‘And is it true old Tresham’s going to
join our club at last?’
’He! hang him! he’s like a brute beast,
and never drinks but when he’s dry, and then
small beer. But, I forgot to tell you, by all
that’s lovely, they do say the charming Magnolia—a
fine bouncing girl that—is all but betrothed
to Lieutenant O’Flaherty.’
Devereux laughed, and thus encouraged, Toole went
on, with a wink and a whisper.
’Why, the night of the ball, you know, he saw
her home, and they say he kissed her—by
Bacchus, on both sides of the face,—at the
door there, under the porch; and you know, if he had
not a right, she’d a-knocked him down.’
’Psha! the girl’s a Christian, and when
she’s smacked on one cheek she turns the other.
And what says the major to it?’
’Why, as it happened, he opened the door precisely
as the thing occurred; and he wished Lieutenant O’Flaherty
good-night, and paid him a visit in the morning.
And they say ’tis all satisfactory; and—by
Jove! ‘tis good punch.’ And Mrs.
Irons entered with a china bowl on a tray.
CONCERNING A SECOND HURRICANE THAT RAGED IN CAPTAIN
DEVEREUX’S DRAWING-ROOM, AND RELATING HOW MRS.
IRONS WAS ATTACKED WITH A SORT OF CHOKING IN HER BED.
And the china bowl, with its silver ladle, and fine
fragrance of lemon and old malt whiskey, and a social
pair of glasses, were placed on the table by fair
Mistress Irons; and Devereux filled his glass, and
Toole did likewise; and the little doctor rattled
on; and Devereux threw in his word, and finally sang
a song. ’Twas a ballad, with little in the
words; but the air was sweet and plaintive, and so
was the singer’s voice:—
’A star
so High,
In my sad sky,
I’ve early loved and late:
A clear lone star,
Serene and far,
Doth rule my wayward fate.
‘Tho’
dark and chill
The night be still,
A light comes up for me:
In eastern skies
My star doth rise,
And fortune dawns for me.
’And proud and bold,
My way I hold;
For o’er me high I see,
In night’s
deep blue,
My star shine
true,
And fortune beams on me.
’Now onward
still,
Thro’ dark
and chill,
My lonely way must be;
In vain regret,
My star will set,
And fortune’s dark for me.
’And whether
glad,
Or proud, or sad,
Or howsoe’er I be;
In dawn or noon,
Or setting soon,
My star, I’ll follow thee.’
