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[_Exit, singing,_
"Oh the boys of Ball'navogue."
_HONOR, alone._
_Honor._ Oh, Phil! I _could_ not tell it you; but did you but know how _that_ Gerald O'Blaney insulted your s.h.i.+ster with his vile proposhals, you'd no more ask the loan of his horse!--and I in dread, whenever I'd be left in the house alone, that that bad man would boult in upon me--and Randal to find him! and Randal's like gunpowder when his heart's touched!--and if Randal should come _by himself_, worse again! Honor, where would be your resolution to forbid him your presence? Then there's but one way to be right--I'll lave home entirely. Down, proud stomach!
You must go to service, Honor McBride. There's Mrs. Carver, kind-hearted lady, is wanting a girl--she's English, and nice; may be I'd not be good enough; but I can but try, and do my best; any thing to plase the father.
[_Exit HONOR._
SCENE II.
_O'BLANEY'S Counting-house._
_GERALD O'BLANEY alone at a desk covered with Papers._
_O'Bla._ Of all the employments in life, this eternal balancing of accounts, see-saw, is the most sickening of all things, except it would be the taking the inventory of your stock, when you're reduced to _invent_ the stock itself;--then that's the most lowering to a man of all things! But there's one comfort in this distillery business--come what will, a man has always _proof spirits_.
_Enter PAT c.o.xE._
_Pat._ The whole tribe of Connaught men come, craving to be _ped_ for the oats, counsellor, due since last Serapht[1] fair.
[Footnote 1: Shrovetide.]
_O'Bla._ Can't be ped to-day, let 'em crave never so.--Tell 'em _Monday_; and give 'em a gla.s.s of whiskey round, and that will send 'em off contint, in a jerry.
_Pat._ I shall--I will--I see, sir. [_Exit PAT c.o.xE._
_O'Bla._ Asy settled that!--but I hope many more duns for oats won't be calling on me this day, for cash is not to be had:--here's bills plenty--long bills, and short bills--but even the kites, which I can fly as well as any man, won't raise the wind for me now.
_Re-enter PAT._
_Pat._ Tim McGudikren, sir, for his debt--and talks of the sub-sheriff, and can't wait.
_O'Bla._ I don't ax him to wait; but he must take in payment, since he's in such a hurry, this bill at thirty-one days, tell him.
_Pat._ I shall tell him so, plase your honour. [_Exit PAT._
_O'Bla._ They have all rendezvous'd to drive me mad this day; but the only thing is to keep the head cool. What I'm dreading beyant all is, if that ould Matthew McBride, who is as restless as a ferret when he has lodged money with any one, should come this day to take out of my hands the two hundred pounds I've got of his--Oh, then I might shut up! But stay, I'll match him--and I'll match myself too: that daughter Honor of his is a mighty pretty girl to look at, and since I can't get her any other way, why not ax her in marriage? Her portion is to be--
_Re-enter PAT._
_Pat._ The protested note, sir--with the charge of the protest to the back of it, from Mrs. Lorigan; and her compliments, and to know what will she do?
_O'Bla._ What will _I_ do, fitter to ax. My kind compliments to Mrs.
Lorigan, and I'll call upon her in the course of the day, to settle it all.
_Pat._ I understand, sir. [_Exit PAT._
_O'Bla._ Honor McBride's portion will be five hundred pounds on the nail--that would be no bad hit, and she a good, clever, likely girl.
I'll pop the question this day.
_Re-enter PAT._
_Pat._ Corkeran the cooper's bill, as long as my arm.
_O'Bla._ Oh! don't be bothering me any more. Have you no sinse? Can't you get shut of Corkeran the cooper without me? Can't ye quarrel with the items? Tear the bill down the middle, if necessary, and sind him away with a flay (flea) in his ear, to make out a proper bill--which I can't see till to-morrow, mind. I never pay any man on fair-day.
_Pat._ (_aside_) Nor on any other day. (_Aloud_) Corkeran's my cousin, counsellor, and if convanient, I'd be glad you'd advance him a pound or two on account.
_O'Bla._ 'Tis not convanient was he twenty times your cousin, Pat. I can't be paying in bits, nor on account--all or none.
_Pat._ None, then, I may tell him, sir?
_O'Bla._ You may--you must; and don't come up for any of 'em any more.
It's hard if I can't have a minute to talk to myself.
_Pat._ And it's hard if I can't have a minute to eat my breakfast, too, which I have not. [_Exit PAT._
_O'Bla._ Where was I?--I was popping the question to Honor McBride.
The only thing is, whether the girl herself wouldn't have an objection:--there's that Randal Rooney is a great _bachelor_ of hers, and I doubt she'd be apt to prefar him before me, even when I'd purpose marriage. But the families of the Rooneys and McBrides is at vareance--then I must keep 'em so. I'll keep Catty Rooney's spirit up, niver to consent to that match. Oh! if them Rooneys and McBrides were by any chance to make it up, I'd be undone: but against that catastrophe I've a preventative. Pat c.o.xe! Pat c.o.xe! where are you, my young man?
_Enter PAT, wiping his mouth._
_Pat._ Just swallowing my breakfast.
_O'Bla._ Mighty long swallowing you are. Here--don't be two minutes, till you're at Catty Rooney's, and let me see how cliverly you'll execute that confidential emba.s.sy I trusted you with. Touch Catty up about her ould ancient family, and all the Kings of Ireland she comes from. _Blarney_ her cliverly, and work her to a foam against the McBrides.
_Pat._ Never fear, your honour. I'll tell her the story we agreed on, of Honor McBride meeting of Randal Rooney behind the chapel.
_O'Bla._ That will do--don't forget the ring; for I mane to put another on the girl's finger, if she's agreeable, and knows her own interest.
But that last's a private article. Not a word of that to Catty, you understand.
_Pat._ Oh! I understand--and I'll engage I'll compa.s.s Catty, tho' she's a cunning shaver.
_O'Bla._ Cunning?--No; she's only hot tempered, and asy managed.
_Pat._ Whatever she is, I'll do my best to plase you. And I expict your honour, counsellor, won't forget the promise you made me, to ask Mr.
Carver for that little place--that situation that would just shute me.
_O'Bla._ Never fear, never fear. Time enough to think of shuting you, when you've done my business. [_Exit PAT._ That will work like harm, and ould Matthew, the father, I'll speak to, myself, genteelly. He will be proud, I warrant, to match his daughter with a gentleman like me. But what if he should smell a rat, and want to be looking into my affairs?
Oh! I must get it sartified properly to him before all things, that I'm as safe as the bank; and I know who shall do that for me--my worthy friend, that most consequential magistrate, Mr. Carver of Bob's Fort, who loves to be advising and managing of all men, women, and children, for their good. 'Tis he shall advise ould Matthew for _my_ good. Now Carver thinks he lades the whole county, and ten mile round--but who is it lades him, I want to know? Why, Gerald O'Blaney.--And how? Why, by a spoonful of the universal panacea, _flattery_--in the vulgar tongue, _flummery_. (_A knock at the door heard._) Who's rapping at the street?--Carver of Bob's Fort himself, in all his glory this fair-day.
See then how he struts and swells. Did ever man, but a pac.o.c.k, look so fond of himself with less rason? But I must be caught deep in accounts, and a balance of thousands to credit. (_Sits down to his desk, to account books._) Seven thousand, three hundred, and two pence.
(_Starting and rising._) Do I see Mr. Carver of Bob's Fort?--Oh! the honour--
