Part 7

Now they're all introduced but a queer little man, With broad nose, bushy hair, and complexion like tan; Who a foreigner seems, quite a fresh importation, An exotic transplanted from some foreign nation.

"But what has delayed them?" Uncle Jonas exclaimed; "Some harm has waylaid them; Or they're to be blamed. For I hoped ere this time to have given away This good dame, who I fear on my hands still must stay. I bestowed her before, but just like a bad penny She returns to my pocket, though welcome as any. For of her and the children it must be allowed I with justice have reason to be truly proud." "We had better begin, Food thus spoilt becomes sin," Exclaimed Flanagan John, with a ravenous grin; "For, believe when I say, Scarce a toothful to-day I have eat, that I honour to all things might pay. I now too feel quite sinking, While I cannot help thinking They've mistook the day." He continued by winking; When his speech was cut short by a loud joyful shout From young Patrick O'Neal, who had kept the look-out. "Here is Murphy a-coming! Hurrah! hurrah! Our mother's young husband! Our handsome new Pa!"

"Oh, I'm covered with blushes, one heap of confusion; Sure to pop in so late appears quite an intrusion. But I thought of a proverb which Truth conveys over, Which says, 'Coming, though late, is still better than never.' But you all will forgive, my excuse when you've heard-- Yet just now on that subject I'll speak not a word; I've delayed you too long--for the present at least. When you're fed, I'll tell all. But, pray, where is the priest? I can't see his dear face. What! forgotten to call? Oh then, sure, by good luck, I'm not last after all."

"Oh," said Jonas, "like you He some excuse too Most likely will give us for coming so late. But as hunger grows stronger, We will tarry no longer, For hunger will not for a priest even wait." "Stay, for him I'll atone, 'Tis no fault of his own," Said Murphy; I'm certain he'd choose (From the little I know), Through great dangers to go, Than such a superb banquet lose."

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_CHAPTER THE SIXTH._

Who has never beheld when an old lady slips On the pavement of wood, which her toe upward trips, A dense crowd bustle round, quick as bees to a hive, While in vain she, though fainting, for fresh air may strive? Or when, at the close of a hot summer's day, As the sun tints the lake with his bright crimson ray, Who has never remarked how the fishes will rise If you throw in some bread, while to seize on the prize They will upset each other, and splutter about, Till their heads and their tails from the river peep out?

So exactly it was at the time I am speaking, Ev'ry one for himself is the best place out seeking, Taking care a nice dish shall stand nearly before him, With some fair one by side he would fain have adore him.

Now a passage to quote from an elegant Poet, Whose name I can't tell, for I really don't know it; It is not from Byron, or Chaucer, or Pope, Or Milton, or Cowper, and I therefore must hope You won't search through their writings to find it-- Let me see, is it Shakespeare's? no, 'tis n't his either; Nor More's, Prior's, Dryden's--of theirs it is neither. Where can I have read it? I cannot remember, I might waste all my time from Spring to December, In trying to think--so don't mind it.

But I've heard that you ought, When you borrow a thought, Just to mention the place whence you brought it. Still, although this seems right, 'Tis not possible quite, To kill even a flea till you've caught it.

The quotation I'd note Was a fable one wrote, As a means to convey information. Like a sandwich, between May a moral be seen, Wrapped up in a pleasant narration.

Once the Lion invited to hunt and to dine, And to taste a few skins of his favourite wine, All his friends of the forest--who said they'd be there, In the sports of the chase and the victuals to share; Then the cunning fox scampered the country around, Just to stop up the holes, and survey well the ground; While the wolves have agreed to act dogs for the day, And the jackall has orders to search out for prey. There's his highness, Lord Camel, and Sir Grisly Bear, With his tall Polish friend, who continues to wear That long warm furry mantle, which looks just like snow, And descends in short flakes till it wraps round each toe. Majors Leopard and Tiger, just fresh from Bombay, Of the proud native corps, have, undoubted, the sway, Who would rather prefer to lie dead on the field Than retreat from the foe, or the slightest point yield. Count Panther and young Lord Hyena together Are chatting, and making remarks on the weather; The Count thinks it will rain, though at present 'tis clear; While Lord Hyena laughs at the very idea. The Grand Sultan Elephant cannot go out To the hunt, as he has an attack of the gout; But says of objections he has not the least To come in at the death, and make one at the feast. Now before they set out, just by way of a lunch, Of bread and of buffalo each takes a hunch; With strong bottled stout of Dame Lion's own brewing, From wild roots extracted, by boiling or stewing.

"To the chase!" cried the king; "to the chase! to the chase! Time is running along at a steam-engine pace; Some hours will be left still for eating and drinking, At the close of the day, when old Sol is a-sinking." "Swift away, then, away! to the forest away!" Exclaims each noble guest; "let us banish delay." Mr. Jackall just then of some prey caught the scent, And the wolves, too, appeared on some sport all intent; So away they dash over the tall mountain's brow; Tally-ho! tally-ho! they are in the chase now; With roaring and yelling the woods are resounding, O'er hedges and ditches like wild steeds they're bounding, Through forests, through brushwood, through brambles, and brier, No danger can daunt, no fatigue can them tire; Till a beautiful deer lies defunct on the ground, While the wolves are lip-smacking and howling around. The next moment young Reynard aroused from its lair, From just under their noses, a splendid large hare; Who scampers away over two or more fields, When his life to the fangs of his deadly foe yields. Tally-ho! tally-ho! two fine bucks are now seen, One has taken the water, the other the green. In pursuit they divide--in a dish such a pair Would for even a monarch be delicate fare. Through the stream, o'er the glade, up the hill's rugged side, Down the vale, o'er the plain, like Niagara's tide, On, resistless, they roll; till their furious speed Has o'ertaken their victims; and now they must bleed. Like the torrent they fell, and quite spent on the ground, Overthrown and downcast they expired with a bound.

Hunting thus they continued, till good old dame Eve Tucked her sun up in bed, as a hint they should leave. She's expecting a neighbour to call--Mistress Night; So to make sure he's safe she has put out his light.

Then they give o'er the chase, and search out for the track Which shall lead to the cave, while each wolf on his back Swings a buck, or a fawn, or a bundle of hares, And like light'ning back home to dame Lion repairs; Who dissects the rich dainties, and spreads out the board, And most anxiously waits the return of her lord.

Mr. Reynard had two or three visits to pay, So he made an excuse from the party to stray. Truly generous friends, those of his may be thought, Did we judge from the geese, fowls, and ducks that he brought. Still he feels much annoyed that he so long has tarried, And lays all the fault on the birds that he carried.

They are seated at last; and like smoke disappear The rich haunches of venison, and all the good cheer. Yea, as swift as a lion runs after his prey, The legs of the roebuck are cutting away Down the throat of the monarch; in spite of his teeth, They rush rapidly on just his large eyes beneath.

Then dame Lion brought forward some wine like champagne, And--believe me--that no one was asked twice in vain: Like a torrent it flowed through their mouths, while their eyes Round are rolling with rapture, delight, and surprise. "How delicious! enchanting! what capital stuff! It has only one fault--that you can't drink enough At a draught, for the fumes seem to fizz up one's nose, And dispute with your breath for the passage like foes." Thus spake the Count Panther; but, too busy to speak, The rest nodded assent, and their glass again seek. They ne'er had fall'n in with that liquor before, And Fate had determined they never should more. For drinking they sat, till so drunk, they're not able To keep on their seats--so rolled under the table; Where some Indians out early next morning them found, Who with clubs dashed their brains out to manure the ground. And, thus, ever since (to these animals' shame) They made beasts of themselves,--Beast has been their name.

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_CHAPTER THE SEVENTH._

As 'tis likely all this You will skip o'er and miss, As remote from the subject before ye; I a few facts will lay Now before you, which may Form excuse for this turn of the story. First, I think it is rude to remark what folks eat, So I mended my pen while they cut up the meat; And this tale copied out, which I thought might apply To events that were passing close under my eye. But my strain I'll resume when they come to dessert, And will note down their jokes, which no feelings can hurt. For who'd like a reporter on paper with ink To note all that you eat, and write down what you drink? Of the number of slices it takes you to fill? Just as if he of parcels was making a bill! No, although--like all authors--I know each one's taste; What they thought, too; yea, dream't! still I will not now waste Your time or your patience by piece-meal retailing Who in this capacity showed greatest of feeling. Suffice it to say, like the beasts in the fable, They tucked in the victuals as long as they're able; Then applied to the bottle to fill up the chinks, While each mouth to the bridegroom and would-be bride drinks. "And now, pray, Mr. Murphy, we'll have your excuse; No excuse to get off, sir, you'll find of much use," Uncle Jonas exclaimed, as he shook his old head, Just to make it appear he knew more than he said. "Here's my niece has but eaten the third of a dinner,-- Oh, this love it will make e'en the fattest one thinner! She seems vexed with us all, p'rhaps with you not the least, Though I rather believe it is most with the priest."

"Well," said Murphy, "I meant through the forest to run To look out for old Peter, when dinner was done. But before I set out I will frankly declare What detained me so late, though 'tis quite an affair Of a delicate nature----wait--p'rhaps it's best not To go talking about it--'tis better forgot-- She may think it unmanly, unjust, or unkind If I spread it abroad, so you please must not mind These few words I've just said; I'll be back here ere long, And will favour you then with a comical song." "Oh, oh!" said the farmer, and glanced a sly wink; "There's some gal in the gale then, you'd have us to think. We shall soon have a breeze, and a tempest will blow, If what's up in the wind you don't presently show. Pray be seated, there is no such great haste for the priest, Till we're satisfied all on this subject at least. What! oh, dear me! quick--water, she's fainting away!" He cried out, as the dame 'gainst his arm her head lay. While he knew, by the bye, just as much what to do, As a pig does of making an Irish stew. "No, no, brandy is better!" O'Flanagan said; "Raise her head!" whispered Clare. "Lay her down here!" said Ted. "Here's my salts," said Miss Riley, who twice had searched o'er Both her pockets, then strewed the contents on the floor. "Or some vinegar, p'rhaps, if applied to her brow Might her senses revive, which seem slumbering now," Exclaimed Mrs. Maguire; "poor, dear thing! she, indeed, Must have ate or drank something which has disagreed." "Warm her feet," said Miss Delhay; "and loosen her dress; If took out in the air she'd be better, I guess." Said her aunt, Mrs. Jonas, "Come, Murphy, lead her; And, Patrick, you run for a doctor to bleed her." "Oh, the wretch that I am! what a baste of a feller Thus to tease her to death, when I might as well tell her. It's no fault of my own if the girls will admire. Sure I cannot look ugly because I desire? Oh, pray come to, my dearest! my angel, revive! Do but squeeze out a smile, just to show you're alive. If you're not quite well soon, and my folly forgive, I shall ne'er more be happy as long as I live." Then she opened her eyes, cast them down to the ground, Rolled them slowly about, and in tones most profound Said, "There's not much the matter, I only was grieving For fear that dear Murphy had been a-deceiving. But I'm much better now, and quite able to hear What he wished to explain when I first was took queer." Oh, the wiles of the fair sex! What tricks they will try To beguile us poor men! With a tear in their eye They can crush Opposition without e'er a word, Though he wear a long tongue, and is armed with a sword. Yea, kingdoms have crumbled, washed away by a tear-- A deep sigh sent an army to a premature bier. Twice a kiss has released condemned captives from death; While a frown often robs from a hero his breath. Many heads once were broke when Meg Dogharty cried, And fair Chloe won lovers whenever she sighed. And pray who has not felt the sweet force of a smile Your heart from you stealing, though on guard all the while, All your senses o'er-turning, and making your brain Like a teetotum spun by Miss Pleasure and Pain? But the brute of a man who can firmly persist 'Gainst the feminine tear and a sigh to resist, Leaves the fair one no weapons to urge her complaint But to go in hysterics, or have a good faint.

But stop, pray where am I? I've been straying again! That I'm quite off my beat appears perfectly plain. Like the dog I take with me when walking about, Who will run down each turning, first in and then out. Thus, when but three miles past 'neath these two feet of mine, I am certain his four feet have traversed o'er nine; So this quill of wild goose, if the straight path it went, Might save more of your patience than thirty per cent.

"Well," said Murphy, "you know," (and his fair bride he placed In a chair, while he bustled his arm round her waist; But perceiving a sore throat blow in at the door, He just twisted his arm round her neck like a boa.) "Well," he said; "you know"--but he could not get farther. Oh, truly, the subject seems delicate rather. "Stop, 'tis really too bad thus your time to be wasting, When I'm sure the sweet whisky you'd be after tasting. 'Tis a beautiful spirit, will cure melancholy; And can make even grief to look pleasant and jolly." Then continued he thus, in a still lower tone, "Dearest! Much-better-half, 'tis no fault of my own, But I'd rather explain to yourself quite alone." "No, no, no!" cried each voice; "we will have it, sir, now." And they clapped, stamped, and made such a terrible row, That poor Murphy soon saw he no rest there should find Till confessed, so thus spoke forth in accents resigned. "Well my friends, you must know, About eight years ago I first went as a lad to old Donolly's farm; Where I've been ever since, And, the truth not to mince, Am thought well-behaved, clever, and quite free from harm. Now of girls he has two, Pretty fair ones to view, With such figures I'm sure can surpassed be by none. But they both of them thought (Which their eyes soon me taught), That I'd make for their father an excellent son. Now what could a man do? He can't marry wives two, And in truth I myself wanted neither. So I hunted about, And a lover found out, Whom I gave a broad hint might have either. But the other poor girl would each offer refuse, Till the young man decided 'twas worse than no use To solicit her hand, and considered it mine, Though I two or three times did the honour decline; Then her father had made up his mind I should do, While poor Joan on that point seemed quite satisfied too; Though I never the slightest encouragement gave, But was only polite--as I always behave. I can but remember one time that I kissed her, And then sure the pleasure was shared by her sister. Just of late, since I fixed on this dame for my bride, I have fled from her presence, and ever have tried To show plain as might be--though I could not be rude-- That her love was misplaced, and would prove of no good. Now I lived in the house, and you'll therefore suppose That she saw I was fed, and looked after my clothes; Sewing on truant buttons, and giving a darn To the rents--for that stitching I never could learn. Now it happened to-day, That I happened to say That p'rhaps it might happen I should be away; For some old friends of mine Had just asked me to dine To give my opinion on some foreign wine. To m' Sarah, m' deary, of course I alluded, And though speaking a figure of speech only true did. But the maiden appeared As if something she feared; And, somehow--I cannot tell why, I felt quite nervous too, And tried all I could do To shun the sad turn of her eye. Now I told you she took of my raiment the care, So I mentioned I wanted my best clothes to wear. When--can you believe it?--she would not give them out She declared, till I told her what I was about. There was something not right she could readily see, And she ne'er did expect such behaviour from me. One she much had respected and highly esteemed, Till my manner of late, which quite bearish she deemed Well, I tried all I knew (While I thought, love, of you), To escape from her questions by no means a few. But I found each plan vain, Till at length I spoke plain,-- 'Then know, I am going a fair bride to obtain.' 'O the monster! the wretch!' she exclaimed with such fury, That I'm sure any justice and impartial jury, Had she killed me, would say 'twas manslaughter. As it was, from the fear she some rash act might do, To my heels out of sight like an arrow I flew, Truly grieved I was thus forced to thwart her. Still returning, I lingered some moments about, To catch hold of some maid, if perchance one came out, Who would fetch me my clothes, for I wished to appear To the greatest advantage, when coming up here; But just as I had made up my mind to depart, She stepp'd forth, and I scarcely had time back to start, Ere she drew near the spot where I stood; And, overwhelmed by despair, on the bank's mossy side She flung herself down, and most piteously cried. 'Oh, poor dear! 'twill,' I thought, 'do her good.' She had buried her face in her hands from my view, Yet I saw a tear trickle her long fingers through,-- How I wished I her grief could assuage! But I feared all the means I the pow'r had to try, Which her sorrows could soothe, or her bitter tears dry, Might p'rhaps also rekindle her rage: So I kept snug concealed there as still as a mouse, Till she sobbed out the very last tear; Then just waited to see her safe into the house, And made double-quick haste to get here. So, my friends, you perceive that no blame I can own, I felt sure the excuse for the fault would atone; With your leave I will go now and fetch Mr. Peter, Cruel Fate has perplexed me, but still I'll defeat her."

"Stop," said Flanagan John, "little Patrick will go,-- Every turn in the wood he from instinct must know; And besides, I've been waiting I don't know how long, For the treat you just promised--a comical song."

"Well," said Murphy, "I fear I'm not equal at present, And a molar he eased with the quill of a pheasant; "Not quite wound up, I mean, for a comical strain, Though not long in key doleful I mean to remain. But if Pat, my young namesake, my son that's to be, Will just trouble himself after Peter to see, And Maguire will oblige with the part instrumental, I will try what I can in a song sentimental." "With the greatest of pleasure," said Patrick, "I'm sure," As he bolted without hat or cap through the door; Though he tarried outside till the singing was done, And then swift as the deer on his errand he run. But quick, look, he returns,--he is after some spree; I can tell by his eyes, they are sparkling with glee: See, he enters the house by a window behind,-- He will play them some trick, we shall presently find. Per-ling, pling--twang, twang, twang, went the fiddle strings soon, As Maguire screwed them up to the requisite tune; Though he scarce knows the song, he with grief must declare; So that Murphy politely first whistles the air; And then, after a prelude of Maguire's composing, To the following words his melodious voice flows in:

"As rambling forth one morning, Whilst the birds were sweetly singing, I chanced to meet fair Kitty, Who her milk-pails home was bringing; She pretended not to see me, And was hastening away, When I hurried quickly after her, And said, "Sweet maiden, stay-- For I love you fondly, dearly, Most tenderly, sincerely! And than a king more happy you can make me if you choose!" But the maid seemed scarce to hear me; Oh! she loves me not, I feared me; For she only shook her little head and said it was no use. "Oh thou fairest, brightest, flower, That e'er bloomed in beauty's bower! Than the nightingale's sweet melody I much prefer your voice; Then, dear maid, be not thus cruel, I can bear neglect from you, ill. As I've banished all your rivals to allow you the first choice." "Oh, you men do so deceive, sir, That your vows I'll not believe, sir, For you tell each girl she's pretty, that you roaming chance to meet; Then, besides, some other fellow P'rhaps may love me quite as well oh, Who has vowed to be my slave through life, and thrown him at my feet." "I will challenge ev'ry other, Who presumes to be your lover, Though I kill a man each morning, not a minikin care I; Sure, I'll perforate the river, Though the thought it makes me shiver, For without you as I cannot live, 'tis pleasant so to die. For my heart I know you'll break it, Though my love you ne'er can shake it, 'Tis more deeply rooted than yon oak that rears its head on high; Though the stem of hope is shivered, And each branch of pleasure withered, Yet it clings unto the earth still firm,--so, to my love, will I." "Will you promise ne'er to tease me, And do all you can to please me, If I take you for the better, though I know 'twill be for worse? Are you sure you love me truly? Well, I cannot think that you lie, But remember 'tis yourself I wed, and not your gilded purse."

"Bravo! bravo! capital song, Very good length, and nothing too long; Lots of fine feeling and plenty of sense, Comical rather, and of int'rest immense."