Mabel. Money is it? Then there’s no money you could send her — not the full of Lough Erne itself, in golden guineas, could make her amends for the loss of yourself, Owen, and you know that.
Mr. H. And I am not the man that would entice you to list, or gang with me, in contradiction to your duty at home, or your interest abroad: so (turning to MABEL) do not look on me as the tempter to evil, nor with distrust, as you do, kind sister as you are, and like my own Kate; but hear me coolly, and without prejudice, for it is his gude I wish.
Mabel. I am listening then, and I ask your pardon if I looked a doubt.
Mr. H. The gude mother must wish, above all things here below, the weal and advancement and the honour of her bairns; and she would not let the son be tied to her apron-strings, for any use or profit to herself, but ever wish him to do the best in life for his sel’. Is not this truth, gude friends — plain truth?
Mabel. It is then — I own that: truth and sense too.
Owen. Now see there, Mabel.
Mr. H. And better for him to do something abroad than digging at home; and in the army he might get on, — and here’s the bugle-boy’s pay.
Mabel. Is it a bugle-boy you are thinking of making him?
Mr. H. That’s the only thing I could make him. I wish I could offer better.
Mabel. Then, I thank you, sir, and I wouldn’t doubt ye — and it would be very well for a common boy that could only dig; but my brother’s no common boy, sir.
Owen. Oh, Mabel!
Mabel. Hush, Owen! for it’s the truth I’m telling, and if to your face I can’t help it. You may hide the face, but I won’t hide the truth.
Mr. H. Then speak on, my warm-hearted lassy, speak on.
Mabel. Then, sir, he got an edication while ever my poor father lived, and no better scholar, they said, for the teaching he got: — but all was given over when the father died, and the troubles came, and Owen, as he ought, give himself up intirely for my mother, to help her, a widow. But it’s not digging and slaving he is to be always: — it’s with the head, as my father used to say, he’ll make more than the hands; and we hope to get a clerk’s place for him sometime, or there will be a schoolmaster wanting in this town, and that will be what he would be fit for; and not — but it’s not civil, before you, a soldier, sir, to say the rest.
Mr. H. Fear not, you will not give offence.
Mabel. And not to be spending his breath blowing through a horn all his days, for the sake of wearing a fine red coat. I beg your pardon again, sir, if I say too much — but it’s to save my brother and my mother.
Mr. H. I like you the better for all you’ve said for both.
Owen. And I’m off entirely: — I’ll not list, I thank you, sir.
{MABEL clasps her hands joyfully, then embraces her brother.
Mr. H. And I’ll not ask you to list — and I would not have asked it at all, but that a friend of yours told me it would be the greatest service I could do you, and that it was the thing of all others you wished.
Owen. That friend was Christy Gallagher: but he was mistaken — that’s all.
Mabel. I hope that’s all. But I’ve no dependance on him for a friend, nor has my mother.
Owen. Why, he was saying to me, and I could not say against it, that he had a right to propose for the inn if he could, though Gilbert and we wanted to get it.
Mabel. Then I wonder why Christy should be preferred rather than my mother.
Owen. Then that’s a wonder — and I can’t understand how that was.
Mr. H. I have one more thing to say, or to do, which I should like better, if you’ll give me leave. If there’s a difficulty aboot the rent of this new inn that you are talking of, I have a little spare money, and you’re welcome to it: — I consider it as a debt of my brother’s, which I am bound to pay; so no obligation in life — tell me how much will do.
{Takes out his purse.
Owen and Mabel. You are very kind — you are very good.
Mr. H. No, I am not — I am only just. Say only how much will do.
Owen. Alas! money won’t do now, sir. It’s all settled, and Christy says he has a promise of it in writing from the lady.
Mr. H. May be this Christy might sell his interest, and we will see — I will not say till I find I can do. Fare ye weel till we meet, as I hope we shall, at the dance that’s to be at the castle. The band is to be there, and I with them, and I shall hope for this lassy’s hand in the dance.
Mabel. (aside) And Gilbert that never asked me! (Aloud) I thank you kindly, sir, I sha’n’t go to the dance at-all-at-all, I believe — my mother had better take her rest, and I must stay with her — a good night to you kindly.
{Exit MABEL into her mother’s room.
Mr. H. This sister of yours would leave me no heart to carry back to Scotland, I fear, but that I’m a married man already, and have my own luve — a Kate of my own, that’s as fair as she, and as gude, and that’s saying much.
Owen. (aside) Much more than Florinda Gallagher will like to hear.
Mr. H. I shall thank you if you will teach me, for my Kate, the words of that song your sister was singing when we came in.
Owen. I believe it’s to flatter me you say this, for that song is my writing.
Mr. H. Yours?
Owen. Mine, such as it is.
Mr. H. Sic a ane as you are then, I’m glad you are not to be a bugle-boy: your sister is right.
Owen. I’ll teach you the words as we go along.
Mr. H. Do so; — but mind now this song-writing do not lead you to idleness. We must see to turn your edication to good account. (Aside) Oh, I will never rest till I pay my brother’s debt, some way or other, to this gude family.
{Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
CHRISTY alone.
So this Scotchman could not list Owen. Couldn’t nor wouldn’t, that’s what he says; and the Scotchman looked very hard at me as he spoke: moreover, I seen Mr. Gilbert and him with their two heads close together, and that’s a wonder, for I know Gilbert’s not nat’rally fond of any sort of Scotchman. There’s something brewing: — I must have my wits about me, and see and keep sober this night, if I can, any way. From the first I suspicted Mr. Gilbert had his heart on Mabel. (BIDDY DOYLE puts her head in) Biddy Doyle! what the mischief does that head of yours do there?
Biddy. Nothing in life, sir: only just to see who was in it, along with yourself, because I thought I hard talking enough for two.
Christy. You, girl, have curiosity enough for two, and two dozen, and too much! So plase take your head and yourself out of that, and don’t be overharing my private thoughts; for that was all the talking ye hard, and my thoughts can’t abide listeners.
Biddy. I’m no listener — I ax your pardon, sir: I scorn to listen to your thoughts, or your words even.
{Exit BIDDY.
Christy. That girl has set me topsy-turvy. Where was I? — Oh! this was it. Suppose even, I say, suppose this Gilbert’s fancy should stick to Mabel, I might manage him, nevertheless. I’ve a great advantage and prerogative over this Englishman, in his having never been dipped in the Shannon. He is so under cow with bashfulness now, that I don’t doubt but what in one of his confusions I could asy bring him to say Yes in the wrong place; and sooner than come to a perplexing refusal of a young lady, he might, I’ll engage, be brought about to marry the girl he didn’t like, in lieu of the girl he did. We shall see — but hark! I hear Ferrinafad’s voice, singing, and I must join, and see how the thing’s going on, or going off.
{Exit.
SCENE II.
Miss GALLAGHER and GILBERT at a Tea-Table.
Gilb. (aside) Now would I give five golden guineas this minute that her father, or any mortal man, woman, or child in the varsal world, would come in and say something; for ’tis so awk’ard for I to be sitting here, and I nothing to say to she.
Miss G. (aside) When will the man pay me the compliment to speak, I wonder? Wouldn’t any body think he’d no tongue in that mouth
of his, screwed up, and blushing from ear to ear?
Enter CHRISTY.
Christy. Hoo! hoo! hoo! — How’s this — both of yees mute as fishes the moment I come in? Why I hard you just now, when my back was turned, singing like turtle-doves — didn’t I, Florry?
Miss G. Indeed, sir, as to turtle-doves, I’m not sinsible; but Mr. Gilbert requisted of me to be favouring him with a song, which I was complying with, though I’m not used to be singing without my piano.
Christy. (aside) Sorrow take your piano! you’re not come there yet.
Miss G. I wonder the drum-major isn’t come yet. Does he expect tea can be keeping hot for him to the end of time? He’ll have nothing but slop-dash, though he’s a very genteel man. I’m partial to the military school, I own, and a High lander too is always my white-headed boy.
Gilb. (astonished) Her white-headed boy! — Now, if I was to be hanged for it, I don’t know what that means.
Miss G. Now where can you have lived, Mr. Gilbert, not to know that?
Christy. (aside) By the mass, he’s such a matter-o’-fact-man, I can’t get round him with all my wit.
Miss G. Here’s the drum-major! Scarlet’s asy seen at a distance, that’s one comfort!
Enter Mr. HOPE.
Mr. H. I’m late, Miss Florinda, I fear, for the tea-table; but I had a wee-wee bit of business to do for a young friend, that kept me.
Miss G. No matter, major, my tapot defies you. Take a cup a tea. Are you fond of music, major?
Mr. H. Very fond of music, ma’am — do you sing or play?
Miss G. I do play — I plead guilty to that I own. But in this hole that we are in, there’s no room fitting for my piano. However, in the new inn which we have got now, I’ll fix my piano iligant in the back-parlour.
Mr. H. In the mean time, Miss Florinda, will you favour us with a song?
Christy. And I’ll be making the punch, for I’m no songstress. Biddy! Biddy Doyle! hot water in a jerry.
Miss G. Indeed I’m not used to sing without my piano; but, to oblige the major, I’ll sing by note.
Miss GALLAGHER sings.
Softly breathing through the heart,
When lovers meet no more to part;
That purity of soul be mine,
Which speaks in music’s sound divine.
‘Midst trees and streams of constant love,
That’s whispered by the turtle-dove;
Sweet cooing cushat all my pray’r,
Is love in elegance to share.
Mr. H. That’s what I call fine, now! Very fine that.
{GILBERT nods.
Miss G. (aside) Look at that Englishman, now, that hasn’t a word of compliment to throw to a dog, but only a nod. (Aloud) ’Tis the military that has always the souls for music, and for the ladies — and I think, gentlemen, I may step for’ard, and say I’m entitled to call upon you now: — Mr. Gilbert, if you’ve ever a love-song in your composition.
Gilb. Love-song I can’t say, ma’am; but such as I have — I’m no great hand at composition — but I have one song — they call it, My choice of a wife.
Miss G. Pray let’s have it, sir.
Christy. Now for it, by Jabus.
Mr. H. Give it us, Mr. Gilbert.
Enter BIDDY with hot water, and exit.
GILBERT sings.
There’s none but a fool will wed on a sudden,
Or take a fine miss that can’t make a pudding;
If he get such a wife, what would a man gain, O!
But a few ballad-tunes on a wretched piano?
Some ladies than peacocks are twenty times prouder,
Some ladies than thunder are twenty times louder;
But I’ll have a wife that’s obliging and civil —
For me, your fine ladies may go to the devil!
Miss G. (rising) Sir, I comprehend your song, coarse as it is, and its moral to boot, and I humbly thank ye, sir. (She curtsies low.) And if I live a hundred year, and ninety-nine to the back of that, sir, I will remember it to you, sir.
Christy. (leaving the punch which he had been making, comes forward with a lemon in his hand) Wheugh! wheugh! wheugh! Ferrinafad!
Gilb. (aside) Ferrinafad! — the man’s mad!
Miss G. Father, go your ways back to your punch. Here stands the only raal gentleman in company (pointing to the drum-major), if I’m to make the election.
Christy. Major, you can’t but drink her health for that compliment. {He presents a glass of punch to Mr. HOPE.
Mr. H. Miss Gallagher’s health, and a gude husband to her, and soon.
Miss G. And soon! — No hurry for them that has choice.
Christy. That has money, you mane, jewel. Mr. Gilbert, you did not give us your toast.
Gilb. Your good health, ma’am — your good health, sir, — Mr. Hope, your good health, and your fireside in Scotland, and in pa’tic’lar your good wife.
Miss G. (starting) Your wife, sir! Why, sir, is’t possible you’re a married man, after all?
Mr. H. Very possible, ma’am — thank Heaven and my gude Kate.
Miss G. His gude Kate! — Well, I hate the Scotch accent of all languages under the sun.
Christy. In a married man, I suppose you mane, Florry?
Miss G. This is the way with officers continually — passing themselves for bachelors.
Christy. Then, Florry, we’d best recommend it to the drum-major the next town he’d go into, to put up an advertisement in capitals on his cap, warning all women whom it may consarn, that he is a married man.
Miss G. ’Tis no consarn of mine, I’ll assure you, sir, at any rate; for I should scorn to think of a Scotchman any way. And what’s a drum-major, after all? {Exit, in a passion.
Christy. Bo boo! bo boo! bo boo! there’s a tantarara now; but never mind her, she takes them tantarums by turns. Now depend upon it, Mr. Gilbert, it’s love that’s at the bottom of it all, clane and clear.
Gilb. It’s very like, sir — I can’t say.
Christy. Oh, but I can say — I know her, egg and bird. The thing is, she’s mad with you, and that has set her all through other. — But we’ll finish our tumbler of punch. {Draws forwards the table, and sets chairs.
Gilb. (aside) Egg and bird! — mad! All through other! — Confound me if I understand one word the man is saying; but I will make him understand me, if he can understand plain English.
Mr. H. (aside) I’ll stand by and see fair play. I have my own thought.
Gilb. Now, Mr. —— , to be plain with you at once — here’s fifty guineas in gold, and if you will take them, and give me up the promise you have got of the new inn, you shall be welcome. That’s all I have to say, if I was to talk till Christmas — and fewest words is best in matters of business.
Christy. Fifty guineas in gold! — Don’t part with a guinea of them, man, put ’em up again. You shall have the new inn without a word more, and into the bargain my good-will and my daughter — and you’re a jantleman, and can’t say no to that, any way.
Gilb. Yes, but I can though: since you drive me to the wall, I must say no, and I do say no. And, dang it, I would have been hanged almost as soon as say so much to a father. I beg your pardon, sir, but my heart is given to another. Good evening to you.
Christy. (holding him as he attempts to go) Take it coolly, and listen to me, and tell me — was you ever married before, Mr. Gilbert?
Gilb. Never.
Christy. Then I was — and I can tell you that I found to my cost, love was all in all with me before I was married, and after I had been married a twel’-month, money was all in all with me; for I had the wife, and I had not the money, and without the money, the wife must have starved.
Gilb. But I can work, sir, and will, head, hands, and heart, for the woman I love.
Christy. Asy said — hard done. Mabel Larken is a very pretty girl. But wait till I tell you what Kit Monaghan said to me yesterday. I’m going to be married, sir, says he to me. Ay, so you mintioned to me a fortnight ago, Kit, says I
— to Rose Dermod, isn’t it? says I. Not at all, sir, says he — it is to Peggy McGrath, this time. And what quarrel had you to Rose Dermod? says I. None in life, sir, says he; but Peggy McGrath had two cows, and Rose Dermod had but the one, and in my mind there is not the differ of a cow betwix’ one woman and another. Do you understand me now, Mr. Gilbert?
Gilb. Sir, we shall never understand one another — pray let me go, before I get into a passion.
{Breaks from CHRISTY, and exit.
Christy. Hollo! Hollo! Mr. Gilbert! (GILBERT returns.) One word more about the new inn. I’ve done about Florry; and, upon my conscience, I believe you’re right enough — only that I’m her father, and in duty bound to push her as well as I can.
Gilb. Well, sir, about the inn: be at a word with me; for I’m not in a humour to be trifled with.
Mr. H. (aside) Fire beneath snow! who’d ha’ thought it?
Christy. Then, if it was sixty guineas instead of fifty, I’d take it, and you should have my bargain of the inn.
Mr. H. (aside) I’ll not say my word until I see what the bottom of the men are.
Gilb. (aside) Why, to make up sixty, I must sell my watch even; but I’ll do it — any thing to please Mabel. (Aloud) Well, sixty guineas, if you won’t give it for less.
Christy. Done! (Eagerly.)
Mr. H. Stay, stay, Mr. Gilbert! Have a care, Mr. Gallagher! — the lady might not be well pleased at your handing over her written promise, Mr. Gallagher — wait a wee bit. Don’t conclude this bargain till you are before the lady at the castle.
Gilb. So best — no doubt.
Christy. All one to me — so I pocket the sixty.
Mr. H. (aside to GILBERT) Come off.
Gilb. We shall meet then at the castle to-night: till then, a good day to you, Mr. Gallagher.
{Exeunt GILBERT and Mr. HOPE.
Christy. Good night to ye kindly, gentlemen. There’s a fool to love for you now! If I’d ax’d a hundred, I’d ha’ got it. But still there’s only one thing. Ferrinafad will go mad when she learns I have sold the new inn, and she to live on in this hole, and no place for the piano. I hope Biddy did not hear a sentence of it. (Calls) Biddy! Biddy Doyle! Biddy, can’t ye?
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 629