University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE IRISH COOK.

“And what does your ladyship require of
me?” asked Bridget, as she courtesied before
her mistress. “It sure is not all the work you
are about setting me to do, for it is not me
who am accustomed to all sorts of labour.”

“I suppose you can do plain cooking?” asked
Mrs. Harley; “at least you must try your
hand at it a few days, until my housekeeper
arrives?”

“And may I ask your ladyship who she is
to be?”

“Why, Mrs. Hopkins, Bridget; she with
whom you have been living. I thought Mrs.
Hunt told you.”

“Indade not,” said Bridget, colouring deeply;
“if it's her who is to be my mistress, I will
be after walking full shortly. Since I came to
Ameriky I have never seen her like, and, by
the powers, I have lived in all sorts of families;
howsomdever, it's not looking well in me to

put her out of your ladyship's favour afore she
comes, so plase tell me my business, and I will
be looking after it at once.”

Mrs. Harley's heart sank within her as she
listened to the innuendoes with which Bridget
abounded about Mrs. Hopkins; but, willing to
look on the favourable side, she reasoned with
herself in this manner: “The Irish have strong
dislikes, and express them unguardedly; it may
be some trifling offence is the origin of all this
hatred;” and with a sincere desire that things
should be better arranged for tea than they
had been at dinner, she bade Bridget make
some buttermilk cakes for supper, as she had
always heard that the Irish were particularly
fond of making that kind of bread, in remembrance
of the fare of their native country. She
even went so far out of her usual routine as
to show her new girl where she could find all
the ingredients, and most neatly arranged was
everything by the faithful Nancy before she
left. The contrast between this unpromising
cook and her last really made Mrs. Harley
sigh; so she left the kitchen, bidding Bridget
be sure and have tea ready at seven. Having
satisfied herself that here her duty ended, she

dismissed all anxiety as to the result, and returned
to the nursery to await her husband's
return.

He came, wearing an anxious brow, giving
outward evidences of the conflict within. How
often had he regretted that he had been fascinated
by accomplishments merely; and thus
sorrow, mingling with his love, that one so
misdirected in youth should be the hinderance
rather than the helper of his joys, made his
heart ache, and he sought to drown his bitter
thoughts in forgetfulness by mingling with the
world, sometimes in the theatre, and sometimes
with a jovial club. His wife, among her frivolities,
looked not beyond the present moment,
and, provided both were pleased, it mattered
not how the pleasure was procured. But we
will not digress any longer from the tea-table.

“The biscuit is done, ma'am, and the tea is
waiting for his honour,” was the summons to
the evening meal. And, sure enough, there
were plenty of them done, for in the centre
of the table was a high mound of bread sufficient
for a large company; two slices of butter
were ranged on each side of it, and, not
finding the milk handy, she had put on some

buttermilk, while, fearing lest the tea should be
wanting in strength, she had filled the teapot
nearly half full before she poured the water
upon it. Mr. and Mrs. Harley diluted it again
and again: still its fearful strength remained.
The whole solution of the affair was, that
Bridget, having tasted something stronger than
the tea, mistook the proper quantity, and having
carried it to table, had laid herself before
the kitchen fire to cure her toothache. “She
had rinsed her mouth with a little New-England
rum, and it produced a sleepy sensation!”
The pain continued so violently that she could
not rise, and finally was obliged to be helped
or carried to bed; and as she had made cakes
enough for breakfast, she concluded her time
was her own, and she could use it as she
pleased.

Having put her in safe quarters for the
night, Mr. Harley proposed to his wife that
they should go in the kitchen and look after
the new cook's arrangements for the next day.
There was a pan of bread standing uncovered
upon the hearth, mixed neither with buttermilk,
yeast, nor water. Its appearance was
dingy in the extreme, and its flavour evinced

that coffee or the grounds of coffee were not
wanting to give it consistency. What treatise
of cookery Bridget had studied, no one could
tell. Upon being interrogated the next morning,
she said it was done by “confusion of
her brain.”

Fearing lest the complaint should again
seize her, the jug of New-England rum was
carefully locked up, and Bridget was herself
again. Still, it must be acknowledged that
she was poorly versed in cookery; for, upon
receiving a piece of meat slightly corned to
be boiled for dinner, Bridget very carefully
spitted the same, and, after much basting and
“labouring over the joint,” as she called it, “it
would not look rigelar like roast mate at all.”

All these inconveniences were pretty quietly
borne, because hope whispered in Mrs. Harley's
ear that the housekeeper would remedy
all defects; and she so often told her husband
this, that he too tried to persuade himself of
its truth. But there will be times when strong
realities render even hope faint, and such were
the days which were pressing upon the married
pair. “Patience had its perfect work”
wherever Bridget lived, and she called it in

full exercise again the day after she roasted
the corned meat.

For a day or two past, Bridget, finding that
she was not very narrowly watched by her
good mistress, and overhearing her say that
she intended to go out on a certain evening,
thought within herself there would be no harm
in giving “a bit of a spree.” She saw there
would be a difficulty in giving her invitations
verbally; but, being fortunately acquainted
with the men who took the “dry dirt” and the
scavenger, she communicated her intention of
having a party to them, and delegated them to
give her invitations, adding, “Be sure and tell
them not to come till early bedtime, lest my
master and mistress be not out of the way.”

The sons of the Green Isle tipped up the
barrel and firkin with a significant nod to
Bridget, and the invitations were forthwith despatched.
Bridget blundered over her duties
very unsatisfactorily to her master and mistress,
always failing whenever a good thing was expected
of her, and yet continuing to lead a tolerably
sober life, because, as she had free access
to the store-room, she knew the benefit it
would confer on her at her approaching party.

She most good-humouredly assisted her mistress
when the eventful evening came, and
having lavished many encomiums upon her,
as soon as they were gone prepared herself to
receive her guests. Little Johnny was left
asleep, quite unconscious of what was going
on below. Dorcas had nodded until her knitting-work
had dropped upon the floor, and
then betook herself to rest, leaving Bridget sole
mistress, momentarily expecting her friends.

A loud shuffling of feet and clamour of
tongues announced the approach of Patrick
O'Connelly and his intended mate, Lucinda
Finahan. Bridget had scarcely finished her
demonstrations of joy, heightened, “because
they had come just in time,” when a loud knock
announced the remainder of the party. They
were quickly seated in the dining-room, and
in true Irish style having expressed themselves
very hyperbolically upon the beauty of the
apartment, it was proposed that they should
take a game at cards. But this being a rather
quiet business, since Bridget had found the key
to the wine-cellar, a dance was preferred.
But they had no music; and as the piano was
silent in the parlour, there could be no harm

in just touching the keys: they could make out
to hop by the sound. The “crathur” they
had swallowed rather lavishly made them exceedingly
boisterous and merry. In the midst
of this high excitement, who should open the
door but Mr. Harley. Bridget's heart leaped
to her mouth, and she attempted to stammer
out an apology, but it was too late: she was
near losing her balance, and retreated to bed,
leaving her company to manage for themselves
in the best way they could. They were quickly
escorted to the door by Mr. Harley, he bidding
them, upon peril of life and limb, never
to venture into his house again.