The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes. John Brougham
murther alive, Mollshee, you don't tell me that it's the lump she uses?"
"Not a word of a lie in it, nigh hand an ounce of tay in the taypot, too," replied Mary, with a what-do-you-think-of-that expression.
"Faix, I mind the time," said Barney, "when she thought the smell of that same wonst a week was a nosegay.
"Thrue for you, indade, an' not long ago, aither."
Here a sudden thought occurred to the gossipping Hebe.
"Murther alive!" said she, with a start that made the cups rattle; "if I ain't forgettin' ould Bluebeard's breakfast; there'll be wigs on the green, if the could's come at the eggs, for he's mighty perticular entirely."
So saying, she knocked a timid knock at the door of the dreaded Squire's room; a fierce "Come in," followed by the inevitable cough, hurried her into the apartment, from whence she emerged again very shortly, and, with stealthy step and a look more eloquent than words, indicated the state of Bulworthy's temperament.
Just then, there was a quiet little ring at the hall bell. "Run, you divil, run," says Barney. "It kills him intirely to hear that bell goin'; who is it? if you let 'em ring twice, he'll massacree me; oh! it's you, is it?" he continued, as a neat, clean, tidy woman entered the room, holding in her hand a capacious pair of top boots.
It was Mrs. Peggy Duff, the comfortable little wife of Dan Duff, the cobbler. "Save all here," said she, as she came in.
"Amen to that same, includin' yer own purty self, Mrs. Duff," replied Barney, with a touch of comic gallantry.
"Sure, an it's the hoighth of polite you are, Mr. Palthogue," replied Peggy.
"I wish you wouldn't hurt your purty little mouth by thryin' to squeeze such a big name out of it," said Barney, giving her a knowing squint. "Sure, Barney used to be enough to fill it wonst."
"Ah! but the times is althered now, Mr. Barney," she rejoined; "ould Pether Bulworthy – the saints be good to us, I mean the Squire's mounted sky-high, like a kite, an ov coorse you've gone up with him like the tail."
"But it ain't my nater to forget ould friends for all that, Peg machree."
"Sure, an I'm glad to hear that, anyway, for it's mighty few heads that doesn't get dizzy whin they're hoisted up upon a hill of fortune, especially on a suddent like."
Their further conversation was unceremoniously cut short by a roar from Bulworthy's room; now, the Squire's style of using the English language was highly original and somewhat peculiar; with him, the greater the number of syllables, and the more imposing the sound of the sentences, the better were they qualified to make a proper impression upon the ignobile vulgus, amongst whom it was his ambition to pass for a "Sir Oracle;" but let him speak for himself. You must imagine each word to be accompanied by that ear-wounding, wheezing cough.
"What horribly atrocious and propinquitous oration is that goin' on out there, eh!"
Barney trembled to the heels of his brogues. "Talk to him, Peg," said he, in an agitated whisper, "while I make meself scarce; don't be afeared," he added, as he stole quietly off. "A woman's voice softens him down like a sun-ray on a snowball."
"Hallo there," shouted the Squire. "Am I obligated to keep continuitously requestin' an elucidation of that rumbunctiousness outside; who's there?"
"If ye plaze sir, it's only me," replied Peggy, "wid ye honor's honorable 'tops' that wanted heel-piecin'."
"Oh! Ah!" wheezed Bulworthy. "Wait, my good woman; I'll finish dressin' with all convaynient circumlocution, and come to you."
"Good woman, indeed," thought Peggy, with a toss of her head and a chirp. "Sure an' there's oil on his tongue sense he's turned Squire," and then, with something akin to envy, she began to scan the various articles of home-ornament scattered about the, to her, magnificent parlor, soliloquizing at the same time. "Look at the chairs, stuffed seats, as I'm a sinner, wid hair, too, I'll be bound. Mahogany tables, if you plaze, all covered over wid useless curiosities an' books that nobody sees the inside ov; did anybody ever see the likes; what's this?" as her eye caught sight of a handsome cologne-bottle. "Madame must have her scints an her sweet wathers, to wash away the smell of the shop, may-be; I remimber the time when they kep' a little bit of a huxtherin' place, and all the parfume they could musther proceeded from the soap and candles, and, may-be, a red herrin' or two to give the rest a flavior."
At this moment the Squire lumbered into the room in all the majesty of a brilliant calico dressing-gown; seating himself grandly in a large arm-chair, and patronizingly waving his hand towards Peggy, in a bland and condescending tone of voice, he moderated his impatience down to the true keep-your-distance point.
"Well, ma'm," said he, "so you've brought the tops at last, after me waitin' for them a tremenjus course of time; tell that waxy conglomeration of cobblin' connubiality, Mr. Duff, your husband, that, in consequence of his haynious neglect, I have been obligated to annihilate my usual run wid the Ballinasquash hounds. What's the remuneration?"
"If you mane the pay, sir," replied Peg, with a reverence, "it's on'y a shillin'."
"I have no small pecuniation in the way of silver," said Bulworthy, plunging his great fist into his enormous pocket, and rattling several gold pieces about in a most tantalizing manner, a general practice with purse-proud ignorance, adding, with characteristic meanness, "can you change me a sovreign?"
Poor Peggy's face flushed up to the roots of her hair; he knew she couldn't, and she knew he knew so.
"Indeed, sir," said she, "It wouldn't be convaynent just now;" and it was with difficulty she restrained herself from hinting that it was only recently that he himself had the power to put the insolent question.
"Well, then, ma'm," said he, pompously; "all I can say is, that you must pedestrianize in this vicinity on some anterior opportunity; for the present, you can perambulate – to make myself understandable to your limited capacities – walk!"
"Yes sir, thank you, sir," replied Peggy, humbly courtesying to the domestic sultan, and only wondering how he could keep any teeth in his head, using such hard words.
"Good mornin' to you, Squire," she said, as she retired, "Here's wishin' you safe through the dictionary."
"What does the oleaginous faymale mane; oh! these abominaceous phlebians laugh at me, in spite of all I can do to impress them with the importance of my station; with all the pride of my brick building, I can't altogether root out the recollection of the little grocery; and, indeed, if it comes to that," he continued, with a real sigh, "I used to be a great deal happier when I was scrapin' up money, by weighin' out hay-porths of sustainance to the surroundin' population than I am now, and the advantitious title of Squire tacked on to my cognomination."
His nerves gave a sudden thrill as a shrewish voice from an adjacent room, squealed out, "Are you there, Pether?"
"Yes, my love," he replied, quickly, while, in an undertone, he murmured to himself, "ah! 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