So saying, he cantered down the avenue, while Mickey, as he looked after him, muttered between his teeth, "And faix, it"s prouder you"d be av he was your son-in-law!"
Mike"s soliloquy seemed to show me, in a new light, the meaning of my relative"s manner. It was for the first time in my life that such a thought had occurred to me, and it was not without a sense of shame that I now admitted it.
If there be something which elevates and exalts us in our esteem, tinging our hearts with heroism and our souls with pride, in the love and attachment of some fair and beautiful girl, there is something equally humiliating in being the object of cold and speculative calculation to a match-making family: your character studied; your pursuits watched; your tastes conned over; your very temperament inquired into; surrounded by snares; environed by practised attentions; one eye fixed upon the registered testament of your relative, the other riveted upon your own caprices; and then those thousand little cares and kindnesses which come so pleasurably upon the heart when the offspring of true affection, perverted as they are by base views and sordid interest, are so many shocks to the feeling and understanding. Like the Eastern sirocco, which seems to breathe of freshness and of health, and yet bears but pestilence and death upon its breezes,--so these calculated and well-considered traits of affection only render callous and harden the heart which had responded warmly, openly, and abundantly to the true outpourings of affection. At how many a previously happy hearth has the seed of this fatal pa.s.sion planted its discord! How many a fair and lovely girl, with beauty and attractions sufficient to win all that her heart could wish of fondness and devotion, has, by this pernicious pa.s.sion, become a cold, heartless, worldly coquette, weighing men"s characters by the advent.i.tious circ.u.mstances of their birth and fortune, and scrutinizing the eligibility of a match with the practised ac.u.men with which a notary investigates the solvency of a creditor. How do the traits of beauty, gesture, voice, and manner become converted into the common-place and distasteful trickery of the world! The very hospitality of the house becomes suspect, their friendship is but fict.i.tious; those rare and goodly gifts of fondness and sisterly affection which grow up in happier circ.u.mstances, are here but rivalry, envy, and ill-conceived hatred. The very accomplishments which cultivate and adorn life, that light but graceful frieze which girds the temple of homely happiness, are here but the meditated and well-considered occasions of display. All the bright features of womanhood, all the freshness of youth, and all its fascinations are but like those richly-colored and beautiful fruits, seductive to the eye and fair to look upon, but which within contain nothing but a core of rottenness and decay.
No, no; unblessed by all which makes a hearth a home, I may travel on my weary way through life; but such a one as this I will not make the partner of my sorrows and my joys, come what will of it!
CHAPTER XLV.
A SURPRISE.
From the hour of Mr. Blake"s departure, my life was no longer molested. My declaration, which had evidently, under his auspices, been made the subject of conversation through the country, was at least so far successful, as it permitted me to spend my time in the way I liked best, and without the necessity of maintaining the show of intercourse, when in reality I kept up none, with the neighborhood. While thus, therefore, my life pa.s.sed on equably and tranquilly, many mouths glided over, and I found myself already a year at home, without it appearing more than a few weeks. Nothing seems so short in retrospect as monotony; the number, the variety, the interest of the events which occupy us, making our hours pa.s.s glibly and flowingly, will still suggest to the mind the impressions of a longer period than when the daily routine of our occupations a.s.sumes a character of continued uniformity. It seems to be the _amende_ made by hours of weariness and tedium, that, in looking back upon them, they appear to have pa.s.sed rapidly over. Not that my life, at the period I speak of, was devoid of interest; on the contrary, devoting myself with zeal and earnestness to the new duties of my station, I made myself thoroughly acquainted with the condition of my property, the interest of my tenantry, their prospects, their hopes, their objects. Investigating them as only he can who is the owner of the soil, I endeavored to remedy the ancient vices of the land,--the habits of careless, reckless waste, of indifference for the morrow; and by instilling a feature of prudent foresight into that boundless confidence in the future upon which every Irishman of every rank lives and trusts, I succeeded at last in so far ameliorating their situation, that a walk through my property, instead of presenting--as it at first did--a crowd of eager and anxious supplicants, entreating for abatements in rent, succor for their sick, and sometimes even food itself, showed me now a happy and industrious people, confident in themselves, and firmly relying on their own resources.
Another spring was now opening, and a feeling of calm and tranquil happiness, the result of my successful management of my estate, made my days pa.s.s pleasantly along. I was sitting at a late breakfast in my little library; the open window afforded a far and wide prospect of the country, blooming in all the promise of the season, while the drops of the pa.s.sing shower still lingered upon the gra.s.s, and were sparkling like jewels under the bright sunshine. Ma.s.ses of white and billowy cloud moved swiftly through the air, coloring the broad river with many a shadow as they pa.s.sed. The birds sang merrily, the trees shook their leaves in concert, and there was that sense of movement in everything on earth and sky which gives to spring its character of lightness and exhilaration. The youth of the year, like the youth of our own existence, is beautiful in the restless activity which marks it. The tender flower that seems to open as we look; the gra.s.s that springs before our eyes,--all speak of promise. The changing phases of the sky, like the smiles and tears of infancy, excite without weariness, and while they engage our sympathies, they fatigue not our compa.s.sion.
Partly lost in thought as I looked upon the fair and varied scene before me, now turning to the pages of the book upon the breakfast-table, the hours of the morning pa.s.sed quickly over, and it was already beyond noon. I was startled from my revery by sounds which I could scarcely trust my ears to believe real. I listened again, and thought I could detect them distinctly. It seemed as though some one were rapidly running over the keys of a pianoforte, essaying with the voice to follow the notes, and sometimes striking two or three bold and successive chords; then a merry laugh would follow, and drown all other sounds. "What can it be?" thought I. "There is, to be sure, a pianoforte in the large drawing-room; but then, who would venture upon such a liberty as this? Besides, who is capable of it? There, it can be no inexperienced performer gave that shake; my worthy housekeeper never accomplished that!" So saying, I jumped from the breakfast-table, and set off in the direction of the sound. A small drawing-room and the billiard-room lay between me and the large drawing-room; and as I traversed them, the music grew gradually louder. Conjecturing that, whoever it might be, the performance would cease on my entrance, I listened for a few moments before opening the door. Nothing could be more singular, nothing more strange, than the effect of those unaccustomed sounds in that silent and deserted place. The character of the music, too, contributed not a little to this; rapidly pa.s.sing from grave to gay, from the melting softness of some plaintive air to the reckless hurry and confusion of an Irish jig, the player seemed, as it were, to run wild through all the floating fancies of his memory; now breaking suddenly off in the saddest cadence of a song, the notes would change into some quaint, old-fashioned crone, in which the singer seemed so much at home, and gave the queer drollery of the words that expression of archness so eminently the character of certain Irish airs. "But what the deuce is this?" said I, as, rattling over the keys with a flowing but brilliant finger, she,--for it was unquestionably a woman,--with a clear and sweet voice, broken by laughter, began to sing the words of Mr. Bodkin"s song, "The Man for Galway." When she had finished the last verse, her hand strayed, as it were, carelessly across the instrument, while she herself gave way to a free burst of merriment; and then, suddenly resuming the air, she chanted forth the following words, with a spirit and effect I can convey no idea of:--
"To live at home, And never roam; To pa.s.s his days in sighing; To wear sad looks, Read stupid books, And look half dead or dying; Not show his face, Nor join the chase, But dwell a hermit always: Oh, Charley, dear!
To me "tis clear, You"re not the man for Galway!"
"You"re not the man for Galway!" repeated she once more, while she closed the piano with a loud bang.
"And why not, my dear, why not the man for Galway?" said I, as, bursting open the door, I sprang into the room.
"Oh, it"s you, is it?--at last! So I"ve unearthed you, have I?"
With these words she burst into an immoderate fit of laughter; leaving me, who intended to be the party giving the surprise, amazed, confused, and speechless, in the middle of the floor.
[Ill.u.s.tration: BABY BLAKE.]
That my reader may sympathize a little in my distresses, let me present him with the _tableau_ before me. Seated upon the piano-stool was a young-lady of at most eighteen years: her face, had it not been for its expression of exuberant drollery and malicious fun, would have been downright beautiful; her eyes, of the deepest blue, and shaded by long lashes, instead of indulging the character of pensive and thoughtful beauty for which Nature destined them, sparkled with a most animated brightness; her nose, which, rather short, was still beautifully proportioned, gave, with her well-curled upper lip, a look of sauciness to the features quite bewitching; her hair--that brilliant auburn we see in a _Carlo Dolci_--fell in wild and ma.s.sive curls upon her shoulders. Her costume was a dark-green riding-habit, not of the newest in its fashion, and displaying more than one rent in its careless folds; her hat, whip, and gloves lay on the floor beside her, and her whole att.i.tude and bearing indicated the most perfect ease and carelessness.
"So you are caught--taken alive!" said she, as she pressed her hands upon her sides in a fresh burst of laughter.
"By Jove! this is a surprise indeed!" said I. "And, pray, into whose fair hands have I fallen a captive?" recovering myself a little, and a.s.suming a half air of gallantry.
"So you don"t know me, don"t you?"
"Upon my life I do not!"
"How good! Why, I"m Baby Blake."
"Baby Blake?" said I, thinking that a rather strange appellation for one whose well-developed proportions betokened nothing of infancy,--"Baby Blake?"
"To be sure; your cousin Baby."
"Indeed!" said I, springing forward. "Let me embrace my relative."
Accepting my proffered salutation with the most exemplary coolness, she said:--
"Get a chair, now, and let"s have a talk together."
"Why the devil do they call you Baby?" said I, still puzzled by this palpable misnomer.
"Because I am the youngest, and I was always the baby," replied she, adjusting her ringlets with a most rural coquetry. "Now tell me something.
Why do you live shut up here like a madman, and not come near us at Gurt-na-Morra?"
"Oh, that"s a long story, Baby. But, since we are asking questions, how did you get in here?"
"Just through the window, my dear; and I"ve torn my habit, as you see."
So saying, she exhibited a rent of about two feet long, thrusting through it a very pretty foot and ankle at the same time.
"As my inhospitable customs have cost you a habit, you must let me make you a present of one."
"No, will you though? That"s a good fellow. Lord! I told them I knew you weren"t a miser; that you were only odd, that"s all."
"And how did you come over, Baby?"
"Just cantered over with little Paddy Byrne. I made him take all the walls and ditches we met, and they"re sc.r.a.ping the mud off him ever since. I"m glad I made you laugh, Charley; they say you are so sad. Dear me, how thirsty I am! Have you any beer?"
"To be sure, Baby. But wouldn"t you like some luncheon?"
"Of all things. Well, this is fun!" said she, as taking my arm, I led her from the drawing-room. "They don"t know where I"m gone,--not one of them; and I"ve a great mind not to tell them, if you wouldn"t blab."
"Would it be quite proper?"
"Proper!" cried she, imitating my voice. "I like that! as if I was going to run away with you! Dear me, what a pretty house, and what nice pictures!
Who is the old fellow up there in the armor?"
"That"s Sir Hildebrand O"Malley," said I, with some pride in recognizing an ancestor of the thirteenth century.
"And the other old fright with the wig, and his hands stuck in his pockets?"
"My grandfather, Baby."
"Lord, how ugly he is! Why, Charley, he hasn"t the look of you. One would think, too, he was angry at us. Ay, old gentleman, you don"t like to see me leaning on Cousin Charley"s arm! That must be the luncheon; I"m sure I hear knives and forks rattling there."
The old butler"s astonishment was not inferior to my own a few minutes before, when I entered the dining-room with my fair cousin upon my arm.
As I drew a chair towards the table, a thought struck me that possibly it might only be a due attention to my fair guest if I invited the housekeeper, Mrs. Magra, to favor us with her presence; and accordingly, in an undertone, so as not to be overheard by old Simon, I said,--
"Perhaps, Baby, you"d like to have Mrs. Magra to keep us company?"
"Who"s she?" was the brief answer.