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