The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes. John Brougham

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СКАЧАТЬ there's a melancholy laceration to my gentility, my cary spowsy, I can't instill aristocratical idayas into her deleterious temperature, anyway."

      Now, Mrs. Peter Bulworthy deserves a distinctive paragraph, and she shall have it.

      Although morally she was Peter's much better half, yet bodily she could aspire to no such appellation. In regard of personal weight, they bore about the same relative affinity as a fine, fat, substantial round of beef would to the carving-fork beside it. The physical difference, however, she amply made up for, by keeping her prongs ever actively employed pricking the unfortunate Peter at every assailable point. Peter was pinguid, plump, and plethoric – she was thin to attenuation. Peter's voice, though husky, was rich and oily – hers was like the attrition of ungreased cart-wheels. Peter affected dignity and social status – she gloried in her unmitigated vulgarity; he, poor man, had long ago given up every idea of resisting her domestic tyranny. "Anything for a quiet life," was his motto, and, with something akin to proper retribution, the indignities and annoyances, which he, in the plenitude of his pocket-power, inflicted upon his poorer neighbors, was repaid tenfold on his devoted head, when he came within the circle of Mrs. Bulworthy's operations.

      "I wonder how her temper is this morning," thought Peter, as he cast a furtive glance towards her eyes as she sailed into the room, dressed in – I wish I could describe that walking-dress; all I can say, is, that it looked as if she had laid a wager that she could display in her attire every color in existence, and, won it.

      "Well, Pether dear, and how is my ould man to-day?" said she. The Squire released an imprisoned sigh, in gratitude for this manifestation of so unusual a mildness of temper; emboldened thereby to remonstrance, he also ventured to remark:

      "I wish, my love, you wouldn't address me by the antiquitous appellation of 'ould man.' It was all very well when we kept a bit of a shop" —

      "Oh, now, Pether, you're comin' over me wid your larning," she replied, with a dash of vinegar. "You know that I never cared a thranieen for the likes, nor never wants to make myself out anything but what I am. Not all as one, as some folks I know, that's never happy except they're spittin' out mouthfuls of words big an' hard enough to crack filberts wid. You see I can talliate if I like, Mr. Pether."

      "Re-taliate, obscurest of feminines."

      "Well, it's all the same, bless my soul, if one only understands what's meant, what does it si'nafy what's said?"

      "'Si'nafy,' madame," replied Bulworthy, settling himself into a magisterial position, "do you think that us octo-grammarians take no pride in the purity of our entomology, skintax, and progeny. Go an' busy yourself about the futilities of domestic exuberance and leave polite literature to the intellectual sect."

      "Meanin' you, I suppose, you concated omathaun," said the lady, with a shrug of her pointed shoulders, adding, in a more decided tone, whose effect was instantaneously visible on the countenance, and in the courage of her spouse, "Come, we've had enough of this; put on your boots, an' take me out for a walk."

      Just snugly ensconced in his favorite arm-chair, his slippered feet on the cozy fender, and the county paper on his knee as yet unfolded, Peter would have given a great deal to be left in his undisturbed quiet, but one glance at those determined eyes convinced him of the futility of resistance. With a profound groan, he laid down the coveted newspaper, took up his boots, and, without attempting a remonstrance, walked into his bed-room, saying:

      "Certainly, dear. I shall prepare my perambulating habiliments directly."

      "Pooh, I wish these long words would stick in your throat and choke you some day," screamed his amiable helpmate; but, when he was out of earshot, her face relaxed into a more gentle expression. "Poor Pether," said she, "he wants to stick himself up for a gentleman; now that we've got away from the grocer's shop, he can't bear to hear the sound of the place mentioned, which, as in duty bound I do, twenty times a day; if I didn't keep him in wholesome subjection, he'd get the upper hand of me, as he does with all the rest. Now Pether," she cried, elevating her shrillness into a whistle, "am I goin' to be kept danglin' here all the blessed mornin'?"

      "I'm coming, I'm coming, impatient individuality," said Peter, from his room, where, to do him credit, he was hurrying through the unwelcome process with considerable alacrity; "arrah, how do you suppose a gentleman can beatify his external appearance in such a momentous space of time? but, here I am, at your service, ma'am," he continued, as, in all the dignity of snowy shirt-frill, bright blue body-coat, and big brass buttons, white cord breeches, and shiny top-boots, his great bunch of watch-seals bobbing about like the pendulum of a clock, a black thorn stick under his arm, and a wonderfully-furry white hat covering his moon-looking face, he fancied himself the very impersonation of moneyed importance.

      "And maybe you'll tell me, ma'am," said he, as he pulled on a pair of big buckskin gloves, "what you want to be gallivantin' about the streets for at this transitory moment?"

      "I choose it," replied the obedient wife. "It's for the benefit of my health, so howld your gab."

      "Ah! what unnatural vulgarity."

      "If you don't let me be, I'll talk about the shop in the street, loud, so that everybody can hear me."

      "I wish to my gracious I had never left it," said he, with a sigh so heavy that it must have carried truth with it.

      "Give me your arm, do, and make haste," cried Mrs. Pether, giving a precautionary shake to her numerous, but insufficient flounces. "I'm dyin' to dazzle ould Mrs. Magillicuddy with this bran new shawl."

      "Yes," replied Pether, with a glance of resigned conviction, "that's what I thought the benefit to your health would amount to."

      So the Squire and his lady – no, I mean Mrs. Peter Bulworthy and her husband – sallied forth, to astonish a few of their neighbors, and amuse a great many more; both Barney, the anomalous man-servant, and Mary, the "maid," pulling up their respective corners of the window-blind to see them, and watch the effect they produced.

      "There they go," grunted Barney, with a contemptuous toss of his already scornfully-elevated nose, "the laughin'-stocks of the whole town; dressin' me up this way," – and he gave his nether extremities a glance of derision – "like an overgrown parrot – me, that niver had anything on me back, but an ould canvas apron, an' a dirty face, now I can't stir out o' the house, that I'm not fairly ashamed o' meself; there isn't a gossoon in the barony that doesn't know me as well as av I was the town pump, an' I can't show meself in the place, that they don't hunt me about as av I was a wild nagur. Look at them stockin's, Mary, acush, there's flimsy, skimpin things, for a cowld Christian to wear on his gams; I'll be ketchin' me death wid them, I know I will. Mary, I'll be on me oath av I don't think them legs'll carry me off yit."

      CHAPTER II

      A true home-angel, in this world of strife,

      Is, man's best friend, a faithful, loving wife.

      Now turn we, courteous reader, to the contemplation of a totally different scene.

      Not far from the imposing, bright, red brick edifice of Squire Bulworthy – indeed, you can see it on the other side of the street, with its flaring green door and great brazen knocker, its crimson parlor curtains and every-color-in-the-world window-shades – stands the miserable looking tenement inhabited by our cobbling friend, Dan Duff. The walls are fashioned out of that natural, but by no means elegant, or expensive compound, known generally as "mud." The roof is thatched with straw, but so old and weather-worn that the rain soaks through it as though it were sponge; while the accidental vegetable productions which attach themselves to such decaying matter, vainly struggled to give it a semblance of life and verdure. A dilapidated half door, СКАЧАТЬ