Tales and Novels Volume VIII Part 38

[_Exit CHRISTY._

_Biddy._ 'Tis I that am glad they've taken themselves away, for there's no cooking with all the men in the fire.

_Enter Mr. ANDREW HOPE, Drum-major._

_Mr. H._ A gude day to you, my gude la.s.sy.

_Biddy._ The same to you, sir, and kindly. I beg your pardon for not knowing--would it be the drum-major, sir?

_Mr. H._ No offence, my gude la.s.s; I am Andrew Hope, and drum-major.

I met some of my men in the street coming down, and they told me they could not have beds here.

_Biddy._ No, sir, plase your honour, only five that's in the room yonder: if you'd be plased to walk up, and you'll get your dinner immediately, your honour, as fast as can be dished, your honour.

_Mr. H._ No hurry, my gude la.s.s. But I would willingly see the beds for my poor fellows, that has had a sair march.

_Biddy._ Why then, if your honour would take a fool's advice, you'd not be looking at them beds, to be spoiling your dinner--since, good or bad, all the looking at 'em in the wide world won't mend 'em one feather, sure.

_Mr. H._ My gude girl, that's true. Still I'd like ever to face the worst.

_Biddy._ Then it's up that ladder you'll go.

_Mr. H._ No stairs?

_Biddy._ Oh, there are stairs--but they are burnt and coming down, and you'll find the ladder safest and best; only mind the little holes in the floor, if you plase, your honour.

[_Mr. HOPE ascends the ladder while she speaks, and goes into the bedchamber above._

_BIDDY, sola._

Well, I'm ashamed of my life, when a stranger and foreigner's reviewing our house, though I'm only the girl in it, and no ways answerable. It frets me for my country forenent them Scotch and English. (_Mr. HOPE descends the ladder._) Then I'm sorry it's not better for your honour's self, and men. But there's a new inn to be opened the 25th, in this town; and if you return this way, I hope things will be more agreeable and proper. But you'll have no bad dinner, your honour, any way;--there's Scotch broth, and Scotch hash, and fried eggs and bacon, and a turkey, and a boiled leg of mutton and turnips, and _pratees_ the best, and well boiled; and I hope, your honour, that's enough for a soldier's dinner, that's not nice.

_Mr. H._ Enough for a soldier's dinner! ay, gude truth, my la.s.s; and more than enough for Andrew Hope, who is no ways nice. But, tell me, have you no one to help you here, to dress all this?

_Biddy._ Sorrow one, to do a hand's turn for me but myself, plase your honour; for the daughter of the house is too fine to put her hand to any thing in life: but she's in the room there within, beyond, if you would like to see her--a fine lady she is!

_Mr. H._ A fine lady, is she? Weel, fine or coa.r.s.e, I shall like to see her,--and weel I may and must, for I had a brother once I luved as my life; and four years back that brother fell sick here, on his road to the north, and was kindly tended here at the inn at Bannow; and he charged me, puir lad, on his death-bed, if ever fate should quarter me in Bannow, to inquire for his gude friends at the inn, and to return them his thanks; and so I'm fain to do, and will not sleep till I've done so.--But tell me first, my kind la.s.sy,--for I see you are a kind la.s.sy,--tell me, has not this house had a change of fortune, and fallen to decay of late? for the inn at Bannow was pictured to me as a bra'

neat place.

_Biddy._ Ah! that was, may-be, the time the Larkens had it?

_Mr. H._ The Larkens!--that was the very name: it warms my heart to hear the sound of it.

_Biddy._ Ay, and quite another sort of an inn this was, I hear talk, in their time,--and quite another guess sort, the Larkens from these Gallaghers.

_Mr. H._ And what has become of the Larkens, I pray?

_Biddy._ They are still living up yonder, by the bush of Bannow, in a snug little place of a cabin--that is, the Widow Kelly.

_Mr. H._ Kelly!--but I am looking for Larken.

_Biddy._ Oh, Larken! that's Kelly: 'tis all one--she was a Kelly before she was married, and in this country we stick to the maiden's name throughout.

_Mr. H._ The same in our country--often.

_Biddy._ Indeed! and her daughter's name is Mabel, after the Kellys; for you might have noticed, if it ever happened your honour to hear it, an ould song of Mabel Kelly--_Planxty_ Kelly. Then the present Mabel is as sweet a cratur as ever the ould Mabel Kelly was--but I must mind the pratees. (_She goes to lift a pot off the fire._)

_Mr. H._ Hold! my gude girl, let me do that for you; mine is a strong haund.

_Biddy._ I thank your honour,--it's too much trouble entirely for a jantleman like you; but it's always the best jantleman has the _laste_ pride.--Then them Kellys is a good race, ould and young, and I love 'em, root and branch. Besides Mabel the daughter, there's Owen the son, and as good a son he is--no better! He got an edication in the beginning, till the troubles came across his family, and the boy, the child, for it's bare fifteen he is this minute, give up all his hopes and prospects, the cratur! to come home and slave for his mother.

_Mr. H._ Ah, that's weel--that's weel! I luve the lad that makes a gude son.--And is the father _deed_?

_Biddy._ Ay, dead and deceased he is, long since, and was buried just upon that time that ould Sir Cormac, father of the young heiress that is now at the castle above, the former landlord that was over us, died, see!--Then there was new times and new _takes_, and the widow was turned out of the inn, and these Gallaghers got it, and all wint wrong and to rack; for Mrs. Gallagher, that was, drank herself into her grave unknownst, for it was by herself in private she took it; and Christy Gallagher, the present man, is doing the same, only publicly, and running through all, and the house is tumbling over our ears: but he hopes to get the new inn; and if he does, why, he'll be lucky--and that's all I know, for the dinner is done now, and I'm going in with it--and won't your honour walk up to the room now?

_Mr. H._ (_going to the ladder_) Up here?

_Biddy._ Oh, it's not _up_ at all, your honour, sure! but down here--through this ways.

_Mr. H._ One word more, my gude la.s.sy. As soon as we shall have all dined, and you shall have ta'en your ane dinner, I shall beg of you, if you be not then too much tired, to show me the way to that bush of Bannow, whereat this Widow Larken's cottage is.

_Biddy._ With all the pleasure in life, if I had not a fut to stand upon.

[_Exit Mr. HOPE.--BIDDY follows with a dish smoking hot._

_Biddy._ And I hope you'll find it an iligant Scotch hash, and there's innions plinty--sure the best I had I'd give you; for I'm confident now he's the true thing--and tho' he is Scotch, he desarves to be Irish, every inch of him.

[_Exit BIDDY DOYLE._

ACT II.

SCENE I.

_An Irish Cabin.--The Kitchen._

_Widow LARKEN. On one side of her, MABEL at needle-work; on the other side, OWEN her son enters, bringing in a spinning-wheel, which he places before his mother._

_Owen._ There, mother, is your wheel mended for you.

_Mabel._ Oh, as good as new, Owen has made it for you.