Nature and Human Nature Part 27

"Such as what?" sais I.

"A-hem," said she. "A-hem--such as he oughtn't to know, dear. Why, Sam, I am as secret as the grave! How is it, dear?"

"Well," sais I, "I will tell you. This is the way: I drop Pat and Paddy altogether, and I call him Mr Monaghan, and never say a word about the priest."

"Why, Sammy," said she, "where in the world did you pick up all your cuteness? I do declare you are as sharp as a needle. Well, I never.

How you do take after me! boys are mothers' sons. It's only galls who take after their father."

It's cheap coin, is civility, and kindness is a nice bank to fund it in, Squire: for it comes back with compound interest. He used to call Josiah, Jo, and brother Eldad, Dad, and then yoke 'em both together, as "spalpeens," or "rapscallions," and he'd vex them by calling mother, when he spoke to them of her, the "ould woman," and Sally, "that young cratur, Sal." But he'd show the difference when he mentioned me; it was always "the young master," and when I was with him, it was "your Honour." Lord, I shall never forget wunst, when I was a practisin' of ball-shooting at a target, Pat brought out one of my muskits, and sais he: "Would your Honour just let me take a crack at it. You only make a little round hole in it, about the size of a fly's eye; but, by the piper that played before Moses, I'll knock it all to smithereens."

"Yes," sais I, "Mr Monaghan; fire and welcome."

Well, up he comes to the toe-line, and puts himself into att.i.tude, scientific like. First he throws his left leg out, and then braces back the right one well behind him, and then he shuts his left eye to, and makes an awful wry face, as if he was determined to keep every bit of light out of it, and then he brought his gun up to the shoulder with a duce of a flourish, and took a long, steady aim. All at once he lowered the piece.

"I think I'll do it better knalin', your Honour," said he, "the way I did when I fired at Lord Blarney's land-agent, from behind the hedge, for lettin' a farm to a Belfast heretic. Oh! didn't I riddle him, your Honour." He paused a moment, his tongue had run away with him. "His coat, I main," said he. "I cut the skirts off as nait as a tailor could. It scared him entirely, so, when he see the feathers flyin'

that way, he took to flight, and I never sot eyes on him no more. I shouldn't wonder if he is runnin' yet."

So he put down one knee on the ground, and adjusting himself said, "I won't leave so much as a hair of that target, to tell where it stood."

He took a fresh aim, and fired, and away he went, heels over head, the matter of three or four times, and the gun flew away behind him, ever so far.

"Oh!" sais he, "I am kilt entirely. I am a dead man, Master Sam. By the holy poker, but my arm is broke."

"I am afraid my gun is broke," said I, and off I set in search of it.

"Stop, yer Honour," said he, "for the love of Heaven, stop, or she'll be the death of you."

"What?" sais I.

"There are five more shots in her yet, Sir. I put in six cartridges, so as to make sure of that paper kite, and only one of them is gone off yet. Oh! my shoulder is out, Master Sam. Don't say a word of it, Sir, to the ould cratur, and--"

"To who?" said I.

"To her ladys.h.i.+p, the mistress," said he, "and I'll sarve you by day and by night."

Poor Pat! you were a good-hearted creature naturally, as most of your countrymen are, if repealers, patriots, and demagogues of all sorts and sizes, would only let you alone. Yes, there is a great charm in that word "Mr."

So, sais I, "Mr Jackson!"

"Yes, Sir," said he.

"Let me look at your bugle."

"Here it is, your Honour."

"What a curious lookin' thing it is," sais I, "and what's all them little b.u.t.ton-like things on it with long shanks?"

"Keys, Sir," said he.

"Exactly," sais I, "they unlock the music, I suppose, don't they, and let it out? Let me see if I could blow it."

"Try the pipes, Mr Slick," said Peter. "Tat is nothin' but a pra.s.s cow-horn as compared to the pagpipes."

"No, thank you," sais I, "it's only a Highlander can make music out of that."

"She never said a wiser word tan tat," he replied, much gratified.

"Now," sais I, "let me blow this, does it take much wind?"

"No," said Jackson, "not much, try it, Sir."

"Well, I put it to my lips, and played a well-known air on it. "It's not hard to play, after all, is it, Jackson?"

"No, Sir," said he, looking delighted, "nothing is ard to a man as knows how, as you do."

"Tom," sais Betty, "don't that do'ee good? Oh, Sir, I ain't eard that since I left the hold country, it's what the guards has used to be played in the mail-coaches has was. Oh, Sir, when they comed to the town, it used to sound pretty; many's the time I have run to the window to listen to it. Oh, the coaches was a pretty sight, Sir. But them times is all gone," and she wiped a tear from her eye with the corner of her ap.r.o.n, a tear that the recollection of early days had called up from the fountain of her heart.

Oh, what a volume does one stray thought of the past contain within itself. It is like a rocket thrown up in the night. It suddenly expands into a brilliant light, and sheds a thousand sparkling meteors, that scatter in all directions, as if inviting attention each to its own train. Yes, that one thought is the centre of many, and awakens them all to painful sensibility. Perhaps it is more like a vivid flash of lightning, it discloses with intense brightness the whole landscape, and exhibits, in their minutest form and outline, the very leaves and flowers that lie hid in the darkness of night.

"Jessie," said I, "will you imitate it?"

I stopt to gaze on her for a moment--she stood in the doorway--a perfect model for a sculptor. But oh, what chisel could do justice to that face--it was a study for a painter. Her whole soul was filled with those clear beautiful notes, that vibrated through the frame, and attuned every nerve, till it was in harmony with it. She was so wrapt in admiration, she didn't notice what I observed, for I try in a general way that nothing shall escape me; but as they were behind us all, I just caught a glimpse of the doctor (as I turned my head suddenly) withdrawing his arm from her waist. She didn't know it, of course, she was so absorbed in the music. It ain't likely she felt him, and if she had, it ain't probable she would have objected to it.

It was natural he should like to press the heart she had given him; wasn't it now his? and wasn't it reasonable he should like to know how it beat? He was a doctor, and doctors like to feel pulses, it comes sorter habitual to them, they can't help it. They touch your wrist without knowing it, and if it is a woman's, why their hand, like brother Josiah's cases that went on all fours, crawls up on its fingers, till it gets to where the best pulse of all is. Ah, Doctor, there is Highland blood in that heart, and it will beat warmly towards you, I know. I wonder what Peter would have said, if he had seen what I did. But then he didn't know nothin' about pulses.

"Jessie," said I, "imitate that for me, dear. It is the last exercise of that extraordinary power I shall ever hear."

"Play it again," she said, "that I may catch the air."

"Is it possible," said I to myself, "you didn't hear it after all? It is the first time your little heart was ever pressed before, perhaps it beat so loud you couldn't distinguish the bugle notes. Was it the new emotion or the new music that absorbed you so? Oh, Jessie, don't ask me again what natur is."

Well, I played it again for her, and instantly she gave the repet.i.tion with a clearness, sweetness, and accuracy, that was perfectly amazing.

Cutler and I then took leave for the present, and proceeded on our way to the sh.o.r.e.

"Ah, Sir!" said Jackson, who accompanied us to the bars, "it's a long while ago since I eard that hair. Warn't them mail-coaches pretty things, Sir? Hon the hold King's birthday, Sir, when they all turned out with new arness and coaches fresh painted, and coachman and guard in new toggery, and four as beautiful bits of blood to each on 'em as was to be found in England, warn't it a sight to behold, Sir? The world could show nothin' like it, Sir. And to think they are past and gone, it makes one's eart hache. They tells me the coachman now, Sir, has a dirty black face, and rides on a fender before a large grate, and flourishes a red ot poker instead of a whip. The guard, Sir, they tells me, is no--"

"Good bye, Mr Jackson;" and I shook hands with him.

"Isn't that too bad, Sir, now?" he said. "Why, here is Betty again, Sir, with that d--d hat, and a lecture about the stroke. Good bye, your Honour," said he.

When we came to the bridge where the road curved into the woods, I turned and took a last look at the place where I had spent such an agreeable day.

I don't envy you it, Doctor, but I wish I had such a lovely place at Slickville as that. What do you think, Sophy, eh? I have an idea you and I could be very happy there, don't you?

"Oh! Mr Slick," said Jehu Judd, who was the first person I saw at the door of Peter's house, "what an everlastin' long day was yesterday! I did nothing but renew the poultice, look in the gla.s.s, and turn into bed again. It's off now, ain't it?"

"Yes," sais I, "and we are off, too, in no time."

"But the trade," said he; "let's talk that over."

"Haven't time," sais I; "it must be short meter, as you say when you are to home to Quaco, practising Sall Mody (as you call it). Mackarel is five dollars a barrel, sains thirty--say yes or no, that's the word."