The House by the Churchyard / Дом у кладбища. Джозеф Шеридан Ле Фаню

the author of this famous family 'purge for the head' could bring to remembrance; and certainly it was potent. With this the cartridges were loaded, the ends tied up, and O'Flaherty, placed behind a table on which stood a basin, commenced the serious operation, under Puddock's directions, by introducing a bag at each side of his mouth, which as a man of honour, he was bound to retain there until Puddock had had his morning's tête-à-tête with the barber.

      Those who please to consult old domestic receipt-books of the last century, will find the whole process very exactly described therein.

      'Be the powers, Sorr, that was the stuff!' said O'Flaherty, discussing the composition afterwards, with an awful shake of his head; 'my chops wor blazing before you could count twenty.'

      It was martyrdom; but anything was better than the incapacity which threatened, and certainly, by the end of five minutes, his head was something better. In this satisfactory condition – Jerome being in the back garden brushing his regimentals, and preparing his other properties – he suddenly heard voices close to the door, and gracious powers! one was certainly Magnolia's.

      'That born devil, Juddy Carrol,' blazed forth. O'Flaherty, afterwards, 'pushed open the door; it served me right for not being in my bed-room, and the door locked – though who'd a thought there was such a cruel eediot on airth – bad luck to her – as to show a leedy into a gentleman, with scarcely the half of his clothes on, and undhergoin' a soart iv an operation, I may say.'

      Happily the table behind which he stood was one of those old-fashioned toilet affairs, with the back part, which was turned toward the door, sheeted over with wood, so that his ungartered stockings and rascally old slippers, were invisible. Even so, it was bad enough: he was arrayed in a shabby old silk roquelaire, and there was a towel upon his breast, pinned behind his neck. He had just a second to pop the basin under the table, and to whisk the towel violently from under his chin, drying that feature with merciless violence; when the officious Judy Carrol, Grand Chamberlain in Jerome's absence, with the facetious grin of a good-natured lady about to make two people happy, introduced the bewitching Magnolia, and her meek little uncle, Major O'Neill.

      In they came, rejoicing, to ask the gallant fireworker (it was a different element just now), to make one of a party of pleasure to Leixlip. O'Flaherty could not so much as hand the young lady a chair; to emerge from behind the table, or even to attempt a retreat, was of course not to be thought of in the existing state of affairs. The action of Puddock's recipe was such as to make his share in the little complimentary conversation that ensued very indistinct, and to oblige him, to his disgrace and despair, when the poor fellow tried a smile, actually to apply his towel hastily to his mouth.

      He saw that his visitors observed those symptoms with some perplexity: the major was looking steadfastly at O'Flaherty's lips, and unconsciously making corresponding movements with his own, and the fair Magnolia was evidently full of pleasant surprise and curiosity. I really think, if O'Flaherty had had a pistol within reach, he would have been tempted to deliver himself summarily from that agonising situation.

      'I'm afraid, lieutenant, you've got the toothache,' said Miss Mag, with her usual agreeable simplicity.

      In his alacrity to assure her there was no such thing, he actually swallowed one of the bags. 'Twas no easy matter, and he grew very red, and stared frightfully, and swallowed a draught of water precipitately. His misery was indeed so great that at the conclusion of a polite little farewell speech of the major's, he uttered an involuntary groan, and lively Miss Mag, with an odious titter, exclaimed —

      'The little creature's teething, uncle, as sure as you're not; either that, or he's got a hot potato in his poor little mouzey-wouzey;' and poor O'Flaherty smiled a great silent moist smile at the well-bred pleasantry. The major, who did not choose to hear Mag's banter, made a formal, but rather smiling salute. The lieutenant returned it, and down came the unlucky mortar and a china plate, on which Puddock had mingled the ingredients, with a shocking crash and jingle on the bare boards; a plate and mortar never made such a noise before, O'Flaherty thought, with a mental imprecation.

      'Nothing – hash – 'appened – Shur,' said O'Flaherty, whose articulation was affected a good deal, in terror lest the major should arrest his departure.

      So the major and tall Miss Magnolia, with all her roses and lilies, and bold broad talk, and her wicked eyes, went down the stairs; and O'Flaherty, looking with lively emotion in the glass, at the unbecoming coup-d'œil, heard that agreeable young lady laughing most riotously under the windows as she and the major marched away.

      It was well for Judy, that, being of the gentler sex, the wrath of the fireworker could not wreak itself upon her. The oftener he viewed himself in the pier-glass, trying in vain to think he did not look so very badly after all, the more bitter were his feelings. Oh, that villainous old silk morning gown! and his eyes so confoundedly red, and his hair all dishevelled – bad luck to that clar't! the wig was all right, that was his only comfort;, and his mouth, 'och, look at it; twiste its natural size,' though that was no trifle.

      'Another week I'll not stop in her lodgings,' cried poor O'Flaherty, grinning at himself in the glass, 'if she keeps that savage, Judy Carrol, here a day longer.'

      Then he stumbled to the stair-head to call her up for judgment; but changed his mind, and returned to the looking-glass, blowing the cooling air in short whistles through his peppered lips – and I'm sorry to say, blowing out also many an ejaculation and invective, as that sorry sight met his gaze in the oval mirror, which would have been much better not uttered.

      Chapter XV

      Æsculapius To the Rescue

      It was not until Puddock had returned, that the gallant fireworker recollected all on a sudden that he had swallowed one of the bags.

      'Thwallowed? – thwallowed it!' said Puddock, looking very blank and uncomfortable; 'why, Thir, I told you you were to be very careful.'

      'Why, why curse it, it's not, 'tisn't – '

      'There was a long pause, and O'Flaherty stared a very frightened and hideous stare at the proprietor of the red quarto.

      'Not what, Thir?' demanded Puddock, briskly, but plainly disconcerted.

      'Not anything – anything bad – or, or – there's no use in purtendin', Puddock,' he resumed, turning quite yellow. 'I see, Sir, I see by your looks, it's what you think, I'm poisoned!'

      'I–I – do not, Thir, think you're poisoned,' he replied indignantly, but with some flurry; 'that is, there's a great deal in it that could not pothibly do you harm – there's only one ingredient, yes – or, or, yes, perhapth three, but thertainly no more, that I don't quite know about, depend upon it, 'tis nothing – a – nothing – a – seriouthly – a – But why, my dear Thir, why on earth did you violate the thimple directions – why did you thwallow a particle of it?'

      'Och, why did I let it into my mouth at all – the divil go with it!' retorted poor O'Flaherty; 'an' wasn't I the born eediot to put them devil's dumplins inside my mouth? but I did not know what I was doin' – no more I didn't.'

      'I hope your head'th better,' said Puddock, vindicating by that dignified enquiry the character of his recipe.

      'Auch! my head be smathered, what the puck do I care about it?' O'Flaherty broke out. 'Ah, why the devil, Puddock, do you keep them ould women's charrums and devilments about you? – you'll be the death of some one yet, so you will.'

      'It's a recipe, Sir,' replied Puddock, with the same dignity 'from which my great uncle, General Neagle, derived frequent benefit.'

      'And here I am,' says O'Flaherty, vehemently; 'and you don't know whether I'm poisoned or no!'

      At this moment he saw Dr. Sturk passing by, and drummed violently at the window. The doctor was impressed by the summons; for however queer the apparition, it was plain he was desperately in earnest.

      'Let's see the recipe,' said Sturk, drily; 'you think you're poisoned – I know you do;' poor O'Flaherty had shrunk from disclosing the extent of his apprehensions, and only beat about the bush; 'and if you be, I lay you fifty, I can't save you, nor all the doctors in Dublin – show me the recipe.'

      Puddock