University of Virginia Library

61. CHAPTER LXI.
MISTRESS O'CALLIGAN'S WOOERS.

It will be remembered that Mr. Jinks had summed up the
probable results of his deep laid schemes that morning when he
returned from Mistress O'Calligan's, in the strong and emphatic
word-picture, “there will be gory blood, sir!”

Now, while these words, strictly construed, are, perhaps, ambiguous,
from a certain redundancy in the arrangement, still,
there is little difficulty in determining what Mr. Jinks meant.
Death and destruction dwelt in his imagination, and held there a
riotous carnival; and to such a pitch of delight was our friend
elevated by the triumphant anticipation of revenge upon O'Brallaghan,
that he stalked about during the remaining portion of
the day, talking to himself in the heroic vein, and presenting the
appearance of an imperial grasshopper, arrived at the summit
of felicity.

But Mr. Jinks was not idle; no one knew better than himself
that vigilance was the price paid for success; and to vigilance
our conspirator added cunning—in which noble trait he was by
no means deficient.

We have seen how, on returning from the heroic attack upon
the peace-bound O'Brallaghan, Mr. Jinks threw out a series of
observations which attracted the attention of the landlord at the
tavern; and we have further seen these two gentlemen retire
together into the hostelry, with significant looks and mutterings.
Of the exact nature of that interview we cannot speak, having

nowhere discovered any memoranda to guide us, in the authentic
documents from which this history is compiled.

But results define causes; and from after events it is not improbable
that Mr. Jinks made an eloquent and stirring oration,
addressed after the manner of all great orators to the prejudices
of the auditor, and indieative of Mr. Jinks' intention to overwhelm,
with defeat and destruction, the anti-Germanic league
and pageant, on St. Michael's day.

That day was very near, as we have seen; but twenty-four
hours remained for the conspirators to act in; and Mr. Jinks
determined not to lose the opportunity to perfect and render
satisfactory his bloody revenge.

Many things conspired to put him in high spirits, and arouse
that heroic confidence felt by all great men in undertaking arduous
affairs. The landlord had been so much pleased with Mr.
Jinks' patriotic ardor in the German cause, that he generously
hinted at an entire obliteration of any little score chalked up
against the name of Jinks for board and lodging at the hostelry;
this was one of the circumstances which inspirited Mr. Jinks.
Another was the possession of a steed—a donkey, it is true, but
a donkey out of a thousand, nec pluribus impar, and not unworthy
of a knight in a great and exciting contest.

Thus it happened that when, upon the following morning, Mr.
Jinks arose, assumed his garments, and descended, his face was
radiant with anticipated triumph, his sword clattered against his
slender legs with martial significance, and his brows were corrugated
into a frown, which indicated ruin to all those opposed to
him.

Mounted upon Fodder, who was sleek and in high spirits,
owing to a good night's rest and a plentiful supply of his favorite
provender, Mr. Jinks remained for a moment irresolute
before the door of the hostelry, revolving in his mind various
and conflicting thoughts of love and war.

Should he go on his handsome animal, and enact the little

drama, which he had arranged in his mind, with Miss Sallianna
at the Bower of Nature? Should he, on this morning, advance
to victory and revenge in that direction? Or should he go
and challenge his enemy, Verty, and make his name glorious
forever?

These conflicting ideas chased themselves through Mr. Jinks'
mind, and rendered him irresolute.

He was interrupted in the midst of them by a voice, laughing
and sonorous, which cried from the direction of the gateway:

“Hey, there! What now, Jinks? What thoughts occupy
your mind, my dear fellow?”

And Ralph came out from the yard of the tavern, mounted
upon his handsome animal, as fresh and bright-looking as himself.

“I was reflecting, sir,” said Mr. Jinks, “I have much to
occupy me to-day.”

“Ah? Well, set about it—set about it! Don't you know
that the great element of success in life, from killing a musquito
to winning an empress, is to strike at once, and at the right
moment? Go on, Jinks, my boy, and luck to you!”

“Thanks, sir,” replied Mr. Jinks—“I hope I shall have
luck.”

“Of course, because you have genius! What is luck?” cried
Ralph, bending down to smooth the glossy neck of his animal,
and laughing gaily,—“why, nothing but a word! Luck, sir, is
nothing—genius everything. Luck throws her old shoe after, as
says the proverb; but genius catches it, and conquers. Come,
you are good at everything, let us have a race!”

“No, I thank you,” said Mr. Jinks, drawing back; “I have
business, sir—important business, sir!”

“Have you?” said Ralph, restraining his desire to lay the
lash of his whip over Fodder's back, and so inaugurate a new
Iliad of woes for Mr. Jinks. “Then go on in your course, my

dear fellow. I am going to see a young lady, who really is beginning
to annoy me.”

And the mercurial young fellow passed from laughter to
smiles, and even to something suspiciously resembling a sigh.

“Farewell, my dear Jinks,” he added, becoming gay again;
“fortune favors the brave, recollect. I wish I could believe it,”
he added, laughing.

And touching his horse, Ralph set forward toward the Bower
of Nature, and consequently toward Miss Fanny.

“There goes a young man who is in love,” said Mr. Jinks,
with philosophic dignity; “regularly caught by a pair of black
eyes. Boy!” added Mr. Jinks, after the manner of Coriolanus,
“he don't know 'em as I do. He's looking out for happiness—
I for revenge!”

And Mr. Jinks scowled at a stable-boy until the terrified urchin
hung his head in awe, respect, and admiration. The great militaire
was not superior to humanity, and even this triumph elated
him. He set forth, therefore, on Fodder, feeling like a conqueror.

If this veracious history were a narrative of the life and adventures
of Mr. Jinks alone, we might follow the great conspirator
in his various movements on this eventful day. We
might show how he perambulated the town of Winchester on
his noble steed, like a second Don Quixote, mounted for the
nonce upon the courser of Sancho Panza, while Rosinante recovered
from his bruises. Though the illustration might fail if
carried further, inasmuch as Mr. Jinks encountered no windmills,
and indeed met with no adventures worth relating, still we
might speak of his prying inquisition into every movement of the
hostile Irish—detail his smiling visits, in the character of spy,
to numerous domicils, and relate at length the manner in which
he procured the information which the noble knight desired. All
this we might do; but is it necessary? Not always does the great

historic muse fill up the flaws of story, leaving rather much to
the imagination. And in the present instance, we might justly
be accused of undue partiality. We are not sure that some of
our kind readers might not go further still, and declare in
general terms, that none of Mr. Jinks' adventures were worth
telling—Mr. Jinks himself being a personage wholly unworthy of
attention.

To critics of this last description, we would say in deprecation
of their strictures—Friends, the world is made up of
a number of odd personages, as the animal kingdom is of
singular, and not wholly pleasant creatures. Just as the scarabæus
and the ugly insect are as much a part of animated nature
as the golden-winged butterfly, and humming-bird, and noble
eagle, so are the classes, represented partly by our friend, as
human as the greatest and the best. As the naturalist, with
laborious care, defines the characteristics of the ugly insect, buzzing,
and stinging, and preying on the weaker, so must the writer
give a portion of his attention to the microscopic bully, braggart,
and boasting coward of the human species. In the one case, it
is science—in the other, art.

But still we shall not give too much space to Mr. Jinks,
and shall proceed to detail very briefly the result of his explorations.

The great conspirator had, by the hour of eventide, procured
all the information he wished. That information led Mr. Jinks
to believe that, on the following day, the opposing races would
turn out in numbers, far exceeding those on any previous occasion.
They would have a grand pageant:—St. Patrick would
meet St. Michael in deadly conflict, and the result would undoubtedly
overwhelm one of the combatants with defeat, elevating
the other to the summit of joy and victory.

It was Mr. Jinks' object to ensure the success of the worthy
St. Michael, and prostrate the great St. Patrick in the dust.
But this was not all. Mr. Jinks further desired to procure an

adequate revenge upon his friend O'Brallaghan. To overwhelm
with defeat and dismay the party to which his enemy belonged,
was not enough—any common man could invent so plain a
course as that. It was Mr. Jinks' boast, privately, and to himself
be it understood, that he would arrange the details of an
original and refined revenge—a revenge which should, in equal
degree, break down the strength and spirit of his enemy, and
elevate the inventor to the niche of a great creative genius.

By the hour of nine that night all was arranged; and, after
laboring for an hour or more at some mysterious employment,
in the secresy of his apartment, Mr. Jinks descended, and ordered
Fodder to be saddled.

Under his arm he carried a bundle of some size; and this
bundle was placed carefully before him on the animal.

This done, Mr. Jinks went forth cautiously into the night.

Let us follow him.

He proceeds carefully toward the western portion of the town;
then suddenly turns a corner, and goes northward; then changes
his course, and takes his way eastward. This is to throw enemies
off the track.

Half an hour's ride brings him in the neighborhood of Mistress
O'Calligan's.

What does he hear? A voice singing;—the voice of no less
a personage than Mr. O'Brallaghan.

The conspirator retraces his steps for some distance—dismounts—ties
Fodder to a tree-trunk; and then, with his bundle
under his arm, creeps along in the shadow toward the cabin.

At Mrs. O'Calligan's door, sitting upon the railing, he perceives
the portly figure of Mr. O'Brallaghan, who is singing a song of
his own composition; not the ditty which has come down to
modern times connected with this gentleman's name—but another
and more original madrigal. The popular ditty, we have
every reason to believe, was afterwards written by Mr. Jinks, in
derision and contempt of Mr. O'Brallaghan.

Mr. Jinks creeps up; diabolical and gloomy thoughts agitate
his soul; and when a night-cap appears at an opening in the
shutter, and a fluttering voice exclaims, “Oh, now—really! Mr.
O'Brallaghan,” the hidden spectator trembles with jealousy and
rage.

A colloquy then ensues between the manly singer and the
maiden, which we need not repeat. It is enough to say, that
Mr. O'Brallaghan expresses disapprobation at the coldness of the
lady.

The lady replies, that she respects and esteems Mr. O'Brallaghan,
but never, never can be his, owing to the fact that she is
another's.

Mr. Jinks starts with joy, and shakes his fist—from the protecting
shadow—triumphantly at the poor defeated wooer.

The wooer, in turn, grows cold and defiant; he upbraids the
lady; he charges her with entertaining a passion for the rascal
and coward Jinks.

This causes the lady to repel the insulting accusation with
hauteur.

Mr. O'Brallaghan thinks, and says, thereupon, that she is a
cruel and unnatural woman, and unworthy of affection or
respect.

Mistress O'Calligan wishes, in reply, to know if Mr. O'Brallaghan
means to call her a woman.

Mr. O'Brallaghan replies that he does, and that if Mr. Jinks
were present, he would exterminate that gentleman, as some
small exhibition of the state of his feelings at being thus insulted
by the worst and most hard-hearted of her sex.

After which, Mr. O'Brallaghan clenches his hands with threatening
vehemence, and brushing by the concealed Jinks, who makes
himself as small as possible, disappears, muttering vengeance.

Mr. Jinks is happy, radiant, triumphant, and as he watches
the retreating wooer, his frame shakes with sombre merriment.
Then he turns toward the window, and laughs with cautious
dignity.

The lady, who is just closing the window, starts and utters an
exclamation of affright. This, however, is disregarded by Mr.
Jinks, who draws near, and stands beneath the window.

Mistress O'Calligan considers it necessary to state that she is
in such a taking, and to ask who could have thought it. Mr.
Jinks does not directly reply to this question, but, reaching up,
hands in the bundle, and commences a whispered conversation.
The lady is doubtful, fearful—Mr. Jinks grows more eloquent.
Finally, the lady melts, and when Mr. Jinks clasps, rapturously,
the red hand hanging out, he has triumphed.

In fifteen minutes he is on his way back to the tavern, chuckling,
shaking, and triumphant.

All is prepared.