University of Virginia Library

FO'C'S'LE YARNS

Second Series

DEDICATION

[Dear countrymen, whate'er is left to us]

Dear countrymen, whate'er is left to us
Of ancient heritage—
Of manners, speech, of humours, polity
The limited horizon of our stage—
Old love, hope, fear,
All this I fain would fix upon the page;
That so the coming age,
Lost in the empire's mass,
Yet haply longing for their fathers, here
May see, as in a glass,
What they held dear—
May say, “'Twas thus and thus
They lived”; and, as the time-flood onward rolls,
Secure an anchor for their Keltic souls.

I
THE DOCTOR

Stories! stories! nothin' but stories!
Spinnin' away to the height of your glories!
And if I must, I suppose I must,
And you suspectin', I wouldn' trust,
And sittin' there all the time, and thinkin'—
Is it true he's tellin'? and nudgin' and winkin'.
Now, bless my soul! what for would I go
To tell you lies? You're foolish though!
And there's odds of lies, for the matter of that,
For there's lies that's skinny, and lies that's fat;
And lies in fustian, and lies in silk,
And lies like verjuice, and lies like milk;
And lies that's free, and lies for sale,
And rumpy lies, without a tail;
Grew in the garden and picked in the woods,
Bubbles blew with the divil's suds;
Lies that's sweet, and lies with a stink at them;
Lies like the dew that'll go if you wink at them,
And some as hard you couldn' break them
With a sledge —aw, my lad knows well how to make them!
Haven' he got the tools to his hand
Down there? And the fire! Aw, he works them grand!
For it isn' every fool that's fit
To make a rael good lie, that'll sit
On her keel, and answer her helm—no! no!
Just try it, Bob! Just try it though!
Well put together! you're took on the sudden?
You couldn'? Didn't I tell ye ye couldn'?
Lies! what lies! the things I'm tellin'
Is the abslit truth—ax Neddy Crellin!
Ears is ears, and eyes is eyes,
And fax is fax, and that's the lies!
The Docthor! The Docthor! well, well, well!
The Docthor! poor ould Docthor Bell!
Aw, I liked that man—I did though, for sure!
Uncommon good he was to the poor!
And free and hearty, but never much
Of a quality Docthor, nor regardin' for such;
Nor buckin' up, the way he might,
But proud to the lek, and very quite;
And keepin' back—aw, keepin' back
Reg'lar, and allis very slack,
Such times that they'd be sendin' the gig,
Or the horse, aw, he didn' care a fig,
But take his own time, and the coachman swearin'
At the door, for an hour, and the Docthor hearin',
And takin' no notice, but readin' the paper,
And “Doctors is chape, but time is chaper.”
And rap-rap-rap, and ring-ring-ring!
And the Doctor as happy as a king!
And—“The missis is took very bad with them, sir!
And you're wanted most partikkiler!”
And—“I got the gig,” and “are you asleep?”
“Aw, she'll keep,” said the Docthor, “she'll keep! she'll keep!”
Aw, middlin' rough, I tell ye, eh?
Rough and careless lek that way.
For he didn' want their company
Nor their money neither, aw, he'd let them see!
But if a poor man's wife was shoutin,'
Or some ould granny's innards routin',
Or fever, or fits, or tight in the breathin',
Or a child screwed up agate o' the teethin',
Or drowned, or run over—no matter what!
Out on the door, and off like a shot!
Rich he wasn', nor never could be.
Savin' he wasn', nor never would be—
Aw, the hand in the pocket, and out with it all—
As natheral, as natheral!
But the all wasn' much—aw 'deed it wasn',
Maybe only a key, or a lump of rosin,
Or a bit of string, and pokin' and pokin',
And heisin, and divin', and allis jokin';
But gettin' very red in the face,
And divil a screw. And the shamed he was!
And—“Never mind, Docthor! aw, never mind!”
And—Wasn' he kind, and wasn' he kind!
And—The will was as good as the deed, for all;
But bless ye! of coorse there wasn' no call,
Nor the one of us wanted a penny of him,
Faith! it's a deuced sight rather we'd gav' him.
A Docthor! aw, it's right no doubt—
Somethin' just to be haulin' out
For the kids—a lozenger or the lek—
Of coorse! of coorse! one might expec'—
But money! We war'n' that poor! Didn' Peter
Find it in the haddock? And hav'n' the crayther
Got the mark of the ould chap's thum'
Where he squoze it? But as for a drop of rum,
Or whatever was goin'—gin, or brandy,
Or jough, or the lek, it come very handy
To the Docthor, I tell ye; aw, never say no!
“Thank you, kindly,” and down you go!
Aw, he could do well with it, he could!
And 'deed I'm thinkin' it run in the blood.
And nice it was to see him takin' it,
Smilin' that way, and suckin' and slakin' it
Sweet in his throat, and the very belly of him
Risin' to meet it, and warming the jelly of him!
And—“My cumplimans!” and the twist of the hand!
Aw, the rael fine ould gentleman!
Now, a drunken docthor is rather danger's,
You'll be sayin', and aisy might seem to strangers;
But them that knew him knew the differ,
For never no man was brewin' it stiffer
Till the Docthor, mind! But give him fair play!
Five glasses or so, and, by gough! I'll lay
It was only the steadier he got—
And the head that was at him—as round as a pot,
And as big as two—aye, big altogether,
A fine strong man for any weather.
Aw, the Docthor had room! for there's chaps that small
And pinched in the guts, they won't do at all,
Nor can't hould on. Chut! Botheration!
The Docthor had the accommodation!
And if so be he was sprung a bit,
He knew himself when he wasn' fit,
And wouldn' stir—aw, steady still!
And sensible! allis sensible!
“I'll just look round in the mornin',” he'd say,
And of coorse they had to go away.
But clever! bless ye! that's the man
That was the clever! aw, a terrible hand!
With the bleedin' and that, and, high or low,
What was there that he didn' know?
'Arbs and roots and putrifactions!
Bills o' passils and vulgar fractions!
Birds and beasts. Like Solomon
In Kings it's tellin', ould David's son,
The wise he was, and put in the Bible,
For the wise he was, but unfornit li'ble
To women, and that's the way it is,
There isn' one of us hasn't a list
To port or starboard, either way—
“Some likes coffee, some likes tea!”
Well, he was clever though—let him alone!
Every jint and every bone,
And every stave in your body—chut!
I believe the man could have made a foot,
Or a hand every bit as good as new,
And put it on with a slick of glue
Or the lek, and bless me! ye wouldn' have knowed
(The natheral) it hadn' growed.
Didn' he take a man's inside out,
And claned it and turned it round about
And in like a shot, and livin' still
As comfible as comfible!
Aye, aye, did he! And a fellow's head
That was broke at a gauger and left for dead,
What did he do but trimmed it a bit,
And put another lid to it
As nate as you plaize, and says he to the gauger,
“You'll not break that in a hurry, I'll wager!”
I know the man, a chap with one eye,
And gove to fightin'—and divil the lie!
I don't know in my senses had he a charrim
For everything, for the books that was arrim!
And the picthers—aw, you never saw!
Pieces o' pessons—all as raw
And red as the shambles—painted lek,
And some all over a sort of a speck,
Like these dirty flies agate o' the beef,
And things in bottles that come to grief,
Bein' meant to be born, but never wasn',
Soakin' in spirits, and never a pazon
Done nothin' for them, but spoilt in the moulds
Someway—bless their little sowls!
And hadn' he a skeleton hung
Behind the door? And the way he flung
His dry ould chopsticks round ye! grippin',
And grinnin'; and you goin' duckin', and dippin'!
And houldin' on with a click of a spring
Made fast to the hinges, all bones and string
And wire, and a kind of a sort of a trigger,
And rittle-rattle, the boosely ould nigger!
And knives and screws, and prokers and lances,
It was fit to frecken you out of your senses:
It was, for sure. And a big white dummy
With cipherin' on his head; and a mummy
Brought from Egypt at some French divils,
And catgut, and pinchers set on swivels—
And— God knows what! But it wasn' them!
No! that wasn' the way it came
To the Doctor, but just the head he got,
And the heart, and knowin' every dot
Of a man, and lovin' them, and thinkin'
What were they like, and their eatin' and drinkin'—
Proud, lek proud, and rejicin' in them—
And if the divil was to win them,
Still there was the man, and the beautiful art
That was took to mortise every part,
And the power that was in, and the putty jined,
And plaised and happy in his kind—
Man to man—aye, that's your size,
That's the thing that'll make you wise—
That's the plan that'll carry the day—
Lovin' is understandin'—eh?
Lovin' is understandin'. Well,
He'd a lovin' ould heart, had Docthor Bell.
But careless—very careless, though—
Bless ye! and lettin' hisself too low!
The clever he was, and the gentleman born—
It was a pity of him—and never car'n'
To take his place, and the quality
Thinkin' diamonds of him, and him on the spree
Weeks at a time, and clane forgettin'
Who was he and what was he, and lettin'
The people talk, but simple as ever,
And humble and proud; but aw, the clever!—
The clever!—the clever! and Tom and Dick
And all the lot, as thick as thick—
And likin' him much, but very quite,
And a kind of a feelin' it wasn' right.
But glasses round, and very nice talk,
And Callow's wife agate of the chalk,
And the Docthor in the big arm-cheer—
Aw, much respected—never fear!
And “Misthress Callow! draw your best!
And—listen! fill the Docthor's glass!”
No, I didn' like that—aw, 'deed! I didn'!
And they shouldn' have done it! no, they shouldn'.
But sippin' as nice as a 'potamus—
And never no pride with the like of us!
Not him, I tell ye! but quite contrary,
And callin' Misthriss Callow “Mary”—
And never talkin' much, but sittin'
And list'nin' to others, and smookin' and spittin',
And the chair a little back in the 'cess,
And takin' a terrible interes'.
That was the Docthor? yes, that was him
The very man! And, sink or swim—
Up or down, to laugh or to cry with,
That's the man I'd like to die with.
The Pazon? Yes! aw, yes! well, maybe—
Aw, innocent! innocent as a baby,
And good and true; but, for all, a man
Is a man, and I don't know will you understan',
But you know there's people's goin' that good
They haven't a smell for the steam of the blood
That's in a man; or, if they have,
They houlds their noses, and makes belave
They hav'n'. But the Pazon—no!
True and kind; and the ebb and the flow
Of all men's hearts went through and through him—
The sweet ould man, if you'd only knew him!
But the lek is in, and meant is meant—
But the Docthor! aw, the different!
And it wasn' men only, but 'arbs and that—
I tould ye before—aw, he had them pat,
And all sorts of bas'es and fowls of the air,
And fish of the sea, and everywhere
Where God put life it would give him a start,
And he'd take and catch it with his heart,
Trimblin' mostly, and wonderin',
But bound to find out all that was in,
And never satisfied till he had it—
Isn' that the way with God that made it?
Only at ither ends, you know,
Him above and us below—
Like men in a mine, that's got to be workin'
Two levels in one, and stoppin', and herkin',
And the compass at them, and keepin' nix,
And list'nin' for each other's picks.
And when they're together middlin' cluss,
They're workin' like blazes who'll be fuss,
And slishin', slashin', rock and spar
Till the hole is broke; and there they are!
“But it isn' that way with God at all,”
The Docthor would say, “for the thinner the wall
Between you and Him the slacker He is,
And not mindin' lek; and if you persiss,”
Them was the Docthor's words, “He'll either
Go back, or go by; and it's foolish rather,”
He'd say, “you'll be lookin'! And see a flower,”
He'd say, “partickler after a shower—
Wouldn' you think now (a rose or a lily)
He was goin' to talk to you with it? But will He?
Not Him, bless ye! But back and back,
And in and in, and laves no track—
Red and yaller! aye, just so!
And the more you know, the less you know!”
Funny talk! but lovin', for all—
Everythin' that was beautiful!
“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,”
He was sayin'. And the tender! aw, you never!
The tender he'd handle the like, and strookin'
Their little leaves, and lookin', and lookin'.
Beetles, too, and butterflies—
Aw, they'd bring a light to the ould man's eyes
That was good to look at; and then he'd 'splain
How they were livin'. And after rain
It's out to the garden he'd be like a shot,
And down on the grubs uncommon hot;
And a lump of a case at him where he kep' 'em,
And pinched the worm or the louse that could 'skep him.
But tangles! that was his delight!
Dredgin', I tell ye, from mornin' till night!
And he'd have me out with him—just a little chap
That could work the paddles, and a sort of a trap
He'd rigged a-purpose—a scraper you'd call it,
To scrape the bottom, and heavy to haul it;
But keen! aw, keen! and a nettin' to 't
Rove with rings that would open and shut
Like a purse. And “Aisy! aisy!” he'd say.
And I'd be stoppin', and him haulin' away,
And sweatin' bad, and up he'd have it,
And over the side as right as a travit,
And then the joy! the abslit wild,
And shoutin' just like a little child!
And “Look here! look here! look! look! little lad!”
Aw, you'd swore the man was going mad!
“Here they are!” and sortin' them out
On the taff, and twistin' and turnin' about
That I'd be takin' notice, and puttin'
The terrible names on them, and cuttin'
The stones and the muck out of them, and squeezin'
The little threads; and coaxin' and teazin'
The fringes, and spreadin' them out on his sleeve,
But the delicate! you wouldn' believe;
And the soft and lovin', and a sort of a cooin'
Goin' at him all he was doin'.
And prayin', you'd think, and passin' the stringers
Of the long sea grass betwix' his fingers,
As if it wasn' wrack he had there,
But the holy bread, or a baby's hair.
And sometimes I'd be freckened lek,
Or sittin' wond'rin' on the beck,
And the oars dropped from me, and my mouth as open—
A little chap! or may be hopin'
There'd be oysters in, and sometimes laughin'
The way he was actin', but not very often,
For he'd turn and he'd say—“That's very bad!
Don't laugh! don't laugh now! little lad!”
And you're laughin' too? And it's long ago—
Laugh! laugh! But I liked the Doctor though!
Now, you'll be axin' how could a man
Like him be losin' himself that plan—
Sittin' there in a public-house,
And drinkin', and callin' that dirty trouss
By her name, and let his glass be fillin'
At the lek of yandher, and him quite willin'
For them to pay? “Aw, dear!” says you?
“Aw, dear!” indeed, and very true!
“Aw, dear!” you says? “Aw, dear!” says I—
“The shame!” says you, to which I rerply—
“The shame!” And “drinkin”' was it, you said?
Aye, and took home, and put to bed
At “the lek of yandher!” or maybe alone
Tryin', and trippin' over a stone
On the shore, and lyin' takin' his doze,
Till the tide come floppin' under his nose,
And the sniff of the water'd waken him up.
Bless me! hadn' the man a sup
One night in Douglas, and a book as big
As a Bible at him, and a thingummy-gig
Of a sort of a trough! And how did they act,
But took and tied them on to his back,
And on to the horse? and whatever it was
Whether the water or whether the grass,
Or used of a mill that was up that way,
The horse took straight for the inner bay,
And him that stupid he didn' obsarv' her,
And over her head and into the harver.
And “Murder!” and flounderin' about,
And the sentry hearin', and the guard turned out,
And fishin' him up. And “He'll take his death
Of cowld,” they says. And in spite of his teeth
Off with his clothes, and rigs him straight
In a little red jacket, and houldin' a light.
And the fun them divils of souldiers had!
And—“Serjeant! give him the shillin'!” they said.
And the Docthor quite content for all.
And standin', smilin', against the wall,
And his poor ould face all drabbled in tears,
And—“My noble British Grenadiers!”
He says; says the Serjeant—“A strappin' recruit!
And by jabers we'll give him a royal salute!”
And out with the fife and out with the drum,
And—“Steady! my lads! we'll see him home,”
And caught the mare, and “'Scuse me, your honour!
You're a tidy weight”; and heaves him upon her;
And rub-a-dub! rub-a-dub! never say die!
And the Docthor quite happy, and nice and dry!
And over the bridge, and away they go,
With a fol-di-rol-lol-di-rol-idy-o!
And away to the Lhen, and up to the door,
And a tantaran that was fit, for sure,
To waken the dead; and the Misthress comin'
With a light, and the Serjeant stoppin' the drummin',
And—“We've brought you your husband, Missis Bell!
And only her shift; and—“Very well!”
Says she as aisy as aisy, and out
With the candle straight, and used, no doubt!
And—“I'll remember you in my prayers,”
Says the Docthor, sthrugglin' upon the stairs,
And as dark as the divil; and leavin' the man,
Or lettin' him off, you'll understand.
Aisy! aye, aisy! and used, you know,
But a doeless sort of a woman though.
What for wouldn' she kick up a fuss,
The way that other women does,
Bein' anyways respectable—
What for wouldn' she give him his fill,
Ladlin' it hot? And very right!
Comin' home that way of a night!
But bless ye! No! Just “Very well!”
That's all you'd get from Misthress Bell!
No spirit! Chut! Not a bit! Nor standin'
On her right, and givin' it them from the landin'.
Why, there's many a woman would have up with the sash,
And soused the lot!—a set of trash
Like them to be gettin' it in the papers,
And freck'nin' people with their capers!
No sailor wouldn' have done the lek—
Bless your soul! too much respec'!
And more till one can play at that game,
And very apt to be took the same.
But still you'll be axin' how could it be?
And a man like that? Well, look here! d'ye see,
I'll tell ye now, but wait a minute!
Fist us that bottle! Is there anything in it?
All right! The cow must have her grass.
Now, listen!—this is the way it was.
The Docthor wasn' Manx at all,
But an Englishman; and what ye may call
'Printiced, you know, to a docthor in London,
A dandy docthor, the way there abundin'
In a place like that. Aw, terrible grand,
Buckin' up to the first of the land,
Drivin' about in a carriage and pair—
You know the lek is at them there.
And a footman, bless ye! And off he leps,
And touches his hat, and rattles the steps,
And out comes the Docthor as nate as a pin,
And the cheerful—it's astonishin'!
And the coat that's at him, shinin', by jing,
Like a pazon, or a raven's wing?
And how is Masther, and how is Miss?
And slaps a guinea into his fiss,
Or maybe two, I wouldn' wonder,
But one at least; aw, divil the under!
And aisy earned; and out like a shot,
And on to the rest—a humbuggin' lot!
But of coorse, the quality has their way,
And must have it, and let them pay.
And them big lazy lubbers with breeches
And stockin's at them! Well, riches is riches!
And where the carcase is, it's sayin', thither
Shall the eagles be gathered together.
Aye, that's it! well—troubles and troubles!
That's where the Docthor got in hobbles.
For there was a man they were callin' “Sir John”
The Dandy Docthor was docthor upon.
Aw, that was the man with the money—aye!
And a house at him, maybe ten stories high—
And nothin' but gool. Chut! Nothin' but gool,
Every chair and every stool!
And the cups and saucers—high uncommon!
High, aw, high! And never no woman
For cook in the kitchen at them there,
But a sort of a divil they called mounseer—
French, it's lek, and cockin' his chin,
And jabberin', and jabberin'.
Aw, gool wasn' nothin' yandharwheres—
Hadn't they bank-notes in the chairs
For stuffin'? And lookin'-glasses'd show
Every bit from top to toe,
And beds that was workin' on a swivel!
And pianoes! aye, scores! And as proud as the divil!
Now, the Dandy Docthor, you see, for all,
Sometimes couldn' get round on the call
That was after him reggilar; and so,
Of coorse, the young Docthor had to go.
And just as good, and very much lekked,
Special at what they're callin' the “sec”—
Manin' the ladies!—and a handsome man,
And no mistake. And six foot one,
If he was an inch, and handsome still
When he was an ould man; for there's some o' them will—
Aye, wore, of coorse, but you'll notice the signs,
And a ship may be wrecked, but showin' her lines—
And a light in his eye, like a sweet strong juice
Of fire comin' tricklin' from a sluice
In his head, or his heart, or somewhere or another,
Strained, like enough, from the milk of his mother,
And kindly mixed: and very nice
To look upon, and the same in his vice—
And playin' the flute most beautiful,
In the pocket at him down at the Bull,
Three pieces lek, and screwed with a jint,
And puttin' his ould lips to a pint,
And tootlin' away, and heisin' the lift
Of his eyes. And mayve the best of a shift
Of miners sittin' and list'nin' there,
And fit to cry, the sweet to hear
It was. And rough enough divils them,
But never rough, I tell ye, to him.
Aw, if the miners was there, by gough!
You dar'n' spit, and you dar'n' cough,
Nor breathin' mostly, or you'd have a fist
Down your throat middlin' slippy—and “hush!” and “whist!”
And—“aisy there!” and “silence!” and “shoo!”
You might ha' heard a pin—aw, it's true, it's true!
And him an ould man, and maybe half drunk,
And the head that shaky, and the cheek that sunk!
What'd he be like, then, when he was young—
With his hair all curled, and his vice like the bung
Of a barrel, and lookin' every man
Straight in the face? Aye! what would he be then?
Aw, there's no mistake! you may put it down!
The puttiest man in London town!
What did ye say? He couldn' have been!
In London, too, where the King and the Queen
Is livin', and all the quality!
And the finest men would be sure to be—
Knights, and Lords, and Ladies high,
Colonels and Dukes. To which I rerply—
Who says they didn'? Of coorse they do!
But wasn' Docthor Bell livin' there, too?
Wasn' he? wasn' he? Answer me that!
Aye, you're lookin' as cross as a cat,
Are you? Well, you're ugly enough
Already! My goodness! he's takin' the huff!
What is he sayin'? Who will he lather!
He wouldn' stand it from his father!
Well, I wouldn' hev a temper like yandhar fool.
Bless my heart then, let him cool!
'Deed on Bobby! don't look towards him!
Huffed, is he, eh? And who regards him!
Now, listen to me! I'll bet you a crown
He was the puttiest man in London town!
Now, I'll stand to that, now! What's your talk?
How am I sure? Well, there's chaps that'll balk
The divil himself! Now, just look here!
It's aisy howin'! Aw, dear! aw, dear!
How am I sure? To which I rerply—
I happen to know it! And “Who am I?”
Says you. To which——But, of coorse! of coorse!
A chap may be shoutin' till he's hoorse,
And nothin' but contradictin' still;
And it's very disagreeable!
Very—all along of that cur—
Now, I happen to know partikkiler!
Partikkiler! do you understand?
Partikkiler! the puttiest man
In London. I happen—never mind the how!
Partikkiler—aye! where are you now?
But avast this talk!
Now, you must know
There was no house the Docthor was useder to go
Till to this Sir John's. And, bless me! the diamonds
They were thinkin' of him! and he “shutes my requi'man's
To a T,” says Sir John; and “Come, man! come!
Dear me! make yourself at home!”
Ailin' often, or thinkin' he was;
And maybe a little too fond of a glass.
So there the Docthor'd be makin' his call,
And liked uncommon at them all!
Aw, the Docthor was this; and the Docthor was that
And the very dog and the very cat
Was takin' joy of him; and a bird
They had would sing the minute he heard
His foot. He had a way, I expec',
To hould communion with the lek.
And the sarvints! bless ye! The man was free;
And the plannin' and the schamin' there'd be
To get him down in the kitchen, though;
And kind to the high, and kind to the low;
And allis one of them bound to be poorly,
And “Would he see her?” and “Surely! surely!”
And any excuse just to get a look
At his handsome face. And even the cook
Would allow he was a good-lookin' falla,
“Though not in my style!” he'd say, and as yalla
As the yoke of an egg, and as ugly as sin,
And a bit of hair on the tip of his chin;
And he'd have a talk with the Docthor too,
And jabber away with his parley-voo—
And the Docthor givin' him back as good
As he gave. Aw, that's the man that could,
French or Hebrew, Greek or Latin,
All sorts of lingo, chittin' and chattin'
As quick, I tell ye, and wee-wee-wee!
And Mossher Bell! And fiddle-de-dee!
And the sarvints delighted, but wonderin' still,
And sayin'—“Isn' he terrible?”
But as for Sir John, from mornin' to night
He'd never have had him out of his sight;
For the Docthor was that handy about him
The ould chap couldn' do without him.
Aw, the Docthor knew the very fit
Of all his notions. And there he'd sit
And tell him all the talk o' the town,
And who was up and who was down,
And the in and the out, till at last he wrote
To the dandy Docthor, and bound him to't
That he'd allis be sending Dr. Bell,
For there was nobody suitin' him as well;
And sacked the dandy. You see, at least
He was only gettin' the name of the place—
Head Docthor to Sir John, you know,
And the money of coorse, but never to go!
And Dr. Bell, he didn' objeck,
And paid the same, but special lek
Betwix' him and Sir John. Now, Sir John, it appears,
Was a widda man in the teens of years,
And only one child, and his heart much set
Upon her, by the name of Harriet—
The only child that was at Sir John,
And just about goin' on twenty-one.
Aw, that's the gel that was the pretty!
The handsomest in London city!
Aw, you'll take that, will ye? Well! well! no matter!
But you'd batthar —eh! it's like you'd batthar!
Aye—and it's middlin' funny though,
If a man's goin' a callin' handsome, it's no!
And him! and ger out! But if contrary
It's a woman, aw, then you're agreeable, very!
And pricks up your ears; and dear! thinks you,
There's a gel in the case! and handsome too!
Aw, bless me! and perfectly willin' of it,
Well natur' is natur'. But drov it! drov it!
Now, this young gel was clever though,
As well as handsome, and lettin' them know,
And a bit of a scutcher, and orderin',
And every place as nate as a pin,
And couldn' stand no huggermugger
About, and sarvin' the tea and the sugar;
And weighin' the mutton, and weighin' the beef,
And wouldn' have no dirty ould thief
Of a housekeeper—or whatever they call them—
Betwix' her and the sarvints, but would overhaul them
Herself like the mischief; and a book, and settin'
What was she givin' and what was she gettin';
Aw, strict, I tell ye, but terrible good
And righteous lek. Aw, the grand ould blood
That was in her, makin' every limb
So sweet and so true that she looked to swim
In a light of glory and loveliness,
All about her, and fillin' the place
With the right sort of spirit wherever she'd be—
And a sweet-smellin' savour of honesty!
And for all the strict, they were lovin' her
You wouldn' believe! aw, 'deed they were.
Happy and holy and undefiled,
And twenty-one! aw, bless the child!
And terrible dutiful to the father,
But quite; and freckened of him rather.
And him as proud as proud could be
Of her; but a rough ould chap, ye see,
And of coorse he'd seen a deal of life
And wickedness, and lost the wife,
A middle-aged man, and took his fill
O' the lek, and chewin' the cud of it still,
And swearin' for he couldn' do more
Till chewin' the cud. Aw, hard at the core,
And full of the world and the things of the world;
And nothin' in him for the child to curl
Her soul around. Aw, a divil! it's true:
And rather a dirty ould divil too.
And not much truck between the pair,
But dutiful, dutiful, reggilar.
It was the Docthor that he was takin' to,
For of coorse the Docthor was bound to know
About all the divilment that was in,
And this and that, and a heap of sin,
And all the rigs, and the crops, and the weather,
And who and who was goin' together,
And all the bag o' lies ould Nick
Shakes out every mornin' for his childher to pick.
But I tell ye the Docthor shouldn' ha' done it,
And hard to stop the once he begun it—
Aw, very wrong and foolish it was,
And comin' home to him at las'.
But the Docthor! the Docthor! the Docthor still
At Sir John. And the 'tention and the skill,
A miracle! a miracle!
He was swearin'—the way he'd fixed his gout—
And “Chut!” he'd say; “what are you talkin' about?”
He says, “I've took him by the hand,”
He says, “and by gough I'll make him a man.”
“Yes,” he says, “he's safe,” he says,
“He's all right, I tell ye; the very first place
In this counthry,” he says, “is the place for him,”
And no mistake but he'd have that same!
And where he'd spake for him, and what would he do—
And the cusses flying like Waterloo—
And “a divilish willin' chap; and a wag,”
And “game,” he'd say. Aw, the terrible brag
He was takin' out of the Docthor! “By gorrum!”
He says, “the King'll be sendin' for him.”
And “the useful! the useful! you couldn' tell!”
And nobody like Docthor Bell.
And that was true! It's useful he was,
For whether a dog, or whether a hoss,
Or a man, or a maid, or an ox, or an ass,
Or everythin' that is his—mind you!
The Docthor could tell the very screw;
Aw, fix it to a dot—he could—
To a dot, I tell ye; and understood
All about lawin' and every spree,
And leasin' lek, and proppity.
Aw, useful! bless ye! there's no know'n'!
And handy uncommon, whatever was goin'—
Big parties and that; and tasty show
With the flowers, and decoratin' you know—
And managin', and who to ax,
And a hammer at him, and a paper of tacks,
And fixin'. And all the servants delighted
And runnin'. And pounds of candles lighted—
Bless ye! all the house in a blaze,
And the Docthor knowin' all the ways;
And how should it be, and when to begin,
And mind, now! mind! and orderin',
And well acquent with all the stars,
Sthroullers lek, musicianers—
Punch and Judy divils—chaps
That's glad to come for the bits and the scraps!
And dangerous to get drunk though, very,
Gin or brandy, port or sherry—
All as one; and hardly seein'
The book afore them, and tweedledeein'
Like mad, tell they cannot tweedle no more,
And goin' a puttin' to the door,
And collared at the police, never fear!
Aw, dozens of fiddles! aye, dozens there!
Goin' like the deuce, and rub-a-dub-dub—
Tramhurns and things. Aw, just like a club!
Jinglin'-janglin' enough to have stunned ye,
Just like a club o' Easter Monday;
And the Pazon goin' in the front, and struts out
Like a cock, and the band a blowin' their guts out.
Now, Sir John was ould, but he was fond
Of company was ould Sir John—
Aye—and glad if a body would take
The trouble of shuperintendin' the lek—
And nothin' to do but to look as big
And as grand as he could; and a beautiful wig
Made fast that never no body could pint
Azackly the place he had the jint.
And a noddin' here, and a gruntin' there,
And backin' and gettin' into a chair,
A purpose for him. And cards, and a set
Of ould chaps like hisself; and they'd dale and they'd bet,
And they'd cuss—very comfibil—and keep
At the cards till the lot o' them went to sleep!
And Docthor Bell of coorse head man.
And so you'll aisy understan'
How it happened betwix' them two—
The young missis, I mane, and the way they grew
Very thick, and much together.
And that's the way, you see, you'll sleddher
Unknownced, and slip and slip again,
Till over you go, and it's love that's in!
Head over ears—the way they're sayin',
But gradjal! gradjal! for love will be playin'
A terrible long game sometimes—
Aw, 'deed he will! and the divil climbs
Inch by inch, but he climbs, for all;
And let your main royal be ever so tall,
It's him that'll stand upon the truck.
And—down with your colours! By gough! you're took!
Down with your colours! down! I say—
Aw, you're a fair prize, anyway!
The little monkey with his bow and arris,
Lek he'd be afthar shootin' sparris—
You've seen in the valentines, small but spunky!
Aw, the little monkey! the little monkey!
He'll do it, he will; aw, there's not much doubt
He'll do your bizness. Chut! get out!
Bless ye! how could they manage it
That it wouldn' be, and her to sit
At a little bit of a table there,
And him a standin' behind a chair,
And her to be calkerlatin' lek,
And him to prove it all correct!
And if she looked up now, what would she see
But a man that was made as a man should be?
And if he looked down, what was the sight?
A woman as beautiful as the light!
And her lookin' up, and him lookin' down,
Is the way it was mos'ly, I'll be bound!
Nor it isn' natheral, I'll assure ye,
To be allis lookin' straight before ye!
And aisy talkin'—but, listen to me!
How would it be now? how would it be?
The lovely scent comin' off her hair,
And the curly rings, and the neck all bare,
Excep' a little thread or so
Stragglin', lek not knowin' where to go!
And, aw, the beautiful divide
Tha'd be there—the white! and the purified!
And the tips of her ears. They're soft little things
Is them, like indiarubber springs—
Nice uncommon to feel. Hurroo!
I'm off my coorse! This'll never do!
You're laughin', Bobby? Aw, he has me!
The stuff I'm talkin' though, God bless me!
But still now mos'ly it's hard to tell—
But a boy is a boy and a gel is a gel;
And put together lek that way,
And their breaths goin' mixin' like the hay
Of a sultry everin', and near
Enough to one another to hear
The come and the go, and the click o' the heart;
And now and then a little start,
And a catch on the cogs, and houldin' in—
Aw, it'll cook your goose astonishin'!
And bad enough in the town, but wuss
When ould Sir John gave a rattlin' cuss,
And it's on to the country, at your sarvis!
The Docthor must come with him for harvis'!
Such times the shootin' would be goin',
And horses to ride, and boats either rowin'
Or sailin', and fishin'. Aw, ye never seen!
A mortal grand place it must have been.
Aw, that's what done it altogether
Betwix' them two. And no talk o' the father,
Nor the how, nor the when, but married they'd be
Some time or other—ma chree! ma chree!
Aye, that's the very way it is—
A kind of a sort of drunkenness.
I'm told she was proud, too, all the same;
And they're hard to fall in love is them,
But fell —chut! bless ye! there's nothin' lek them!
No! for you'll neither bend nor brek them!
For pride is hard and love is soff—
But the two together—that's the stuff!
Harder till hard! the way they're mixin'
Two metals in one for the hard, or fixin'
The die, very slow in the soak, mind you!
But takin' the colour through and through!
Takin'—aye! aw, long in the steepin'—
Takin'—aye! takin' and keepin'!
And didn' they ax the father? No!
Certainly not! A rum sort of go
To be axin' him! What for? My conscience!
What for? Now really! What sort o' nonsense
Is that to be axin'! Says you, What for?
Says I, because they didn' dar'!
Dar', says you. Yes! dar', says I!
They should, says you. To which I rerply—
Certainly not! Now, then, go on!
Certainly not! Aw, I see you're done!
Very well, then—done it is—
Interruptin'! Idikkiliss!
The reason they dar'n'? Well, wait a spell
And you'll hear the reason. Waitin's well.
Aye, indeed! Now, the counthry air
Is terrible for love, I'll swear—
Terrible to make it grow,
And take a root, and blossom and blow
Like the roses, and all the flowers. The lek
Isn' in towns, and you can't expeck.
For people is lovin' in towns of coorse,
But it isn' the deep, and it hav'n' the force,
Nor wholesome lek, and sweet, the way
It is in the counthry, with cows and hay,
And all to that; but a sort of a bother,
And a aggravatin' one another,
Or makin' believe; and a hum and a huff,
And none o' the juice o' the rael stuff—
Somethin' like the milk they've got,
Half of it water. And whether or not,
No light in the sky, no bird on the wing,
A sort of a dirty gasey thing!
Isn' the air all rotten? Yes!
And lovin' the same—that's the way it is.
That's the way in the towns, you see;
But the country—aw, dear o' me!
Well, back to the town, though; back to the town:
And it's lek enough it's there they foun'
The differ, but takin' it with them—eh?
Aw, come out o' that! What do you say?
Apt to be foolish? That's allowed!
But aisy! aisy! the both o' them proud,
Proud of each other, and very plaised
The love was at them; that's what aised
Their hearts uncommon, thinkin'—what?
Thinkin' they were chised, lek, from the lot—
Chised complete; and never no man
Nor woman, I tell ye, but the one—
Just the one; and then—— No matthar!
Give it up! the wuss, or the batthar—
Just the one! Aw, that's the style;
For love is straight like a little child:
You loves me, and I loves you;
So what are you wantin' us to do?
Spake to the father? Go to pot!
Certainly not! certainly not!
No, no! Bless your soul! fair play!
Time enough for that, thinks they;
Or never didn' think nothin' about it;
Never axed, and never doubtet—
Some way, some day. The world is wide,
And driftin', driftin' with the tide.
And driftin' is very pleasant, too,
When the sea is calm and the sky is blue,
And you've got the littlest taste of a breeze,
Just enough to make a baby sneeze;
And your head on your arms, and your feet on a taff,
And nothin' drawin', fore or aft—
Chut! as happy as Nicodemus,
And knowin' you're out of the track o' the staemers;
And maybe a bee comin' bummin' by,
As if he was in the notion to fly
Far, far away, where there's brighter flowers
And sweeter honey, he's thinkin', than ours—
Or a bit o' thistle-wool comin' skippin'
Head over heels; or oars a dippin'
Out on the Trunk, and all the nisin'
O' the land goin' into one, surprisin'—
Dogs and cows—lek a sort of confusick,
Makin' a wonderful mixthur o' musick;
And the very land itself'll go
Like an urgan playin', soft and low!
Bless me! where am I now? A calm!
And driftin'! 'Deed, I think I am.
But driftin', if it's driftin' you're for,
Two together—there you are—
That's the sort! No need to rest
Your head on your arms when a lovin' breast
Is ready to take it. Rest it there!
And driff—driff—driff, then, God knows where!
Aye, but that's it, for the man would be clever
That'd go on driftin' and driftin' for ever.
No! it must come to an end at last,
And it doesn' matter the slow or the fast,
Settin' in on a point, or takin' you aff,
Nor how's your sheets, or what's your draff —
It's up like a shot! and pull man, pull!
Backards is backards, says Bobby the Bull.
But it soon came out in London for all,
The very next winter—a terrible ball
They were hav'n', lek maybe thousands there,
And the jingin' and shovin', just like a fair.
And the Docthor not very careful though,
But took the fancy, and off he must go
Lonesome lek, whatever he had,
And lavin' the quality at it like mad,
And into the 'sarvatory, a place
Built on the the house, in a sort of a 'cess —
They're keepin' feerins there, and the lek of them.
And glass you know, and a sort of a frame—
Cucumbars? Well, you're makin' me laugh!
Cucumbars! What are you thinking of?
No! but a house as big as a shop,
And flowers goin' twistin' over the top
Inside and out; and no dung nor beddin',
The way with cucumbars; and spreddin'
Roundy lek, and glass, I stated,
And most magnificent titervated.
So that's the place where the Docthor came in,
Just souljerin' about, in saemin';
And rather dark in there, I'm tould,
And nice and fresh, and a sort of a bowl,
And a spoot goin' skutin' the water up,
Only just a little sup,
But givin' a very pleasant sound,
Skutin' and drippin' all around.
Aw, a fuss-rate place! But it's lek I needn'
Be tellin' you what was the Docthor heedin'—
Aye, aye! You're right. Of course she was—
And a lad is a lad, and a lass is a lass—
Swells? yes! yes! but the proud white neck
Stooped, and all of a trimble lek,
Stooped though, stooped! Aw, never fear!
Much the same, from what I hear—
And no mistake! the ould, ould story!
And “Honey-soap!” says Queen Victory.
Now, this dandy docthor I was talkin' about
Was jealous of Docthor Bell, no doubt—
Mortal! And no wondher, you'll say,
Bein' put out of the berth that way;
And watchin', watchin', like a cat,
And eyein' his chance—aw, mind you that!
And there that night, and took up a pogician,
As the bobby said, like a fellow fishin',
And calkerlatin', and dancin' the fly,
And fish about, but rather shy—
Just like I heard a preacher tell
The divil is fishin' in the dubs of hell—
Watchin'! the dirty thing! And took
The advantage of them two! Worse luck!
And crep', and crep', and saw them together,
And the kisses goin', and envyin' rather,
Aw, envyin', by gough! And away
To ould Sir John, which was hard at the play,
And somethin' partickler, and wasn' able
Just there, and got him from the table,
Swearin', though; and faith! he tould him.
Aw, then, the job was how to hould him!
And jumps like a lion shot at the hunter,
And “Who?” and “What!” and he'd go and affront her
Confront is it? All as one —
And “Make love to my daughter!” says Sir John,
“Make love to my daughter!” And like to bust,
And the mad he clane forgot to cuss.
And the people begun to stare. But the dandy
Took him away, though, very handy,
And into the 'sarvatory another road,
And coaxin' him, for the love of God,
To keep quite. And “Be carm, SirJonn, be carm!”
And scrunchin' the teeth, and just like barm—
Foamin'! And her, he was sayin', her!
And, then—“Look there, Sir John, look there!”
Look there, indeed! Aw, the close! the close!
And the four lips makin' the one red rose—
Somethin' worth lookin' at, I'll swear!
Aw, a beautiful pair! a beautiful pair!
“Rascal! scoundrel! villain! thief!”
Aw, the rose was broke—aw, every leaf!
“Come out of that!” he says, and the string
Of his tongue was unloosed, and then full swing
The cusses come rollin' fair and free.
And, “Is this your gratitude to me!
And you! Miss Madam! you! you! you!”
He was chokin' lek; but the poor girl flew
Like a freckened bird, and in on the door—
The little one, I tould you afore—
And the dandy he got behind it, the way
She wouldn' see him! Aw, as good as a play!
But she did, and she gave him a look for all
That was fit to pin him against the wall.
And he bowed very low, the sliddherin' snake—
A dirty divil, and no mistake!
And what did the Docthor do? What could he?
Answer him? Chut! It was well he kept studdy,
Aw, very studdy, and takin' his part,
But studdy, except he gave a start
At something that the ould man said
About the young lady. Aw, then the head
Went up, and the eye was brought to the level,
And bedad the ould man had to be civil
For a bit, and backed, you see—the freckened
He was—rather further till he reckoned—
And over a tub, and tripped, and comin'
Against a image of a woman
That was there, and shook, and threw on the ground,
And broke; and maybe a hundred pound!
And black in the face, and the cusses as hot
As brimstone boilin' out of the throat—
And the company comin' runnin' in,
And all the row and all the din—
And gettin' to know, and glasses cockin',
And “Oh!” says the ladies, “Oh! how shockin'!”
And drawin' a one side, as if they meant
The Docthor to go. So the Docthor went.
Then says an ould chap—and he gave a cuss—
“A strappin' young fellow! She might have done wuss!”
And what to do? Aw, bless your soul!
How would I know? Only I'm tould
The same man fought the battle well,
Aw, it's the rael stuff was Docthor Bell.
And up to the house the very next mornin',
And day after day, and the sarvints warnin',
If they'd spake to him, and he would see Sir John—
Yes! he would, and he should see Sir John!
And all very well if he could see Sir John!
But the most o' the ould sarvints was forced to go,
Takin' his part, o' coorse, you know.
'Deed I believe the lot o' them had
To leave, excep' Mounseer, and a lad
That was at them there they were callin' James—
You're wonderin' I remember the names?
Aye! lek enough! But James and me
Was well acquent. So let that be.
Day after day, day after day—
Aw, it was a pity of him, any way!
Pity enough! And never no chance
To get speech with Sir John—aw, divil the once!
And letters! letters! Lave him alone!
And her of coorse never gettin' none!
And tould at last at a big new flunkey
To cut his stick, and rizzed his monkey,
And ups with his fist and knocks him down,
And nabbed at the bobbies, and took and bound
To keep the peace, the way the law says—
And this and that—and five shillin' and cosses.
That's what they're callin' justice, by jing!
Justice' There isn' no such thing!
Not for the poor man! no there isn'!
Down with the dibs, or go to prison!
That's the justice! Aw, the beauties!
A executin' of their duties!
“Empty puss—nothin' does!
Full bags—nice nags—
Money is honey—my little sonny!
And a rich man's joke is allis funny!”
Eh? That's it—“I'm not able to pay't,”
Says you. “You scandalous runnagate!”
Says he; “you notorious vagabone!
You thief! aye, murderer! There's no knowin'!
You desperate ruffian,” he says, “how dare ye?
You're a case for pity—are ye?
Remove him, jailer!” he says, and screws
His mouth like a vice; but what's the use?
Jingle the shiners—“Stop! stop! stop!
Jailer! I think we may adop'
A differin' coorse. I think we can,
Jailer,” he says, “with this gentleman.”
Pay them! pay the very last fardin'!
And, “Raelly, sir!” and “I ask your pardon!”
Justice! Is it justice! Blow them!
Justice! Aw, by gough! I know them—
And should. Why, wasn' I took at them there
In Liverpool? And strapt on a bier,
And away at them. And all I done
Was kicked in a window, bein' full o' fun
And divilment, and noways drunk, d'ye see;
But just a sup. And fond of a spree
Them times—and strapped! (just a taste o'gin)
Like a dead man gain' a buryin'—
And in in the dark, and goin' a pitchin'
On the floor in a sort of divil's kitchen.
And the stink there was there! And the dirty lot—
And never a window, and as hot as hot!
Says I, “I'm respectable connecket.”
Says they, “You look uncommon lek it”;
And shuts the door, and turns the key—
And them dirty bruteses scratchin' away—
You'd think they were in a meadow mowin',
The reg'lar and complete they were goin'!
Well, I never thought much of Harry Cowle
Since that very day; and, upon my sowl,
A man should stick to a friend, he should—
But out of the way the fast he could,
Makin' tracks, like a haythen nigger—
The coward! And big! aye, couldn' be bigger!
And strong. And lavin' me alone
To tackle the lot! Aw, bone to bone
And flesh to flesh for ever, I say.
Stand by your mates! and fire away!
Why, bless your life! if yandher fool
Had ha' stood, it isn' in Liverpool
They'd ha' got the twenty men 'd ha' took us!
But never mind! that's the way the luck is.
And, by gough, it's a comfort all the same—
I made a picther o' two o' them—
And havin' no money, the case was clear—
Two months of coorse! Aw, never fear!
Chut! Where am I? Alow or alof?
This James, the lad I was tellin' you of—
Terrible fond o' the Docthor, you know,
Got out one day, I tell you though,
And bein' up to all sorts o' dodgin',
Come unknownced to the Docthor's lodgin',
And tould him Miss Harriet was sent
To a place they calls the “Continent.”
So what does the Docthor do but starts
The very nex' day for them foreign parts—
I don't know what country, but middlin' far—
About the places they've got the war,
I'm thinkin'. But of coorse he was much behind her,
And hadn' no track, and couldn' find her.
But wandered up and down the land,
Till the money was gone, you'll understand.
And gettin' very poor and shabby,
And atin' little, and as weak as a babby.
And home at last, and nearly dyin';
And James to see him, and bust a cryin'—
Aw, bad. And one of these docthor chaps
That'd nuss a elephant on their laps,
If he was sick, a reg'lar limb,
You know, but kind and fond of him—
Well, this young divil took him in hand,
And stuck to him though, and nussed him grand,
Till at last the Docthor was fit for the road.
And that's the time he came to Bigode.
It's a farm that's pretty well up on the mountain;
And lonely! Aw, there's no accountin';
But sick, it's lek, at the heart, and needin'
A dale o' peace, like a sort o' feedin',
You know; and glad to be out of Anglan',
For what is there there but wranglin' and janglin',
And hurry and scurry, and never allowed
To take your time. And all the crowd,
And—go it, cripples!—and the people hard,
And—out of my road! and doesn' regard
If you're limpin' or laughin'! Aw, very rough,
And savage though; aye, savage enough—
And uplifted suandalous, and settin' their face
Like a flint. Aw, bless ye! it isn' a place
At all! I wouldn' give it the name
Of a Christian country. Well, he came
To the Bigode for all, and Bigode is near
Nor'-east from the Lhen, and a step to be there—
About a two mile at any rate—
A little house, but rather nate,
And a terrible prospect of the say,
And mountains stretchin', right away
East and west, and a gill goin' slantin'
In front, and a little bit of a plantin';
And situated very purty —
About twenty acre, or from that to thirty;
Middlin' land, and a river for sure,
Very nice, and trouts thallure.
Well, it's there the Doctor come to stay,
And nobody knowin', I've heard them say,
Who was he, or what? Just a gentleman
In hiddlins lek—the way they ran
Common enough them times over there,
And mostly heavy on the beer.
The Bigode's ones was very fond of such—
It's lek—not givin' trouble much—
Aw, 'deed, the mistress would ax like a shot
Were they drinkin', or were they not?
And if so be they wasn' drinkin',
“You'll 'scuse me, sir,” she'd say, “I'm thinkin'
We'll hardly shuit,” she says, says she,
“We'll hardly shuit.” Aw, fond of a spree
Was the thing for her; but a dacent woman,
Mind you, and stuck to the house uncommon.
But never axed the Docthor still,
Lookin' that down and miser'ble,
And broke to pieces, lek it would be
A fine man fell in ruins, you see—
The way they are. And of coorse all right,
Thinks the woman; and no appetite
To spake of. What? aw, right enough!
But wondhrin' where he had the stuff,
And whenever in the world was he goin' to begin—
Wondherin', and wondherin'!
And sometimes she'd think he had a way
Of a little stagger at him—eh?
Or a look of the eye, resemblin' drink,
And very promisin', she'd think—
And she'd smile very nice, and pretend to smell it—
Aw, bless ye! I've heard my father tell it
(The ould man would laugh!), and sniffin' and snuffin'
As if she felt it reg'lar puffin'
In her face. And “Aw, Misther Bell! aw, 'deed!
It's the throuble,” she'd say, “And no doubt you've need
Of a little comfort! Yes—yes—yes!
A little comfort, and a comfort it is—
Aw, general allowed! Aw, well!
Don't regard for me, Misther Bell!
It's only too glad I am see—
And”—a fiddle-de-diddle-de-diddle-de-dee!
And the Docthor, havin' a little chaff —
And searched the bed, and searched the laff
To see where was the bottle arrim,
Aye, and every place on the farm,
And the haggart, and pokin' every stack,
Fancyin' she was seein' somethin' black;
And that curious lek she couldn' helf,
Lek playin' But-thorrin with herself.
But no signs of drinkin', bless ye! none—
Just wantin' to be left alone!
Not but what he was kind, I believe,
Though of coorse he hadn' much to give;
But gave it hearty. Aw, very nice,
And allis had a beautiful vice—
And the flutin', you know; and 'd sit at the door,
And play till you'd hear him at the shore,
Or out on the mountain, he didn' care,
On a big gray stone that was used to be there,
And the very sheep lookin' up at him though,
He was blawin' through it that strong, you know,
But the pigs, o' coorse, 'd go on with their rootin'!
Aw, flootin' terrible, terrible flootin'!
And all the ould tunes he had them as plain—
“Kirree fosh niaghty,” and “Molly Charane,”
And “Hop-tchu-naa,” and “Bonny Dhoon”—
Chut! every tune, every tune!
And that aisy plaised that Misthress Kelly
Was used to say the man was raelly
As good as if he was drinkin' hard,
And terrible useful in the yard,
Puttin' out dung, you know, and that,
And “no more trouble till an ould Tom Cat,”
She said, “and not noticed in the house;
And mind the childher, or herd the cows,
Or anythin'.” And never knowin'
He was one of the cleverest doctors goin'—
Nor nothin' about him—better nor wuss—
In hiddlins, you know, in hiddlins jus'.
Aye! and made some fishin' gear,
And agate of the troutses, never fear!
And dozens. And had them for his tay!
And dirty little things any way!
I never could understand the raison
The quality likes them. It's amazin'!
But o' coorse! o' coorse! And catchin' them
Theirselves, you know, and just the same,
But theirselves, and a sort of a newance, you see.
But they're very strange is the quality.
And never much upon the shore
Them times at all, and very wore
And treigh, they were sayin', and fonder of roddin'
Till lines, but smilin' lek, and noddin',
Whenever he was meetin' the men
Gettin' water, you know, at the mouth of the glen—
Beautiful water it was—and passin'
The time o' day, and maybe as'in'
About the boats; and givin' a tune
With the flute; but goin' very soon;
And the fishermen standin' and waitin' still,
And wantin' to know him terrible!
Aw, the casks would be wonderful long a fillin',
And nudgin' each other to ax was he willin'
To try a cruise; but they didn' dare—
Shy lek—that's the way they are
With strangers, you know; but hopin' for all
The man 'd come to, and the slow they'd haul
The painter aboard, and shovin' off,
And showin' how they could handle their craft—
And terrible curious to know
Was he lookin', and turnin', and keekin', though,
Now and then, and longin'—aye!
But not pretendin'. Aw, very shy!
For that's the way the fishermen's allis—
Uncommon fond of strangers, and jallis
Of one another, and never the fuss
To make friends afore they'd make friends with us—
And likin' a man that's big and tall,
And one that's handsome and sorrowful—
And knowin' directly like a shot,
Is he a gentleman or not.
Hiddlins! Aye! but aisy to know them,
And likin' such, and stickin' to them.
But the Docthor wouldn' often stay
To look, but up with the rod and away,
And in on the bushes, and takin' the road
Past the Brew, and up to Bigode—
And disappointed, and out to the Head
To see could they get the Pazon instead.
That was the way, I've heard them tell;
But at last they got to know him well—
Aw, well! for behould ye! the cholera came
To the shore, and then it was just the same
Lek it's in the Bible when the Prophet was tould
That time at the Lord to be very bould,
And not to be hidin' in yandher place
And booin', like a sort o' disgrace
To a prophet, you know, the lek would be—
But, “Go down and spake to them!” says He—
“Go down and spake to them, you bough!”
And that's the thing he done, by gough!
Aw, 'deed he did—and that's the word
That come to the Doctor. Yes! the Lord—
I do believe it was Him that spoke
That very word, and took and shook
The man in his soul the way he'd say—
“Go down and spake to this cholera!”
And he spoke to it, he did. Aw, the man
Was bould and brave, and he spoke to it grand—
Never was such a Docthor seen!
Never! no never! and couldn' have been.
But the sickness was bad, I've heard them sayin'
And people goin' out to the rocks and prayin',
Kneelin'in lochans, or anywhere.
And all the good sucked out of the air.
Aw, bad! very bad! uncommon though—
Black and stinkin'!—that's the go—
In an hour, or maybe only a hafe,
And coffined, and tuk and put in your grave
That very night; and turches blazin'
Like the luggers shows in the herrin' saison—
Only of coorse made slow to burn—
And everybody waitin' their turn
Who'd be next. And a man 'd come in
From the grounds very slack, and droppin' the chin;
And the foot would be heavy arrim lek,
Gettin' out o' the boat—and what to expec'!
And he'd sit a bit on the gunwhale, you know,
And then he'd swallow the heart, and go,
And up to the door, and puttin' in his head,
And, well? And maybe two of them dead!
And then the cry he'd put out of him!
And prayin' and cussin', and shoutin' their name!
Yes! Or never no words at all,
But the dry eye starin' against the wall.
And there's some o' them stood out to sea on a tack,
And never no thought at them to turn back,
Nor no heart; but stupid like in the boat;
And the tiller with only their oxther to 't,
And the head on the hand—and sailin', sailin',
Reggilar, and goin' a hailin'
At some of these brigs, and hardly the sense
To know, and wakin' like out of a trance,
And their eyes all glazed, and, “Look out! look out!”
And never a word but heavin' about,
And in. And “Is that a way to steer?”
Says the Whitehaven chaps; and cussin' them there.
And some was givin' up everythin',
And away to the mountains and wanderin',
And lavin' the wife and the childher to die;
And the Pazon after them to try
Could he coax them or shame them; and them givin' sheet
Like the mischief—and the Pazon, middlin' fleet,
And knowin' the country well, and 'd nab them
Aisy among the ling, and grab them
By the scruff, and ax them were they men?
And cryin' though from glen to glen—
“Come home! come home!” And, bless ye! some
Would swear most fearful, and wouldn' come—
No they wouldn'! but 'd get on a rock
High up above him, and shout and mock,
Blasphemin' pitiful. Aw, mad!
Poor things. But others not so bad,
And 'd listen to the Pazon, for all,
And come whenever they heard him call—
Aye! and 'd put their hand in his
Like little childher. Aw, true it is!
And he'd take and lead them very nice
And gentle lek, and the lovin' vice,
And the lovin' ways that was arrim —you see—
And, “Come, then! come, then! come with me!”
So the men would come, but very wake,
And a kind of silly, the way it'll make
The strongest. Aye! aw, it might have been
Jesus Himself the poor chaps seen,
And follerin'—the way it says
In the Bible. How is this the vess
Is goin'?—I'm not much of a scholar—
Foller, it's sayin', aye! they'll foller
The shepherd, it's sayin', the shepherd, though;
But a stranger they will not follow—no!
For his voice is strange. So that's the raison—
Aw, the Pazon's vice was sweet amazin',
And he'd have them home; aw, never fail!
And better and happier a dale.
And some was lookin' for 'arbs, and chewin them,
And atin' roots, and not rightly knowin' them,
And pizenin' theirselves. And the ould women that was doin'
Charms and the lek was prayin' and booin',
And hadn' no charms, and wouldn' let on
They ever had, or the power was gone.
And Christ to save them! save them! save them!
And Go! But the people wouldn' belave them.
And axin' for charms, and some o' them took
An ould wutch, and tore her, and ragged her, and shook
The very life nearly out of her!
And the women the worst. And the for! the for
She wouldn'? And screamin' bad, I'm tould;
And prayin' the Lord to save her soul.
And the Pazon come, and “Lave her alone!”
He says, and—Were their hearts of stone?
He says, and druv them back. And crawlin'
And slobberin' at his feet, and callin'
For to save her, and grippin' his legs like crazy.
And the Pazon terrible onaisy.
And then the lot of them cried out
With a bitther cry, and sent the shout
Right up to heaven, and all the Lhen,
And all the shore, and all the glen
Was just one cry—“Oh, save us, Lord!
Save us according to Thy word!
Save us, oh God of Israel!”
And when the Pazon heard it he fell
On his knees, and he took a shockin' prayer—
I've heard plenty tellin' that was there—
Took a prayer, I tell ye, for all —
Took a prayer, though, to the full—
A splendid prayer, and all of them aised
Much in their minds, and mortal plaised
With the Pazon, and the wutch got over her fright—
But died, poor thing! I'm tould, that night!
Now, the Docthor heard that cry up there
At Bigode—he did though, and bound to hear,
The sun just settin' and him alone
Sittin' on the ould gray stone
I tould ye. And the everin' very still.
Then the cry come up the hill—
And the other cry was in his heart—
Torectly; and it was—“Start, man! start!”
Aw, he started! he did, for sure—
Aye, that minute! aw, traa thallure.
Wasn' no word for him—no! no!
Bless ye! didn' the vice say Go?
Aw, I've heard him tellin'. And he said he ran
The hardest he could, and took and began
At the very first house, and sent a chap
To Douglas with a horse and trap
For physic and things, and then he stuck to,
And had it out with this cholera though—
Aw, just like David the time he come
And left the sheep with the lad at home,
And a passil o' little cheeses strappin'
On his back for a present to the cap'n;
And then—for all the father tould him—
Yandher brothers must go and scould him.
But it's him that larned them how to fight,
And ups to the giant, and says he, “All right
Here's at ye!” he says, “you vagabone!”
And polished him off with a sling and a stone.
With a sling and a stone—What's that you're sayin'?
I'll trouble ye be so kind as 'splain.
Laughin', too! What else? what else?
The stones the Docthor had would be pills!
Aye, man, aye? That's very witty—
Very! Raely it's a pity
You're not in the circus, Bobby, too.
They're wantin' fools—I dessay you'd do!
Pills!—but come! no more of this—
It's very improper—that's what it is—
And Scripther, too. Aw, drop it now!
Listen to me, and I'll tell you the how!
See! here's the Docthor, and here is David;
And if you don't understand it, lave it—
The Docthor and David—that's a pair
All as one: now, then, look here—
The Docthor and David—didn' I say?—
Well, then, here's the cholera
And David—no, that's not it either—
But anyway, two and two together.
David! David! Let me see!
How would it be, now! how would it be?
The giant—aw, it's aisy to mock—
Swellin' out like a turkey-cock,
And gobblin' there most terrible;
And David, with the eye upon him still—
Two and two—and aback of the shield—
And—I'll give your flesh to the beast of the field—
Two of a side—I'll have it directly—
The cholera and the giant—azackly!
The cholera—that's ould Goliath;
I got it now—and it's sayin' “he defieth
The armies of the livin' God”—
The rascal! And tellin' how he was shod,
And the coat and the spear like a weaver's beam—
That's the cholera, just the same—
Aw, I thought I hed it somewhere about;
But, by gough, it was hard to get it out.
Botherin' me, a sling and a stone!
And pills! I wish you'd lave me alone.
There was another docthor, too, they were havin'
Before, that didn' know what he was givin',
Nor why was he givin' it—a foolish
Sort of a chap that was comin' from Dhoolish,
And couldn' do nothin' but sit by the bed—
And tap the cane, and shake the head,
And feel the wrist, and count the watch—
An ould man! Chut! he wasn' a match
For Bell at all; for Bell was quick
And supple uncommon, and hearty lek,
And that cheerful that whenever he was by
You couldn' think a man would die—
And that full of life, like makin' it go
Into others out of himself, you know,
And just like drivin' death afore him—
That's the way. So this ould cockalorum
Saw he wasn' no use at the Lhen,
And cut, and never come back again.
And when the Dhoolish fellow was slantin'
That's the very thing the Docthor was wantin',
And had a meetin' up at the school,
And the Pazon there; and Master Coole
That was Captain of the Parish was there;
And of coorse the captain would be in the chair,
But couldn' put out no talk at all;
And then the people gave a call
For the Docthor to spake, and so he did,
But the Pazon first. And the little he said
Was very good. And The Lord had sent
The cholera for them to repent
And call upon His name, and turn!
He said; and His anger wouldn' burn
For ever, he said. And Our sins was great;
But come unto the mercy seat!
He said, and the crimson would be like the wool!—
Aw, capital texes! Beautiful!
So I was tould at them that heard—
And the Docthor didn' say a word
Against the Pazon, but bowin', though,
And, “Our respected vicar,” you know—
And that. Aw, bless ye! these Englishmen
Can do it with a taste they can—
Chut! of coorse! and readier far!
The Manx is awkward! yes, they are!
And excellent advise! and trustin'
They'd never forget; but for all they mustn'
Lave everythin' to the Lord, and sit
With their hands before them; but help a bit
Theirselves. And wouldn' the Lord be willin
Of a bit of whitewash goin' a spillin'
About the place? And what would they say
To begin and clear the middens away?
And then an ould fisherman got up
(I believe he had a little sup),
And strooghed the hair, the way with them chaps,
And a little spit and a little cough perhaps—
And says he, “The whitewash'll do very well—
But middens is middens, Masther Bell!”
He says. Aw, bless us! the laugh that was there!
“Middens is middens!” Aw dear, aw dear!
Billy Sayle they were callin' him,
But he was never gettin' no other name
After that but “Billy the Midden,”
And they wouldn' clane them; and they didn'!
And of coorse they were right! What nonsense—bless ye!
Them docthors, they're fit enough to disthress ye!
Capers! What's more comfortable
Till a midden about a house, if you're able
To have a midden, and keep it nice,
And anyways dry? And think of the price
Of dung and potatoes? You can't do without them;
And how will you be doin' about them
If you hav'n' a midden! Chut! they're clever,
But hasn' the smallest notion whatever
About dung—not them! And as for the stink—
A midden needn' be a sink!
Trim it nice upon the street,
And a midden'll smell as sweet as sweet,
And very wholesome. I know it depends
Altogether on who attends
To the lek, and careful in the spreddin';
But of coorse a man'll be proud of his midden.
Well, the whitewash done a power of good,
And slishin' it everywhere they could;
And the people began to take a heart.
And then some ranters come in a cart
From Foxdale over—a dozen or more—
And had a camp-meetin' on the shore,
And shouted there most desperate.
And there was ones come down from the Sandy Gate
And jined them, and barrels goin' a proppin'
Under the tills, and the preachers moppin'
Their faces, and all of them at it together,
And carryin' on; and the heat of the weather;
And water sarvin' out of a crock,
And singin' out like one o'clock,
And roarin' till the divils got hoarse,
And the women after them, of coorse!
And some of them was faintin' away
Like dead on the shore, I've heard them say.
And “Glory! glory!” was all the cry,
You know the way; and willin' to die!!
And Come, Lord Jesus! Come! Come! Come!
And the preacher goin' with his fist like a drum
On the front of the cart, and roarin' greatly—
Aw, enjoyin' hisself completely
When all of a sudden who should appear
But Docthor Bell! And “What's this here?”
He says; “You rascals!” he says, “be off!
Get out of this!” he says, “you scruff!”
And they said his voice was just like thunder,
And took and kicked the barrels from under,
And down went the cart and the preachers too.
And “Get home,” he says, to the women, “do!
Get home!” he says, “isn' that your place?”
He says; “I wonder you've got the face,”
He says, and “bad enough of the others,”
He says, “Aye, bad; but you that's mothers,”
He says, “It's the divil himself that's in't!
Go to your childher!” he says. And they went.
And he turns to the preachers—“Come, make racks!”
He says. “Indeed! and may I ax,”
Says one of them, “what's the meanin' of this?”
And cussin', and squarin' up with the fist
At the Docthor; “You're makin' very free,”
He says. “Come on! come on!” says he.
And the Docthor gripped him, though, they said,
Till he rattled the very teeth in his head.
“Let go!” he says, and black in the face;
“Let go!” he says, “let go, if you plaise.
Let go! God's sake!” and chokeder and chokeder.
“Ye dirty herpicrite!” says the Docthor,
And slacked the hoult, “a putty preacher!”
He says, “and cussin' like that; I'll teach yer!”
He says, “and wherever do you expec'
For to go to?” “I'm one of the elec',”
Says he. “Indeed!” says the Docthor, “indeed!”
He says, “I think I know the breed!
And who's electin' ye?” he says.
“You're in the gall of bitterness
And the bond of iniquity,” says the chap;
“Come,” says the Docthor, “yoke your trap
And cut, and don't come here again!”
“Well, maybe not, though,” says the men,
And yokes the cart, and cuts like winkin'.
The Docthor was middlin' hard, you're thinkin'?
Not a bit of him! What sense!
Don't you know what difference
It makes when people is losin' heart?
Aw, he was right to make them start!
For, if it's the cholera that's in,
You're wantin' all your strength to begin,
And courage to that. Aw, ye better belave,
Or send to the clerk to dig the grave.
Well, one way or another the sickness broke,
And then they were countin' who was took—
Just like after a battle, they're sayin',
They're goin' about to count the slain.
There was two at Cleator's, and two at Gick's,
And two at Corkhill's—that'd be six—
And three at Kewin's, and Shimmin's four,
Well, now, that'll be seven more;
And six and seven'll be thirteen,
And a baby took at Tommy Cregeen:
And Jemmy Cregeen he lost a son,
And Juan Quayle, and Nelly Bun,
And a boy of Callow's, and three of Creer's—
Gels, I think—and at Harry Tear's
There wasn' a soul in the house alive,
So that'll be makin' twenty-five.
But that wasn' all. I tell ye, then,
There was forty people dead at the Lhen.
I don't know was I born or not
Them times myself; but that's the lot!
That's the number they were tellin'
And no mistake. Ax Neddy Crellin!
All in a month, aye, every man of them!
And never no stone put up to the one of them,
No time, I tell ye, nor money, it's lek.
How could ye expec'? How could ye expec'?
So his work was done, and givin' a yawn,
And “That'll do!” he says, and goin',
And all the women wantin' to kiss him,
And down on their knees for God to bless him,
And home to Bigode, and not very bright,
And took hisself that very night!
Not to say bad, but bad is the best.
And made hisself a sort of nest
In the barn on a loft that was there, and a ladder
And a hatch goin' up, and lonesome rather.
And “Nobody,” he said, “to come near him
On no account, and never fear him!”
And a bottle of stuff; and “Go now! go!”
And when he was better he'd let them know.
So Mrs. Kelly was very willin',
And, faith! she'd rather till a shillin'
He'd never come there. Aw, 'deed, she said it,
And of coorse she wouldn' be havin' the credit
If he did get better, and “Very hard,”
She said. And some people didn' regard
For others, she said. And it wasn' there
He took it, she said. And how was it fair
To be sneakin' home to her, Pazon Gale!
She said, and the cholera to his tail;
And her with a family, and the harvis'
Coming on straight; and nathral narvis
(The Pazon was tellin'), and it wasn' lek;
And if Kelly had the laste respec',
The laste, she said, for the wife of his bosom,
He wouldn' suffer her to nuss him!
No, he wouldn'; but'd up to him straight,
And have him out that very night.
Yes, indeed! And eyein' Kelly,
And him sayin' nothin' but “Relly! relly!”
And “Bless me! bless me!” and hemmin' and hummin',
And the Pazon tryin' to coax the woman,
And done it, too, for anyway
The Docthor got libbity to stay.
But Kellies had a daughter, ye see,
And that was differin' totally.
Aw, dear! you'll easy understan',
A handsome man is a handsome man;
And if so be he's gennal, too,
What'd you have a gel to do?
For the Docthor would be everywhere,
And meetin' him upon the stair,
And houldin' herself for him to pass,
And stoopin' lek to hide her face,
And him goin' puttin' his hand on her head,
And strooghin'. And whatever he said,
And never thinkin', and just as well.
Aw, it was suction for the gel!
Suction! I tell you. How do I know?
Aw, Bobby! Bobby! you're foolish, though—
You're foolish! Is it knowin'? What!
Knowin' is knowin'; mind you that!
Knowin' is knowin'; and I'll tell ye how
The way's with me. I'll tell ye, now.
There's plenty o'things I never seen,
Nor couldn', and still they must have been;
And when I get thinkin' o' them, it'll be drawin'
The head uncommon strong, and showin'
The very picthure of them, it will;
And workin' and workin' terrible.
That's the knowin'. And—Bless me! what's at ye?
I wouldn' know anything if I didn' know it that way—
Seein' it in my head. That's it!
Chut! I wouldn' give a spit
For a story when it wasn' puttin'
Every hair and every button
The way it was, or was bound to be.
Do ye see the thing? D'ye see? d'ye see?
Maybe not! All right! all right!
Seein' is beein', says Tommy Tight:
And the way the head'll work is shockin'.
Not but ould Anthony's wife was talkin',
And 'd know them well, and livin' near—
Anthony's wife! Aw dear! aw dear!
Well, that's the way it was—like suction,
Didn' I say? And's been the destruction
Of many a gel, but not of her.
Aw, honour bright! And “Comin', sir!”
And tremblin' lek, and quick; and catchin'
Her eye away; and watchin', and watchin';
And 'd sit in the window, and wait and wait;
And startin' when she heard the gate;
And a bit of a ribbon in her breast;
And a sort of a kind of a disthress'd.
But happy and very humble, though!
And innocent. Chut! You know! you know!
Not hopin' much. But what's the use!
Lovin', lovin', like the deuce!
Aye! aye! The head is workin'? Ler it!
Workin'! That's the way you'll ger it.
But, drop it! drop it! Marianne
They were callin' her. And couldn' stan,
And couldn' sit; nor eat nor drink,
I tell ye; nor couldn' sleep a wink.
Aw, poor craythur! That's the way.
And droppin' the cups upon the tray,
Sudden lek; and houldin' the finger
For the little ones to hush; and 'd linger
Greatly, and all a kind o' suspicious,
Aye! lek it 'd be a sort of a vicious
(The head is workin', Bobby? What?)—
And cross with the childher, and sthooin' the cat
(Eh, Bobby? eh?); and turnin' and twissin',
Like a bitch when the pups is goin' a missin'.
Do you see her, Bobby? Run, man! run!
Hould her! hould her! Bobby is done!
Aw, seein' is nothin'! Ger along!
Just the strong the head, and drawin' strong.
Now, this poor gel was dyin' just!
Aw, terrible! And I wouldn' trust
But it's up on the laft she'd have taken straight—
Aye, by gough! the very night
The Docthor come home; but bashful, no doubt;
And the mother watchin' her in and out,
And got a notion what she had,
And gave it her in style, she did.
And “Lave her alone!” and “Bless my life!”
Says Kelly; but much afraid of the wife.
And “Stick to your work,” says the mother, “you slut!
And let me see you stir a foot
Till them priddhas is peelt.” And one by one
The big tears slushin' into the can.
(Workin', Bobby?—stronger and stronger?)
Well, at last the gel couldn' hould any longer;
For the heart was mostly bust at her.
So aisy! aisy! down the stair,
Just about when the day 'd be peepin';
And hushin' the dogs; and creepin', creepin';
And slips the boult; and her head all swimmin',
And her heart in her mouth! Aw, bless these women!
Wasn' she tellin' all the spree
Long after that to Misthress Lee?
And over the street, and never a shoe on;
And hardly knowin' what she was doin'—
Aw, a soft sort of thing! it's aisy belavin'—
But the love that was in her, and the cravin'—
Aw, soft, no doubt; and stupid rather;
And takin' mos'ly after the father.
And up to the loft, and stood a bit;
And never a sound. “He's dead! that's it!”
She says. “He's dead!” and all the love
Come upon the craythur, and strove
And wrestled with her, till she fell
On her knees beside him. And “Mr. Bell!
I'm here!” she says. “It's me!” she says;
“It's Marianne, sir, if you plaise”;
And sobbin' lek her heart would brek.
“Don't die! don't die!” and coaxin' lek.
Poor thing! poor thing! and what to do?
Very soft, but lovin', too!
Now, the Docthor wasn' dead, not him;
But lyin' in a sort of a dream—
Deep, though! deep! that you couldn' tell
Was there life in his body. So this here gel
Set to work—aw, I'll engage her!
And kissed his hand like for a wager;
And kissed and kissed. And a stunnin' cure—
Aw, uncommon! Aw 'deed for sure!
Kisses, I mean. Hands? I don't know,
But wantin' a dale of patience though.
But he woke at last, with a big long breath
Like swimmin' up from the bottom of death;
And the first he saw was this Marianne,
Which, in coorse, she dropped the hand,
And her own both clapped to her face like a shot
Aw, clapped enough; and as hot as hot!
And trimblin' terrible, kneelin' there.
Aw, trimblin'! trimblin'! never fear!
And the Docthor signin' for her to go—
Signin' still. But she wouldn'—no!
No, she wouldn'!—not a bit of her!—
Wouldn' go, nor wouldn' stir!
And there was the Docthor signin'—signin'
Most awful!—and her never mindin';
But trimblin' still, and couldn' spake,
Couldn' the Docthor, bein' that wake;
And signed for her to put her head
Close to his mouth. And so she did.
And whisperin'; and “she musn' stay!”
And “for all the sakes to go away!”
And then she got sulky all of a sudden,
And “she wouldn' go then! So she wouldn'—so she wouldn',
So she wouldn', too,” and makin' the lip
And sulkin', I tell ye—the little rip!
Then he tried to fie-for-shame her. And then
She bust a cryin'. So he couldn' pretend
Not to be noticin' any more,
And never seen the lek afore;
And cryin' and cryin' like the deuce—
And not the smallest bit of use.
So signs for her to stoop down low
(It's like he was workin' the eyes, you know,
Havin' lost the vice), and “Darlin'!” he said,
Quite hoast, and tryin' to sthroogh the head,
But as wake as water, “Darlin' pet!”
Meanin' only to coax her a bit,
The way she'd be goin'. Goin', indeed!
And the soul at her just beginnin' to feed.
Aw, take a baby from the diddy
Just when the mother's gettin' it ready!
Aw, bless your soul! them words was mate.
Darlin' ! he said; aw, did he say't?
And axin' him to say it again.
And was she his darlin'? Aw, was she, then?
Of coorse, of coorse! Just think of the drouth
That was in his heart and in his mouth;
And her like butter from the churn,
That fresh, and how could he help but yearn
To the sweet young breath that was comin' and goin'
Upon his face, like roses blowin'
In June, the way it says in the song?
Chut! He couldn'. Right or wrong.
Of coorse! of coorse! So it come at last—
The long, long kiss! Aw, the long it was!
And the rain of tears; and satisfied;
And “Aw, I thought I would have died,”
Says she, and “loved you from the first”;
And he fell asleep with his lips on hers.
Spooney! you're sayin'. Aye, man, aye?
Lies! you're thinkin'? Aw, divil the lie!
Wasn' it Anthony's wife that was talkin'?
Bless your heart! That woman was shockin'!
Never a thing that she was tould
But blabbed to every livin' soul!
But Mrs. Bell! You'd hardly suppose?
Chut! Bless ye! Goodness only knows.
Rather a foolish sort of a craythur!
And women, you know, it's in their nathur,
Colloguin' lek, and free of the tongue,
And braggin' the days when they were young.
And as for a secret, they cannot hould it.
And, well! No matter! The woman tould it.
Tould it? Aye! And missin' her
In the mornin', and lookin' everywhere,
And up on the loft. And what, what, what!
And slut! and hussy! and Come out of that!
And Oh! and what would the people say?
And Caught with the Docthor in the hay!
And Of all the troubles, and she'd had her share!
And the Kellies, too! Aw, dear! aw, dear!
The Kellies! The Kellies of Bigode!
And Bless her soul! she might have know'd!
And Oh, the artful! And Oh, the sly!
And the brat to her face, and begun to cry,
And blowin' her nose, and about her character.
And What to do? And Enough to disthract her!
And never a word from Marianne;
But the Docthor, which his voice was gone,
I was tellin' you, had it nicely back
That time; for kisses is good to slack
The throat, and a little love or so
Will make a man very lively, though—
Very; and so he shamed her grand,
And How was it she didn' understand?
And What was the good to be booin' there?
“You silly woman!” he said to her;
Aye, “silly,” he said; “and this poor child,”
And he laid his hand on her head, and he smiled—
“She knows no evil, Mrs. Kelly, mum;
And she thinks no evil,” and Well for some
If their hearts was as simple and innocent
As Marianne's. And what she meant,
And 'splainin' lek, and For goodness sake!
Aw, putty talk, and no mistake.
“And this little gel is tellin' me
She loves me. Loves me, though,” says he.
“Aye, aye! That's it!” says the woman, then.
“Nice work!” she says. “And 's took to the men
Middlin' early, and hav'n' lost
Much time,” she says, and The slut she was!
And this and that. Aw, the Docthor was mad;
And “Stop!” he said. And he said, the bad
The tongue was at her; and clane disagusted
He said he was, the way she distrusted
Everybody; and “Wait a bit!
Wait for all! God bless me! wait!
I was goin',” he says, “to tell the precious
This love is to me; the way it refreshes
My very soul,” he says; “the way
I clasp it.” “Claspin'! claspin', eh?”
Says she; “aw, claspin' enough, I beliv',
If it's claspin' you're at!” And what would she give
If she'd never!—and Kelly a local, too!
And whatever, whatever would she do?
“Now, listen!” he says; “God bless me! listen!”
And never saw such a iggrint pessin,
And'd rather have tould her another day;
But what could he do, and what could he say?
Not willin' to look like fo'ced, you know—
The way with them chaps that's bringin' to—
“What's your intentions?” that's the shout;
And had to speak out, and did speak out.
And, “We're goin' to be married, this little gel
And me—to be married,” says Docthor Bell.
“Goin' to be married!—married!” says she;
And clasps her hands, “Ma chree; ma chree!
Goin' to be married! And will you have her?”
Says she. “I wouldn' trust, however,”
Says he. “And will you have him?” she says
To the daughter. “Thank you, if you plaise,”
Says she, and cryin' for her life.
“Well, the imperince!” says Kelly's wife;
But jumps for joy, and runs to the laddher,
And down like a shot, to get the father;
And tripped, and groaned a little; but cut
Across the yard with a limp in her foot;
And, “Come, man! come! Make haste, for all!
And bless me! didn' ye hear me call?”
And the two of them up. And “A solemn occasion,”
Says Kelly; and has his apprerbation.
And sighin' a dale; and The coorse of events;
And A most mysterious Providence.
And Maybe a little bit of prayer?
And Would they objec'? And down with him there
On his knees, like a shot; and roared like sin,
And roared till the rafters was ringin' again,—
Roared! God bless your soul, the roar!
And blessin' their basket and their store,
And the olive branches around their table;
And freckenin' the hosses in the stable!
Aw, uncommon powerful, I'm tould, at the payin'!
And had him in the house, they were sayin'—
Had him in that very night,
And into the big bed with him straight.
So that's the way, you'll understan',
The Docthor married Marianne.
And the best of nussin', never fear!
And everybody gettin' to hear.
But the woman was right. Aw, terrible talk:
And “Deed on, Kellies!” and “Yandher gawk!'
And “Hooked the Docthor! have she? Aye!'
And nudgin', and winkin'; and “Never say die!”
And “Not a bad dodge!” and “Batin' us!”
And all to that! Aw, scandalous!
For, you see, they will if they gets the chance.
But I'm allis thinkin' of the fellow once—
In the Bible, you know—that said to his brother,
“Pull out the mote!” “Indeed!” says the other;
“Is it motes?” he says; “and talkin' to me!
Come out o' that with that beam!” says he.
And how about the lady, then?
Miss Harriet, of coorse, you mean.
Well, that's the thing. You've got me there!
Aw, got enough! For it's seemin' clear,
And promised, you know, and all to that,
The Docthor should have stuck to her. What?
Stuck to her? Aye! Aw, stuck, stuck, stuck!
And there's them that would, whatever the luck,
And no matter for fathers, and no matter for mothers,
Some people's stickier till others.
Well, I can't say was he thinkin' it betther
To bury his trouble altogether,
And this Marianne like bushes he'd have
Growin' there to hide the grave;
Or weak, just weak; or how would it be.
For if she married one of the quality
He might fancy she'd be happier,
Bein' used of the lek, and suitin' her,
Lek a man, you know, of her own persishin;
Aye, and the way her father was wishin'.
But what for wouldn' she be happy with him?
Well, raelly, I cannot tell ye, Jem;
But blood is blood lek, whether or not—
Blood is blood—you'll give in to that.
Aye, blood is blood, says you, and Bell's
Was every taste as good as the gel's.
No, no! my lad! You're out of it now.
Blood is blood, that I'll allow;
But there's odds o' blood, man, nevertheless—
Odds, man, odds!—that's the way it is.
Just prick your finger, you're sayin', and try
Isn' it the same. To which I rerply,
The same as what?—as a pig's or a sheep's
Or Bobby the Bull's, or Barney the Sweep's?
All right! all right! But a common pessin
The same as a gentleman's? No, it isn'!
Aisy! aisy! Don't cuss, my gillya!
I'll have no cussin' upon it, I tell ye;
No, I won't! So there's a stopper
Let's argufy it nice and proper,
And put it out the way it should.
Now, I'm perfect willin' blood is blood,
And chaps like you can't see no furder,
And thinks yourselves—Oh, murder! murder!
The foolishness a man'll be frothin'
When he hav'n' got knowledge, nor sense, nor nothin'!
But we're all from Adam! So I believe—
Certainly; and likewise Eve!
Fair play for the woman! The man was the blockhead!
She didn' put the apple in her pocket
Anyway, but gave him share,
And warned afore, but didn' care.
Aw, if it's Adam! that ould scamp!
He's not much of a examp' —
The very chap we got all the woe by;
He's not much of a man to go by!
You're middlin' hard up, I do declare,
Eh, Jem, when it's houldin' on to Adam you are!
But prick the finger, and then you'll see!
Prick the finger! goodness me!
What for the finger? Look! here goes!
Let's draw a drop from Jemmy's nose!
Ha, ha! That'll never do, Jem, will it?
You hav'n' got too much, Jem—you don't like to spill it;
Eh, Jem? Were you freckened?—were you freckened, lad?
No, you waren't! Well, don't be mad!
Just jokin' lek. I'm fond of Jem;
But smell that knuckle all the same!
You'll leave it to any docthor—eh?
Now, that's the very thing I was going to say.
A docthor's the man that'll tell ye the brew,
For he'll just be takin' a drop o' the two,
And he'll clap his glass, and see in a minute
The little insec's that's swimmin' in it.
Insec's! aye! The divil! you're sayin'.
Aisy! aisy! Robert Cain!
Divils! no! But little roundy things.
Who said divils? Divils has wings.
Well, I think if I didn' know
Nothin' about nothin', I'd leave it so.
A cock shouldn' fight if he's got no spurs;
And them that's had the advantagers,
Lek me, bein' thick with docthors that way,
It isn' raisonable at ye, eh?
Docthors! Bless ye! and who'd there be
Knowin' about docthors, if it wasn' me?
Some right, I think, and seen him strainin'
The lek through a sieve, and stuff remainin',
The way with the milk when they're takin' and silin' it.
Aye, and bilin'it—actual bilin' it!—
Afore he'd be done. But he'd know by the smell,
And the colour. Dear me! It's aisy to tell.
Havn' you never heard them talkin'
About blood that was blue (I'll have no mockin')?
Yes, blue! Well, that's the thing, ye see.
Blue and red! That's the way it'd be.
And the smell the same, and natheral,
If you think of the rearin', and feedin', and all.
Only consider the stuff they're gerrin!
None of your barley-bread, priddhas and herrin',
Or that; but the best of beef and fowls,
Cowld and hot; and salmons and soles;
And candy sugar and lemonade;
And cakes, and every pissave that's made;
And puddin's and pies, and tarts and jellies,
Takin' and slashin' them into their bellies,
And wine in buckets! And— Chut! It's no use—
That's the stuff that's workin' the juice
Of their blood. And straint and double straint,
Of coorse; and makin' it smell like saint!
Aw, ye better believe it. But never mind!
Kith is kith, and kind is kind!
Well, for sure, they got married, though;
And the weddin' that was at them. Mortal show!
Aw, uncommon! Never fear!
And the mostly half of the parish there.
And a terrible speech at Masther Coole,
And ould Kelly himself as drunk as a fool;
But solemn lek; and'd'a took a prayer,
But gripped at the wife, and didn' dare.
And forced to be watched. And the head goin' cockin';
And the hem! And the knees goin' knickin'-knockin'!
Ready the minute the woman'd stir,
And her eyin' him, and him eyin' her.
And—“Oh!” he says, “Thy love possessin'!”
And spreadin' the hands like a sort of blessin'.
Well, that was Kelly—couldn' stan'!
And talk to put him off the plan—
At the Methodists, you know; but didn'.
And—Who was yandher that was goin' a biddin'
To the marriage feast in Cana there?
And some of them hearty enough, that's clear.
And—'Scusable to get a little tight
Just on your daughter's weddin' night.
And—The best of men was apt to be floored
In a season. And—“Glory to the Lord!”
And—“Dear brother Kelly,” and “Yes,” and “No,”
And smilin', and “Well to be watchful, though.”
And the shuperintendan' goin' a bringin'
From Douglas over, and prayin' and singin',
The way you know with them Ranthar fellows;
And Kelly sighin' like a bellows!
And all made up, though, very nice,
The ould people was tellin'. And—For them to rejice,
Says the preacher. And “See the effec' of grace!”
Aw, the Bigode was a shockin' comfibil place!
Aw, comfibil—very comfibil!
And handy for the praechers still.
Aw, porridge or puddin', cowld or hot;
Fish or flesh. I know the lot.
Give them a smell—give them a smell!
Aw, bless your soul! It's easy to tell
Praechers is it? Don't I know them?
Bloodhounds isn' nothin' to them!
Aw, they couldn' do without Bigode!
Craeture comfits—that's the road!
And—“The labourer worthy of his hire!”
And the little table up to the fire;
And a drop of punch, and shammin' weak,
And riftin' lek. And—“Take man—take!
Aw, take!” And strooghin' down the belly;
And—“Sesther, sesther! Relly, relly!”
Aw, they knows the spot, and sticks to it,
By gough. And sure enough it's writ
“Go not about from house to house.”
Catch a praecher! Catch a louse!
Well, the week was hardly flown
Afore there was terrible meetin's goin'!
Meetin's, meetin's! One at the Bull,
And resolutions to the full.
And all the fishermen come swarmin',
And ould Bobby Jinks at them for a chairman.
And another up at the miners' store.
Aw, they said there was never the lek afore.
All the captains about was arrit,
Captain Row and Captain Garrett.
He was a Cornish man was yandher Row,
Aw, a fuss-rate captain, though.
Fuss-rate enough, and done a speech—
Aw, scandalous! And Neddy Creech,
That was keepin' the store, though, wouldn' be bet,
But up like a shot and seconds it.
And the Pazon had a meetin', too,
And the wardens there. And what to do.
And Tommy Tite gave a propogician
For the Pazon to take, and start a petition,
Or whatever they're callin' it, and statin'
“The general wish.” And then a meetin'
Of the whole parish, and givin' it out
In the church a' Sunday; and what was it about.
And for all to be sure to come, however.
Aw, 'deed the Pazon done it clever,
And had the meetin' in the school,
And people comin' down from Barrule,
And everywhere they heard the call,
Fishermen, farmers, miners, and all.
Bless me the jingin' and the jammin',
They were tellin'; and speeches goin' uncommon—
Aw, puttin' out fuss-rate, mind you!
At the Pazon there and Neddy Follew,
That was one of the Keys, and Ruchie Quirk,
That was water-bailiff. Aw, dear, the work
That was in! And the Pazon's petition read,
And To Dr. Bell, M.D., it said,
And their grateful hearts And the terrible skill,
It was sayin'. And impossible to tell
Their feelin's lek. And requestin', then,
He'd come down from Bigode, and live at the Lhen.
Aw, done with a taste, I'm tould. Aw, splendid!
Aw, the man that could, and proper ended—
“Petitioners will ever pray.”
You know the way! you know the way!
And proposed and seconded; and a roar,
I was tould, like thunder; and the chaps at the door,
Hurra! hurra! the way they'd buss;
Hurra! and carried munanermous—
Munanermous! Aw, tear your shirt!
Nemine commine—that's your sort!
But they had to build a house for him, too;
For there wasn't one at the Lhen would do,
Just a corner of a craft
Of Tommy Tite's, that was lettin' aff —
Sundered-lek from the rest of the farm
That was there, and a terrible mortgage arrim;
And the hous mortgaged, too. Aw, bless your mammee!
Your soul to glory! That was Tommy!
And Kelly, of Bigode, you see,
Was goin' bond and security
For the lot. Aw, well the ould divil knowed
The nice bit o' backin' that was in Bigode—
Aye, by gough, and the fishermen
Took a notion to begin
And build a boat for the Docthor; the way
He blackguarded yandher cholera.
Lek grateful-lek; and down at the Bull
Plannin', plannin', to the full—
Aw, plannin' regular, but couldn' agree;
And if they could, it's a wondher to me;
For lines is lines, you'll understand,
And allis better to lave it to one;
And did at last, but afore it come
To that, the most of a barrel of rum
Was drunk. Aw, fit enough it's lek
To float her. And Harry Injebreck
Head man agate o' the talkin' still,
And arguin', arguin', terrible!
And “Have a builder!” says Harry, “and pay'm;”
And “Baem for ever! Give her baem!”
Baem was allis Harry's shout.
And, “God bless me! what are you talkin' about!”
Says another; and cussin'; and “Baem's your call.
But we'll build the boat ourselves, for all—
Build her ourselves!” and down with the fiss,
And “Hear! hear! hear!” and “Yes! yes! yes!”
And how, and when, and would it be batthar
To have a round starn, or a counter at her;
And carver or clinker, and dandy rig,
Or what, and wait for Shimmin's brig,
Or last year's timber? And “What's your hurry?”
And “Strek while it's hot!” and “Furree! furree!”
You know their way; but left the job
At last to Dicky-Dick-beg-Dick-Bob.
Now, Dicky was a mortal religious chap,
That never drunk nothin' stronger till pop.
Catch him at Callow's! Aw, the very pick
Of a fine ould Methodist was Dick—
The rael ould sort; the first that was
When Wesley come preachin' on the Cross
In Dhoolish there; and good men, too!
The pity of them is the few,
And most of them gone to Heaven. Aw, dear!
The ones that's now— Aw, well, I'll swear
Ould Wesley wouldn' know them a bit.
“Ger out!” he'd say: that's it! that's it!
Aw, worldly! worldly! But, Ruchie Fell,
Bless ye! I remember him well.
I don't think it's ten years since he died—
Ten, would it be, for Hollantide?
Aye, ten! Aw, a nice ould man, but streck,
And terrible religious lek.
And hard to say, says Molly the Spud,
But there's some o' them is very good.
And that was the way with Dick, for sure—
Aw, good, I tell ye; good thallure!
I've heard them sayin' that from his youth
The Lord was with him of a truth—
Aw, a sweet ould craythur, whatever there was in of him;
Aw, a sweet ould man, to the very skin of him.
White and dry, you know, and that;
And all the suck and all the fat
Strained out of him; but as sweet as a bebby!
And the face, you know, a kind of a slebby
With the shine, and his breath like a sort of a balsam,
The poor old thing! that sweet and wholesome.
But feeble though, and desperate troubled
With these rheumatics. Aw, I've seen him doubled
Many a time; but patient with such—
Sighin' a little, but not so much.
And a little smile, and a little hem—
They're lookin' very holy is them.
Well—Ruchie it was, and never dus'
Put a hand but a fit of prayer over it fus' —
Aw, prayin' reg'lar the Lord'd give signs
To his soul for to help him with yandher lines.
You're lookin'! Look then! Look again!
Chut! what's the use for me to explain!
Aye! prayin' about yandher lines, d'ye hear!
Prayin' the Lord'd make them clear—
Lek drawin' the pecther of them for him—
Lek houldin' them there till they're copied arrim —
Lek givin' a list to his soul to go
The way the Lord'd be wantin' you know,
For him to stretch. And rather dim,
And a sort of far off—lek liftin' him
To see them lek—the way you'll lif'
A child to see the father's skiff
Close-hauled for the shore. But what's the use!
Leave it alone, then; and go to the deuce!
I know what I mean. You didn' doubt it?
Well then let's have no more about it.
But it's on my mind, and look here! I don't care
I'll say it, I will, there's a deal in prayer,
A deal! Why, bless your life, I've heard
A chap on a coach that didn' regard
For God or divil, and cocked up as grand
On the dicky there like a gentleman,
And the whole of the coach there listenin' to him,
And had it all his own way—blow him!
A skinny chap—I know the crew!
Aw, a reg'lar cock-a-doodle-do!
“Dear me!” he says, “and aren' you aware
It's all a delusion,” he says, “is prayer?”
“It's settled,” he says, “at the head men goin',
It's settled!” And an ould man there gave a groan,
And a woman with a child at the breast
Fie-for-shamed him; but all the rest
Was just like sheep; and me rather tight—
Saturday night, you know—Saturday night!
Tom Cowle was drivin' himself that Spring—
Teetotal, but reason in every thing,
And a drop is a drop; and civil is civil,
And half asleep! So I says to this divil,
“What's that?” I says. “Delusion, is it?
Delusion!” I says. “Look out for your gizzit!”
I says: “here's a little delusion of mine!”
And I took the chap, and I sent him flyin'—
What! off the coach? Aye! hove him clear!
I must have broke his neck? Aw, never you fear!
Aw, I wouldn' trust but I gave him a mark—
But I don't know—it was rather dark.
Didn' he follow? Aw, that'll do!
Aisy! Aisy! The same for you!
I was talkin' about Ruchie Fell,
And the prayer that was at him. Well! well! well!
And prayer is stronger the most that jines—
But prayer it was that done them lines,
And Ruchie's prayer; and never a soul
To back him, but all alone, I'm tould;
All alone—and the first he got
Was the run; and, by gough! I know the spot—
The Roman Chapel that was down at the Race,
That's where the Lord was givin' him grace
To think the run. And had it as clane,
Aw, bless ye it might have been smoothed with a plane
And ready for boultin', the clane he had it—
And the next was the entrance —yo'll hardly credit,
But I've heard them tellin' it for a fac',
He was out two tides on the top of the Stack,
And never a bite; but waitin', waitin',
And the head in the hand, the people was statin',
Till the Lord'd be pleased, and come at last
In a kind of music, like a sort of a bass,
He was tellin', from the very heart of the sea;
And all the water in the bay
Was playing music; and like as if
The floor of his soul was broke in a rif',
Or a chink, or the lek. And he took and stooped
Inside of hisself; and a place lek scooped,
And the bearin's there lek drew with a pen,
And words, and “For Jesus' sake, Amen,”—
And a light goin' sthrooghin'; and a A and a O,
Like you'll see in a church. Aw, he had them, though!
He had them, I tell you, as puffec' as puffec'!
And who come by but Masthar McGuffock
(Collecthor McGuffock); and hails him there,
And aboard with him. And says he, “What cheer?”
And about the wind; and how was the signs?
And “Glory!” he says; “I've got the lines!”
Poor thing! like one of them saints in a pecther.
The laugh, they were sayin', tha' was at the Collecthor!
And home to bed. And the wife couldn' tell
What was the matter with Ruchie Fell.
Stiff as a fit he was, and the eyes
All strained with light, and twice the size.
And “I see her!” he says; “she's afloat! she's afloat!
God bless the boat! God bless the boat!
The very lines! the very, very!”
He says. And “Sterry,” he says, “there! sterry!
Wait till Jesus'll take the tiller!”
He says; and frecknin' poor ould Bella
Most terrible. And “Look! He's gor it!
Crack on!” says Ruchie; “now then for it!
She's true!” he says; “not an inch beyond that!
No she'll not! no she'll not!
I tould ye!” he says, “the speed! the speed!”
And “Jesus! the Saviour! the Friend in need!”
Aw, the poor ould soul! Ye see the hard
They were workin' in him from the Lord—
Them lines. But when she was built, however,
The Friend in Need was the name they gave her.
Aye, and couldn' a better fit
Of a name, if you'll only think of it.
A friend in need, as you may say—
The Docthor, you know, and the cholera.
So the boat was built. Aw, they wouldn' be hoult;
And every trennel and every boult
The best of stuff. Aw, clubbed together,
And bound to have it, and didn' considher
The 'spense nor nothin'—not a fig!
And three lugs at her—that was the rig—
And raked a bit, three reg'lar scutchers,
And carried her canvas like a ducherss.
Aw, the Docthor could handle her like a Briton!
But the beauty of that boat was the sittin'—
Like a duck! Aw, none of your trimmin' sort—
This way, that way; a pig to port;
A pig to starboard; shiftin' aft;
Shiftin' forward! They're makin' me laugh,
Them chaps with their yachts, the onaisy they are!
And the delicate and the particular!
Chut! the trim is in the boat!
Ballast away! but the trim's in the float—
In the very make of her! That's the trimmin'!
And, by gough, it's the same with men and women;
For, look here! if a man— But, bless my soul!
What's the odds! I'm runnin' foul
Altogether, and no time to lose;
But “Forge ahead!” says Billy Baroose.
So the Docthor come to live at the Lhen,
Where I tould ye there, just at the end;
Lek in the varginity of the shore;
And the mortal brass plate upon the door,
And “Docthor Bell”—aw, a foot at laste—
Chut! I tell ye, a credit to the place!
And a lot of letters statin' what
And who, and a member of this and that!
Bless ye! I don't understan'
Their capers! Where's the divil that can?
But the brass plate— I think I should;
Didn' I stick it all over with mud
One night, and took at the Docthor and hauled
In at him there, and roared and bawled!
But had to take it howsomdever—
My gough! the bitter!—but took it clever.
And out in the street, and cussed tremindjis!
Aw, cussed the very door off the hinges!
Cussed, I tell ye, aw, all I had
Through the keyhole, you know. Aw, very bad!
Well, the next thing the boat was goin' a presentin';
And then our chaps was rather for slantin',
Bein' very bashful for a job like yandher.
And a man they were callin' “Nicky the Gander”
Was for havin' a tea-party over it,
Bless your sowl! And the whole of the kit
Of the farmers' wives to be givin' trays!
And a band from Dhoolish! He couldn' never take aise,
Couldn' that chap, with his capers—no!
A fuss-rate man for the talkin' though!
But I've heard the all he got for his pain
Was “Nicky again! Nicky again!”
And laughin', roullin' off the settle;
And “Give Nicky his tea!” and “Where's the kettle?”
Poor little divil! a weaver he was:
Small—aw, small; but as bould as brass!
But it was the Pazon for all that done the deed,
And christened her the Friend in Need:
And a bottle of wine, and all correct—
And somethin' stronger I'll expect—
And signin' her there, like a baby! And then,
“Hats off! my lads!” “Amen! Amen!”
Says the clerk, very sollum. “Hip! hip! hip! hip!
Hoorah!” says the chaps. “Let's give her the dip!”
And “One—two—three,” and swings the boat;
And in the water with her like a shot.
And “Make way for the Docthor!” and a desp'rate crowd,
And the young wife steppin' as proud as proud,
And linkin' there; and the chin goin' cockin',
And heisin the perricut to show her stockin',
Like any lady; and a plank, and pretendin'
The freckened, you know; and goin' a handin'
Over the side at the Pazon; and a beautiful cushion
In the stern-sheets there, and sittin' and blushin'.
Aw, happy! I tell ye. And Harry Corrin
Aboard for a skipper—sailin' forrin,
Bless ye!—and sets the lugs, and away!
And sails her up and down the bay.
And ould Kelly, they were sayin', was standin' there;
And they could hardly hould him but a bit of prayer;
But houldt; and groans, and
goes his ways;
And “All is vanity!” he says.
Well childher come to the Docthor though,
Mary, the ouldest—a gel you know;
And then a chap they were callin' Will;
And then Miss Katty—that's with him still—
Much younger though, for Will and Mary
Was close together; but the little faery—
A name they had for Miss Katherine—
Was years behind, just lek she'd bin
Run lek off another spool
Altogether; and the yalla hair like gool—
Aw, the Lord's own gool in the very warp of her,
Like strings, lek He'd tuk and made a harp of her
For th' play up yandher, the way it's sayin'
In Revelations—playin', playin',
And the lovely twang goin' pling—pling—pling;
And “Hallelujah to the King!”
And all the sweet and all the wise
Blowin' out in two big eyes
As blue—and the little stalk of a body at her
Lek it's put to a flower to hould it batthar
Up to the sun; but stoops for all,
And hangs the head, and natheral;
For the sun is a bould thing anyway,
Aw, bould enough, and coorse at the play—
But the little body! bless ye! the slandharst
You ever—like these polyanthars—
Convolv'lars—deep in the throat, you know,
And the honey guggling down below;
And the bumbees snugglin' there, and pokin'
Their nozzles in, and soakin', soakin',
And clartin' their legs as sticky as glue;
And a pleasant sound they're makin' too—
And sip and sip—what they call egsthractin'—
Bless me! the pretty them critters is actin'!
But bumbees—bumbees! and in and out,
And soakin'— What am I talkin' about?
Little Miss Katty! Aye! aye! aye!
Little Miss Katty. Aw, well I could cry
To think of that little thing—the forsaken
She was at them there, and the way she'd be takin'
Far over though to the end of the sands;
And the feet, and the little ankle-bands—
Slip—slip—slippin', or gettin' stuck
Altogether in the muck,
And scoopin' it out with some shell or another,
And freckened she'd be took at the mother.
Aw, dear the little lonely thing,—
Just like a bird with a broken wing;
And the lookin' up, and the little eye,
Lek axin' the for it cannot fly,
And divil the one of the rest'll stay with it—
The dirty things—that used to play with it.
Fowls is very bad at that;
I don't know about gulls, but lekly not,
That's a dale more innocenter altogether,
Bein' strong, and free, and used of the weather.
Poor little thing—the droopin' lek,
And the wondrin' why! It'd 'a made ye sick,
The servant was tellin', the way she was knockin'
About at them there—aw, boosely shockin'!
At the Doctor? No! but the mother! Aye!
The mother—bless ye! aw, never say die!
You were talkin' of blood—then what's your shout
To kickin', I wonder! Chut! Ger out!
Kickin', and givin' her over the head
With a rowlin'-pin—that's what the woman said—
And lookin' like it. Bruk complete—
Reg'lar bruk! And was she gettin' mate
I don't raelly know—the little bud!
Aw, the withered—yes! You were talkin' of blood!
Well, that's the woman! Strict! Not her!
Treacle turned to vinegar—
That's about it! Strict's no fool;
There's stuff in Strict, that's got a rule
And works it, eh! But yandher woman!
Doeless, doeless, aw, doeless uncommon!
Bless your sowl! it wasn' in her
To be strict; and, of a manner,
The stupidest people'll be the cruelest.
Reggilar—just doeless, doeless!
And was from the first, I'm tould; but showin'
Some pride in herself, and for her to be goin'
For a doctor's wife, and lovin' the man,
Aw, I dessay lovin', aw, lovin' him grand!
Aw, aisy to think; and buckin' up,
Aw, ye better believe it! the very top
Of the tree was what she was lookin' for—
The Bishop, aye, and the Gōvënor,
The Deemsters and the Clerk of the Rowls,
Archdeacons, and that! Aw, bless your sowls!
The woman was rather short, that's it,
And couldn' put out the talk that was fit
For the lek of them; nor didn' know
When to stop and when to go,
And chatter—chatter—chatter—chatter,
And all the ladies laughin' at her;
And couldn' see the fool she was;
And the Docthor lookin' very cross,
I'm tould; and wouldn' do at all,
And the higher the flight the worse the fall;
And drew the game the soonest he could.
Now, what have you got to say about blood?
Chut! whatever the milk is like the chase is;
So that's your aequal! Go to blazes!
But tried, though, hard, and wouldn' give in—
Aw, obstinate astonishin'!
And I'm tould when she was puttin' a sight on Bigode,
She was fit enough to sweep the road,
The grand, aw, bless ye! Feathers flyin',
Like a paycock, all over her; and eyin'
The midden, and sniffin, and houldin' the scent —
Disagusted, you know, and lek to faint.
And if a pig was killin', though,
Or a sheep—the way with farmers, you know—
Or dung puttin' out, or the lek of yandher,
Aw, bless your soul! it was fit to send her
In 'vulsions, aye! And “my narves!” she'd say;
“My narves!”—and the divil and all to pay.
And the mother and her had words, I belave,
About it there, and what would she have?
And “ger out!” And raisonable too,
And wouldn' stand it; and gave her the sthoo
Over the street, and “away with ye, then!”
And might have heard her at the Lhen.
Now, all the Docthor was wantin' was only
Fair play for the woman, that'd been very lonely—
Sundherd from her own people, you see,
And makin' no friends with the quality.
Fair play! fair play! and had it plenty;
Fair play! fair play! and hardly twenty—
Aw, had it enough, but wuss and wuss,
Till it's lek the Docthor saw he muss,
And dropt it altogether—straight
Lek you'd do with a dog that wouldn' fight,
Or fightin' awkward, and havn' a chance;
Aw, under your arm with the lek at once,
And pay the stakes, and cut away!
You've drew the dog, that's all they can say.
And the divil looks foolish, but he knows what he's at,
He'll eat his supper, I'll bet you that.
Well, the Docthor drew his dog, for all;
But very cheerful, I've heard them tell,
And kind; and thinkin' how would it be
When she'd have a little family:
Aye, and puttin' his heart in it.
But yandher bogh took a sulky fit,
And wouldn' care for nothin', I'm tould;
And wouldn' laugh, and wouldn' scowl;
And wouldn' be sorry, and wouldn' be glad;
And wouldn' be pleased, and wouldn' be mad;
But just like a log of wood in the house—
Aw, bless ye! Give me any trouss,
That's got a taste of somethin' at her—
I don't regard is it sweet or bitter,
Or what; but these pin-janes of women,
That'll hardly look up when they hear ye comin',
And when ye'll kiss them, 'll put their cheek
Lek a stone, and hardly ever speak,
And never quick, and never slow,
Nor never even a bit of jaw
To freshen a man; but goin', goin';
And what they're thinkin' you're never knowin',
But smoothed all over in sulks! Aw, dart!
It's like a slug going creepin' over your heart.
Aw, avast with the lek! Aw, give me a fight—
A reg'lar rattler every night!
And make it up; and happy again!
A man can't live upon pin-jane.
And there wasn' a thing the woman hadn'—
Aw, he didn' spare, the Docthor didn',
To plaise her at all,—aw, no, I'll swear!
A most beautiful parlour at her there;
The teens of pounds, I tell ye, the teens;
And mahogany, like any queen's,
And a chandeleer just like an assimbly,
And a lookin'-glass against the chimbly,
And the best of chayney; and silks and satins,
And a gool watch, bless ye! and a pair of pattins;
And all complete, I've heard them sayin'—
And how the divil could she complain?
And didn'; but you know their way—
And the Docthor workin' night and day,
And had enough to earn a livin'
Betwix' the Lhen and Derbyhaven:
And fo'ced to be away from home
For days; and the far wasn' nothing to him,
But a horse, of coorse, and can't be kep'
On priddha -peelin's; and havn' slep'
A week at a time, the Mountain Third
And Ronnag way; aw, workin' hard.
And there's not much jink at the Ronnag chaps,
Nor the fishermen nither, but a goose perhaps,
Or a sheep, or a string of callag or blockin';
Just on the chance, and never knockin',
But in on the back-kitchen, you know,
And down with the lot, and away you go;
No count nor bills, no tally nor check;
But take your change out of yandher lek.
Aw, aisy ways; the most you owed,
A ridge of priddhas, or a load
Of turf, and lave it at the door,
All right! And musn' be hard on the poor.
But had it, aye, and parfact willin',
Aw, value to the very last shillin'.
No doubt of that; and swop is swop,
But you can't take a sheep to a draper's shop,
Nor yet a goose. D'ye hear him, Bill?
The lek goin' kankin' into the till—
Of coorse, of coorse! That would be a caper!
“Kank, kank!” says the goose. “Ger out!” says the draper.
Aw, dear! aw, dear! you'd be lookin' silly—
“Ger out!” says he. Eh, Billy, Billy?
But it's aisy obsarved that over yandher,
Sheep or shepherd, goose or gandhar;
And paid like that, the Docthor couldn'
Have very much over to go for puddin'.
But done his best; and goin' still,
And as comfible as comfible!
And no doubt the fish out of yandhar boat
Would be lek to be puttin' somethin' to't.
I tould you the Docthor could manage her splendid;
But pleasure mostly—the way intended.
Then the childher come, you'll understand!
And takin' in a bit of land—
About half an acre—from Tommy Tite.
Aw, it's himself could fix it right—
Cabbages and harbs, ye see,
Convenient for the 'spansary!
All as nice, with painted rails,
And a limpy gull to work the snails,
And the Docthor delighted; but Misthress Bell—
Well, you know, you couldn' hardly tell;
Just souldjerin' up and down the walk,
And the foot like lead and the face like chalk.
Aw, I mind her myself, the long, and the skin
All drew at her, but ouldher then.
But yandhar two imps—aw, Lord deliver!
Was the two most desp'rate divils that ever!
Aw, the cheek of the two! You'll mind them Ned;
And all the tricks and the capers they had;
And the blackguard talk, and the imperince.
Aw, many a time I've thought of it since,
Where did they get it, for it wasn' cussin'
And swearin' only till they were bussin'!
I don't know for the cussin' was the gel so bad,
But I believe in spert she was wuss till the lad.
But it wasn' the cussin', for all, so much,
Nor the blackguard talk—bein' used of such—
But the imp'rince, and the monkey tricks,
And the mockin', aye; and'd cut their sticks
Like the mischief, and the innocent face,
If you caught them; but give them the smallest 'crease,
My gough! the abuse! and then “Three cheers!”
And the stones comin' flying about your ears;
And laughin', and away they goes,
And cockin' the finger to the nose!
Aw, nath'ral divils, brew or bake,
Aw, natheral; and no mistake!
Natheral; so who's to blame?
But there was terrible little done for them—
Terrible! for the Docthor couldn',
Bein' much from home; and the misthress wouldn'—
Just starin' at them like a cow,
And them carryin' on goodness knows how.
And stealin', I tell ye, all over the place,
And darin' the woman to her face.
And when they had nothin' else to do,
They'd stick to and pinch one another black and blue,
And rag and fight, and the crockery flyin'
Like dust betwix' them; and the mother eyein'
The pair, and “Stop your noise!” she'd say,
And never mindin', and tearin' away,
That should have been took across her knee,
And whipped of coorse immadiently.
Aw, I've hommered that little chap, I have,
And the hard and the tough, you wouldn' belave;
And never give in, but out with the tong,
And hiss like a serpent, and as strong as strong,
Like iron on the anvil just.
And I tould the mother herself I must;
For the little divil was at me still,
And “If you'll not do it,” I says, “I will”—
And bedad I did, and before herself too,
And hommered him well; but, all I could do,
The very next minute he was over the wall,
And cussin' as hard as he could bawl;
And sticks and stones and sludge and muck,
Aw, the two of us, I tell ye, had to duck;
And says she, “It's all your fault,” she says!
“Why couldn' you leave him alone at the fess?”
But the Doctor wasn' knowin' half
The bad they were; for they'd plenty of craft
Them two; and the mother wouldn' tell:
And he was terrible fond, was Doctor Bell
Of the childher, and makin' some sort of life
In the house, and a kind of a change from the wife,
That'd sit like a block, and them all springs,
And lookin' little innocent things
Enough, but artful, artful still,
And takin' advantage terrible.
Aw, well, I've nothin' to say agen' him,
For the blood of a rael man's heart was in him;
And that's the thing to make others good—
Aw, never spare it! heart's blood, heart's blood!
That's the stuff, I tell ye then,
That'll search the souls of the sons of men;
More preciouser till any pearl,
Or ruby—the very juice of the world,
That keeps its veins from runnin' dry,
And tickles its ould ribs with joy,
And sin and sorrow, but never mind!
A power to make us sweet and kind—
In Jesus' heart the stream began,
But it's in the heart of every man;
Isn' it, boys? Am I preachin' now?
Aw, well; I'll drop it, but you'll all allow
The Docthor hadn' much chance to order
Them childher aright; so I'll not go furder.
But that wasn' much of a nest, you know,
For a little thing to be born into,
Like yandher I was tellin' you of—
The youngest—eh? Not very soft
Nor warm, it's lek; no moss, nor wool—
Bless my heart, the beautiful!
Goolfinches, you know, and the lek of them;
Yellowhommers, too, is much the same.
But aisy! aisy! What am I talkin'?
Poor little Kattie. Before she was walkin',
Them two was at her—just like from heaven
A little angel took and given
To them two divils a purpose to treat her
Most boos'ly! Aw, the little craythur!
She hadn' no life with them from the fess;
And the mother encouragin' them in it—yes!
Encouragin'—for, as I'm a sinner,
Aw, there was something woke a spirit in her
At last, I tell ye. Let be! let be!
But a spirit of hate and misery—
A spirit that crawled in her soul, and spat—
God save our souls from a spirit like that!
Hard! it was hard—very hard for some,
But I tell you how the spirit come.
A week or two after Miss Katty was born,
There was a letter, you know, that was evident for'n —
And the Docthor from home; so opens it,
Bein' curious. And what was there writ,
Do ye think now, in the letter there?
It was from his ould sweetheart; aw dear, aw dear!
It was though, sure enough; aw, 'deed!
It was from her, the very screed.
And Sir John was dead; and—was he the same
As ever? and willin' to change her name
Torectly; and off'rin' heart and hand—
The talk they have, you'll understand.
And the money, bless ye, and the proppity,
And everythin'; but that wouldn' be
Wrote there of course. The gel 'd know better—
Aw, a modest, lovin', beautiful letter!
And maybe there's women that 'd 'a seen the thing,
And pitied the two, and took the ring
Off their finger, and said—“I know
All! Take this! take this, and go!”
Not him! but on with it again,
And swears for ever and ever, Amen;
And clasps her to his heart, Good Lord!
And not another word! not another word!
But trust, and hope, and confidence—
Some people you see has got the sense.
So the Docthor came home, and in from the stable,
And the letter a' purpose on the table,
Open, you know (she'd took and read it
To the servant—aye! you'd hardly credit!
Never was a lady, and never would be.
To the servant, I tell ye, as nice as could be:
Aye, and tould her to watch him, too,
To see whatever he would do).
But the Docthor had shut the door, she found;
And listened and listened, but never a sound
For hours; and tried the door at last,
But locked at him, bless ye, and boulted fast.
It'd be daylight when he came out of yandher, though,
And up the stairs, but very slow;
And in on the room where the wife was lyin',
And fast asleep, and the baby cryin';
And put the letter on her breast;
And took the child and kissed, and kissed
The little thing, and hushed it grand;
And put it back to the mother again—
And out and down, and saddled the hoss,
And away with him, like an albatross:
And up to the Mooragh, and seen at a chap
That was cutting turf, and “Stop! man, stop!”
But never a word, but on and on,
And his face was fixed on the risin' sun—
The straight you'll see a pigeon flyin',
Lek drew to the art where his love is lyin'.
But when the day was rose, he turned,
And the fire that was in his heart had burned
Itself away, and dropped the rein,
And very slow, and home again;
And up to the wife; and just one look
Betwixt the two, and the nither spoke,
And the letter crumpled in the clothes,
And her eye that hard the way a man knows
She knows—the look that leaves no doubt,
The last dead light of love gone out.
So he left her straight; but from that day
He wasn' the same man anyway.
But as for her, she didn' bother
Much about him, bein' able to smother
Her soul complete, or maybe for spite—
I don't know, and it's hardly right
To condemn the woman. She done her part
The best she could. God knows the heart—
God knows the heart, but only one thing,
She shouldn' ha' took it out of that young thing;
But did. Aw, did; and shameful to her,
And wouldn' give her suck no more,
Lek wantin' the very milk that was in her
To turn to stone. And thinner and thinner
The little darlin', and cries and cries,
And the dead light in the mother's eyes—
Lek stupid with the heaviness
Of hate that was swimmin' in her breast,
And cloggin' her head, and turnin' the strain
Of love, till it was bitter again.
Aw, she did hate her though, she did;
And them two imps as glad as glad.
And pettin' them, and cockin' them up,
And encouragin' them; and that young pup—
Aw, it's well he's a head on his shouldhers now,
If so be he has, for I've made a vow
Many a time, and swore it hard,
I'd have his life, and didn' regard
If I'd be hung for the pleasure it 'd be
To sarve him out for his villany.
Aw, 'deed it 'd 'a been well if he'd been took in time,
For the divil had the seed of every crime
And every wickedness deep within him!
Aw, if ever the ould sarpint brewed his venom—
But wait a bit! You'll hear before long.
And a say is a say, and a song is a song.
Now, this foolish mother she stuck to them
Through fair and foul, but special him.
I don't know did she think they were more of her own,
Flesh of her flesh, and bone of her bone,
Because the two of them come to her
When she was what you might call happier;
At laste, you know, lek enjoyin' her helf,
And havin' her husband to herself:
And little Katty was lek she'd been sent
To mind her of the different.
Lek sayin'—“Look! I come the year
The letter come!” Aw, dear—aw, dear!
Whose fault, whose fault is things like these?
Well, I suppose, they're nobody's.
And very likely it wasn' that,
But just lek brewin' in a vat
For years—the stupid and the cruel—
Till somethin' 'll stir this divil's gruel,
Lek the letter, you know, from the Docthor's ould lover,
And frothin' up, and boilin' over.
Not much lek the pool that's wrote
In the Bible there, and porches to't—
Bethesda, wasn' it? And an angel comin'
Down on a slant, and the water hummin',
And if you could get a chap to put you in,
You were healed directly of anythin'.
Aye, but Mrs. Bell, I'll swear,
There wasn' much Bethesda in her;
But rather like one of these mucky dubs,
Where there's nothin' takin' but worms and grubs,
Or maybe a leech 'll bite for a change.
Aw, some of these women is very strange!
And now it was, as you may think,
The Docthor took very hard to the dhrink.
Aw, hard enough! And fell, and fell,
The way I tould you. Poor Docthor Bell!
And agein'! You wouldn' believe the agein'.
And them two divils, lek their name was legion,
Was wuss till ever, havin' nothin' to hould them,
And goin' to destruction; and I've often told them,
But cockin' the head as proud as proud,
And as saucy, and talkin' very loud.
And her like a flint. Aw, bould most horrid,
Ye might have struck fire out of her forehead.
And when they grew up the boy was a rael
Unwholesome lookin' thing; but the gel—
Aw, 'deed she was handsome, 'deed she was!
Handsome, you know, like a vicious hoss,
And a fire in her eye that was never straight,
But sideways lek, lek goin' to bite.
And built to a dot. Aw, a splendid craythur
I tell ye, if it hadn' been for her naythur;
That was the divil itself. Aw, the tearin'
They had, them two; and the mockin' and jeerin',
And every trick. They got a gun
Betwixt them, and what do you think they done?
Climbed up our roof—aw, she could do it nimbly—
And took and fired it down the chimbly.
And the soot comin' down in sheets; and the broth
All spoilt; and mother fit to froth
At the mouth with rage, and took a hatchet.
“By gough,” says I, “it's now you'll catch it.”
But charged so quick as they were able,
And let drive again behind the gable.
“Come here,” says mother, “and I'll give you your lickin's!
Come here,” says she, “ye divil's chickens!”
“Good evenin'! Mrs. Baynes,” says they,
And laughs, and laughs, and cuts away.
And no chance with them; and took in their head
They'd hev some rael shootin', bedad.
And started one of these misty nights
To shoot the turkeys at Tommy Tite's,
That was goin' a roostin' in the trees.
Aye, they did; and one apiece,
And the other—well, I'll not be denyin',
Sure enough the other was mine.
Coaxin' hard. And “Don't be cross!”
And fond enough of a lark as it was,
Let alone a turkey; but chased at a dog,
And had to hide for hours in a bog,
Where the sallies was growin' very thick.
And out come Hal, and out come Dick;
And lights goin' flittin' around the farm,
And the three with a turkey under their arm.
But stuck to them. My gough! the cheek!
And turkey for supper for a week.
And the lies that was tould over yandher. Well!
And nobody knew but the servant gel,
That was a bit of a divil herself, I belave,
And kept it as secret as the grave.
And once they took up with some gipsies there,
Sthroullers, you know, that come to the feer —
And tents goin' fixin' on the Head—
A stinkin' lot as ever was bred—
Your reg'lar boosely, thievin' tramp—
Till the village took and mobbed the camp,
And wouldn' have them. That's the surt!
And them to take up with such abslit dirt.
Aw, if that wasn' the very high road to ruin!
And nobody noticin' what they were doin',
Nor their hours, nor nothin', except me indeed,
That was took for a time to clane and feed
The Doctor's horse, that was bad to keck,
And runnin' arrins and jobbin' lek—
And mindin' me how yandher divil
Come in the stable one night as civil
You wouldn' think what was he schamin' there,
And me just rubbin' down the meer,
And a jenny nettle, and poppin' it
Under her tail, and turned and bit
Most savage, just in the thick of the shoulder;
But, before he was a minute ouldher;
I let him have the curry hot
In the ribs, and down with him like a shot.
Took up with the gipsies, didn' I say?
Yes, by gough, and stayed away
The best part of a week, and carryin' on
Like the very deuce—aw, the divil's own fun—
Cards and dancin' there, and raggin',
And a bottle at him and shoutin' and braggin',
And her with her face all painted lek,
And her hair goin' flying about her neck,
That she wouldn' be knowed, and actual stopped
The Doctor hisself! Aw, well, that topped
Everything! aw, certain! certain!
And axed him would she tell his fortune.
You'd hardly believe! and a pipe in her cheek—
Aye, staid with them there the best part of a week;
And me that freckened, for I couldn' tell what
Would ever come of work like that—
Knowin' gipsies, and the tricks they have—
Tricks! aw, bless your soul—you'll get lave;
Tricks indeed—and went up to try
Could I coax them home; and fit to cry.
And him as drunk he could hardly stand,
And her with a face as black as tan,
And the eyes the wicked stuff they were brewin',
Like mixin' pison with the moon,
That was very clear and full that night.
Aw, it wasn' no use, though I had a fight
With a gipsy chap, and fair play showed—
Aw, there's no mistake; and took the road
Clane bet, and feelin' rather rummy,
Aw, a smart lad that! and my face in mummy—
He could work the fist, that devil, he could;
But another round—but where's the good?
And the Doctor was terrible on the spree
That time; so it's only the mother it'd be,
And her, well—of coorse! and maybe thought
They were at Bigode; but, whether or not,
No notice taken till the neighbours cryin'
Shame on such conduct, and was he blind?
And this and that, till at last the father,
Poor man, was forced, you know, to gather
His wits the best way he could, and go
And had them home immadient though.
But that's the time the men gave chase,
And druv them vagabones out of the place.
And not much better, you'll be thinkin', bedad,
For a spree like that. But the talk they had
When they come back, and the gibberish!
Aw, well really I would wish
You'd heard them—another speech, by jingo!
You couldn' understand the half of their lingo—
Not the half!
But poor little Kitty!
Bless me, the divil would have felt some pity
For that little craythur, that was natheral sweet
And good, the child! And the mother 'd see 't,
Aye plain enough, but wouldn' regard.
And all the bad things she shouldn' have heard
She had to hear, and trimblin' then—
Aw, God is good to such, my men!
And angels puts their wings around
The lek of yandher, I'll be bound;
Aw, there's some sort of music playin' in them
That's got a power to defend them
And makin' that they're hardly knowin'
The sin and wickedness that's goin'.
And the biggest rascal you ever knew
I believe 'd been freckened of them two.
And Miss Kitty 'd often be coming to me
In the stable, and puttin' her head on my knee,
Like a little lamb, and I'd coax her there
The best I could, and sthroogh the hair,
And comfort her lek, and her goin' sobbin'
And shiv'rin', and the little heart throbbin'
Against my leg. And I'd be tellin' her tales
I was makin' about little boys and gels—
Just some little bit of a story—
Quite simple—how they were took to glory
Urrov all the trouble; or about the sea,
And the fishes—just comfortin' her that way;
And the lovely flowers that was growin' down
The deep no line could ever sound;
And the mermaids, and the way they were singin';
And the little bells going ding-a-lingin'
On the Flakes. And then she'd lift the head,
And the wond'rin' baby eyes all spread
Like primroses when the air is sunny,
And draws them out. Aw, it's then the bonny
She looked, and forgettin' all the sorrar.
And then I'd be makin' cat's cradles for her,
Or the like of that. And she'd play as nice,
And laugh; and tamin' little mice.
Aw, she could do well with the lek o' that,
And terrible watchful of the cat!
Or she'd take my hand, and away she'd trot
To a little meadow the Doctor 'd got
On the river; and the questions she'd ax—
Astonishin'! Aw, fit to perplax
The Pazon; and gath'rin' yalla lilies,
And these little kittlins that's growin' on the sallies,
Like velvet that smooth—Aw, you couldn' tell
The putty, and liftin' for me to smell.
And, now and then, of a Sunday, you know,
We'd get lave at the misthriss; and off we'd go
To the Brew, for her to be with Betsy
Just for a bit—our little Petsy
We were callin' her; and sittin' beside the river,
Aw, bless ye! the loveliest thing you ever—
The pecther! Well I've got behind
A tree I have, but never mind—
Just to look, and them not knowin'.
And I tell ye the slush of tears 'd be goin'
Down my cheek, and laenin' my face
Against that tree—Aw, the lovely peace,
And the holy lek, till were we livin'
Or dead, and the lot of us in heaven,
It was hard to say—the love, the love!
Oh, the beautiful—Oh, Father above!—
Wrapped in her very heart, and she'd rock
Her to sleep, and smooth the little frock,
And put her down on the nice soft moss—
And then it was my turn, it was—
Mine—Aw, the years! but every kiss
She'd turn to see was there nothin' amiss
With the child, and her as fast as fast;
And the shaddhers dapplin' on the grass—
And the still, the still; and sweet Sunday light
All siftin' through the place, and the light
To my heart; and hope and happiness
In every breath; but God knows best
What is the best; and, as it's sayin',
He'll make it plain—He'll make it plain!
Well, at last the mistress took and died
On the sudden; and the Pazon tried
What could he do with the Doctor, for all,
And very willin' for him to call—
And talkin' and reasonin' a dale—
Aw, he was good company was Pazon Gale.
And sober enough, and much respec'
For the Pazon, and humble and quiet lek.
But afore they were done, he'd work it, you know
Till the Pazon was terrible put to,
And couldn' manage the Doctor, however,
For bless ye, ye see, the man was clever;
Aw, it's clever shockin' was the man;
And the Pazon'd rather for him to go on,
And wonderful talk, and glad to listen—
He said it was mortal interestin',
The Pazon said; and that tender-hearted,
And come to convert; but liker converted.
Not the drink! chut! not the drink;
But the Doctor had notions you couldn' think,
And strange, and off the common rather,
And beat the Pazon altogether.
But for all the proud and the clever as well,
He sent that very night for Fell—
Ruchie, you know—the ould man I tould ye;
Aw, he did, sent for him, behould ye!
And prayer at the two, and left him prayin—
Anyway that's what the people was sayin':
And lek enough, for the head'll be high,
And axin' for and axin' why;
But the heart'll be sad, and longin' for grace,
Or anythin' that'll give it aise—
Lek you'll see a mountain with the bare bould rock
Goin' up to meet the tempest's shock,
And the night is on its head lek a crown;
And the sky all frost; but lower down
He's got the kerns, and he's got the firs,
And the veins that's in his big heart stirs
With the strength of streams, and the soft sweet air—
Well, that was like the Doctor's prayer.
I don't know did it last till Monday,
But they got him to church on the mournin' Sunday
Very nice, and the childher too;
And the best of mournin', and all of it new;
And if ever there was a black snowdrop in,
That's what Miss Katty was favourin' —
Nice little things peepin' out of the grass—
But the other two was as bould as brass,
And cockin' the nose, and tossin' the book,
Till the Pazon himself begun to look,
And his vice all trimblin', and his eyes all wet;
And then they tried to behave a bit.
Well, then, the Doctor got terrible bad,
And the life yandher little Katty had,
And growin', you know, for they will, aye, aye!
But very awkward lek, and shy.
And the Doctor says to me one day,
He says (we were fishin' out in the bay),
“Tom! you're a dacent sort of a chap—
Would you mind givin' a look if yandher sthrap
Of a sarvint is puttin' too much upon
Little Katty,” he said; and then he begun—
And the brother and the sister, too;
And the knockin' about and the black and the blue
With the thumpin's at them. And would I, then?
So I said, Yes, and he might depend.
Never fear! So it's a bite he had,
And hauled. And nothing more was said.
So many a time when the tide'd be flowin'
Up to the boat, I'd be takin' and goin'
In on the back-kitchen at them there,
And never the one of them down the stair
But little Katty; and at it hard,
And scrubbin' and scourin' out the yard.
Aw, scrubbin' to the very scraper,
And the little knees just wore to paper.
Or down in the cendhars, and the little back
Just broke at her, and as black as black.
And the bellows in bits, and puvvin' and puvvin'
With the little cheeks. Aw, you couldn' help lovin'
The boghee veg. And never a string
Tied in her frock—the little thing—
Behind, you know. And the little stays
And all to that; and the little ways,
And rubbin' her eyes, the full of sleep.
And the shamed; and “Dear! I'm like a sweep!”
Aw, the neglected. Aw, scand'lous, though!
Scandalous! And me turnin' to
To light the fire; and gettin' some sticks
Out of the stable. And her to fix
The tay. And me with a besom sweepin'
Fuss-rate. And the trouss of a sarvint creepin'
Down, like a cat; and the imp'rint! Aye!
And the sauce! And laughin' fit to die.
And little Katty, turn'd to the shelf,
And pinched but laughin' a bit herself,
The foolish I'd look, but maenin' well!
Aw, she was a darlin little thing, was Katty Bell.
And the lot of them snorin' overhead
Like bulls of Bashan, and their tay in bed!—
Took to them, you know. And'd roor
That sudden, and hammerin' on the floor.
And Quick—quick—quick! And catchin' up
And flyin'. And “Give us yandher cup!”
The dirts! But when they were satisfied—
Of coorse dependin' on the tide,
And no hurry, you know—I'd be takin' a smook,
And little Miss Katty'd be havin' a book
And readin' to me. Aw, beautiful readin'!
Beautiful! And never needin'
To do the big spells. And eyein' me
O' one side, now and then, to see
Was I listenin'. And that big slut
Hookin' herself, and bitendin' not—
The sarvint, you know. And the dirty mob
Of a cap that was at her—aw, a reg'lar slob!
Well, that's the way she got that free
And trustful lek, you know, with me,
That there wasn' no trouble at her whatever
But Tom must know. “Aw, Tom is clever,”
She'd say. And 'deed I was, surprisin'—
I was though: and mortal for advisin'.
And now I'll tell you the way it was,
And what them divils came to at last.
You see, this Willy Bell was bad
To the very backbone; and the schoolin' he had
Done him no good, nor like to do—
Just a quarter, or maybe two,
At the Cullige there; and sthroullin' about
All hours, and goin' a turnin' out
At the masther, that wouldn' have the lek;
And no raison he would, for you couldn' expec'.
That was the schoolin'; but nathral sharp
And clever. And only for the warp
Of the divil that was in the very stuff of him,
They'd have made a handy man enough of him.
But the dirty turn-out; and must try and look big,
And up and got the Bigode's ould gig,
And a coult that had hardly a shoe to his foot,
And the Docthor's mare, and to they were put
The way two hosses 'd be goin' a yockin'
To a cart, and smackin' the whip, and cockin'
The hat o' one side; and her with a thing
Like a bugle, and blowin' astonishin'!
And the pair like brass; and the fuss-rate it 'd be
To go down to the Cullige, and let them see!
And started, I tell ye, from the Lhen,
And into the hedge and out again,
And scorin' all the road like a herrin',
Till they come to the Ballabeg; and gerrin'
Locked with the Port-le-Moirey car.
Aw, then the cussin' and the war!
And capsizin' in the ditch; and—chat!
There'd be pounds there—depend on that!
And the little 'stasha under the nose,
And, my gough! the tasty about the clothes,
And gettin' them from Douglas—aye!
Aw, wouldn' be bet. Aw, as high as high!
Just tip-top; and a weskit there
Like these divils of play-acthors you'll see at a fair—
All colours, I tell ye! Aw, the chap had notions,
'Deed he had; and the talk, and the motions,
And the ring on the finger—aw, complate!
The buck all over—fuss-rate! fuss-rate!
And often over in Dhoolish: and snakin'
About the Barracks, and goin' a takin'
In at the officers, and lar him
Drink hisself blind, and laughin' arrim —
Just for a fool; and not satisfied,
But'd be more till that—aw, the divil's pride!
And who he was, and who he knew,
And what he'd done, and what he could do,
And hintin', and allis stand by his fren',
And the sthrappin' gels there was at the Lhen;
And intarmined, you know, he'd make them confess
He was wicked enough whatever he was.
So one of them divils come over to see,
Just for a bit o'curosity,
It's lek; and, for all the capers he had,
I believe the lad was a dacent lad.
But they nailed him—aye! Aw, they worked him well—
He was the boy that could do it, was Willy Bell.
And terrible rich, and the money flyin',
And in at the Bull, and all enjoyin'
Theirselves though, grand; and him with the puss
Standin' trate for the lot of us.
And Miss Mary soon got agate of him
With her gipsy tricks. Aw, well she could trim
The bait; and I tould ye, didn' I?
The beauty she was; aw, ye couldn' deny—
But, aw dear, such beauty! where do they gerrit?
Lek it would be an evil sperrit
Had stole a body that was goin' a makin'
For a pious pessin, and so it'll be takin'
All the sweet and all the gud
Urrov things, and soakin' them into the blood,
And growin' and lookin' lovely, but still
It come from hell, and it'll go to hell—
But maybe not—aw, lave it alone!
It's lek the divil knows his own;
And anyway we hav'n' got no call,
For God Hisself is workin' all.
And there's odds of beauty, and for all the brazen,
You couldn' help it—aw, amazin'!
For she'd keep the eyes upon you, ye know,
And the deep light gatherin' there as slow,
Like tricklin' into a bowl, till she'd fill it
Full to the brim, and then she'd spill it
Right in your face. Aw, ye'd need to be stones,
For she'd melt the marrow in your bones—
The divil! Aw, many's the time she's made me
Trimble all over—lek she'd flayed me,
With the fire of her look—aye! aye! my men,
And me, that hated her like sin!
But this young Captain—well, of coorse!
And the Doctor gettin' worse and worse
Them times, and up to Bigode for the hay
Lek he was used; and the best of a month away—
And terrible talk, and every wheer!
And up the gill, and did ye see her?
And bless my soul! and bad work! What?
And where would it end? And this, and that,
And desp'rate work in the Doctor's house,
And carryin' on, till this little mouse
Of a Katty was freckened altogether,
And come to me, and not a bad job either—
The boghee veg! and the little bress
Like choked—aw, terrible distress
At the child—and would I come up? aw, do!
And oh, if I knew! Oh, if I knew!
And oh, would I come up to-night?
And—it isn' right, it isn' right!
“No, it isn'!” I says. Aw, the red
She got and the shamed, and the little hands spread
Against her face, and turns the quick,
And the sobs goin' ruxin' up her back!
Think of the shame! aw, the beautiful shame!
Aw, dear! there should be another name
For the lek. When an angel'll be flying past
The gate of hell, you could fancy a blast
Of the brimstone—eh! and him shakin' his feathers—
'Deed they've got to be out in all weathers,
Them angels, aye! and seein' hapes
Of sin. And I wouldn' trust but they scrapes
Their feet middlin' careful at the door,
Comin' in and steppin' on the floor
Very dainty, for not to be silin'
The lovely polished gool, and smilin';
And—glory, glory to the Lamb!
Aw, when I think of that the happy I am!
Well, well, let's hope—and the sea all glass—
But the shamed she was! the shamed she was!
The putty shamed; aw dear, the sweet,
In a little thing. Aw, I love to see't.
I was guttin' our herrin's that time, and I talked
A dale of comfortin' things, and calked
The seams of the little bustin' heart
The best I could. And I'd take her part,
And “Look here!” I said, and I showed her my knife;
“Look here! I'll have that captain's life
This very everin',” I said; “and what's more,
By gough! it should ha' been done afore”—
Just comfortin' lek, the way she'd see
The friend she had. “No, no!” said she,
And the white as death. “Oh, make him promise!
Oh, Mrs. Baynes!” “Ger out there, Thomas!”
Says mawther. And well to keep clear of a quarrel,
And rammin' the herrin's into the barrel,
And sniffin' greatly, but looked over her shoulder
At little Katty, and sniffin' loudher,
But wouldn' let on for any sake,
But in and got a botter cake,
The thick with sugar, and sthrooghed the head,
And “Go home now! millish! Go home!” she said.
And I went with her as far as the gaery;
And then she axed me to speak to Mary.
And the sense she had, and her so small;
And the way she knew nothin', and the way she knew all!
And—“Is she—is she a wicked gel?”
And—“'Deed, Miss Katty, I cannot tell,”
Says I; “but lookin' like it rather.”
And how would it do to tell the father?
And no!—aw, no! And grippin' my hand,
And beseechin' lek; and who was her fran'
But me; and the good I was, and the nice,
And the big and the strong, and the ould and the wise.
Aw, dear! “Well, well!” I said; “all right!”
And up to the house that very night;
And not in much notion what to say,
But felt like a fool, though, anyway.
So I in on the back, and I axed the gel
Was Miss Mary in; and—“Will I do as well?”
Says this trouss, and cockin' the cap, and tossin'
The head o' one side, and semp'rin', and saucin'.
“Hardly,” says I. “Can I see her?” I says;
“I want to spake to her, if you plaise.”
“Indeed!” says she; “you're very high!”
And—“Spakin' is spakin'!” “Go and tell her,” says I,
“For all—and look sharp!” Aw, by gough! she went.
You see I was never givin' no encouragement
To the lek—no, no! A dirty thing!
Her to buck up to me, by jing!
Well, she soon came back; and “Go in!” says she,
“And I'd rather it'd be you till me.”
So I into the parlour; and there she was—
The handsome! But “all flesh is grass,”
It's sayin'. But the beauty and the craft
Of the craythur! and just the tail of a laugh
Left curled on her mouth; and never lifted
Her eyes from the book, nor never shifted;
But aisy to see little Katty had tould them
I was come up o' purpose to scould them.
And—“Good everin',” says I, “Miss Bell”;
But rather hesitin'. “Aren't ye well?”
Says she. “A cowld, it's lek,” she says;
And “ye seem rather shaky”; and the key of the chess
Was away with the Doctor, and the eyes as straight
On the book, but just a slit o' light—
A kink; and the sparklin' silver devil
Runnin' along it like the bead in a level
You'll see at these masons. “Look out,” says I
To myself, “Tom Baynes! Stand by! stand by!
It's comin',” says I—“it's fight she manes!
Batten down your hatches, Misther Thomas Baynes!”
And I drew a long breath, and I said, “Miss Mary!
I'm sorry now; I'm sorry very”—
And the tight in the throat. “But it's lek it's no use,”
I said; and “I must, and I hope you'll 'scuse—
And it's makin' very free,” I said;
“But I'm bothered shockin' in my head,
And all the talk—” “If I had the keys,”
Says she. “Aw, Miss Mary! if you plaise,
Will you listen to me?” I says—“will you listen?
It isn' my stomach!—no, it isn',”
I says. “No, no!—it's my heart that's in.”
“Love!” she says; “oh, that's differin'.
How interestin'!” she says; and “Come!
Tell me all about it, Tom!
Your heart,” she says, “poor Tom!—your heart!”
Then all of a sudden she gave a start,
And “It isn' me! Oh, Tom! hush, hush!”
And her eyes flew round at me in a rush
Of fire. “Miss Mary! Miss Mary!”—I strove
To get a word, you know. But—“Love!
Love, is it, Tom? And your heart, poor lad,
Is bleedin'!—is it, Tom?” she said,
And the sigh! “Oh, God in heaven!” I shouted,
“Miss Mary!” and the red lip pouted,
And the foot went tappin'; and—“Well,” says she,
“You're a handsome fellow; but Betsy Lee!
Betsy, Tom! Oh, Tom! for shame!”
Aw, her eyes was like the livin' flame!
And the smile!—aw, the divil's smile was warpin'
Like a leech on her lips. My gough! the sarpin'!
The sarpin'!—and me with the ribs just stove
With houldin' my heart, the way it hove
Against them. Aw, I couldn' have stood much more;
And if I'd struck her to the floor,—
Struck her dead—struck her dead,—
It'd been better for herself it had,
And a wonder I didn'; but I hoult very strong,
And I said, “Miss Mary, it's very wrong
The way you're actin'.” I said, “Try, try!
To speak to me like a lady,” says I,
“Like a lady,” I says, “aw, do! aw, do!
You know what I mean. It is for you,
And for all my heart is sore this night,”
I said. “Aw, dear! the weight! the weight
Of trouble that's fell upon ye all,”
I said, “that's fell, and goin' to fall.
Aw, Miss Mary!” I said, “be nice!
Be studdy,” I said; “aw, take advice,
And give yandher captain a clout on the head!
He's after no good—not him!” I said;
And wouldn' she be happier far
If she was keeping more respectablar?
And wasn' it God that gave her the beauty
And the figgar? And wouldn' it be her duty
To try to be sweet, and pure, and good
The way the Lord was intendin' she should?
Aw, try; and all would be for the best,
“And everybody'll love you,” I says.
And I kep' the eye upon her still—
The blue on the black! Aw, aisy, Bill!
The cowld on the hot, if you like; and the hand
Went up to the head like a shootin' pain—
“Try!” I said, but very low,
Just like whisperin', you know—
Aw, then she was done, and only raison;
And her face in her hands, and her hands like a bason
For the full of tears that couldn' help splashin'
Through her fingers like a pessin washin';
And the catch on her breath; aw, it's then the Lord
Was strivin' with her very hard.
But I heard a foot goin' on the stair,
And I turned very quick, and who should be there
But Willie? We looked at one another
For the best of a minute; aw, studdy, rather,
Studdy; but he couldn' hold on,
And the eye fell slant. And then he begun
And who the this, and who the that!
And what in the world was she sniv'lin' at?
And “What have you been talkin' about,
Tom Baynes?” he says. And “Just get out!”
He says, “get out of here!” he says.
My gough, the tinglin' in my fist!
“Now, I'll be plain with you, Willy Bell,”
I says, “I'll be plain; you know right well
What was I talkin' about, for you were standin'
The whole of the time upon the landin'.
Now, then,” I says, “you're a gentleman,
And I'm— However, that's your plan—
Listenin', is it? You snake! And you heard
All that was sayin'—aye, every word!”
Aw, he turned his back, and he goes to the sisther,
And says he, “look up,” and he took and kissed her.
“Judas!” I shouted, “Judas! traitor!
Devil!” I said, “let go the craythur!
The Lord is with her.” “Oh, no doubt,”
Says he, “but we know what we're about.”
And I looked, and she just give one long shiver,
And the face was as hard and as wicked as ever.
“Help, help! my God,” I cried, “help now!
She's lost! she's lost!” “Come! blast this row!”
Says he. Aw, I made a step, and I put
My face into his, and fut to fut,
And “Devil! Devil! Double die
Of a devil! I can see it in your eye!
I know it! I know it!” “What?” he said.
“What, indeed! What, indeed!
Will I kill ye now?” I says. Aw, he shook
Very bad. And I took and stuck
My fist in his handkecher, and I gave
Just one good twiss. “Come, lave then! lave,
Lave go!” he says, and the teeth goin' chatterin'.
“By gough,” I says, “you're a beautiful patterin
Of a gentleman.” And her as quite
All the time; but the soft, good light
Of God was gone out of her, and starin'
Lek a kind of stupid, the way its appearin'
With people that's drunk that sleepy stuff—
Laudanum, is it? Lek enough:
But didn' offer to help him at all,
And the divil pinned against the wall;
And puffin' and cussin' what would he do.
“Come out!” says I. “No, I won't, for you!”
Says he. “You coward,” I says, and I ground
My knuckles in his windpipe, and down
He went like a sack of potatoes though!
“You're a murderer!” she said. “No, no!”
Says I; “there's twice too much life in him yet.”
Aw, you might as well ha' talked to a idiot
As to her, the way she was then. So I went,
For I was intarmint to be off immadient
To the Bigode to see was the Docthor in trim
To be fit to come down and spake to them.
And afore I got to the end of the street
I heard the click of a horse's feet,
And a Douglas car. And “Wuss and wuss!”
Thinks I. “And now it's who'll be fuss!”
And I ran like the mischief. And there he was
The poor old Docthor, and a staemin' glass,
And the one tum over the other, twiddlin',
You know. And middlin' sober—middlin'.
And—For all the sakes to come at once,
Or lek enough we'd lose the chance—
And the work that was in. And “Docthor come!”
“Stop,” he says, “till I finish this rum”;
And suckin' it sweet, aw, the last grain of shugger.
And then this stupid ould hugger-mugger
Of a Kelly, the grandfather, you know,
What would hould but he must go?
And huntin' for his stick, and wrappin'
His stupid ould neck. And—What might happen,
And—The Lord over all. And—Wouldn' it be well
To begin with prayer? “Eh, Docthor Bell?”
“No,” I said, “Mr. Kelly,” I says,
“There isn' no time for this foolishness.”
“You scandalous rapprerbate,” says he,
“For shame!” he says. And down on the knee,
And by gough he gave tongue that all the glen
Might have heard him. “All right! Amen, Amen!”
Says I. And glad they warn' in liquor,
But half out of my senses they wouldn' come quicker.
And the hummin' and hemmin'; and the death of cowld,
And “Be careful, Kelly!” and “Bless my soul!”
And, “What's become of yandher stick?”
Aw, enough to make you sick.
But off at last; and slow, though, very,
And groanin' and prayin' like ould Harry!
And “Yes, Docthor Bell,” and “No, Docthor Bell,”
And “It's lek it's better to go, Docthor Bell?”
And “Are ye there?” and “Wait now, wait!”
And “It's very coorse,” and “I'm all in a heat”;
And me like disthracted. And, was I suttin?
And stoppin' and strugglin' with a button—
And “D---it! Mr. Kelly,” I says,
“It's too bad altogether, it is.”
“O,” he says, “young man, I see!
I'll have a little talk with you,” says he.
“What is it sayin',” he says, “in John?”
“Good Lord! Mr. Kelly! come on! come on!
Come on!” I says; so he come; but sighin'
Very bad, and lek to plyin'
A text to hisself. And got them down
To the Lhen at last; and people round
The door o' the Bull, and 'cited rather,
And nudgin' when they saw the father;
And over to the house, and there—
Of coorse! of coorse! Aw, never fear!
Gone though! and no use to be frettin';
And Pazon Gale in the parlour sittin'
As patient; but thinkin' very deep,
And little Katty fast asleep
Before the fire, or was a fire,
But this beautiful servant was off to enjoy her
Talk with the neighbours; and just a rakin'
Of dust in the bars. Aw dear, the forsaken!
The miserable! the miserable!
And the Pazon with his elber on the table—
The Pazon, aye; for when the child
Seen their actin', she run like wild
Up to the Church, that nothin' couldn' stop her;
And was she too little to reach the rapper,
Or couldn' work it, the Pazon was sayin',
She put her face to the window pane,
The Pazon said, like a little ghose,
He said; and the flat of her little nose
Just like a peep-show, he said it was,
Don't you know? a bit of glass
And flowers goin' squeezin' under it;
Eh? and a little mossel of spit,
And give me a pin
To stick in my chin—
What? of coorse! of coorse! you know—
And only off with my shoes and jacket,
For I was intarmined to see would they be at the packet.
And gave the ould woman slip fuss-rate,
And never touched a mossel o' mate,
And got to Douglas middlin' arly.
Aw, by gough! but they bet me farly,
For where must they be off to all the while
But Ramsey, and sailed with the Mona's Isle?
The Mona's Isle!—I wish she'd ha' sunk!
I was just that mad that I went and got drunk,
And I couldn' tell ye when I got home—
But I saw yandher driver, and I gave it to 'm—
As innocent there upon the Cross!
Aw, I had to do it, the mad I was.
So that was Misther Willy Bell
That sould his sisther. Still!—keep still!
Sould her! Didn' I see the notes?
Didn' me and Tommy Oates
See him crispin' them in his fingers
At Callow's? Didn' we, by jingers?
And didn' I tell him he had his wages,
And he'd burn for it, through all the ages
Of hell, I said, and the dirty sniggle
On his face—aye, just like a worm'll wriggle
Under your calker; and didn' we take them
Urrov his hand, and didn' we cake them
Together, by gough! and soak the whole o' them
In a pint-jough there, and make him swallow them?
Aye, did we! and a goodish few
Made it up to kill him, too,
And tould it wasn' safe at the Lhen;
And cut, and never come back again.
No, no!—by gough! he's not such a fool,
And he's for a bully now in Liverpool.
And did this Mary ever come back?
Yes, she did. She tried that tack,
Maybe about a two years after;
But of coorse this fellow had took and left her
Long afore that. She came about
Of a summer's everin'; and the Docthor out,
And Katty with him, and the new sarvint they had
Come runnin' down the shore, and she said
The free she was, and the condescandin',
And the lovely drest, and there was no depandin'
To the talk with people. “Aisy, ess!”
Says an ould fisherman there. “We know what she is;
And, by gough!” he says, “she'll pack her traps
This very night!” and calls the chaps,
And gets a cart, and away with them though,
And me a follerin' rather slow,
And thinkin' a dale; for, for all the sinner
She was, the door shouldn' be shut agin her;
It shouldn', I tell ye—it shouldn' be,
If she's anyways took in her conscience, ye see—
Aw, no!—and done with her wickedness,
And longin', longin', longin' for rest.
“God help the lek!” thinks I; and the cart
Goin' rattlin' on. “Will I take her part?”
Says I to myself. “Well, well! I'll wait”;
And the cart goin' stoppin' at the gate,
And “Come urrov that!” says Bobby Brew;
“Come urrov that!” says all the crew;
“Come urrov that!—come urrov that, will ye?”
And says Bobby, “We're not goin' to kill ye;
But we know very well how your bread is arnin' —
So you'll off by the packet to-morrow mornin'.
Now, come!” says Bobby—“come, and make haste!”
So she come—she come! My God! the face!
Just a graven image cut out of stone—
The tight and the glazed; you'd hardly ha' known
Was it a livin' woman you'd got,
Or some figgerhead for the divil's yacht!
And goin' a heisin' at them there,
Straight like a coffin upon a bier,
And a cross-board at them, and a wisp o' straw;
God bless ye! the lek you never saw!
And givin' in, and noways vi'lent,
And because she was silent, they were all of them silent;
Aw, you might ha' heard a pin—
For all the world like a buryin',
But the pitiful! the pitiful!
And along the street, and past the Bull;
And, “Aw!” I said—“aw, give her a chance!
Aw, just this once!—aw, just this once!
And wait for the Docthor! aw, do! aw, do!
Aw, Masther Brew!—aw, Masther Brew!
Can't there be no mercy?” I said;
But ould Bauvy only shook his head,
And over the shore; and then the women
Come out, and one by the name o' Shimmin
Up with a clew of goss to strek her,
And others tryin' to draw the kecker;
But some was shoutin', “Where are ye goin'?”
And—“Aw, the poor thing!” and “Lave her alone!”
And just when we come agin the well,
Who was there but ould Ruchie Fell?
And—“Come, then, Ruchie! give her a prayer!”
And the innocent ould soul that was there
Stuck to at once, and prayed away
Till we got to the other side of the bay,
And keepin' up, and peggin' along
By the side of the cart, and prayin' strong,
And the two hands clasped before him like this;
And at last he took and gave out a vess
Of the “Buryin' Psalm,” and middlin' right,
But then they hushed him for th' be quite,
And tould him he hadn' got the tune,
And left him standin' in the moon.
But Mary Bell! oh, Mary Bell!
What she was thinkin', who can tell?
Sittin' there as firm and straight
As a crowbar; and all the lovely light
Shinin' off her like a block—
Lek you'll see it shinin' off a rock.
If it wasn' the sittin', you couldn' have tould
Was she dead or alive. And—“Is there a sowl
At her, is there?—or a body just?”
Thinks I to myself. Aw, dust to dust.
Bless ye! we might ha' been agate of a biler
On the Foxdale road —when, behold ye! ould Smiler,
The Pazon's horse, and the Pazon's trap,
And the Pazon himself! And—“Stop, men! stop!”
We were about the Ballayonna, you know,
When we met him, Ned, and turnin' slow
On the bridge that's there. “What's at ye at all?”
Says the Pazon, backin' agin the wall;
And—“Hullo!” he says, “Thomas! is that you?
Aw, dear!” he says, “and Robert Brew!”
And what were we afther? and we gave him a start,
And who was that we had in the cart?
So they tould him; and the Pazon tried
Hard, but they wouldn' be satisfied.
“Let her see her father!” he says;
And the wrong, he said, and the wickedness
They were doin', he said, it was awful! awful!
“And more till that—it isn' lawful.”
“We'll chance the law,” says the fellows then;
But, by gough! the Pazon was at them again.
And who were they to judge the why
The gel come home? lek enough to die,
Says the Pazon. Says Brew, “She's not the surt!
And I tell you, Pazon, we'll have no such dirt
At the Lhen,” says Brew; “so there now—there!”
Aw, he was the chap to spake. “You were allis severe
And hard, Robert Brew! But listen to me!
I've nussed this child upon my knee;
I've christened her in the church,” he says;
“And now—and now—she's come to this!”
And, “Oh, our Father in heaven!” says he,
“Look down on her in her misery;
And melt, oh, melt! these hearts of stone!”
And, “Havn' you childher of your own?”
He says to the chaps. And there wasn' a word
For a minute maybe, and all that was heard
Was the river, cryin' down the gill,
And houldin' their breaths—aw, very still.
Then says the Pazon, “Mary Bell,
Have you come home to be a good gel?
In God's name, Mary! in God's name!
Is that, is that the for ye came!
Answer!” he said; but she wouldn' spake.
Then says Bauvy, “I know the sake
She come well enough: it was for the little sister—
Little Katty—to try could she get and 'list her
In the same sort of work.” “That's it! that's it!”
Says the others; “little Katty—to get
Little Katty!” they says. “Little Katty—aye!”
And, “Stick to it, Bauvy!—that's the why!”
And Miss Katty was the darlin' of the shore,
And she'd been knocked about enough before—
And they wouldn' have it, they said, and'd rather
See her in her grave! and the father
Was a very nice man, but he wasn' able
To take care o' the child; and gettin' feeble,
They said, with the drink, and far too soft;
And it was Katty—Katty they were thinkin' of—
Little Katty! Aw, then the head
Come down at last. “I'll go!” she said—
Yes, but sulky-lek, you know;
“Drive on the cart!—I'll go! I'll go!”
Then the Pazon gave a terrible sigh,
And he says, “The Lord is always nigh!
I'll go with her myself, I will!”
And out of the gig, and on to the till,
And into the cart. And, “Thomas, good lad!
Take care of the gig!” And—the bad!—the bad!
And a mortal trimblin' in his vice,
And sittin' beside her as nice as nice.
So on we druv, with the cart in front,
And the gig behind, and just a grunt
Now and then at Bauvy; but me that beat
I was nearly fallin' off the seat—
And the Pazon talkin' very low,
But what he was talkin' we'll never know;
But it's lek to repent, and the aisy yoke—
The way they're talkin', and right to talk—
Pazons—yes!
So that's the way
We got her down on Douglas Quay;
And we waited till the packet started;
And the hobblers there was terr'ble divarted
With the Pazon! And, What a stunnin' old limb!
They were sayin'; and a gel with him!
Aw, these Douglas hobblers is shockin' rough,
Though there's some of them dacent chaps enough,
But free o' the tongue, aw, 'deed they are,
And ready for any sort of war.
But the Pazon didn' mind them, no he didn',
Just like an ould angel, the way he was spreadin'
The peace around him, lek shook from wings
Round and round and round in rings—
The holy, the holy, and the true!
Aw, the beautiful and the lovely too!
Aw, bless him! bless him! He'll wear the crown,
Will Pazon Gale! And up and down,
Up and down on yandher pier,
And that stubborn thing that was at him there,
Whatever he could do or say—
But she broke with the breakin' of the day—
Broke when the day broke! Well, raelly now
Them's the only words—I don't know how—
Was it the Prince of Darkness was put to flight,
For he couldn' stand the sting of the light;
Or was the red that ript the East
Like a finger pointin' to the place
Where she had to go? Or did God look out
From the pillar of fire, lek when He was about
Yandher Pharaoh, and all his host
That come tearin' there along the coast,
And braggin' that Moses couldn' help but laugh,
Chariots! had they? and the wheels comin' off!
Aye, but, however, she sobbed a dale,
But what she said to Pazon Gale
Was never known; but you could see like a shot
The Pazon was aisier after that
For her to go. I can't tell if she hadn'
A godly sorra—for tears 'll be sheddin'
Very bad, and even prayin',
But a godly sorra, the Bible is sayin'—
Of course, and—lek never to do it again—
Do ye see the thing? We'll drop it then.
And so she was put aboard at last,
And ould Bauvy says—“Will I make her fast
To anything?” But the Pazon went
To ould Captain Craine, bein' well acquent,
And—would he give an eye to this young pessin?
And—the 'spectable, and very distressin'—
“All right!” says the Captain, but middlin' gruff,
“All right!”. “And is it goin' to be rough?”
“No!” he says; and “Now for the shore!”
And turns his back. I belave he knew her.
Well, that's all I've got about Mary
And home with the Pazon, and terrible weary
The two of us till the Pazon heard
A lark that was singin' very high,
And all like quiverin' with the joy—
Then said the Pazon—“You'd hardly belave
There was sin in the world, to hear that stave—
Sing on, my bird! sing on!” he says,
“Your song of love and happiness!
Sing on, brave bird!” and the ould head dips,
And I seen the prayer on his lips—
Aye—but didn' spake again
At all. And so we come to the Lhen.
Now, I don't know azackly the years it would be,
But it was once I was home for a while, you see,
With the ould woman, bein' in two minds
Would I stick altogether to the lines,
And give up the sea; and I'd had my sup
Of troubles, you know, but mortal took up
With little Simmy, that was growin' grand—
Eh, Simmy! Are ye asleep, my man?
Look at him! rolled up like a ball!
Ha! pretendin'! Aisy all!
Well, I think it was a everin' in May,
Or June, a yacht come into the bay,
A terrible beauty, schooner rig,
Fore and aft, you know; and big
Tremenjus—two hundred register
At laste, I'm thinkin'; and they anchored her
Inside of the Carrick. And a boat come in,
And a sarvint, and orders at him to send
A Docthor aboard, if so be there was one
At the Village, and then for him to go on
To Douglas, and get them Docthors too—
Idikkilis! as if Bell wouldn' do!
But that's the way! and a gig at the Bull,
And yoked in a crack, aw, a gig to the full—
Aw, it's Callow's could do it, and off like a shot,
And then, ye see, Docthor Bell was got;
And the boat that come had to stay behind
For stores, and so he went in mine.
The sun was settin' when we fetched,
And there was a lady lyin' stretched
On a bed on the deck, for she wouldn' stay
Below as long as it was day.
So that's the raison they satisfied her.
And the son and the husband standin' beside her,
And the awnin' furled, and the last bit of light
Shinin' full on her face—Aw, the white! the white!
And “Here's the Docthor!” and makin' room,
And the young man leaned his head on the boom;
But the old man took the Docthor's hand,
And led him to her, you understand—
But when she seen him she gave a cry,
And, “Oh, you're come to see me die!
Oh, Edward! oh—perhaps it's as well—
Oh, Edward Bell! Oh, Edward Bell!”
And he fell on his knees, and he bowed his head,
“Harriet! Harriet!” he said;
But the Lady Harriet was dead.
Yes! it was her. You knew it was comin'?
Aw, the very woman! the very woman!
For when the Docthor wrote to her
To say he was married, she didn' care
For nothin' at all, but only to go
Somewhere out of the way, you know—
Lek a craythur that's goin' a runnin' over
'll creep in the hedge to try and recover—
Aye, but a taste of pride with it all,
Aw, pride no doubt! and natheral!
For what had she done but axed a man
Would he marry her, and the fella ran—
Well, not azackly that, but still—
Aw, she was feelin' it terrible.
And went and took a little house
In the counthry, and just a couple of cows
And a little land, and a lady's maid
She was used of lek, that could make her bed
And that, and this man they were callin' James,
You'll mind, that was tellin' me all the games.
Wasn' it him that came ashore
In the boat to send the Docthor to her?
And off without a bite or a sup
To get the Douglas Docthors up.
Wasn' he tellin' me over our tay—
We'd been whitin' fishing in the bay
That ev'rin'—aw, a dacent chap,
And the fond of the whitin's he couldn' stop
One after another—and aw, the delaycious!
And him and me was very gracious.
Well, she come to live in this little place,
But she couldn' get a mossel of peace;
For of coorse the rich she was and the beauty,
There was hundreds comin' to pay their duty,
Lek makin' application, lek sportin'
Their figgers afore her. I doubt it's coortin'
It'd get with us, but the quality
Must have a differin' name, ye see.
So I believe at last she was fairly fo'ced
To take a husband. And like a ghost,
They said, the day she was married. Aye!
But a rael good man, and tervil high;
And a splandid scholar, you'll be sure,
And kind, and givin' a dale to the poor;
And wise and careful all the same—
Lord Brockley they were callin' him.
And she never had no child but the one—
A boy, you know, and reared at them grand;
But the mother took very much to failin',
So the docthors thought a little sailin'
Would do her good. So every year
They were havin' a trip in the Vivandeer,
They were callin' her. And sixteen hands
All tould, and sparin' no expense.
Aw, a splandid vessel, splandid, though!
And that fitted up, you'd hardly know
Were you standin' in a ship or a shop.
And stewards there—aw, just tip-top;
And the paintin' and the gool—you never!
And the lookin' glasses; but, however—
So it seems this time they'd been over to Dublin,
And rather rough, and the sickness troublin'
The lady bad. And bound to shake her
Roundin' the Calf. And waeker and waeker,
Till at last they got freckened, and had to give in,
And come to an anchor at the Lhen.
So that's the way, the very fit.
And wasn' it nice now? Wasn' it?
And her ould sweetheart, and all! Just so!
Aw, beautiful! Aw, lovely, though!
And the wonderful for him to be nigh,
Lek it'd be a pleasure for her to die.
Yes, yes! you're right! Aw, 'deed, for sure!
The woman was dyin' happy thallure.
And coffined there at Masther Cowle—
Rosewood—rosewood! Bless your soul
Satin linin', satin trimmin',
Just like a pianna, I heard some women.
And put aboard the Douglas boat,
And Masther Cowle himself attendin' to 't.
And the proudest day of his life, I'll bet.
Aw, poor Lady Harriet!
Now afore she was married she tould the Lord
About the Doctor, every word.
And hard to do it's lek it 'd be,
But “Bless ye! What's the odds?” says he.
Aw, thrumps the both, and 'd out and spake;
Aw, the rael breed, and no mistake.
So this Lord Brockley seen at once
What was up, and capital friends—
Capital! Chut! The man had sense.
There was a sayin' of his the people had
When the two was ither side of the dead.
Then says this Brocolo—“Poor dove!
I had her truth, and you had her love.”
But the young chap never knew nothin' at all
Till now, and it sunk in his heart like a ball
In the teak. And the pecther in him he'd drew
Of his mother—ever since he knew—
Shivered. And had to put it together
The best he could; but differin' rather.
Aw, differin'. And the very next day
He took to the mountain straight away.
I don't know did he think some angel would stand
On the cairn with the pecther in his hand
For him to copy; but there's no accountin'—
There's queer things seein' on the mountain—
Aw, queer enough. And the air, you know,
That keen; and no accountin' though.
But I know a bird that 'll whistle ye down
From any mountain, I'll be bound.
A little bird. A hen or a cock?
No matter. “Come down from yandher rock!
Come down!” it's sayin'. And, by gum,
When that chap pipes, you'll have to come.
Aye, will ye. Aw, it's thrue, it's thrue!
Do I mean little Katty? Of coorse I do.
Little? No! But a woman grown,
And a joy for your heart to think upon.
For whenever she was gettin' fair play,
With them two divils goin' away,
She took a body, and she took a chin,
And a figger there astonishin'.
And very careful of the father,
Aw, terrible, that was difficult rather;
Bein' studdier, but apt to get dry,
And slippin' into Callow's on the sly.
But she had a way to keep him in
Of a night. And grog, but 'lowancin'.
Did she water it? No! God bless my sowl!
Do ye think she'd ever be that bould
To water the father's grog? Aw, dear!
Water? No! Did ye ever hear?
No, but 'd play with him, and coax
To get the bottle from him. And little jokes.
And he'd reach out his hand, all shaky lek,
And she'd put her arms around his neck,
And kiss him, and laugh, and look in his face;
And all the little lovin' ways—
And the hand goin' fumblin'. And then, I'll be blowed,
If she wouldn' be shovin' a pipe in the road,
And grips and sucks, and it lighted at her
In a crack. And “No matter,” he'd say, “no matter!”
Aw, the grand ould man. And a bit of a smile,
And knew what she was up to all the while.
Hav'n' I seen them? And the proud she was
When she got him to bed with only a glass!
But, bless ye! that was years before;
For the Docthor come urrov it more and more,
Like urrov a drame, like urrov a fog.
And the man could sit and take his grog
Like a Christian. Moderate lek, that way—
Moderate—that's the time o' day.
Just with the glory he was takin'
In the daughter, and the happy she was makin'
The heart of the man, and the beautiful
She kep' the house. And never dull,
But as bright as bright. And then, for all,
He began to see the lusty and tall,
And the handsome she'd got, and the full in the hips,
And the sweet talk runnin' off her lips
Like water off an oar on the feather;
And the sensible; and altogether
The woman she was, and knowin' a dale.
So, by gough, he spoke to Pazon Gale,
And the two of them stuck to like fun,
And taught her everythin' under the sun—
Taechin'! Bless ye! reggilar!
Aw, they loved to be taechin' her.
And books and copies, and sayin' and writin',
And the ould pianna—aw, just delightin'—
That was it, delightin' you know—
And the terrible fast she was larnin' though,
And all about doctorin' and bones,
And a hommer at her choppin' the stones,
That they're sayin' is rather suspicious o' meltin',
And showin' the lines the world is built on.
So you see the gel was just in her bloom;
And no chance but Misther Harry Combe
Would be seein' that—just a puffec flower,
Lek the sun 'll be shinin' after a shower,
Puffec, you know, in every part—
Aw, the little spot was in his heart
Afore he left the Island—yes!
Chut! Bless your sowl! he couldn' miss—
But didn' say a word, but back
The very next month! Aw, he wouldn' be slack,
Wouldn' yandher lad! Aw, very keen,
And as handsome a chap as ever was seen—
Aye, Harry Combe they were callin' him,
And still it wasn' the father's name—
Curious! And lookin' bad,
Not havin' the name your father had—
Lek somethin' wrong, you know, but wasn';
And there's plenty of them 'll have a dozen.
But I don't know. But, however, it come,
And not long about it, the way with some;
But out and spoke, and axed her straight
Would she be after marryin him. “All right!”
Said Katty, at least—you understand—
Well, of coorse—aw, a very nice young man.
And it's lek there'd be a dale of blushin' goin',
And what did he mane? And hardly knowin';
And all to that; but come at last,
The little word that makes all fast—
The little word—and whenever he gorrit
He'd put a kiss upon her forrit
Like on a queen—at least I'm tould—
The quality!—But bless your sowl!
And it was beautiful to see
Their little ways—aw, love-ely.
'Deed I've been hidin' in the goss
A' purpose to see how happy she was,
The darlin'! And hardly right, you know
But still for all—just so, just so!
Of coorse, and the world is full of slandher;
But angels might have looked at yandher.
One everin' I seen them on the How—
Christmas Head they're callin' it now—
Yes, yes! you're right; that's the name they hef,
And the one taken and the other left—
The Bible is sayin'—but lower down
Just under the cairn where the Rose was found
And an ould well there the people was thinkin'
Very holy, and goin' a drinkin'
For cures, or maybe laevin' a pin
Or a halfpenny for luck to be in,
But rather lek them Romans, eh?
With their 'dolatry; but hard to say—
Sittin' there beside the well,
Aw a pleasant spot and peaceable,
And these penny-walls and little ferins
Has got a very putty appearance;
And the water that's in tremenjus cowl' —
So I was takin' a little sthrowl,
Bein under orders to jine a ship
The very next day, and a longish trip,
And you never know, and—aye, man, aye!
Lek it would be a sort of good-bye—
So of coorse pretendin' not to know them,
But blest if they didn' call me to them,
And then they tould me the way it was,
And goin' to be married for Michaelmas.
And “Tom,” she says, “you've been a brother
To me,” she says, and a kind of a smother
In her throat, you know, lek she couldn' refrain,
And the tears come rushin' like the rain,
And she caught my two hands with the two of hers,
And she looked the long look in my face.
And “I'm so happy, Tom,” she said,—
“Thank God,” says I, and I bent my head,
And she pressed her hands against my lips,
And I kissed the little finger tips.
“Thank God!” I said, but I couldn' say more—
And I went, but when I got down on the shore
Thinks I, “This 'll never do at all—
Booin' away like a funeral—
And, by gough, I don't like to see her cry,
And, by gough, I'll put her in heart,” says I.
So I turned, and stood, and I gave them a cheer—
I did though—terrible sharp and clear—
“Hoorah! Hoorah!” and up with the cap
Agin the wind, and down with a flap
In the water; but seen her laughin' there,
Laughin', laughin'—never fear!
God bless her—she's a married woman
Now, and a little family comin';
And livin' in England, and got the father
Very nice though living with her.
So that's The Doctor. And now, my men,
I think it's time to be turnin' in.
Good night! It's feelin' to be rough.
You liked little Katty? Well, that's enough.

II
KITTY OF THE SHERRAGH VANE

I. PART I

II. PART II

III
THE SCHOOLMASTERS