WINNING A WIDOW.

Characters.

Scene.—Mrs. C.’s dwelling. Table set. Mr. C. outside.

Mr. C. Good evenin’ to you, ma’am.

Mrs. C. Good evenin’ to you, Mr. Costello.

Mr. C. It’s fine weather we’re havin’, ma’am.

Mrs. C. It is that, thank God, but the winter’s comin’ at last, and it comes to all, both great and small.

Mr. C. Ah! but for all that it doesn’t come to all alike. Nowhere are you, ma’am, fat, rosy and good-lookin’, equally swate as a summer greenin’, a fall pippin or a winter russet—

Mrs. C. Arrah, hould your whist, now. Much an old bachelor like you knows about apples or women. But come in, Mr. Costello, and take a cup o’ tay with me, for I was only standin’ be the door lookin’ at the people passin’ for company sake, like, and I’m sure the kittle must have sung itself hoarse. [Mr. C. enters and sits.]

Mr. C. It’s very cosy ye are here, Mrs. Cummiskey.

Mrs. C. Yes. [Lays the supper.] It is that whin I do be havin’ company.

Mr. C. Ah! it must be lonesome for you with only yer cat and the cup o’ tay.

Mrs. C. Sure it is. But sit up to the table, Mr. Costello. Help yourself to this fish, and don’t furget the purtaties. Look at them; they’re splittin’ their sides wid laughin’. [She pours tea.]

Mr. C. I’m sensible of the comforts of a home, Mrs. Cummiskey, though I’ve none meself. Mind now, the difference between the taste o’ tay made and sarved that way and the tay they gives you in an aitin’-house.

Mrs. C. Sure there’s nothin’ like a little home of yer own. I wonder yer never got marrit, Mr. Costello.

Mr. C. I was about to make the same remark in rifference to yerself, ma’am.

Mrs. C. God help us, aren’t I a widder woman this seven years?

Mr. C. Ah, but it’s thinkin’ I was why ye didn’t get marrit again.

Mrs. C. Well, it’s sure I am [thoughtfully setting down her teacup and raising her hand by way of emphasis], there was no betther husband to any woman than him that’s dead and gone, heaven save an’ rest his sowl. He was that asy a child could do anything wid him, and he was as humorous as a monkey. You favor him very much, Mr. Costello. He was about your height, and complicted like you.

Mr. C. Ah!

Mrs. C. He often used to say to me in his banterin’ way, Sure, Nora, what’s the woruld to a man whin his wife is a widder, manin’, you know, that all the timptations and luxuries of this life can never folly a man beyant the grave. Sure, Nora, says he, what’s the woruld to a man whin his wife’s a widder?

Mr. C. It was a sensible sayin’ that [helping himself to more fish].

Mrs. C. I mind the day John died. He knew everything to the last, and about four o’clock in the afthernoon—it was seventeen minutes past five exactly, be the clock, that he died—he says to me, Nora, says he, you’ve been a good wife, says he, an’ I’ve been a good husband, says he, an’ so there’s no love lost atween us, says he, an’ I could give ye a good characthur to any place, says he, an’ I wish ye could do the same for me where I’m goin’, says he; but it’s case equal, says he, an’ every dog has his day, an’ some has a day an’ a half, says he, an’ says he, I’ll know more in a bit than Father Corrigan himself, says he, but I’ll say now, says he, that I’ve always been a true son of the Church, says he, so I’ll not bother my brains about it; an’ he says, says he, I lave ye in good hands, Nora for I lave you in your hands, says he; an’ if at any time ye see any wan ye like betther nor me, marry him, says he. Ah, Nora, says he, for the first time spakin’ it solemn like, ah, Nora, what’s the woruld to a man whin his wife’s a widder? An’ says he, I lave fifty dollars for masses, and the rest I lave to yourself, said he, an’ I needn’t tell ye to be a good mother to the childer’, says he, for well ye know there are none. Ah, poor John! Will ye have another cup of tay, Mr. Costello?

Mr. C. It must have been very hard on ye [passing cup]. Thank ye, ma’am, no more.

Mrs. C. It was hard, but time will tell. I must cast about me for my own livin’; and so I got intil this place an’ here I am to-day. [Both rise from the table and seat themselves before the fire.]

Mr. C. Ah! an’ here we are both of us this evenin.’

Mrs. C. Here we are, sure enough.

Mr. C. And so I mind ye of—of him, do I?

Mrs. C. That ye do. Ye favor him greatly. Dark complicted, an’ the same plisint smile.

Mr. C. Now, with me sittin’ here an’ you sittin’ there ferninst me, ye might almost think ye were marrit agin. [Insinuatingly.]

Mrs. C. Ah, go away now for a taze that ye are. [Mussing her apron by rolling the corners of it.]

Mr. C. I disremember what it was ye said about seein’ any man you liked betther nor him. [Moving his chair nearer to that of the widow.]

Mrs. C. He said, said he [smoothing her apron over her knees], Nora, said he, if anny time ye see anny man ye like betther nor me, marry him, says he.

Mr. C. Did he say anything about anny one ye liked as good as him?

Mrs. C. I don’t mind that he did. [Reflectively, folding her hands in her lap.]

Mr. C. I suppose he left that to yerself?

Mrs. C. Faith, an’ I don’t know, thin.

Mr. C. Div ye think ye like me as well as ye did him? [Persuasively, leaning forward to look into the widow’s eyes, which are cast down.]

Mrs. C. Ah, go away now for a taze. [Straightening herself and playfully slapping Mr. Costello on the face. He moves his chair still nearer, and puts his arm around her waist.]

Mr. C. Tell me, div ye like me as well as ye did him?

Mrs. C. I—I most—I most disremember now how much I liked him. [Embarrassed.]

Mr. C. Ah, now, don’t be breakin’ me heart. Answer me this question, Mrs. Cummiskey—Is your heart tender toward me?

Mrs. C. It is [whispers], an’ there, now ye have it.

Mr. C. Glory! [Kisses her.]

Mrs. C. But, James, ye haven’t told me yet how ye liked yer tay?

Mr. C. Ah, Nora, me jewel, the taste of that first kiss would take away the taste of all the tay that ever was brewed.