Every mortal has his grief:Each one thinks that his is chief.Better keep your present lot,Than to tempt—you don't know what.
Every mortal has his grief:Each one thinks that his is chief.Better keep your present lot,Than to tempt—you don't know what.
Every mortal has his grief:
Each one thinks that his is chief.
Better keep your present lot,
Than to tempt—you don't know what.
Irresolution made him falter on the threshold through which the spirit of evil thoughts had just passed; it was but for an instant, however, for the same tiny voices sang within his heart the blessings and the joys of wealth, and, above all, the image of his darling child, made happy in its possession.
"Here goes," said he. "The divil a pin's point does it matther what comes of me, so that luck lays a howld of the little gossoon." So saying, he followed the dark spirit, while the other bowed its lovely head upon its breast, and shedding tears of anguish for the tempted one, whose weakness she had not the power to strengthen, slowly and pensively came after, resolved not to abandon her charge while there was yet a hope to save.
Our selfish pleasures multiply amain,But then their countless progeny is pain.
Our selfish pleasures multiply amain,But then their countless progeny is pain.
Our selfish pleasures multiply amain,
But then their countless progeny is pain.
We left the great Squire Bulworthy, preparing to astonish the neighborhood, which he assuredly succeeded in doing, but not in a style at all creditable or satisfactory to himself.
It would appear, indeed, as though the hearty, but uncharitable wish of the irritated cobbler, was curiously prophetic, for, before the purse-proud couple had achieved the half of their accustomed promenade, Mr. Bulworthy's extremities were suddenly and unceremoniously fastened upon by an unusually severe gripe of that enemy to active exercise—the gout. So sharp was the pain, that the Squire roared out right lustily, and executed such a variety of absurd contortions that he became an object of intense amusement, rather than sympathy, to the vagabond portion of the neighborhood.
There being no such extemporaneous means of transit as hacks, or "hansoms," attainable, there was nothing for it but to suffer; so, leaning heavily upon a couple of stray Samaritans, whose commiseration was warmly stimulated by the promised shilling, he managed, by slow and agonizing efforts, to shuffle home, attended by his silent and unsympathizing spouse.
After having undergone the excruciating process of unbooting—an operation whose exquisite sensations are known only to the initiated—he screamed for his universal panacea, whisky-punch. The materials were brought in an incredibly short space of time, for Bulworthy was murderous in his gouty spells. Half a dozen stiff tumblers were disposed of with Hibernian celerity, and the hurried household began to congratulate itself upon a prospect of quiet. Vain hope! "dingle, dingle, ding!" went the big bell at the Squire's elbow. Up started, simultaneously, Barney and Mary from the dish of comfort they were laying themselves out to indulge in down stairs—in their eagerness, tumbling into each other's arms. Barney rushed up the stairway, while Mary listened—as Marys always do, when there's anything interesting going on—receiving, however, in this instance, ample reward for such a breach of good manners, being nearly prostrated by a book flung at Barney's head, to hasten his exit, by the suffering Squire. What the missile had only half done, Barney finished; for, taking the kitchen-stairs at a slide, he came plump against the partially-stunned listener, and down they both rolled comfortably to the bottom. However, as there were no bones broken, the only damage being what Mary called, "a dent in her head," they soon picked themselves up again.
"Well," says Mary, "how is he now?"
"Oh, murdher alive, don't ax me," replied Barney, rubbing his bruises, "it's my belief that there never was sich a cantankerous ould chicken sence the world was hatched. It's a composin' draft that he's schreechin' for now, as av a gallion of punch, strong enough to slide on, wasn't composin'."
In due time, he had his "composin' draft," which, as it contained a pretty considerable dose of laudanum, sufficed, together with his other potations, to lull the pain somewhat, and give him comparative quiet; this was a famous opportunity for Mrs. Bulworthy, who immediately proceeded to "improve" it.
"Now, Pether, dear," said she, with an attempt to modulate her saw-cutting voice into something approaching to tenderness, which was a failure. "Oh! think upon the situation of your soul, and look over one of these comforting works."
Peter groaned inwardly, but said nothing.
"Grace," she went on, "is never denied, even to the most hardenedest sinner."
Peter threw his head back and closed his eyes, in the forlorn hope that she would respect his simulated slumber; but she was not a woman to respect anything, when her "vocation" was strong on her.
"It's criminal in you, Peter," she shouted, "to neglect your spiritual state; suppose you were to die, and it's my belief you will, for you're looking dreadful, what a misery it would be to me; I'd never forgive myself; oh! Pether, Pether, do read this true and beautiful description of the place of torment you're a blindly plunging your sowl into."
This was too much for the already tortured sinner. "Get out!" he roared. "Don't bother; there's a time for all things, you indiscreet and unnatural apostle of discomfortableness, what do you worry me for now, when you see me enjoyin' such a multiplication of bodily sufferings?"
"Because," said she, coolly; "it's the only time that I can hope to make an impression upon your hardened heart; it's my duty, not only as your wife, but as a member of the society for the evangelizing the home heathen; of which heathen, my dear, I have the word of my pious associates, you are an outrageous example; therefore, it is my mission to do all I can to bring about your regeneration."
"Murdher, murdher! if I could only use my feet," groaned Bulworthy, with the suppressed anger boiling in his face.
"Ah? but you can't," replied the home comfort, as she quietly removed everything portable from within the reach of the sufferer's arm, and settling herself in rigid implacability, prepared to do battle with the evil one.
"Since you won't use your bodily senses for your soul's advantage," said she, solemnly, "I will, myself, peruse these pages of admonition."
Now, there cannot be a doubt but that the work Mrs. Bulworthy prepared to read, was an excellent one, written by an excellent person, and distributed for a most excellent purpose; but, to say the least, it was very injudicious in the absorbingly-pious lady to exhibit so much concern for the immortal part of poor Bulworthy, altogether overlooking the mortal anguish he was at the present moment enduring.
At all events,hethought so, for, what with the pain and the rage, he commenced a series of bellowings, in the expectation that his other tormentor would be recalled to the necessity of directing her mind from the future, to the suffering before her; but, no, not a bit of it; the louder he roared, the shriller she read, being a contest, as she imagined, between the fierce obstinacy of the demon within him, and the efficacy of her ministration; on she went, inflexibly, in the prolonged cadence of the conventicle, never ceasing or averting her strong eye from the tract, until she had finished its perusal. Not a word of it did he,wouldhe hear, for, with yelling occasionally, and stopping his ears at intervals, the blessed communication might have been written in its original Sanscrit, for all the good it did him.
However, she had done her duty, and was satisfied. "Temper, temper, Pether," she ejaculated, as he heaved a groan of impatience from one of the twinges. "Suffer patiently; it is good for the flesh to be mortified; think of the worse that is to come."
"Oh! you're a comforter if ever there was one," sighed the Squire. "How the mischief can I be patient with a coal of fire on every toe of me? It's mighty aisy for thim that doesn't feel it to keep gabblin' about patience. I'll roar if I like; it does me good to swear at the murdherin' thing, and I will, too."
Whereupon, he let fly a volley of epithets, not the very choicest in the vernacular, which had at least one good effect, for it sent the domestic missionary flying out of the room, tracts and all, utterly horrified at the outburst of impiety; he firing a parting shot or two after her, loaded with purely personal charges of not over complimentary character.
It was just at this moment that his opposite neighbor, the poor cobbler, having arrived at the most comforting part of his reflections, was indulging in one of his jolliest songs, the merry sound of which penetrated to the apartment of the suffering rich man, filling his heart with envy.
"Listen to that," he grunted, swaying backward and forward from the intensity of the pain. "What's the use av all my money; there's that blaggard cobbler, without a rap to bless himself with, and the song's never out of his vagabone throat; oh, murdher! if I wouldn't give every shillin' that I'm worth in the world to change conditions with the chirpin' schemer."
In a short time, however, the composing drafts, spirituous and otherwise, began to do their work; a drowsy sensation crept over him, and he dropped into an unquiet slumber.
When he awoke again, which was instantly, as he thought, what was his surprise to behold an extraordinary-looking sprite riding upon his worst foot. The thing was dressed like a jockey, cap, jacket, breeches, and boots, the latter being furnished with a pair of needles instead of spurs; but with such a comical face that Bulworthy would have laughed heartily at its funny expression, except that the sight of those ominous goads effectually checked all thoughts of risibility.
"Who the devil are you? Get off o' my toe, you impudent little scoundrel," said the Squire, "or I'll fling a pill-box at you."
"Bless you, that would be no use," piped the diminutive jock, settling himself in his saddle.
"Move, I say, or bang goes this bottle of doctor's stuff right in yer eye."
"Fire away," says the imp, with a little bit of a laugh, like the squeak of a mouse, "I don't fear any of your doctor's bedevilment."
"What brings you here, anyway?" demanded Bulworthy. He was now out of pain, and consequently waxing arrogant.
"You," squeaked the little rider.
"It's a lie. I never invited you."
"Oh, yes, you did, and moreover, I must say, treated me like a prince; boarded and lodged me gloriously."
"Pooh! you're a fool. Where did I lodge you?"
"Here, in your foot," said the little devil, with a grin, accompanying the observation with the slightest touch of the needle; enough, however, to extort a yell from the Squire. "What do you think of that, my hero?" the jockey continued. "It will be better for you to keep a civil tongue in that foolish head of yours."
"Oh, I will! I will!" groaned Bulworthy. "If you'll only obleege me by dismountin', I'll promise anything."
"Oh, yes, that's mighty likely," said the imp, "after being asked here to amuse myself. A pretty sort of a host you are."
"If you'll believe me, there's some mistake, sir, indeed there is," said Bulworthy, apologetically, "I don't remember ever havin' had the honor of your acquaintance."
"You don't, don't you; then, here goes, to put you in mind, you forgetful old savage;" with that, he commenced a series of equestrian manœuvres with the Squire's intractable toe, now sawing with the diminutive chifney bit, now tickling the sides with a slender, but very cutting kind of a whip, finishing up his exercises by plunging both spurs into the flesh, making the tortured limb jump like a Galway hunter over a stone wall.
"Stop! stop!" roared the sufferer, while the perspiration rained from his forehead like a shower-bath.
"You know me now, do you, eh?"
"Yes, yes," gasped the Squire. "I'll never forget you again—never, never!"
"Will you be civil?"—a slight touch of the needle.
"Oh, murdher! yes."
"And temperate?"—another small puncture.
"I will, I will."
"Very well, then. I'll not only dismount, as I'm a little tired, but I'll give you a word or two of good advice." So saying, the little jockey got out of his seat, put his saddle on his shoulders, and having with great difficulty clambered up the flannel precipice of Bulworthy's leg, managed, with the assistance of his waistcoat buttons, to mount upon the table, where, sitting down upon a pill-box, he crossed his legs, and leisurely switching his top-boots, regarded the Squire with a look of intense cunning.
"Well, only to think," said Bulworthy to himself, "that such a weeny thing as that could give a man such a heap of oneasiness; a fella that I could smash with my fist as I would a fly: may I never get up from this if I don't do it, and then may-be I'll get rid of the murdherin' torment altogether."
With that, he suddenly brought his great hand down on the table with a bang that, as he supposed, exterminated jockey, pill-box, and all.
"Ha, ha!" he roared, "there's an end to you, my fine fella."
"Not a bit of it," squealed the little ruffian; "what do you say to this?" he continued, as he flourished one of the top-boots over his head, and buried the spur through the Squire's finger, fastening it firmly to the table. "See what you got for your wicked intentions, and that ain't the worst of it neither, for I'm going to serve that elegant big thumb of yours the same way. But I'll take my time about it, for there's no fear of your hands ever stirring from that spot until I like." So saying, the tantalizing fiend made several fierce attempts to transfix the doomed member, each time just grazing the skin with the sharp needle. At last he drove it right up to the heel, and there the two boots stuck, while the little blackguard danced the "Foxhunter's jig," in his stocking-feet, cutting pigeon-wings among the pill-boxes, like a professor.
Bulworthy now roared louder than ever, vainly endeavoring to free his tortured hand from its strange imprisonment, and the more he roared, the more his tormentor grinned, and cut capers about the table.
"Oh, pull out them thunderin' spurs," cried he, in agony. "This is worse than all; mercy, mercy! Misther jockey, I beg your pardon for what I did; it was the drink; there's whisky in me."
"I know that well enough," chirped the grinning imp. "If there wasn't, I couldn't have the power over you that you see."
"Oh, won't you look over it this oncet? I'll be on me Bible oath I won't offend you again."
"Are you in earnest this time?"
"Bad luck attend me if I'm not."
"Well, then, I'll trust you, though you don't deserve it," replied the little schemer, and, after two or three tugs, he succeeded in pulling out one of the spurs. "Do you feel easier?" inquired he, with a grin.
"It's like getting half-way out of purgatory," said the Squire, with a sigh of relief. "There's a fine fella, lug out the other, won't you?"
"I must make some conditions first."
"Let them be short, for gracious sake!"
"First and foremost, are you going to be quiet and reasonable?"
"I am, I am!"
"Secondly, are you going to pay me for the trouble I've had?"
"Whatever you ask, only be quick about it."
"It won't tax you much, you have only to make over to me all the bottles and jars you have in the house."
"Take them, and welcome."
"If you'll promise me not to meddle with them, I'll leave them in your keeping, only they're mine, remember."
"Every drop," cried the Squire, eagerly. "I won't touch another mouthful."
"That's all right; you keep your word and I'll keep mine; there, you may have the use of your fist once more," he continued, as he plucked out the other spur, giving the released hand a parting kick that thrilled through every joint.
"And now," said he, as he pulled on his tiny boots, "I have a word or two more to say to you; you made a foolish wish just now; that you'd like to change places with that miserable cobbler over the way; are you still of the same way of thinking?"
"Should I have your companionship there," inquired Bulworthy.
"Certainly not; he couldn't afford to keep me," replied the gout-fiend, contemptuously.
"Then, without meanin' the slightest offence to you, my little friend," said the other, "it wouldn't grieve me much to get rid of your acquaintance at any sacrifice, even to the disgust of walking into that rascally cobbler's shoes. I'm only afraid that, clever as you are, you can't manage that for me."
"Don't be quite so sure," replied the little jockey, with a knowing wink, amusing himself by every now and then tickling up Bulworthy's fingers with his sharp whip, every stroke of which seemed to cut him to the marrow. "Who can tell but that the poor, ignorant devil would like to change places withyou; if so, I can do the job for ye both in a jiffey: more, betoken, here he comes, so that we can settle the affair at once."
At that instant, the door of Bulworthy's apartment flew open, as from the effect of a sudden and strong gust of wind, while he, although seeing nothing, distinctly heard a slight rustling, and felt that peculiar sensation one receives at the entrance of persons into a room while not looking in their direction.
"I see no one," said the Squire; "'twas but a blast of wind."
"Ido," curtly replied the little jockey, and then proceeded to hold an interesting confidential chat with the invisibilities; in a few moments, Bulworthy distinguished the jolly voice of Dan, the cobbler, a little jollier than usual; indicating the high state of his spiritual temperament also, by swaying to and fro against the balusters, making them creak loudly in his uncertain progress; at last, with a tipsy "God save all here," he lumbered into the room, tried to clutch at a chair, but, optically miscalculating his distance, overshot the mark, and tumbled head-long upon the floor.
"You dirty, drunken rapscallion," cried Bulworthy, getting into a towering rage, from which, however, he was quickly recalled by a wicked look from the imp, and a threatening movement towards the dreaded top-boots and spurs.
"Listen, and say nothing until you are spoken to," said the little chap, as grand as you please.
"Not a word," replied the cowed Squire.
"Now, Daniel, my friend, I want to have a talk with you." The Squire started with astonishment; he could have sworn that he heard his own voice; but the big sounds proceeded from the lips of the little chap on the table beside him.
"Wid all the veins of my heart, Squire, jewel," replied Dan's voice, though Dan's mouth never opened at all, and Bulworthy was looking him straight in the face.
"You are not satisfied with your condition in life," continued the voice.
"You never spoke a truer word nor that," replied Dan's invisible proxy.
"Neither am I."
"More fool you."
"Would you change places with me?"
"Indeed, an' I would if I had the chance; how would you like to be in mine?"
"It's just what I long for."
Thus far, the conversation was carried on in the voices of the Squire and the cobbler; but now they were both amazed at hearing bellowed out, in sounds like the roar of a cataract when you stop your ears occasionally:
"Blind and dissatisfied mortals, have your desire; let each take the shape and fill the station of the other, never to obtain your original form and condition until both are as united in the wish to return thereto as you are now to quit them."
A terrific thunderclap burst overhead, stunning them both for a few minutes, and, when its last reverberation died away in the distance, the little jockey had disappeared, all supernatural sounds had ceased. The sentient part of the discontented Squire found itself inhabiting the mortal form of the cobbler, prone on the floor, hopelessly and helplessly drunk, while the unhappy Dan appeared in the portly form, and suffered the gouty pangs of the rich Mr. Bulworthy.
"Oft do we envy those whose lot, if known,Would prove to be less kindly than our own."
"Oft do we envy those whose lot, if known,Would prove to be less kindly than our own."
"Oft do we envy those whose lot, if known,
Would prove to be less kindly than our own."
The change accomplished by the embodied wishes of the two discontented mortals was, to all appearance, perfect. They bore, indeed, the outward semblance each of the other, but yet retained their own individual thoughts, feelings, and inclinations; and manifold, as may be imagined, were the embarrassments and annoyances consequent upon this strange duality, to the great mystification of their respective households.
The morning after the singular compact was made, the more than usually outrageous conduct of the supposed Bulworthy placed the establishment in the greatest possible uproar, for the nerves and sinews of the imprisoned Dan, wholly unacquainted, ere this, with any ailment other than the emptiness of hunger, or the occasional headache whisky purchased, now twisted and stretched with the sharper agonies laid up by his predecessor, lashed him into an absolute hurricane of fury. Unable to move his nether extremities, he gnashed his teeth, venting his rage by smashing everything that he could reach.
This terrible turmoil reached the ears of the domestics, filling them with apprehension.
"Be good to us," said Mary. "What is it now?"
"Ora, don't ax me," replied Barney, who had just come down from the caged lion. "It's fairly bewildhered I am, out an' out; I wouldn't wondher av it was burn the house about our ears he would, in one of his tanthrums."
"What's worryin' him now?"
"Faix, the misthress is at the head ov it, an' the gout's at the feet, an', between the two, I wouldn't be surprised av his thrunk was imptied afore long."
Up stairs the tempest raged with undiminished fury.
"I tell you I won't, I won't," roared the impatient patient. "I never could taste a dhrop of physic in my life."
"Oh, my! what a fib," said his consoler, the sweet-voiced Mrs. Bulworthy. "Why, you've swallowed enough to kill a regiment of decent people. Indeed, I don't know what's come over you to day, at all; you're not a bit like yourself."
"The devil I'm not," said the other, somewhat alarmed; but a glance at his swathed extremities, accompanied by a spasm of pain, gave him uncomfortable assurance that he was still in the Squire's skin. "Bedad, ma'm," he went on, "if you and the gout ain't enough to drive a man out of himself, I don't know what would; get out, I tell you, and leave me alone; one at a time's enough."
"Will you promise to read this tract, then?"
"It's a mighty fine time to talk about readin'. How much money am I worth?"
"You surely don't forget that, Pether?"
"Well, indeed, what with the pain and other little matters, it has slipped my memory."
"Just eight thousand six hundred pounds."
"As much as that? murdher alive! you don't say so; then let us pack up and be off," cried he, with an injudicious bound of pleasure that brought the corkscrew into his joints with redoubled acuteness.
"Go, where?" inquired Mrs. Bulworthy, as coolly as though she were enjoying the agony which revelled through his racked frame.
"Anywhere," screamed he. "Anywhere out of this vagabone neighborhood. Ah! tear an aiges av I thought I was going to be massacreed in this way, I'd a stayed as I was; it's to the very marrow of my bones that I'm sorry for it now."
"Sorry for what, Pether?" said Mrs. Bulworthy; "what in the name of gracious are you raving about?"
"Nothing," replied he, "only it's ravin' with the hunger I am; I feel as if I hadn't had anything to eat for six weeks or more."
"Sure, won't you have something in a few minutes," said she. "There's the turtle soup and curried lobster you ordered for lunch getting ready as fast as it can."
"You don't tell me that; may-be I won't astonish it then," said he, smacking his lips at the delicious anticipation of devouring dishes that, to him, were hitherto apocryphal things.
"Is there anything else you want before I go?"
"Nothing in the world, except, may-be, you might just run over the way and see how Mrs. Duff and the babby is."
"Heigh-day!" screamed Mrs. Bulworthy, bestowing upon him one of her most indignant glances. "I'd like to know what business you have to be thinking of Mrs. Duff and her babby!"
"Would you, really, ma'm? then, if your curiosity is anyway tickled, I'll have you to understand that it's a mighty high regard I entertain for them two people," replied he.
"You do, do you? why, then, it's a face you have to say that same to me, you dirty, miserable, money-scrapin' ignoramus; me, that took such care of your body and sowl for so many years."
"Read one of your papers, ma'm; practice what you preach," suggested the fictitious Bulworthy.
"How would you look if I was to say that I had a regard for the cobbler himself, since you're so mightily interested in his wife?" said she, with an injured-woman air and look.
"Say, ma'm! Bedad, I'd say that the cobbler isn't such a fool as to return the compliment," replied the other, in a provoking tone, that made the eyes of Mrs. Bulworthy flash green like those of a cat in the dark.
"I'm not so sure of that," she retorted, with a meaning toss of her fallacious curls, that implied unspeakable things.
"But Iam, you see, strange as it may appear, ma'm," he went on, with a jolly laugh, strangled suddenly by a gouty pang that made him roar again.
"Serve you right, you ungrateful reprobate; I saw you this morning flinging your good-for-nothing eyes at the jade; but I'll serve you out for it, see if I don't; you shall have a blessed time, if ever a man had in the world, you vile, deceitful, double-faced old porcupine; after the years we've been together, too, slavin' and working to scrape up the bit of money to be the comfort of our old age," she continued, diverging into the sentimental, and dropping a few hard tears, that fell from her cold eyes like pellets of hail. "You want to break my heart, you do, you murderer, that you may follow your wicked coorses without hendrance. Mrs. Duff and her babby; indeed,herbabby! how do I know who's babby it is?" and she looked green-eyed monsters at the supposititious Squire, who heightened her fiery temper up to explosion-point, by replying, with a chuckle.
"Faix, the babby's mine, I b'leeve."
Now be it understood that, for the instant, his disputable identity was forgotten, and it was allDanthat spoke:
"Yours," shrieked the now infuriated female, making a threatening demonstration towards him.
"Yes—no—I mean—oh, murdher, I forgot I was ould Bulworthy for a minnit. It's a rise I was takin' out of you, that's all," he went on, "just for the fun of the thing."
The further discussion of this delicate subject was put a stop to by the entrance of Barney and Mary with the Squire's lunch; a very gratifying and timely interruption to the stormytête-à-tête, in the opinion of one of the party, at all events.
The delicious condiments being duly served, from which arose an appetizing odor, stimulating Dan's appetite into ravenous hunger, "Won't you sit down, ma'm," said he, "and take a mouthful?"
"Indeed, and it's polite you are, all of a sudden. You never asked the like before, but was always glad enough to get me out of sight that you might gormandize to your heart's content," replied she, acrimoniously. "But it's a sure sign that you are guilty of something wrong somewhere, with somebody, or you wouldn't be so extra accommodating."
"Sit down, and howld yer prate," cried the other, anxious to attack the tempting viands.
"I won't, you ould sinner. I know you don't want me, it's only your conscience that's giving you no rest. I'll leave you to stuff and cram, and I only wish it was pison, that I do." With this pleasant observation, hissed viperously through her closed teeth, she flounced out of the room, giving the door a parting bang that sent an electric shock of pain through poor Dan's nervous system.
"Oh! milliah murdher," groaned he, "an' this is the agreeable speciment of a walkin' vinegar-cruet, that I left my scanty but comfortable home, and the angel that made a heaven of it, for. Well, the fools ain't all gone yet—but, never mind, isn't there the money and the eatin'; so, here goes to have a feed that 'ud take the concate out of a hungry elephant."
So saying, he lifted off the cover, and plunged the ladle into the steaming tureen, when, to his enormous surprise, instead of the savory mess he anticipated, he fished up and deposited upon his plate, the identical little jockey before described, spurs and all.
"How are you, Mr. Duff?" said he, touching his cap in true stable style, as he seated himself upon the raised edge of the soup-plate.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," replied Dan, reverentially, for he was a firm believer in "the good people," that is to say, the fairies, and dreaded the immensity of their power.
"We haven't met before, to be sure," said the little fellow, "but you see I know who you are, in spite of that fleshy stuffing you have got into."
"Bedad, there's no mistake about that, sir," replied Dan. "Would it be too great a liberty to ax what it is I'm indebted to for the honor of your company at this particular time?"
"Certainly not, Dan. The fact is, between you and me, I'm always present where there's such good cheer to be found as I see before me."
"Indeed, sir, an' would it inconvenience you much to sit somewhere else, for I'm mortial hungry at this present minit, an' I'm afeard I'd be splashin' your boots with the gravy."
"Anything to oblige," said the other, jumping over the edge of the plate, like a four-year old.
"Thank you, sir. I'll do as much for you, provided it's in my power," observed the hungry cobbler, drawing nearer a huge dish of curried lobster, the spice-laden steam from which would create a new appetite in repletion's self. Heaping up his plate, while his mouth filled with water at the glorious sight, he was just about to shovel a vast quantity into his capacious mouth, when a sharp
"Stop, Dan!" from the little jockey, arrested his hand mid-way.
"Do you know the result of your eating that mouthful?"
"Never a bit of me, sir," said Dan, making another movement towards his head.
"Ha! wait till I tell you," cried the other.
Dan stopped again. "This is wonderful tantalizin' to an impty Christian," said he.
"Listen, Dan. I have a sort of regard for you, and so I'll give you this warning: If you swallow that stuff that's overloading your knife"—Dan wasn't genteel in his eating—"I'll have to ride a hurdle race upon your big toe, and I'll be bail that I'll make it beat all the rest of your anatomy in the way of jumping."
"You don't mean that?" cried Dan, dropping knife and all into the plate before him.
"Every word of it," said the little fellow.
"Oh, get out! you're not in airnest?"
"May-be you'd like to try?"
"Be the mortial o' war, I don't b'leeve you, anyway the hungriness is drivin' all consequences out of me reckonin', so, here goes, jump or no jump." So, with a desperate recklessness, Dan rushed greedily at the eatables, and never in his life did he eat the tithe part of what he demolished upon this occasion. Everything on the table disappeared before his all-devouring appetite, like smoke, and as the materials were handy, he topped all up with a "screechin' hot" tumbler of whisky-punch, stiff enough to poke courage into any man's heart.
In the meantime, wholly absorbed in his prodigious banquet, he had quite lost sight of his friend, the jockey; but now, as with a sigh of intense satisfaction, he reclined back in the cushioned chair, he became sensible of a sort of fidgetiness about his foot, and on looking down, what should he see but the little chap, very busy indeed, with his whip in his mouth, saddling up his big toe, as gingerly as you please. He was just giving the girth a last pull, which he accompanied with the usual jerking expression, making Dan wince a little, from a sense of tightness in the nag.
The business-like manner of the chap, however, soon banished the uncomfortable feeling, and so excited Dan's risibilities, that the tears rolled down his cheeks with uncontrollable laughter. It is astonishing how very near the surface the leverage of a good dinner and a warm "tod," lifts up one's jolly feelings.
Dan was now in a condition to sign a treaty of perpetual amity with all mankind.
Delusive tranquillity!
"Mount," cried the little rider, jumping into his saddle. "Hurrah! off we go! heigh!"
The first slash of the whip and dig of the spur changed the nature of Dan's emotions most effectually. He roared, he raged, he twisted about like an eel on a spear. Still fiercely and unmercifully the little jockey plied the lash and the goad. Still he shouted, "Hurrah! jump, you devil, jump!"
Now, Dan swore like a rapparee; now, he called upon every saint in the calendar; but there was no cessation to his torture. In the extremity of his fury, he flung the whisky-bottle at the little rider's head; but as it struck his own foot, it only augmented the terrible agony.
From praying and swearing he fell to weeping, but the stony-hearted little tyrant was not assailable by tears or entreaties. Promises of amendment were equally useless; until, at last, happening to recollect what a horror all supernaturals have of the pure element, he seized a tumbler of water, and nearly drowned his tormentor with its contents. This had the desired effect. The little vagabond dismounted with a shrill cry of annoyance, and rushed over towards the fire-place, to dry his soaked garments.
"Ha, ha! you thief of the world, I know what'll settle your hash now—wather!" said Dan, instantly relieved from pain; "and, wid a blessin', you shall have enough of that same, if ever you venture to come hurdle-racin' on any toes o' mine.
"Stick to that Dan, my hero," said the little fellow, as he shook the drops off his drenched jacket; "stick to that, and you may depend upon it that I'll never trouble you any more."
And so, having got rid of his enemy, Dan snuggled himself back into the comfortable easy-chair, and very soon forgot himself and all the real world, in the perplexities and comic horrors of a dyspeptic dream.
Within the home where jealousy is found,A Upas grows that poisons all around.
Within the home where jealousy is found,A Upas grows that poisons all around.
Within the home where jealousy is found,
A Upas grows that poisons all around.
It would be as unprofitable as impossible to follow the ever-varying images of a dream, which, apparently consumed the best part of a century; every half hour of which had its separate distress, although the actual period of time passed did not reach ten minutes, to such singular and enormous expansion was the imagination swollen. The few placid moments distorted into numberless years of terror, like the drop of seemingly pure water, resolved, by microscopic power, into an ocean of repulsive monsters.
Dan had just been very properly condemned to death for the five and twentieth time, and had waited in gasping dread for the infliction of some inconceivable—except under such circumstances—mode of bodily torture, when he heard a tremendous noise, like the explosion of an immense piece of ordnance, close by his side. With a nervous start, that benumbed his frame like a powerful shock, he awoke, bathed in perspiration and half dead with fright. The sound was repeated. It was a simple, single, hesitating little knock at the chamber-door.
"Who's there?" he stammered, scarcely yet aroused to the consciousness of his identity.
"It's me, sir," replied a gentle voice, that thrilled through him with different sensations, for delight and joy stole over him like a sun-ray. It was his wife's.
"Come in, Peg," said he, "for an angel that you are. If it wasn't for this blessed interruption I'd have died in my bed with the wear an' tear of murdherin' bad dreams." He would fain have rushed into Peggy's arms as she entered, but the first attempt at making use of his continuations painfully reminded him that they belonged to somebody else. It also admonished him that it was necessary for him to support his new character with dignity.
"Well, ma'm," said he, "what do you mean by disturbin' me in this unprincipled way?"
"Indeed, sir," replied Peggy, timidly, "an' I'm a'most ashamed to tell you; it's that man o' mine over the way, sir; sure, I don't know what's come to him, at all, at all, within the last few hours."
"Ho! ho!" thought Dan, he's had a quare time of it as well as myself. "What's the matter with him, Mrs. Duffy?"
"That's what I want to know, sir, av anybody'd only tell me; I never knew him to kick up such tanthrums ever since we come together; musha! sure, an' the devil's in him if ever he enthered a mortal body, this blessed day—an'dhrink!murdher alive, sir, av he wouldn't dhrink thesaydhry av he only had the swally, I'm not here."
"That's bad, very bad, indeed," said the other, oracularly. "People should never indulge in such terrible propensities," he went on, with a bold attempt at Bulworthy's phraseology.
"Sure, sir, doesn't it depend upon what dhrives them to it?" replied Peggy. "Throuble's mighty dhrouthy, sir, intirely; it dhrys up a poor man's throat as if there was a fire in his mouth, and, indeed, me poor Dan's poorer nor the poorest this holy day."
"That's no rayson, ma'm," said the other, with mock sternness, although his frame was in a glow of joy at hearing how Peggy managed to find excuses for his favorite failing. "That's no rayson, ma'm; the more fool him for addin' flame to the fire."
"Thrue for you, sir, but then doesn't it dhrownd the blaze for the time?"
"I'll answer ye that, Mrs. Duff, if you please, allygorically; did ye ever see a few dhrops of sperrets flung into a blazin' fire? a murdherin' lot of dhrowndin' there is about it; bedad, the fire only burns with greater strength."
"Then, of coorse, your honor, it stands to good sense that it's foolish to takeonlya few dhrops," she replied, with a sly look at the Squire, that made the laugh bubble all over his ruddy face.
"One would a'most suppose that you loved this Dan of yours," said he.
"Love him, sir! do the spring flowers love the sun? does the young mother love her new-born babby?"
"Oh! murdher, murdher! listen to this," cried Dan; "an' me shut up inside of this prison of a carcass; it was a mortial sin to leave her, an' I'm sufferin' for it as I ought, an' it sarves me right." The thought made him savage, so turning to poor Peggy with a look of anger, he continued, fiercely:
"What brought you here, ma'm? may-be you'll condescind to inform me at oncet."
"Oh! sir, don't be angry wid him, but its outrageous intirely that he is; sure, he wants somethin' that I'm afeared to ax."
"What is it? don't keep me waitin' all day."
"I hope yer honor will take into considheration the way he's in just now, for he sthole out onbeknown to me, an' how he got the sup, I can't tell; but it's on him dhreadful, or he'd never think of the likes."
"The likes of what? what's throublin' him now? speak out, woman, or you'll drive the little bit of patience that I have clean out of me."
"Then, sir, the long an' the short of it is, an' I dunno what put such foolishness in his head, he towld me to ax yer honor, if yer honor had a thrifle of that soup left; he'd take it as a mighty great favor if yer honor would let him have the least taste in life of it," said Peggy, with an extreme misgiving as to how so presumptuous a request would be received.
"Is that all?" said Dan, calmly, to her intense relief. "Take it, an' welcome, Mrs. Duff, an' if it does him as much good as it did me you won't be throubled wid such a message again, I'll be bound; there's the vagabone stuff in that big bowl over on the sideboard fornenst you; an' tell him, by the same token, from me, that av he feels at all uncomfortable in his present quarthers, it wouldn't kill me right out to swap again."
"Swap what, sir?" inquired Peggy, rather mystified.
"Oh! he'll know what I mean."
"And so do I," screamed the irate Mrs. Bulworthy rushing into the room, at the door of which, she had been listening during the entire conversation, the spirit of which had inflamed her jealous temperament up to fever heat.
"I know what you want to swap, you ill-conditioned profligate," she went on, in true Zantippe style. "You want to swap wives, don't you?"
"Faix, an' you never said a thruer word," coolly replied Dan.
This was too much for the excited dame; with a yell of fury she rushed at Peggy, and would assuredly have indented the marks of all her finger-nails in her comely countenance, but that the other, finding the door conveniently open, snatched up the tureen of soup and fled down stairs like a phantom.
Her prey thus escaping, the shock of her terrible rage was concentrated upon the head of the devoted Dan; to what grievous extremity it would carry her he had not an idea, but he felt that something awful was about to take place.
"Considher my misfortunes," he cried, "and be merciful, Mrs. Bulworthy."
Implacable as the embodied Parcæ, she advanced towards him.
"You're not goin' to murdher me, woman," he roared.
Silently, she approached still nearer, desperation was in her aspect.
"Help, murdher, help!" cried Dan, inevitable fate seeming to be on the point of overwhelming him in some way or another.
"What the divil is the ould monsther goin' to do?" thought he, as a frightful suspicion raised his flesh into little hillocks, and made his hair sting his head like needle-points, when he saw her deliberately take a singular-looking phial and pour out a few drops of a fiery red liquor, filling the rest of the glass with water, through which the former hissed and eddied for a few moments, and then subsided into a horrible blackness.
"Drink this," she ejaculated, solemnly, "and pay the penalty of your infamous conduct."
"What is it?" he inquired, in a voice of alarm.
"Poison! you profligate," replied the other, regarding him with a Borgian expression.
"Holy Vargin! an' me screwed into the floor wid thisthrefaliangout," gasped Dan, his face bedewed with the effect of his mental agony. "Stop! you murdherin' ould witch! Stop! you have no right to sarve me this way. I don't belong to you at all," cried Dan, as a last resource.
"What do you mean by that, you miserable sinner?"
"I mean that you're no wife o' mine, the Lord be praised for it."
"Would you deny your honest wife, you cannibal?"
"I would—I do," cried he, desperately.
"You're not my husband?"
"I'll be upon my Bible oath I'm not."
"What—not Bulworthy?"
"The divil a toe, ma'm, savin' yer presence. I'm Dan Duff, the cobbler, from over the way."
"Oh, the man's mad—mad as a coot," said Mrs. Bulworthy, with appalling calmness, "and it would only be a mercy to put him out of his misery, soon an' suddent."
"Tear an aigers, av I only had the use of these blaggard legs of mine, wouldn't I make an example of ye, you ould witch of Endher," muttered Dan. "I won't be slaughtered without an offer to save myself, any way." With that, he started to his feet, and to his great surprise and delight discovered that his powers of locomotion were unimpeded. With a wild hurroo! he jumped, as only a Munster man can jump, and dancing over to the now thoroughly alarmed Squiress, who could see nothing in such extravagance but a confirmation of his utter insanity, he lifted her in his arms as though she were a rag doll.
"Now, ma'm," said he, "I'll see if I can't cure your propensity for pison. Into that closet you'll go, and out of it you sha'n't budge until you come to your senses, or I come to myself; and I'm afeard that one's as far off as the other—worse luck for both of us;" and so, without the slightest attempt at resistance on her part, not knowing to what extremity this outburst of madness would lead him, he snugly deposited her ladyship in a corner cupboard, which he locked, and put the key in his pocket, accompanying the whole movement with a paroxysm of laughter, so long and loud that she congratulated herself upon the slight shelter thus afforded her, and only feared that the next phase in his malady would be of more sanguinary a nature.
This great feat accomplished, Dan threw himself back in the easy-chair, and began seriously to ruminate upon his present condition and his future prospects.
"This, then, is what I left my blessed Peg and the blesseder babby for; to live a life of gout and conthrariness, never to have any confidence in my muscles, but always thremblin' for feard that sharp-spurred jockey would take a fancy for a canther, or, what's worse even than that, to be in dhread of the penethratin' tongue of ould mother Gab, yondher, whinever I'm laid by the leg; oh! if iver there was a poor sinner that repinted, it's myself that's last on the list, an' greatest; could I only see the darlin' of a sperret that gev me the good advice I so foolishly kicked at, it's beg her pardon on my bended knees—that I would, if it was hot cendhers that was undher them."
At that instant, he was aware of the gentlest of all gentle touches on his shoulder, and on turning his head in the direction, sure enough, there she was.
Dan was prostrate before her, in a moment. "Ora good luck and long life to you, miss, for comin' to me in my disthress; I don't deserve it, I know I don't."
"Get up, Mr. Duff," said the spirit. "I am but the reflection of your better thoughts; therefore, you must proffer your repentance, through me, to the throne of One who rules us both."
"I will, I will," cried the other; "truly and wholly," covering his face with his hands, through which the tears now streamed copiously.
"What is your wish?" inquired the good spirit.
"You know, youmustknow, for it's fairly breakin' my heart I am here; I want to get back to myself, and Peggy, an' the boy."
"Ah! you have begun to think ofthemat last."
"I own I have been selfish, sinfully, wretchedly selfish, but I'm cured," replied Dan, in a tone of contrition.
"But you remember the conditions of the compact," said the other, "neither of you can regain your original form and station unless both consent."
"Oh!wirrasthrue, then I'll never be my own man again," sobbed Dan. "Ould Bulworthy, bad 'cess to him, has the best of the bargain, an' he'll stick to it like wax; small blame to him for it, seein' that I sould my comfort entirely for a pair of murdherin' top-boots; he ain't such an omathaun as to come back here to his gout an' his scowldin' madame, when its a thrifle of hunger is all he'll have to put up wid, over the way, an' there's happiness enough in one glance of Peggy's bright eye, to swally that up if it was ten times as throublesome; and there's the boy, too, that's like a growin' angel about the house, fillin' up every spot of it wid heavenly joy; oh!wirra, wirra!sure, I didn't know the luck I was in until I lost it out an' out."
"The perversity of mankind is strange," said the spirit. "Are you certain that Bulworthy is content in his present condition?"
"How the divil can he be otherwise?" replied the other, savagely.
"Youwere not, you remember."
"Because I didn't know there was aworse: like an ignorant fool, I thought that a scanty meal now and then was the greatest calamity in the world; be me sowl, I've had the knowledge rubbed into my bones, that too much is sometimes apt to sting a fellow afterwards more than too little."
"Perhaps the sensation of hunger may be to him as disagreeable as the sense of satiety is to you," suggested the spirit.
"Oh! if there was only a chance of that," cried Dan, brightening up at the idea. "An' be the same token, now that I think of it, he did send over for some of that vagabone soup; long life to you, you've put the hope into me heart once more; but how the mischief am I to find out the state of the ould blaggard's feelin's?"
"There's nothing like going to work in a straightforward way," said the spirit; "just put on your hat and go over and ask him."
"Faix, an' I will, an' thank you kindly, too, for puttin' it into me head," replied Dan.
"I wish you good morning, then," said the other, and even while Dan was looking at her straight in her face, she gradually resumed her vapory appearance, growing thinner and thinner, until she finally went out like a puff of tobacco.