Phelim Otoole's Courtship and Other Stories. William Carleton

Sim or me, you darlin'?”

      “I'm sure, Phelim, I don't know; but he tould me, that if I was provided for, he'd be firm, an' take chance of his thrial. But, he says, poor man, that it 'ud break his heart to be thransported, lavin' me behind him wid' nobody to take care o' me.—He says, too, if anything 'ud make him stag, it's fear of the thrial goin' against himself; for, as he said to me, what 'ud become of you, Sally, if anything happened me?”

      A fresh flood of tears followed this disclosure, and Phelim's face, which was certainly destined to undergo on that day many variations of aspect, became remarkably blank.

      “Sally, you insinivator, I'll hould a thousand guineas you'd never guess what brought me here to-day?”

      “Arrah, how could I, Phelim? To plan some thin' wid my fadher, maybe.”

      “No, but to plan somethin' wid yourself, you coaxin' jewel you. Now tell me this—Would you marry a certain gay, roguish, well-built young fellow, they call Bouncin' Phelim?”

      “Phelim, don't be gettin' an wid your fun now, an' me in affliction. Sure, I know well you wouldn't throw yourself away upon a poor girl like me, that has nothin' but a good pair of hands to live by.”

      “Be me sowl, an' you live by them. Well, but set in case—supposin'—that same Bouncin' Phelim was willing to make you mistress of the Half Acre, what 'ud you be sayin'?”

      “Phelim, if a body thought you worn't jokin' them—ah, the dickens go wid you, Phelim—this is more o' your thricks—but if it was thruth you wor spakin', Phelim?”

      “It is thruth,” said Phelim; “be the vestment, it's nothin' else. Now, say yes or no; for if it's a thing that it's to be a match, you must go an' tell him that I'll marry you, an' he must be as firm as a rock. But see, Sally, by thim five crasses it's not bekase your father's in I'm marryin' you at all. Sure I'm in love wid you, acushla! Divil a lie in it. Now, yes or no?”

      “Well—throth—to be sure—the sorra one, Phelim, but you have quare ways wid you. Now are you downright in airnest?”

      “Be the stool I'm sittin' on!”

      “Well, in the name o' Goodness, I'll go to my father, an' let him know it. Poor man, it'll take the fear out of his heart. Now can he depind on you, Phelim?”

      “Why, all I can say is, that we'll get ourselves called on Sunday next. Let himself, sure, send some one to autorise the priest to call us. An' now that's all settled, don't I desarve somethin'? Oh, be gorra, surely.”

      “Behave, Phelim—oh—oh—Phelim, now—there you've tuck it—och, the curse o' the crows on you, see the way you have my hair down! There now, you broke my comb, too. Troth, you're a wild slip, Phelim. I hope you won't be goin' on this way wid the girls, when you get married.”

      “Is it me you coaxer? No, faith, I'll wear a pair of winkers, for fraid o' lookin' at them at all! Oh be gorra, no, bally, I'll lave that to the great people. Sure, they say, the divil a differ they make at all.”

      “Go off now, Phelim, till I get ready, an' set out to my father. But, Phelim, never breathe a word about him bein' in goal. No one knows it but ourselves—that is, none o' the neighbors.”

      “I'll sing dumb,” said Phelim. “Well, binaght lath, a rogarah!* Tell him the thruth—to be game, an' he'll find you an' me sweeled together whin he comes out, plase Goodness.”

      * My blessing be with you, you rogue!

      Phelim was but a few minutes gone, when the old military cap of Fool Art projected from the little bed-room, which a wicker wall, plastered with mud, divided from the other part of the cabin.

      “Is he gone?” said Art.

      “You may come out, Art,” said she, “he's gone.”

      “Ha!” said Art, triumphantly, “I often tould him, when he vexed me an' pelted me wid snow-balls, that I'd come along sides wid him yet. An' it's not over aither. Fool Art can snore when he's not asleep, an' see wid his eyes shut. Wherroo for Art!”

      “But, Art, maybe he intinds to marry the housekeeper afther all?”

      “Hi the colic, the colic!

       An' ho the colic for Phelim!”

      “Then you think he won't, Art?”

      “Hi the colic, the colic!

       An' ho the colic for Phelim!”

      “Now, Art, don't say a word about my father not bein' in gaol. He's to be back from my grandfather's in a short time, an' if we manage well, you'll see what you'll get, Art—a brave new shirt, Art.”

      “Art has the lane for Phelim, but it's not the long one wid no turn in it. Wherroo for Art!”

      Phelim, on his return home, felt queer; here was a second matrimonial predicament, considerably worse than the first, into which he was hooked decidedly against his will. The worst feature in this case was the danger to be apprehended from Foodie Flattery's disclosures, should he take it into his head to 'peach upon his brother Whiteboys. Indeed, Phelim began to consider it a calamity that he ever entered into their system at all; for, on running over his exploits along with them, he felt that he was liable to be taken up any morning of the week, and lodged in one of his majesty's boarding-houses. The only security he had was the honesty of his confederates; and experience took the liberty of pointing out to him many cases in which those who considered themselves quite secure, upon the same grounds, either dangled or crossed the water. He remembered, too, some prophecies that had been uttered concerning him with reference both to hanging and matrimony. Touching the former it was often said, that “he'd die where the bird flies”—between heaven and earth; on matrimony, that there seldom was a swaggerer among the girls but came to the ground at last.

      Now Phelim had a memory of his own, and in turning over his situation, and the prophecies that had been so confidently pronounced concerning him, he felt, as we said, rather queer. He found his father and mother in excellent spirits when he got home. The good man had got a gallon of whiskey on credit; for it had been agreed on not to break the ten golden guineas until they should have ascertained how the matchmaking would terminate that night at Donovan's.

      “Phelim,” said the father, “strip yourself, an' put on Sam's clo'es: you must send him down yours for a day or two; he says it's the least he may have the wearin' o' them, so long as you have his.”

      “Right enough,” said Phelim; “Wid all my heart; I'm ready to make a fair swap wid him any day, for that matther.”

      “I sent word to the Donovans that we're to go to coort there to night,” said Larry; “so that they'll be prepared for us; an' as it would be shabby not to have a friend, I asked Sam Appleton himself. He's to folly us.”

      “I see,” said Phelim, “I see. Well, the best boy in Europe Sam is, for such a spree. Now, Fadher, you must lie like the ould diouol tonight. Back everything I say, an' there's no fear of us. But about what she's to get, you must hould out for that. I'm to despise it, you know. I'll abuse you for spakin' about fortune, but don't budge an inch.”

      “It's not the first time I've done that for you, Phelim; but in regard o' these ten guineas, why you must put them in your pocket for fraid they be wantin' to get off wid layin' down guinea for guinea. You see, they don't think we have a rap; an' if they propose it we'll be up to them.”

      “Larry,” observed Sheelah, “don't make a match except they give that pig they have. Hould out for that by all means.”

      “Tare-an'-ounze!” exclaimed Phelim, “am I goin' to take the counthry out o' the face? By the vestments, I'm a purty boy! Do you know the fresh news I have for yez?”

      “Not ten guineas more, Phelim?” replied the father.

      “Maybe you soodhered another ould woman,” said the mother.

      “Be asy,” replied Phelim. “No, but the five crasses, I deluded