Chapter 5

“Why, in regard o' that,” said Phelim, rather nettled, “if all fails us, sure we can do as my father and you did: kiss the Lucky Stone, an' make a Station.”

“Phelim, aroon,” said the mother, seriously, “put it out o' your head. Sure you wouldn't go to bring me a daughter-in-law oulder nor myself?”

“I'd as soon go over,” (* be transported) said Phelim; “or swing itself, before I'd marry sich a piece o' desate. Hard feelin' to her! how she did me to my face!”

Phelim then entered into a long-visaged detail of the scene at Father O'Hara's, dwelling bitterly on the alacrity with which the old housekeeper ensnared him in his own mesh.

“However,” he concluded, “she'd be a sharp one if she'd do me altogether. We're not married yet; an' I've a consate of my own, that she's done for the ten guineas, any how!”

A family council was immediately held upon Phelim's matrimonial prospects. On coming close to the speculation of Miss Patterson, it was somehow voted, notwithstanding Phelim's powers of attraction, to be rather a discouraging one. Gracey Dalton was also given up. The matter was now serious, the time short, and Phelim's bounces touching his own fascinations with the sex in general, were considerably abated. It was therefore resolved that he ought to avail himself of Sam Appleton's clothes, until his own could be made. Sam, he said, would not press him for them immediately, inasmuch as he was under obligations to Phelim's silence upon some midnight excursions that he had made.

“Not,” added Phelim, “but I'm as much, an' maybe more in his power, than he is in mine.”

When breakfast was over, Phelim and the father, after having determined to “drink a bottle” that night in the family of an humble young woman, named Donovan, who, they all agreed, would make an excellent wife for him, rested upon their oars until evening. In the meantime, Phelim sauntered about the village, as he was in the habit of doing, whilst the father kept the day as a holiday. We have never told our readers that Phelim was in love, because in fact we know not whether he was or not. Be this as it may, we simply inform them, that in a little shed in the lower end of the village, lived a person with whom Phelim was very intimate, called Foodie Flattery. He was, indeed, a man after Phelim's own heart, and Phelim was a boy after his. He maintained himself by riding country races; by handing, breeding, and feeding cocks; by fishing, poaching, and serving processes; and finally, by his knowledge as a cow-doctor and farrier--into the two last of which he had given Phelim some insight. We say the two last, for in most of the other accomplishments Phelim was fully his equal. Phelim frequently envied him his life. It was an idle, amusing, vagabond kind of existence, just such a one as he felt a relish for. This man had a daughter, rather well-looking; and it so happened, that he and Phelim had frequently spent whole nights out together, no one knew on what employment. Into Flattery's house did Phelim saunter with something like an inclination to lay the events of the day before him, and to ask his advice upon his future prospects. On entering the cabin he was much surprised to find the daughter in a very melancholy mood; a circumstance which puzzled him not a little, as he knew that they lived very harmoniously together. Sally had been very useful to her father; and, if fame did not belie her, was sometimes worthy Foodie's assistant in his nocturnal exploits. She was certainly reputed to be “light-handed;” an imputation which caused the young men of her acquaintance to avoid, in their casual conversations with her, any allusion to matrimony.

“Sally, achora,” said Phelim, when he saw her in distress, “what's the fun? Where's your father?”

“Oh, Phelim,” she replied, bursting into tears, “long runs the fox, but he's cotch at last. My father's in gaol.”

Phelim's jaw dropped. “In gaol! _Chorp an diouol_, no!”

“It's thruth, Phelim. Curse upon this Whiteboy business, I wish it never had come into the counthry at all.”

“Sally, I must see him; you know I must. But tell me how it happened? Was it at home he was taken?”

“No; he was taken this mornin' in the market. I was wid him sellin' some chickens. What'll you and Sam Appleton do, Phelim?”

“Uz! Why, what danger is there to either Sim or me, you darlin'?”

“I'm sure, Phelim, I don't know; but he tould me, that if I was provided for, he'd be firm, an' take chance of his thrial. But, he says, poor man, that it 'ud break his heart to be thransported, lavin' me behind him wid' nobody to take care o' me.--He says, too, if anything 'ud make him stag, it's fear of the thrial goin' against himself; for, as he said to me, what 'ud become of you, Sally, if anything happened me?”

A fresh flood of tears followed this disclosure, and Phelim's face, which was certainly destined to undergo on that day many variations of aspect, became remarkably blank.

“Sally, you insinivator, I'll hould a thousand guineas you'd never guess what brought me here to-day?”

“Arrah, how could I, Phelim? To plan some thin' wid my fadher, maybe.”

“No, but to plan somethin' wid yourself, you coaxin' jewel you. Now tell me this--Would you marry a certain gay, roguish, well-built young fellow, they call Bouncin' Phelim?”

“Phelim, don't be gettin' an wid your fun now, an' me in affliction. Sure, I know well you wouldn't throw yourself away upon a poor girl like me, that has nothin' but a good pair of hands to live by.”

“Be me sowl, an' you live by them. Well, but set in case--supposin'--that same Bouncin' Phelim was willing to make you mistress of the Half Acre, what 'ud you be sayin'?”

“Phelim, if a body thought you worn't jokin' them--ah, the dickens go wid you, Phelim--this is more o' your thricks--but if it was thruth you wor spakin', Phelim?”

“It is thruth,” said Phelim; “be the vestment, it's nothin' else. Now, say yes or no; for if it's a thing that it's to be a match, you must go an' tell him that I'll marry you, an' he must be as firm as a rock. But see, Sally, by thim five crasses it's not bekase your father's in I'm marryin' you at all. Sure I'm in love wid you, acushla! Divil a lie in it. Now, yes or no?”

“Well--throth--to be sure--the sorra one, Phelim, but you have quare ways wid you. Now are you downright in airnest?”

“Be the stool I'm sittin' on!”

“Well, in the name o' Goodness, I'll go to my father, an' let him know it. Poor man, it'll take the fear out of his heart. Now can he depind on you, Phelim?”

“Why, all I can say is, that we'll get ourselves called on Sunday next. Let himself, sure, send some one to autorise the priest to call us. An' now that's all settled, don't I desarve somethin'? Oh, be gorra, surely.”

“Behave, Phelim--oh--oh--Phelim, now--there you've tuck it--och, the curse o' the crows on you, see the way you have my hair down! There now, you broke my comb, too. Troth, you're a wild slip, Phelim. I hope you won't be goin' on this way wid the girls, when you get married.”

“Is it me you coaxer? No, faith, I'll wear a pair of winkers, for fraid o' lookin' at them at all! Oh be gorra, no, bally, I'll lave that to the great people. Sure, they say, the divil a differ they make at all.”

“Go off now, Phelim, till I get ready, an' set out to my father. But, Phelim, never breathe a word about him bein' in goal. No one knows it but ourselves--that is, none o' the neighbors.”

“I'll sing dumb,” said Phelim. “Well, _binaght lath, a rogarah!_* Tell him the thruth--to be game, an' he'll find you an' me sweeled together whin he comes out, plase Goodness.”

* My blessing be with you, you rogue!

Phelim was but a few minutes gone, when the old military cap of Fool Art projected from the little bed-room, which a wicker wall, plastered with mud, divided from the other part of the cabin.

“Is he gone?” said Art.

“You may come out, Art,” said she, “he's gone.”

“Ha!” said Art, triumphantly, “I often tould him, when he vexed me an' pelted me wid snow-balls, that I'd come along sides wid him yet. An' it's not over aither. Fool Art can snore when he's not asleep, an' see wid his eyes shut. Wherroo for Art!”

“But, Art, maybe he intinds to marry the housekeeper afther all?”

“Hi the colic, the colic! An' ho the colic for Phelim!”

“Then you think he won't, Art?”

“Hi the colic, the colic! An' ho the colic for Phelim!”

“Now, Art, don't say a word about my father not bein' in gaol. He's to be back from my grandfather's in a short time, an' if we manage well, you'll see what you'll get, Art--a brave new shirt, Art.”

“Art has the lane for Phelim, but it's not the long one wid no turn in it. Wherroo for Art!”

Phelim, on his return home, felt queer; here was a second matrimonial predicament, considerably worse than the first, into which he was hooked decidedly against his will. The worst feature in this case was the danger to be apprehended from Foodie Flattery's disclosures, should he take it into his head to 'peach upon his brother Whiteboys. Indeed, Phelim began to consider it a calamity that he ever entered into their system at all; for, on running over his exploits along with them, he felt that he was liable to be taken up any morning of the week, and lodged in one of his majesty's boarding-houses. The only security he had was the honesty of his confederates; and experience took the liberty of pointing out to him many cases in which those who considered themselves quite secure, upon the same grounds, either dangled or crossed the water. He remembered, too, some prophecies that had been uttered concerning him with reference both to hanging and matrimony. Touching the former it was often said, that “he'd die where the bird flies”--between heaven and earth; on matrimony, that there seldom was a swaggerer among the girls but came to the ground at last.

Now Phelim had a memory of his own, and in turning over his situation, and the prophecies that had been so confidently pronounced concerning him, he felt, as we said, rather queer. He found his father and mother in excellent spirits when he got home. The good man had got a gallon of whiskey on credit; for it had been agreed on not to break the ten golden guineas until they should have ascertained how the matchmaking would terminate that night at Donovan's.

“Phelim,” said the father, “strip yourself, an' put on Sam's clo'es: you must send him down yours for a day or two; he says it's the least he may have the wearin' o' them, so long as you have his.”

“Right enough,” said Phelim; “Wid all my heart; I'm ready to make a fair swap wid him any day, for that matther.”

“I sent word to the Donovans that we're to go to coort there to night,” said Larry; “so that they'll be prepared for us; an' as it would be shabby not to have a friend, I asked Sam Appleton himself. He's to folly us.”

“I see,” said Phelim, “I see. Well, the best boy in Europe Sam is, for such a spree. Now, Fadher, you must lie like the ould diouol tonight. Back everything I say, an' there's no fear of us. But about what she's to get, you must hould out for that. I'm to despise it, you know. I'll abuse you for spakin' about fortune, but don't budge an inch.”

“It's not the first time I've done that for you, Phelim; but in regard o' these ten guineas, why you must put them in your pocket for fraid they be wantin' to get off wid layin' down guinea for guinea. You see, they don't think we have a rap; an' if they propose it we'll be up to them.”

“Larry,” observed Sheelah, “don't make a match except they give that pig they have. Hould out for that by all means.”

“Tare-an'-ounze!” exclaimed Phelim, “am I goin' to take the counthry out o' the face? By the vestments, I'm a purty boy! Do you know the fresh news I have for yez?”

“Not ten guineas more, Phelim?” replied the father.

“Maybe you soodhered another ould woman,” said the mother.

“Be asy,” replied Phelim. “No, but the five crasses, I deluded a young one since! I went out!”

The old couple were once more disposed to be mirthful; but Phelim confirmed his assertion with such a multiplicity of oaths, that they believed him. Nothing, however, could wring the secret of her name out of him. He had reasons for concealing it which he did not wish to divulge. In fact, he could never endure ridicule, and the name of Sally Flattery, as the person whom he had “deluded,” would constitute, on his part, a triumph quite as sorry as that which he had achieved in Father O'Hara's. In Ireland no man ever thinks of marrying a female thief--which Sally was strongly suspected to be--except some worthy fellow, who happens to be gifted with the same propensity.

When the proper hour arrived, honest Phelim, after having already made arrangements to be called on the following Sunday, as the intended husband of two females, now proceeded with great coolness to make, if possible, a similar engagement with a third. There is something, however, to be said for Phelim. His conquest over the housekeeper was considerably out of the common course of love affairs. He had drawn upon his invention, only to bring himself and the old woman out of the ridiculous predicament in which the priest found them. He had, moreover, intended to prevail on her to lend him the hat, in case the priest himself had refused him. He was consequently not prepared for the vigorous manner in which Mrs. Doran fastened upon the subject of matrimony. On suspecting that she was inclined to be serious, he pleaded his want of proper apparel; but here again the liberality of the housekeeper silenced him, whilst, at the same time, it opened an excellent prospect of procuring that which he most required--a decent suit of clothes. This induced him to act a part that he did not feel. He saw the old woman was resolved to outwit him, and he resolved to overreach the old woman.

His marriage with Sally Flattery was to be merely a matter of chance. If he married her at all, he knew it must be in self-defence. He felt that her father had him in his power, and that he was anything but a man to be depended on. He also thought that his being called with her, on the Sunday following, would neutralize his call with the housekeeper; just as positive and negative quantities in algebra cancel each other. But he was quite ignorant that the story of Flattery's imprisonment was merely a plan of the daughter's to induce him to marry her.

With respect to Peggy Donovan, he intended, should he succeed in extricating himself from the meshes which the other two had thrown around him, that she should be the elected one to whom he was anxious to unite himself. As to the confusion produced by being called to three at once, he knew that, however laughable in itself, it would be precisely something like what the parish would expect from him. Bouncing Phelim was no common man, and to be called to three on the same Sunday, would be a corroboration of his influence with the sex. It certainly chagrined him not a little that one of them was an old woman, and the other of indifferent morals; but still it exhibited the claim of three women upon one man, and that satisfied him. His mode of proceeding with Peggy Donovan was regular, and according to the usages of the country. The notice had been given that he and his father would go a courting, and of course they brought the whiskey with them, that being the custom among persons in their circumstances in life. These humble courtships very much resemble the driving of a bargain between two chapmen; for, indeed, the closeness of the demands on the one side, and the reluctance of concession on the other, are almost incredible. Many a time has a match been broken up by a refusal on the one part, to give a slip of a pig, or a pair of blankets, or a year-old calf. These are small matters in themselves, but they are of importance to those who, perhaps, have nothing else on earth with which to begin the world. The house to which Phelim and his father directed themselves was, like their own, of the-humblest description. The floor of it was about sixteen feet by twelve; its furniture rude and scanty. To the right of the fire was a bed, the four posts of which ran up to the low roof; it was curtained with straw mats, with the exception of an opening about a foot and a half wide on the side next the fire, through which those who slept in it passed. A little below the foot of the bed were ranged a few shelves of deal, supported by pins of wood driven into the wall. These constituted the dresser. In the lower end of the house stood a potato-bin, made up of stakes driven into the floor, and wrought with strong wicker-work. Tied to another stake beside this bin stood a cow, whose hinder part projected so close to the door, that those who entered the cabin were compelled to push her over out of their way. This, indeed, was effected without much difficulty, for the animal became so habituated to the necessity of moving aside, that it was only necessary to lay the hand upon her. Above the door in the inside, almost touching the roof, was the hen-roost, made also of wicker-work; and opposite the bed, on the other side of the fire, stood a meal-chest.

Its lid on a level with the little pane of glass which served as a window. An old straw chair, a few stools, a couple of pots, some wooden vessels and crockery, completed the furniture of the house. The pig to which Sheolah alluded was not kept within the cabin, that filthy custom being now less common than formerly.

This catalogue of cottage furniture may appear to our English readers very miserable. We beg them to believe, however, that if every cabin in Ireland were equally comfortable, the country would be comparatively happy. Still it is to be remembered, that the _dramatis personae_ of our story are of the humblest class.

When seven o'clock drew nigh, the inmates of this little cabin placed themselves at a clear fire; the father at one side, the mother at the other, and the daughter directly between them, knitting, for this is usually the occupation of a female on such a night. Everything in the house was clean; the floor swept; the ashes removed from the hearth; the parents in their best clothes, and the daughter also in her holiday apparel. She was a plain girl, neither remarkable for beauty, nor otherwise. Her eyes, however, were good, so were her teeth, and an anxious look, produced of course by an occasion so interesting to a female, heightened her complexion to a blush that became her. The creature had certainly made the most of her little finery. Her face shone like that of a child after a fresh scrubbing with a strong towel; her hair, carefully curled with the hot blade of a knife, had been smoothed with soap until it became lustrous by repeated polishing, and her best red ribbon was tied tightly about it in a smart knot, that stood out on the side of her head with something of a coquettish air. Old Donovan and his wife maintained a conversation upon some indifferent subject, but the daughter evidently paid little attention to what they said. It being near the hour appointed for Phelim's arrival, she sat with an appearance of watchful trepidation, occasionally listening, and starting at every sound that she thought bore any resemblance to a man's voice or footstep.

At length the approach of Phelim and his father was announced by a verse of a popular song, for singing which Phelim was famous;--

“A sailor coorted a farmer's daughter That lived contagious to the Isle of Man, A long time coortin', an' still discoorsin' Of things consarnin' the ocean wide; At linth he saize, 'My own dearest darlint, Will you consint for to be my bride?'”

“An' so she did consint, the darlin', but what the puck would she do else? God save the family! Paddy Donovan, how is your health? Molly, avourneen, I'm glad to hear that you're thrivin'. An' Peggy--eh? Ah, be gorra, fadher, here's somethin' to look at! Give us the hand of you, you bloomer! Och, och! faith you're the daisey!”

“Phelim,” said the father, “will you behave yourself? Haven't you the night before you for your capers? Paddy Donovan, I'm glad to see you! Molly, give us your right hand, for, in troth, I have a regard for you! Peggy, dear, how are you? But I'm sure, I needn't be axin when I look at you! In troth, Phelim, she is somethin' to throw your eye at.”

“Larry Toole, you're welcome,” replied Donovan and his wife, “an' so is your son. Take stools both of you, an' draw near the hearth. Here, Phelim,” said the latter, “draw in an' sit beside myself.”

“Thank you kindly, Molly,” replied Phelim; “but I'll do no sich thing.. Arrah, do you think, now, that I'd begin to gosther wid an ould woman, while I have the likes o' Peggy, the darlin', beside me? I'm up to a thrick worth nine of it. No, no; this chest 'll do. Sure you know, I must help the 'duck of diamonds' here to count her stitches.”

“Paddy,” said Larry, in a friendly whisper, “put this whiskey past for a while, barrin' this bottle that we must taste for good luck. Sam Appleton's to come up afther us an', I suppose, some o' your own cleavens 'll be here afther a while.”

“Thrue for you,” said Donovan. “Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin is to come over presently. But, Larry, this is nonsense. One bottle o' whiskey was lashins; my Goodness, what'll we be doin' wid a whole gallon?”

“Dacency or nothin', Paddy; if it was my last I'd show sperit, an' why not? Who'd be for the shabby thing?”

“Well, well, Larry, I can't say but you're right afther all! Maybe I'd do the same thing myself, for all I'm spakin' aginst it.”

The old people then passed round an introductory glass, after which they chatted away for an hour or so, somewhat like the members of a committee who talk upon indifferent topics until their brethren are all assembled.

Phelim, in the meantime, grappled with the daughter, whose knitting he spoiled by hooking the thread with his finger, jogging her elbow until he ran the needles past each other, and finally unravelling her clew; all which she bore with great good-humor. Sometimes, indeed, she ventured to give him a thwack upon the shoulder, with a laughing frown upon her countenance, in order to correct him for teasing her.

When Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin arrived, the spirits of the party got up. The whiskey was formally produced, but as yet the subject of the courtship, though perfectly understood, was not introduced. Phelim and the father were anxious to await the presence of Sam Appleton, who was considered, by the way, a first-rate hand at match-making.

Phelim, as is the wont, on finding the din of the conversation raised to the proper pitch, stole one of the bottles and prevailed on Peggy to adjourn with him to the potato-bin. Here they ensconced themselves very snugly; but not, as might be supposed, contrary to the knowledge and consent of the seniors, who winked at each other on seeing Phelim gallantly tow her down with the bottle under his arm. It was only the common usage on such occasions, and not considered any violation whatsoever of decorum. When Phelim's prior engagements are considered, it must be admitted that there was something singularly ludicrous in the humorous look he gave over his shoulder at the company, as he went toward the bin, having the bottom of the whiskey-bottle projecting behind his elbow, winking at them in return, by way of a hint to mind their own business and allow him to plead for himself. The bin, however, turned out to be rather an uneasy seat, for as the potatoes lay in a slanting heap against the wall, Phelim and his sweetheart were perpetually sliding down from the top to the bottom. Phelim could be industrious when it suited his pleasure. In a few minutes those who sat about the fire imagined, from the noise at the bin, that the house was about to come about their ears.

“Phelim, you thief,” said the father, “what's all that noise for?”