Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

said he. "I'll swear from this to Clare castle, if I like," said I, "and no thanks to any one. Moreover by this and by that, and by every thing else, I am not in the humour, and I'll marry no onegood, bad, or indifferent-this blessed day." Even this did not satisfy them. "Then you will marry her after Lent?" said the fellow in the pearl stockings. "Neither then nor now, upon my oath!" I answered. "You won't?" said old Hennessy. "You won't?" echoed the wife. "You won't?" dittoed Uncle Jerry. "That I won't, ladies and gentlemen," I rejoined; " I am in a hurry for Clare castle; so good morning to you, and I wish you all the compliments of the season." "Go aisy with your hitching," said Jerry," you will not be off in that way" and he disappeared into the small room. The father sat down at a table, and began to write busily -the pearl-stocking'd gentleman twirled his thumbs, and stood between me and the door-Juliana sat snivelling and blowing her nose by the fire-I sprang to the door, but it was not only double-locked, but bolted. I contemplated a leap from the window, but the high iron railing of the area was crowned with spikes. I was debating about being impaled or not, when Jerry returned with a brace of pistols as long as my arm. Mr Hennessy jumped from his writing-table, flourishing a piece of paper, and Mr Pearl Stockings pulled a book out of his coat-pocket. "You have dishonoured me and my pedigree," said Jerry-" If you don't marry Juliana, I will blow you to atoms." "Stop, Jerry," said the attorney;" may-be the gentleman will sign this scrap of a document." I felt like the fat man in the play, who would not give a reason upon compulsion-I flatly refused. "I'd rather not dirty my hands with you,' ,” said the uncle; "so just step in here to the closet. Father Twoney will couple you fair and aisy-or just sign the bit of paper -if you don't I'll pop you to Jericho." "Ah! do, now Mr O'Donoghue," implored the mother. I turned to the priest: "Sir, it seems that you then are a clergyman. Do you, I ask, think it consistent with your profession thus to sanction an act of violence?" "Batherashin," interrupted Jerry. "Don't be putting your come-hether on Father Twoney-he knows what he is about; and if he don't, I do. So you had better get buckled without any more blarney."

The ruffian then deliberately threw up the pan of one of the pistols, and shook the powder together, in order that I might be convinced he was not jesting; then, slowly cocking it, laid it on the table, within his reach, and did the same with the other. "Give me

one of those pistols, you scoundrel!" I exclaimed, “and I will fight you here the priest will see fair play." "Who would be the fool then, I wonder?" said this bully. "I am not such an omadhahaun as you suppose. If I was to shoot you where you stand, who would be the wiser-you spalpeen ?"

I seized the poker-Juliana rose and came towards me with extended arms. "Ah! now Mr O'Donoghue! dearest O'Donoghue! -dearest Con, do prevent bloodshed-for my sake, prevent bloodshed -you know that I dote on you beyond any thing. Can't you be led by my relations, who only want your own good-ah! now, do!" "Ah! do now," said the mother. "Listen to me, now," cried I, "listen to me all of you for fear of a mistake :-you may murder me-my life is in your power-and father Twoney may give you absolution, if he likes; but, mark me now, Juliana Hennessy-I would not marry you if your eyes were diamonds, and your heels gold, and you were dressed in Roche's five-pound notes. If the priest was administering extreme unction to your father, and your mother kicking the bucket beside him-and your uncle Jerry with a razor at my throat-I would pitch myself head-foremost into the hottest part of purgatory before I would say-Juliana Hennessy, you are my wife. Are you satisfied? Now, have you had an answer, Juliana Spring?"

I do not imagine that they thought me so determined. The father seemed to hesitate; Juliana blubbered aloud; the priest half closed his eyes, and twirled his thumbs as if nothing unusual was going on; and Jerry, whose face became livid with rage, levelled the pistol at my head. I believe he would have murdered me on the spot, but for Mrs Hennessy, who was calculating in her wrath. She clapped her hands with a wild howl, and shook them furiously in my face" Oh dear! oh dear! oh dear! That I should live to hear my daughter called Juliana Spring!-I that gave her the best of learning that had her taught singing by Mr O'Sullivan, straight from Italy, and bought her a bran new forte-piano from Dublinoh! to hear her called Juliana Spring!-Didn't I walk her up street and down street, and take lodgings opposite the Main Guard! And then, when we came here, wasn't she called the Pride of the Quay? Wouldn't Mr Casey have married her, only you shot him in the knee? Wasn't that something? And you here late and early, getting the best of every thing, and philandering with her every where and now you won't marry her! I am ruined entirely with you-oh dear! oh dear!"

A loud ring at the bell, and a rap at the hall-door, astonished the group. Before Katty could be told not to admit any one, I heard sergeant O'Gorman asking for me- he was no relation to O'Gorman Mahon, but a lad of the same kidney-a thorough-going Irishman and loved a row better than his prayers. I shouted to the sergeant, "O'Gorman, they are going to murder me." "Then by St Patrick, your honour, we'll be in at the death," responded the ser geant. "Katty, shut to the door," roared Jerry.

Katty was one of O'Gorman's sweethearts, so was not so nimble as she might have been; however, before the order could be obeyed, the sergeant had thrust his halbert between the door and the post, which effectually prevented it closing. I heard his whistle, and in a second the whole of his party had forced their way into the hall.

"Break open the door, my lads," I hallooed-" never mind consequences;" and immediately a charming sledge-hammer din was heard, as my men applied the but-ends of their fire-locks to the wood. The attorney ran to the inner room, so did the priest,—and Jerry, dropping the pistols, followed them. Crash went the panels of the door, and in bounced my light-bobs. Mrs Hennessey cried "fire" and "robbery;" Juliana Spring tried to faint; and I ran to the inner room just in time to catch Jerry by the heel, as he was jumping from the window. Mr Hennessey and the priest, in their hurry to escape, had impeded each other, so that uncle Jerry, who was last, had not time to fly before I clutched him. I dragged back the scoundrel, who was loudly bawling for mercy.

"Is there a pump in the neighbourhood, my lads?" I asked. "Yes, sir, in the back yard," answered O'Gorman. "Then don't duck him" "No, your honour!" they all said. I walked out of the house; but, strange to say, my orders were not obeyed; for uncle Jerry was ducked within an inch of his life.

[ocr errors]

At the corner of the street I waited for my party, who soon joined me. A few minutes afterwards I met Casey. "Casey," said I, "I am more than ever sorry for your misfortune; and Juliana Spring is at your service." "She may go to old Nick, for all that I care, said Casey. "With all my heart, too," said I. "Small difference of opinion to bother our friendships, then!" rejoined the good-humoured boy; and to drown the memory of all connected with the calf-love, by which we both had been stultified, we took a hearty stirrup-cup together, and off I set for Clare Castle.

Fraser's Magazine.

TIME.

TIME rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,
Who danced our infancy upon their knee,
And told our marvelling boyhood legend's store,
Of their strange venture happed by land or sea,
How are they blotted from the things that be!
How few, all weak and withered of their force,
Wait on the verge of dark eternity,

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse

To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his ceaseless course,

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

EVENING.

O'ER the heath the heifer strays
Free, the furrowed task is done.
Now the village windows blaze
Burnished by the setting sun.

Now he hides behind a hill,
Sinking from a golden sky:
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?

Trudging as the ploughmen go,

(To the smoking hamlet bound,) Giant-like their shadows grow, Lengthened o'er the level ground.

Where the rising forest spreads
Shelter for the lordly dome,
To their high-built airy beds
See the rooks returning home!

As the lark, with varied tune,
Carols to the Evening loud;
Mark the mild resplendent Moon
Breaking through a parted cloud

Now the hermit owlet peeps

From the barn, or twisted brake ; . And the blue mist slowly creeps, Curling on the silver lake.

As the trout, in speckled pride,
Playful from its bosom springs,
To the banks a ruffled tide
Verges in successive rings.

Tripping through the silken grass,
O'er the path-divided dale,
Mark the rose-complexioned lass
With her well-poised milking pail.

Linnets, with unnumbered notes,
And the Cuckoo bird with two,
Tuning sweet their mellow throats,
Bid the setting sun adieu!

J. W. CUNNINGHAM

CASHEMERE SHAWLS.

EVERYBODY, or at least, every lady, is aware of the great importance which our gay neighbours, the French belles, attach to the possession of a Cashemere shawl. Indeed, their love of this article of the wardrobe may almost be said to amount to a mania.

These precious commodities are accustomed to descend from mother to daughter, for many generations; and not a little manœuvring is said to be practised by the younger branches of a French family, to secure this greatly coveted treasure. It would be difficult, nay, im. possible, to account for the estimation in which these shawls are held, on any other principle than the difficulty of their acquisition; for, to an unpractised eye, a shawl that is valued at from one hundred to one thousand pounds sterling, is in reality less beautiful than many that are sold for scarcely so many shillings. From the following amusing sketch, (said to be written by an eye witness,) it would seem that the finesse requisite to secure their possession, is not confined to the ladies only.

"On the confines of Europe and Asia, and near the Wolga, is situated the miserable village of Makarieff, celebrated for the great fair which is held there in July, every year. For the space of a month, a few wretched huts, built on a sandy desert, are replaced by thousands of shops, erected with a promptitude peculiar to the Russians. Taverns, coffee houses, a theatre, ball-rooms, a crowd of wooden buildings, painted and adorned with exquisite taste, spring up. It is impossible to form an idea of the throng of people of all nations who flock to Makarieff during this holiday. There we find assembled, for the purposes of trade, Russians from all the provinces of the empire, Tartars, Tchouvaches, Tchermisses, Calmoucks, Bucharians, Georgians, Armenians, Persians, and Hindoos; and, besides these, there are Poles, Germans, French, English, and even Americans. Notwithstanding the confusion of costumes and languages, the most perfect order prevails. The riches which are collected together in a space of less than two leagues, are incalculable. The silks of Lyons and Asia, the furs of Siberia, the pearls of the East, the wines of France and Greece, the merchandise of China and Persia, are displayed close to the commonest goods and most ordinary articles.

"One of the most remarkable articles of merchandise in this fair, and, perhaps, the most interesting to the ladies of Europe, is the Cashemere Shawls. For several years past they have been brought in large bales. I have seen a shawl for which eight thousand rubles were asked; although, according to my taste, it was better suited to be spread as a carpet on the divan of an Indian prince, than to cover the shoulders of a lady.

« ForrigeFortsæt »