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    Act III

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    Chapter 4
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    SCENE I.

    CHRISTY alone.

    So this Scotchman could not list Owen. Couldn't nor wouldn't, that's what he says; and the Scotchman looked very hard at me as he spoke: moreover, I seen Mr. Gilbert and him with their two heads close together, and that's a wonder, for I know Gilbert's not nat'rally fond of any sort of Scotchman. There's something brewing:--I must have my wits about me, and see and keep sober this night, if I can, any way. From the first I suspicted Mr. Gilbert had his heart on Mabel. (BIDDY DOYLE puts her head in) Biddy Doyle! what the mischief does that head of yours do there?

    Biddy. Nothing in life, sir: only just to see who was in it, along with yourself, because I thought I hard talking enough for two.

    Christy. You, girl, have curiosity enough for two, and two dozen, and too much! So plase take your head and yourself out of that, and don't be overharing my private thoughts; for that was all the talking ye hard, and my thoughts can't abide listeners.

    Biddy. I'm no listener--I ax your pardon, sir: I scorn to listen to your thoughts, or your words even.

    [Exit BIDDY.

    Christy. That girl has set me topsy-turvy. Where was I?--Oh! this was it. Suppose even, I say, suppose this Gilbert's fancy should stick to Mabel, I might manage him, nevertheless. I've a great advantage and prerogative over this Englishman, in his having never been dipped in the Shannon. He is so under cow with bashfulness now, that I don't doubt but what in one of his confusions I could asy bring him to say Yes in the wrong place; and sooner than come to a perplexing refusal of a young lady, he might, I'll engage, be brought about to marry the girl he didn't like, in lieu of the girl he did. We shall see--but hark! I hear Ferrinafad's voice, singing, and I must join, and see how the thing's going on, or going off.



    Miss GALLAGHER and GILBERT at a Tea-Table.

    Gilb. (aside) Now would I give five golden guineas this minute that her father, or any mortal man, woman, or child in the varsal world, would come in and say something; for 'tis so awk'ard for I to be sitting here, and I nothing to say to she.

    Miss G. (aside) When will the man pay me the compliment to speak, I wonder? Wouldn't any body think he'd no tongue in that mouth of his, screwed up, and blushing from ear to ear?

    Enter CHRISTY.

    Christy. Hoo! hoo! hoo!--How's this--both of yees mute as fishes the moment I come in? Why I hard you just now, when my back was turned, singing like turtle-doves--didn't I, Florry?

    Miss G. Indeed, sir, as to turtle-doves, I'm not sinsible; but Mr. Gilbert requisted of me to be favouring him with a song, which I was complying with, though I'm not used to be singing without my piano.

    Christy. (aside) Sorrow take your piano! you're not come there yet.

    Miss G. I wonder the drum-major isn't come yet. Does he expect tea can be keeping hot for him to the end of time? He'll have nothing but slop-dash, though he's a very genteel man. I'm partial to the military school, I own, and a High lander too is always my white-headed boy.

    Gilb. (astonished) Her white-headed boy!--Now, if I was to be hanged for it, I don't know what that means.

    Miss G. Now where can you have lived, Mr. Gilbert, not to know that?

    Christy. (aside) By the mass, he's such a matter-o'-fact-man, I can't get round him with all my wit.

    Miss G. Here's the drum-major! Scarlet's asy seen at a distance, that's one comfort!

    Enter Mr. HOPE.

    Mr. H. I'm late, Miss Florinda, I fear, for the tea-table; but I had a wee-wee bit of business to do for a young friend, that kept me.

    Miss G. No matter, major, my tapot defies you. Take a cup a tea. Are you fond of music, major?

    Mr. H. Very fond of music, ma'am--do you sing or play?

    Miss G. I do play--I plead guilty to that I own. But in this hole that we are in, there's no room fitting for my piano. However, in the new inn which we have got now, I'll fix my piano iligant in the back-parlour.

    Mr. H. In the mean time, Miss Florinda, will you favour us with a song?

    Christy. And I'll be making the punch, for I'm no songstress. Biddy! Biddy Doyle! hot water in a jerry.

    Miss G. Indeed I'm not used to sing without my piano; but, to oblige the major, I'll sing by note.

    Miss GALLAGHER sings.

    Softly breathing through the heart, When lovers meet no more to part; That purity of soul be mine, Which speaks in music's sound divine.

    'Midst trees and streams of constant love, That's whispered by the turtle-dove; Sweet cooing cushat all my pray'r, Is love in elegance to share.

    Mr. H. That's what I call fine, now! Very fine that.

    [GILBERT nods.

    Miss G. (aside) Look at that Englishman, now, that hasn't a word of compliment to throw to a dog, but only a nod. (Aloud) 'Tis the military that has always the souls for music, and for the ladies--and I think, gentlemen, I may step for'ard, and say I'm entitled to call upon you now:--Mr. Gilbert, if you've ever a love-song in your composition.

    Gilb. Love-song I can't say, ma'am; but such as I have--I'm no great hand at composition--but I have one song--they call it, My choice of a wife.

    Miss G. Pray let's have it, sir.

    Christy. Now for it, by Jabus.

    Mr. H. Give it us, Mr. Gilbert.

    Enter BIDDY with hot water, and exit.

    GILBERT sings.

    There's none but a fool will wed on a sudden, Or take a fine miss that can't make a pudding; If he get such a wife, what would a man gain, O! But a few ballad-tunes on a wretched piano?

    Some ladies than peacocks are twenty times prouder, Some ladies than thunder are twenty times louder; But I'll have a wife that's obliging and civil-- For me, your fine ladies may go to the devil!

    Miss G. (rising) Sir, I comprehend your song, coarse as it is, and its moral to boot, and I humbly thank ye, sir. (She curtsies low.) And if I live a hundred year, and ninety-nine to the back of that, sir, I will remember it to you, sir.

    Christy. (leaving the punch which he had been making, comes forward with a lemon in his hand) Wheugh! wheugh! wheugh! Ferrinafad!

    Gilb. (aside) Ferrinafad!--the man's mad!

    Miss G. Father, go your ways back to your punch. Here stands the only raal gentleman in company (pointing to the drum-major), if I'm to make the election.

    Christy. Major, you can't but drink her health for that compliment. [He presents a glass of punch to Mr. HOPE.

    Mr. H. Miss Gallagher's health, and a gude husband to her, and soon.

    Miss G. And soon!--No hurry for them that has choice.

    Christy. That has money, you mane, jewel. Mr. Gilbert, you did not give us your toast.

    Gilb. Your good health, ma'am--your good health, sir,--Mr. Hope, your good health, and your fireside in Scotland, and in pa'tic'lar your good wife.

    Miss G. (starting) Your wife, sir! Why, sir, is't possible you're a married man, after all?

    Mr. H. Very possible, ma'am--thank Heaven and my gude Kate.

    Miss G. His gude Kate!--Well, I hate the Scotch accent of all languages under the sun.

    Christy. In a married man, I suppose you mane, Florry?

    Miss G. This is the way with officers continually--passing themselves for bachelors.

    Christy. Then, Florry, we'd best recommend it to the drum-major the next town he'd go into, to put up an advertisement in capitals on his cap, warning all women whom it may consarn, that he is a married man.

    Miss G. 'Tis no consarn of mine, I'll assure you, sir, at any rate; for I should scorn to think of a Scotchman any way. And what's a drum-major, after all? [Exit, in a passion.

    Christy. Bo boo! bo boo! bo boo! there's a tantarara now; but never mind her, she takes them tantarums by turns. Now depend upon it, Mr. Gilbert, it's love that's at the bottom of it all, clane and clear.

    Gilb. It's very like, sir--I can't say.

    Christy. Oh, but I can say--I know her, egg and bird. The thing is, she's mad with you, and that has set her all through other.--But we'll finish our tumbler of punch. [Draws forwards the table, and sets chairs.

    Gilb. (aside) Egg and bird!--mad! All through other!--Confound me if I understand one word the man is saying; but I will make him understand me, if he can understand plain English.

    Mr. H. (aside) I'll stand by and see fair play. I have my own thought.

    Gilb. Now, Mr. ----, to be plain with you at once--here's fifty guineas in gold, and if you will take them, and give me up the promise you have got of the new inn, you shall be welcome. That's all I have to say, if I was to talk till Christmas--and fewest words is best in matters of business.

    Christy. Fifty guineas in gold!--Don't part with a guinea of them, man, put 'em up again. You shall have the new inn without a word more, and into the bargain my good-will and my daughter--and you're a jantleman, and can't say no to that, any way.

    Gilb. Yes, but I can though: since you drive me to the wall, I must say no, and I do say no. And, dang it, I would have been hanged almost as soon as say so much to a father. I beg your pardon, sir, but my heart is given to another. Good evening to you.

    Christy. (holding him as he attempts to go) Take it coolly, and listen to me, and tell me--was you ever married before, Mr. Gilbert?

    Gilb. Never.

    Christy. Then I was--and I can tell you that I found to my cost, love was all in all with me before I was married, and after I had been married a twel'-month, money was all in all with me; for I had the wife, and I had not the money, and without the money, the wife must have starved.

    Gilb. But I can work, sir, and will, head, hands, and heart, for the woman I love.

    Christy. Asy said--hard done. Mabel Larken is a very pretty girl. But wait till I tell you what Kit Monaghan said to me yesterday. I'm going to be married, sir, says he to me. Ay, so you mintioned to me a fortnight ago, Kit, says I--to Rose Dermod, isn't it? says I. Not at all, sir, says he--it is to Peggy McGrath, this time. And what quarrel had you to Rose Dermod? says I. None in life, sir, says he; but Peggy McGrath had two cows, and Rose Dermod had but the one, and in my mind there is not the differ of a cow betwix' one woman and another. Do you understand me now, Mr. Gilbert?

    Gilb. Sir, we shall never understand one another--pray let me go, before I get into a passion.

    [Breaks from CHRISTY, and exit.

    Christy. Hollo! Hollo! Mr. Gilbert! (GILBERT returns.) One word more about the new inn. I've done about Florry; and, upon my conscience, I believe you're right enough--only that I'm her father, and in duty bound to push her as well as I can.

    Gilb. Well, sir, about the inn: be at a word with me; for I'm not in a humour to be trifled with.

    Mr. H. (aside) Fire beneath snow! who'd ha' thought it?

    Christy. Then, if it was sixty guineas instead of fifty, I'd take it, and you should have my bargain of the inn.

    Mr. H. (aside) I'll not say my word until I see what the bottom of the men are.

    Gilb. (aside) Why, to make up sixty, I must sell my watch even; but I'll do it--any thing to please Mabel. (Aloud) Well, sixty guineas, if you won't give it for less.

    Christy. Done! (Eagerly.)

    Mr. H. Stay, stay, Mr. Gilbert! Have a care, Mr. Gallagher!--the lady might not be well pleased at your handing over her written promise, Mr. Gallagher--wait a wee bit. Don't conclude this bargain till you are before the lady at the castle.

    Gilb. So best--no doubt.

    Christy. All one to me--so I pocket the sixty.

    Mr. H. (aside to GILBERT) Come off.

    Gilb. We shall meet then at the castle to-night: till then, a good day to you, Mr. Gallagher.

    [Exeunt GILBERT and Mr. HOPE.

    Christy. Good night to ye kindly, gentlemen. There's a fool to love for you now! If I'd ax'd a hundred, I'd ha' got it. But still there's only one thing. Ferrinafad will go mad when she learns I have sold the new inn, and she to live on in this hole, and no place for the piano. I hope Biddy did not hear a sentence of it. (Calls) Biddy! Biddy Doyle! Biddy, can't ye?

    Enter Biddy.

    Biddy. What is it?

    Christy. Did you hear any thing? Oh, I see ye did by your eyes. Now, hark'ee, my good girl: don't mention a sentence to Ferrinafad of my settling the new inn, till the bargain's complate, and money in both pockets--you hear.

    Biddy. I do, sir. But I did not hear afore.

    Christy. Becaase, she, though she's my daughter, she's crass--I'll empty my mind to you, Biddy.

    Biddy. (aside) He has taken enough to like to be talking to poor Biddy.

    Christy. Afore Florry was set up on her high horse by that little independency her doting grandmother left her, and until she got her head turned with that Ferrinafad edication, this Florry was a good girl enough. But now what is she?--Given over to vanities of all sorts, and no comfort in life to me, or use at all--not like a daughter at all, nor mistress of the house neither, nor likely to be well married neither, or a credit to me that way! And saucy to me on account of that money of hers I liquidated unknown'st.

    Biddy. True for ye, sir.

    Christy. Then it all comes from the little finger getting to be the master of me; for I'm confident that when sober, I was not born to be a rogue nat'rally. Was not I honest Christy once? (ready to cry.) Oh, I'm a great penitent! But there's no help for it now.

    Biddy. True for you, sir.

    Christy. I'm an unfortunate cratur, and all the neighbours know it.--So, Biddy dear, I've nothing for it but to take another glass.

    Biddy. Oh! no, sir, not when you'll be going up to the castle to the lady--you'll be in no condition.

    Christy. Tut, girl--'twill give me heart. Let's be merry any way. [Exit, singing,

    "They say it was care killed the cat, That starved her, and caused her to die; But I'll be much wiser than that, For the devil a care will care I."


    Widow LARKEN'S Cottage.


    Gilb. And could you doubt me, Mabel, after I told you I loved you?

    Mabel. Never would nor could have doubted, had you once told me as much, Mr. Gilbert.

    Widow. There was the thing, Mr. Gilbert--you know it was you that was to speak, if you thought of her.

    Gilb. Do not you remember the rose and the shamrock?

    Widow. Oh! she does well enough; and that's what her heart was living upon, till I killed the hope.

    Gilb. You!--killed the hope!--I thought you were my friend.

    Widow. And so I am, and was--but when you did not speak.

    Gilb. If I had not loved her so well, I might have been able, perhaps, to have said more.

    Widow. Then that's enough. Mabel mavourneen, wear the rose he give you now--I'll let you--and see it's fresh enough. She put it in water--oh! she had hope still!

    Mabel. And was not I right to trust him, mother?

    Gilb. Mabel, if I don't do my best to make you happy all my days, I deserve to be--that's all! But I'm going to tell you about the new inn: that's what I have been about ever since, and I'm to have it for sixty guineas.

    Enter OWEN, rubbing his hands.

    Owen. You see, mother, I was right about Gilbert and Mabel. But Mr. Hope and the band is gone up to the castle. Come, come!--time to be off!--no delay!--Gilbert! Mabel, off with you! (He pushes them off.) And glad enough ye are to go together. Mother dear, here's your bonnet and the cloak,--here round ye throw--that's it--take my arm. (Widow stumbles as he pulls her on.) Oh, I'm putting you past your speed, mother.

    Widow. No, no.--No fear in life for the mother that has the support of such a son.


    A large Apartment in Bannow Castle, ornamented with the Rose, Thistle, and Shamrock.--The hall opens into a lawn, where the country-people are seen dancing.

    Enter CLARA, Sir WILLIAM HAMDEN, and a train of dancers.

    Clara. Now, sir, as we have here English, Scotch, and Irish dancers, we can have the English country-dance, the Scotch reel, and the Irish jig.

    Sir W. Then to begin with the Irish jig, which I have never seen.

    Clara. You shall see it in perfection.

    [An Irish jig is danced, a Scotch reel follows, and an English country-dance. When CLARA has danced down the country-dance, she goes with her partner to Sir WILLIAM HAMDEN.

    Clara. We are going out to look at the dancers on the lawn.

    Sir W. Take me with you, for I wish to see those merry dancers--I hear them laughing. I love to hear the country-people laugh: theirs is always the heart's laugh.

    [Exeunt Sir WILLIAM and CLARA.

    [The dancers recommence, and after dancing for a few minutes, they go off just as Sir WILLIAM and CLARA return, entering from the hall door.

    Clara. My dear uncle, thank you for going out among these poor people, and for speaking so kindly to them. One would think that you had lived in Ireland all your life, you know so well how to go straight to Irish heads and Irish hearts by kindness, and by what they love almost as well, humour, and good-humour. Thank you again and again.

    Sir W. My dear niece, you need not thank me; for if you had nothing to do with these people--if you had never been born--I should have loved the Irish for their own sakes. How easy it is to please them! How easy to make them happy; and how grateful they are, even for a few words of kindness.

    Clara. Yes. This I may say without partiality--whatever other faults my countrymen have, they certainly are a grateful people. My father, who knew them well, taught me from my childhood, to trust to Irish gratitude.

    Sir W. (changing his tone) But, on the other hand, it is my duty to watch over your Irish generosity, Clara. Have you made any more promises, my dear, since morning?

    Clara. Oh! no, sir; and I have heartily repented of that which I made this morning: for I find that this man to whom I have promised the new inn is a sad drunken, good-for-nothing person; and as for his daughter, whom I have never yet seen--

    Sir W. (looking towards the entrance from the lawn)

    "But who is this? What thing of sea or land? Female of sex it seems-- That so bedeck'd, ornate and gay, Comes this way sailing."

    Enter Miss GALLAGHER.

    Miss G. Sir, I beg pardon. But I was told Miss O'Hara would wish to speak with Christy Gallagher, and I'm his daughter--he not being very well to-night. He will be up with miss in the morning--but is confined to his bed with a pain about his heart, he took, just when I was coming away.

    [CHRISTY'S voice heard, singing, to the tune of "St. Patrick's day in the morning."

    "Full bumpers of whiskey, Will make us all frisky, On Patrick's day in the morning."

    Miss G. (aside) Oh! King of glory, if he is not come up after all!

    Clara. "What noise is that, unlike the former sound?"

    Sir W. Only some man, singing in honour of St. Patrick, I suppose.

    Enter CHRISTY GALLAGHER, BIDDY trying to hold him back.

    Christy. Tut! let me in: I know the lady is here, and I must thank her as becoming--

    [CLARA puts her hand before her face and retires as he advances.

    Miss G. Oh! father, keep out--you're not in a condition.

    Sir W. John! Thomas! carry this man off.

    Christy. Ah, now, just let me remark to his honour--did he ever hear this song in England? (He struggles and sings, while they are carrying him off,)

    "O'Rourke's noble feast shall ne'er be forgot, By those who were there, or by those who were not."

    But it was not O'Rourke's noble feast at all, it was O'Hara's noble feast, to the best of my knowledge--I'll take my affidavit; and am not I here, on the spot, ready and proud to fight any one that denies the contrary? Let me alone, Florry, for I'm no babby to be taken out of the room. Ready and proud, I say I am, to fight any tin men in the county, or the kingdom itself, or the three kingdoms entirely, that would go for to dare for to offer to articulate the contrary. So it's Miss O'Hara for ever, huzza! a! a! a! a!

    Sir W. Carry him off this instant. Begone!

    [The servants carry off CHRISTY GALLAGHER, while he sings, to the tune of "One bottle more,"

    "Oh, give me but whiskey, continted I'll sing, Hibernia for ever, and God save the king!"

    [Miss GALLAGHER directs and expedites her father's retreat.

    Clara. Shame! shame! Is this the tenant I have chosen?

    Miss G. Indeed, and indeed, then, Miss O'Hara, I often preach to him, but there's no use in life preaching to him--as good preaching to the winds! for, drunk or sober, he has an answer ready at all points. It is not wit he wants, sir.

    Sir W. And he is happy in having a daughter, who knows how to make the best of his faults, I see. What an excellent landlord he will be for this new inn!

    Miss G. Oh, certainly, sir--only it's being St. Patrick's night, he would be more inexcusable; and as to the new inn, plase Heaven! he shall get no pace on earth till he takes an oath afore the priest against spirits, good or bad, for a twil'month to come, before ever I trust a foot of his in the new inn.

    Clara. But, ma'am, from your own appearance, I should apprehend that you would not he suited to the business yourself--I should suppose you would think it beneath you to keep an inn.

    Miss G. Why, ma'am--why, sir--you know when it is called an hotel, it's another thing; and I'm sure I've a great regard for the family, and there's nothing I wouldn't do to oblige Miss O'Hara.

    Clara. Miss Gallagher, let me beg that if you wish to oblige me--

    Enter GILBERT.

    Sir W. Well, Gilbert?

    Gilb. Only, sir, if you and Miss O'Hara were at leisure, sir, one Mr. Andrew Hope, the master of the band, would wish to be allowed to come in to sing a sort of a welcome home they have set to music, sir, for Miss O'Hara.

    Clara. I do believe this is the very song which that drunken man gave me this morning, and for which I gave him the promise of the inn. I shall be ashamed to hear the song.

    Sir W. Let me hear it, at all events. Desire Mr. Andrew Hope, and his merry-men-all, to walk in. [Exit GILBERT.

    Enter Mr. HOPE and band.--Some of the country-people peep in, as if wishing to enter.

    Sir W. Come in, my good friends.

    [Enter, among others, the Widow LARKEN, and MABEL, and OWEN.--BIDDY follows timidly.--Miss GALLAGHER takes a conspicuous place.--Sir WILLIAM and CLARA continue speaking.

    Sir W. Did Gilbert introduce his bride elect to you, Clara?

    Clara. Yes, Mabel Larken, that girl with the sweet modest countenance--and her mother, that respectable-looking woman; and her brother, I see, is here, that boy with the quick, intelligent eyes. I know all the family--know them all to be good; and these were the people I might have served! Oh, fool! fool!

    Sir W. Well, well, well, 'tis over now, my dear Clara--you will be wiser another time. Come, Mr. Hope, give us a little flattery, to put us in good-humour with ourselves.

    [The band prelude; but just as they begin, Sir WILLIAM sees CHRISTY, who is coming in softly, holding back the skirts of his coat.--Sir WILLIAM in a loud voice exclaims,

    Turn out that man! How dare you return to interrupt us, sir? Turn out that man!

    Christy. (falling on his knees) Oh! plase your honour, I beg your pardon for one minute: only just give me lave to insense your honour's honour. I'm not the same man at all.

    Sir W. Stand up, stand up--an Englishman cannot bear to see a man kneel to him. Stand up, pray, if you can.

    Christy. Then I can, plase your honour (rises), since I got a shock.

    Clara. What shock? What do you mean?

    Christy. Oh, nothing in life, miss, that need consarn you--only a fall I got from my horse, which the child they set to lead me would put me up upon, and it come down and kilt me; for it wasn't a proper horse for an unfortunate man like me, that was overtaken, as I was then; and it's well but I got a kick of the baast.

    Sir W. Do you say you were kicked by a horse?

    Christy. Not at all, plase your honour--I say it was well but I got a kick of the baast. But it's all for the best now; for see, I'm now as sober as a jidge, and quite as any lamb; and if I'd get lave only just to keep in this here corner, I would be no let or hinderance to any. Oh! dear miss! spake for me! I'm an ould man, miss, that your father's honour was partial to always, and called me honest Christy, which I was once, and till his death too.

    Sir W. What a strange mixture is this man!

    Clara. Pray let him stay, uncle--he's sober now.

    Sir W. Say not one word more, then; stand still there in your corner.

    Christy. And not a word for my life--not breathe, even--to plase you! becaase I've a little business to mintion to the lady. Sixty guineas to resave from Mr. Gilbert, yonder. Long life to you, miss! But I'll say no more till this Scotchman has done with his fiddle and his musics.

    Sir W. I thought, sir, you were not to have spoken another syllable.

    [CHRISTY puts his finger on his lips, and bows to Sir WILLIAM and to CLARA.

    Sir W. Now, Mr. Hope.

    Mr. HOPE sings, and the Band join in chorus,

    Though Bannow's heiress, fair and young, Hears polish'd praise from ev'ry tongue; Yet good and kind, she'll not disdain The tribute of the lowly swain. The heart's warm welcome, Clara, meets thee; Thy native land, dear lady, greets thee.

    That open brow, that courteous grace, Bespeaks thee of thy generous race; Thy father's soul is in thy smile-- Thrice blest his name in Erin's isle. The heart's warm welcome, Clara, meets thee; Thy native land, dear lady, greets thee.

    The bright star shining on the night, Betokening good, spreads quick delight; But quicker far, more glad surprise, Wakes the kind radiance of her eyes. The heart's warm welcome, Clara, meets thee; Thy native land, dear lady, greets thee[1].

    [Footnote 1: Set to music by Mr. Webbe.]

    Christy. Then I'm not ashamed, any way, of that song of mine.

    Sir W. Of yours?--Is it possible that it is yours?

    Clara. It is indeed. These are the very lines he gave me this morning.

    Christy. And I humbly thank you, madam or miss, for having got them set to the musics.

    Clara. I had nothing to do with that. We must thank Mr. Hope for this agreeable surprise.

    Christy. Why, then, I thank you, Mr. Drum.

    Mr. H. You owe me no thanks, sir. I will take none from you.

    Christy. No--for I didn't remember giving you the copy. I suppose Florry did.

    Miss G. Not I, sir.

    Christy. Or the schoolmaster's foul copy may be, for it was he was putting the song down for me on paper. My own hand-writing shaking so bad, I could not make a fair copy fit for the lady.

    Mr. H. Mr. Gallagher, don't plunge farther in falsehood--you know the truth is, that song's not yours.

    Christy. Why, then, by all--

    Mr. H. Stop, stop, Mr. Gallagher--stop, I advise you.

    Christy. Why, then, I won't stop at any thing--for the song's my own.

    Mr. H. In one sense of the word, may be, it may be called your own, sir; for you bought it, I know.

    Christy. I bought it? Oh, who put that in your Scotch brains? Whoever it was, was a big liar.

    Biddy. No liar at all, sir--I ax your pardon--'twas I.

    Christy. And you overheard my thoughts, then, talking to myself--ye traitor!

    Biddy. No, sir--again I ax your pardon; no listener Biddy Doyle. But I was at the schoolmaster's, to get him pen a letter for me to my poor father, and there with him, I heard how Christy bought the song, and seen the first copy--and the child of the house told me all about it, and how it was lift there by Mr. Owen Larken.

    Sir W. and Clara (joyfully). Owen Larken!--you?

    Christy. All lies! Asy talk!--asy talk--asy to belie a poor man.

    Mr. H. If you tell the truth, you can tell us the next verse, for there's another which we did not yet sing.

    Christy. Not in my copy, which is the original.

    Sir W. If you have another verse, let us hear it--and that will decide the business.

    Christy. Oh, the devil another line, but what's lame, I'll engage, and forged, as you'll see.

    Mr. HOPE sings,

    Quick spring the feelings of the heart, When touch'd by Clara's gen'rous art; Quick as the grateful shamrock springs, In the good fairies' favour'd rings.

    Clara. What does Christy say now?

    Christy. Why, miss, I say that's well said for the shamrock any way. And all that's in it for me is this--the schoolmaster was a rogue that did not give me that verse in for my money.

    Sir W. Then you acknowledge you bought it?

    Christy. What harm, plase your honour? And would not I have a right to buy what pleases me--and when bought and ped for isn't it mine in law and right? But I am mighty unlucky this night. So, come along, Florry--we are worsted see! No use to be standing here longer, the laughing-stock of all that's in it--Ferrinafad.

    Miss G. Murder! Father, then here's all you done for me, by your lies and your whiskey! I'll go straight from ye, and lodge with Mrs. Mulrooney. Biddy, what's that you're grinning at? Plase to walk home out of that.

    Biddy. Miss Florinda, I am partly engaged to dance; but I won't be laving you in your downfall: so here's your cloak--and lane on me.

    Widow. Why, then, Biddy, we'll never forget you in our prosperity.

    Mabel and Owen. Never, never. You're a good girl, Biddy.

    [Exeunt Miss GALLAGHER, BIDDY, and CHRISTY.

    Clara. I am glad they are gone.

    Sir W. I congratulate you, my dear niece, upon having got rid of tenants who would have disgraced your choice.

    Clara. These (turning to OWEN, MABEL, and her mother,) these will do honour to it. My written promise was to grant the poet's petition. Owen, you are the poet--what is your petition?

    Owen. May I speak?--May I say all I wish?

    Clara and Sir W. Yes, speak--say all you wish.

    Owen. I am but a young boy, and not able to keep the new inn; but Mr. Gilbert and Mabel, with my mother's help, would keep it well, I think; and it's they I should wish to have it, ma'am, if it were pleasing to you.

    Sir W. And what would become of yourself, my good lad?

    Owen. Time enough, sir, to think of myself, when I've seen my mother and sister settled.

    Sir W. Then as you won't think of yourself, I must think for you. Your education, I find, has been well begun, and I will take care it shall not be left half done.

    Widow. Oh, I'm too happy this minute! But great joy can say little.

    Mabel. (aside) And great love the same.

    Mr. H. This day is the happiest I have seen since I left the land of cakes.

    Gilb. Thank you, Mr. Hope. And when I say thank you, why, I feel it. 'Twas you helped us at the dead lift.

    Sir W. You see I was right, Gilbert; the Scotch make good friends. (GILBERT bows.) And now, Clara, my love, what shall we call the new inn--for it must have a name? Since English, Scotch, and Irish, have united to obtain it, let the sign be the Rose, Thistle, and Shamrock.

    THE END.

    * * * * * * * * * * * *
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