good! — so I say nothing. Only I’m not ungrateful — I know I’m not ungrateful, that I am not! And as to the rest, there’s not a thought I have, you’d condescend for to know, but you should know it as soon as my mother — that’s to say, as soon as ever I knowed it myself. But, sir, the thing is this, since you’re so good to let me speak to you, sir —

  Sir W. Speak on, pray, my good fellow.

  Gilb. Then, sir, the thing is this. There’s one girl, they say, has set her thoughts upon me: now I don’t like she, because why? I loves another; but I should not choose to say so, on account of its not being over and above civil, and on account of my not knowing yet for sartin whether or not the girl I loves loves me, being I never yet could bring myself to ask her the question. I’d rather not mention her name neither, till I be more at a sartinty. But since you be so kind, sir, if you be so good to give me till this evening, sir, as I have now, with the hopes of the new inn, an independency to offer her, I will take courage, and I shall have her answer soon, sir — and I will let you know with many thanks, sir, whether — whether my heart’s broke or not.