The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes Page 15

  CHAPTER II.

  THE MAN OF LABOR.

  The accommodating reader will now be kind enough to accompany me to afar different place from that in which the foregoing dialogue was held.With an effort of the will--rapid as a spiritual manifestation--we arethere. You see, it is an exceedingly small habitation, built entirelyof wood, and, excepting that beautiful geranium-plant on one window,and a fine, sleek, contented-looking puss winking lazily on theother--both, let me tell you, convincing evidence that the householddeities are worshipped on the hearth within--for wheresoever you seeflowers cultivated outside of an humble house, look for cleanliness,and domestic comfort on the inside--excepting those two things, butlittle of ornament is visible. Kind people dwell within, you may know;for, see, the placid puss don't condescend to change her position as wenear her; her experience hasn't taught her to dread an enemy in ourspecies.

  "Lift the latch; 'tis but a primitive fastening--nay! don't hesitate;you know we are invisible. There! you are now in the principalapartment. See how neat and tidy everything is. The floor, to be sure,is uncarpeted; but then it is sedulously clean. Look at those whitewindow-curtains; at that well-patched table-cloth, with every fold ascrisp as though it had been just pressed; the dresser over there, eacharticle upon it bright as industry and the genius of happy home canmake it.--What an appetizing odor steams in from yonder kitchen! andlisten to those dear little birds, one in each window, carrying on aquiet, demure conversation, in their own sweet way! Do they not say,and does not every quiet nook echo:

  "Though poor and lowly, there is all of Heaven that Heaven vouchsafesto man, beneath this humble roof; for it is the sphere of her who isGod's choicest blessing--that world angel--a good, pure-hearted, lovingWIFE."

  But hark! who is that singing? You can hear him, although he is yet astreet off; and so can she who is busy within there, you can tell bythat little scream of joy.

  That is Tom Bobalink, the honest truckman, and the owner of this littlenest of contentment.

  But, if you please, I will resume my narrative my own way, for you area very uncommunicative companion, friend reader, and it is impossiblefor me to discover whether you like the scene we have been looking at,or do not.

  In a few moments, Tom rushed into the little room, his face all a-glowwith healthy exercise, and a joyous song at his lips.

  "Hello! pet, where are you?" he cried, putting down his hat and whip.

  "Here am I, Tom!" answered as cheerful a voice as ever bubbled up froma heart, full of innocence and love.

  "_Din_ in a _sec_," meaning dinner in a second; for "Tom and Pol," intheir confidential chats, abbreviated long words occasionally; and Igive this explanation as a sort of guide to their pet peculiarity.

  "Hurry up, Polly!" cried Tom, with a good-humored laugh, "for I'm jollyhungry, I tell you. Good gracious! I've heard of people's taking allsorts of thing to get up an appetite; if they'd only have the sense totake _nothing_, and keep on at it, it's wonderful what an effect itwould have on a lazy digestion."

  Polly now entered with two or three smoking dishes, which it did nottake long to place in order. Now, I should dearly like to give you adescription of my heroine--aye! heroine--for it is in her station thatsuch are to be found--noble spirits, who battle with privation anduntoward fate--smoothing the rugged pathway of life, and infusing freshenergy into the world-exhausted heart. Oh! what a crown of glory dothey deserve, who wear a smile of content upon their lips, while theiron hand of adversity is pressing on their hearts, concealing a lifeof martyrdom beneath the heroism of courageous love.

  I say I should like to give you some slight description of Polly'sexternal appearance, but that I choose rather that my readers shouldtake their own individual ideas of perfect loveliness, and clothe hertherein; for, inasmuch as she is the type of universal excellence, inmind and character, I wish her to be so in form and beauty.

  "What have you got for me, Polly?" says Tom.

  "It ain't much," she replied; "cos you know we can't afford _lux'es_;but it's such a sweet little neck of _mut_, and lots of _wedges_."

  "Gollopshus!" says Tom; "out with it! I'm as hungry as an unsuccessfuloffice-seeker."

  "Office-seekers! what are they, Tom?"

  "Why, Polly, they are--faith, I don't know what to compare them to;you've heard of those downy birds, that when some other has got hisselfa comfortable nest, never rests until he pops into it. But them'spolitics, Polly, and ain't _prop_ for _wom_ to meddle with."

  "I agree with you there, Tom, dear; there's enough to occupy a woman'stime and attention inside of her house, without bothering her heartwith what's going on outside."

  "Bless your homey little heart!" cried Tom, heartily. "Oh! Polly,darling, if there were a few more good wives, there would be a greatmany less bad husbands. This is glorious! If we could only be sure thatwe had as good a dinner as this all our lives, Pol, how happy I shouldbe; but I often think, my girl, that if any accident should befall me,what would become of you."

  "Now, don't talk that way, Thomas; nor don't repine at your condition;it might be much worse."

  "I can't help it. I try not; but it's impossible, when I see peopledressed up and tittevated out, as I go jogging along with my poor oldhorse and truck--I envy them in my heart, Pol--I know it's wrong; butit's there, and it would be worse to deny it."

  "Could any of those fine folks enjoy their dinner better than you did,Tom?" said Polly, with a cheering smile.

  "No, my girl!" shouted he, and the joy spread over his face again--"notif they had forty courses. But eating isn't all, Pol," he continued,growing suddenly serious once more. "This living from hand tomouth--earning with hard labor every crust we put into it--never seeingthe blessed face of a dollar, that isn't wanted a hundred ways by ournecessities--is rather hard."

  "Ah! Tom, and thankful ought we to be that we have health to earn thatdollar. Think of the thousands of poor souls that are worse off thanourselves! Never look above your own station with envy, Thomas; butbelow it with gratitude."

  It was at this moment that there appeared at the open door, a poor,wretched-looking individual, evidently an Irishman, and, from thesingularity of his dress, only just arrived. He said not a word, butupon his pale cheek was visibly printed a very volume of misery.

  "Hello! friend, what the devil do you want?" asked Tom.

  "Don't speak so, Thomas. He's sick and in distress," said Polly, layingher finger on his mouth. "There! suppose you were like that?"

  "What? a Paddy!" replied the other, with a jolly laugh; "don't mentionit!" then calling to the poor stranger, who was resignedly walkingaway; "Come on Irish!" he cried. "Do you want anything?"

  "Av you plaze, sir," answered the Irishman, "I'd like to rest meself."

  "Sit down, poor fellow!" said Polly, dusting a chair, and handing ittowards him.

  "I don't mane that, ma'm; a lean o' the wall, an' an air o' the fire'lldo. The blessin's on ye for lettin' me have it!" so saying, he placedhimself near the cheerful fire-place, and warmed his chilled frame.

  "A big lump of a fellow like you, wouldn't it be better for you to beat work than lounging about in idleness?" said Tom.

  "Indeed, an' its thrue for ye, sir, it would so; but where is a poorboy to find it?"

  "Oh! anywhere--everywhere."

  "Bedad, sir, them's exactly the places I've been lookin' for it, forthe last three weeks; but there was nobody at home. I hunted the workwhile I had the stringth to crawl afther it, an' now, av it was tocome, I'm afear'd that I haven't the stringth to lay howld ov it."

  "Are you hungry?" inquired Polly.

  "I'm a trifle that way inclined, ma'm," he replied, with a semi-comicexpression.

  "Poor fellow, here, sit down and eat," said Polly, hurriedly divinginto the savory stew, and forking up a fine chop, which she handed tothe hungry stranger.

  "I'd relish it betther standin', if you plaze, ma'm," said he, pullingout a jack-knife and attacking the viands with vigorous appetite,exclaiming, "May the Heavens bless yo
u for this good act; sure it's thepoor man that's the poor man's friend, afther all. You've saved me,sowl and body this blessed day. I haven't begged yet, but it was comin'on me strong. I looked into the eyes of the quality folks, but theycarried their noses so high they couldn't see the starvation that wasin my face, and I wouldn't ax the poor people for fear they were worseoff than meself."

  "Ain't you sorry, Thomas, for what you said just now?" inquired Pollyof her husband.

  "No," he replied, striking his fist on the table. "I'm morediscontented than ever, to think that a few hundred scoundrel schemers,or fortunate fools, should monopolize the rights of millions; isn't itdevilish hard that I can't put my hand in my pocket and make this poorfellow's heart jump for joy."

  "Point out to him where he can get some employment, Thomas, and hisheart will be continually jumping," replied Polly.

  By this time the poor stranger had finished his extempore meal, andshut up his pocket-knife, which he first carefully wiped on the tail ofhis coat. "May God bless you for this," said he. "I'm stronger now.I'll go an' hunt for a job; may-be luck won't be a stepfather to me allmy days."

  "Stop," cried Tom, "suppose I were to give you something to do, whatwould you say?"

  "Faix, I wouldn't say much, sir," said the Irishman, "but I'd do it."

  "Come along with me, then, and if I get any job, I'll get you to helpme."

  "Oh, then, may long life attend you for puttin' fresh blood in myveins," responded the excited Milesian, giving his already curiouslybad hat a deliberate punch in the crown, to show his gratitude anddelight.

  "Bless his noble, honest, loving heart," cried Polly, as Tom, havingimpressed his usual kiss upon her lips, started to his labor again. "Ifit were not for those little fits of discontent every now and then,what a man he'd be; but we can't be all perfect; don't I catch myselfthinking silks and satins sometimes, instead of cottons and calicoes?and I'll be bound, if the truth was known, the great folks that wearnothing else but grand things, don't behave a bit better, but keeplonging for something a little grander still, so _he_ mustn't beblamed, nor he shan't, neither, in my hearing."