University of Virginia Library

MISS HONOR'S WEDDING

I

Ould Sir Maurice's youngest daughther, do I mind her, Sir, did ye say?
Miss Honor is it? Och, sure the same as I'd seen her but yistherday;
And her weddin'—Ay, Sir, her weddin' I said. How long since? Well, I dunnó,
But a matter o' ten year back belike; anyway 'tis wan while ago.

II

We thought little enough o' the match here below in the town; people said
Miss Honor'd a right to ha' looked at home, if so be she'd a mind to wed.
There was plinty o' betther than he did be afther her thin, ye'll be bound,
An' she reckoned the greatest beauty in the sevin counties around.
Yet she needs must take up wid a sthranger; I believe 'twas from Scotland he came.
No, Sir, I ne'er chanced to behould him, and I disremember his name—
A big man, I've heard tell, as yourself's, Sir, an' pleasant o' speech, but a bit
Conthráry some whiles in his temper, an' come of a quare wild set.
Not aquil no ways to Miss Honor: sure, whin she'd be ridin' the road,
As many's the time I've seen her, be the look of her no wan'd ha' knowed
Whether 'twas to the Earl, or the Countess, or ould Andy the fiddler she bowed;
A rale lady, tho', mind ye, some Quality thought her proud.

III

Howsomever, a sthranger or no, ould Sir Maurice was plased an' content,
An' they settled to have a great weddin' down here at the endin' o' Lent;
An' I mind the white sloe-flower was meltin' from off the black hedges like hail
In the sunshine, whin back to the Castle the family came wid a dale
O' grand company, frinds an' relations; the house was as full as a fair.
But, a couple o' days to the weddin', Kate Doyle, that's in service up there,
She run in wid a message to say they'd a kitchen- maid tuk to her bed
Wid the awfulest toothache at all, an' her cheek swelled the size of her head;
An' they wanted a girl be the week, an' she'd spoke to the misthress for me—
So I slipped up that night afther supper, as proud o' me luck as could be.

IV

Thin next day, whin they'd gone to the dinner, Kate showed me the grandeur they'd got
Settled out in the library; all of her presents, a terrible lot.
Sure, I couldn't be tellin' ye half, let alone nigh the whole o' the things.
There was wan o' the tables was covered wid brace- lets an' brooches, an' rings;
An' the big silver plates did be shinin' like so many moons thro' the mist;
An' the jugs wid their insides pure gold, an' the taypots, an' urns, an' the rist.
But the iligant chiney—och saints! the wee cups wid their handles all gilt,
An' their paintin's o' flower-wrathes an' birds—if ye'd break wan, bedad, ye'd be kilt.
An' the jewels, och, the jewels was that purty, I'd ha' sted there star-gazin' all night;
There was diaminds like raindhrops that each had a fire-sparkle somehow alight,
An' the pearls like as if they'd been stringin' the bits o' round hailstones for beads,
An' the red wans an' green, if a rainbow was sowin' ye'd take thim for seeds;
An' the grand little boxes to hold thim, all lined wid smooth satin below—
‘Sure, it's well to be her, Kate,’ sez I, an' sez she, ‘Och, begorra, that's so.’

V

VI

Och, an' she was a bride! Not a sowl but was wishin' good luck to her groom.
All in white, like a branch o' wild pear, when ye scarce see the stem for the bloom,
An' her dark hair just glintin' wid glames, like the bird's wing that sthrakes off the dew—
Och, a beauty complate, from the crown of her head to the point of her shoe.
Wid her hand on Sir Maurice's arm, an' he lookin' as proud as ye plase,
An' eight iligant bridesmaids behind her, each pair dhressed as like as two pase,
Wid their booquees o' flowers like big stars in a thrimble o' fern laves; ye'd say
Be the scint they'd dhropped straight out of Heaven; I remember the smell to this day.

VII

But, next minute, in afther thim stepped a sthrange gintleman none of us knew,
In a terrible takin', an' pantin' as if 'twas a bellers he blew;
Wid a yallerish slip in his hand o' the sort they've for messages tuk
Off the tiligrumph wires, an' he ups to where Quality stared at him, sthruck
Of a heap like; and somethin' he sez, that I couldn't exactually hear,
But a somethin' the others weren't wishful Miss Honor should guess, that was clear,
For they all wint hush-hushin'; however, I'm thinkin' she heard what he said,
And I saw her take hold o' the paper, an' what- ever was in it she read.

VIII

I misdoubt what's the thruth o' the story. Some said all the while he'd a wife
In the States unbeknownst, that was somehow found out, so he'd run for his life;
An' some said he was coortin' a Marquis's daughther in England instead;
But some said it was nought on'y just a fantigue he'd tuk into his head.
But whatever the raison might be, an' whatever had happint amiss,
The end of it was, he was never set eyes on from that day to this.

IX

X

An' sure maybe ould Molly was right; I dunno, for they tuk her away,
To disthract of her mind, so they said, to some counthries far over the say;
Some most curious onnathural place, where I'm tould the sun's scorchin' an' hot
All the year, an' the people is mostly ould nay- gurs as black as the pot,
An' a sthrame thro' it full o' thim bastes o' great reptiles that swally ye whole,
Wid the desolit deserts around, where ye'll see ne'er the sight of a soul;
Worser land than the blackest o' bogs, just as bare as the palm o' your hand,
Savin' whiles barbarocious big imiges stuck in the midst o' the sand,
An' gazabos o' stones stuffed wid bones of the hayjus ould haythins inside—
Ay, in Aygypt—belike that's the name. But, at all evints, there she died.

XI

Yis, she died, sir; an' there she was buried, she never set fut here agin;
An' it's nought but the truth that her like I've not looked on afore her or sin'.
An' bad luck, thin, to thim that 'ud harm her. A pity—a pity, bedad,
If ye come to considher the pleasure in life she'd a right to ha' had.
'Tis the same as a rose-bud that's torn whin its red's just the brightest to see;
Or a linnet shot dead twitterin' soft be its bit of a nest in the tree—
So, in spring, whin the hedges is greenin', an' cuckoos beginnin' to call,
Poor Miss Honor I mind, an' her weddin', that was never a weddin' at all.