"Evil consequences!" returned Johnny Dixon, as he repeated my words: "my stable-boy was frightened into fits; Judy Mac Keal kept her bed for a fortnight,—and, mona mon diaoul![69] thirty shillings did not pay the glazier—for Magan,—the Lord's curse light upon him!—smashed the windows into smithereens. But it grows late," he continued, addressing his companion; "and you and I, Peter, must be up ere cockcrow. Good night, sir!" and he turned to me. "Should you ever meet Mr. Magan—while you remain in his society, never be persuaded, as they say in Mayo, to 'prove agreeable;' or, 'fight, flirt, play cards, or hold the candle.'"
[ Note:—The story was told me at a supper-table table by a Connaught gentleman, with the most profound gravity imaginable. He, the hero, believed it religiously himself; and woe be to the sceptic who gainsayed its authenticity.
Poor Johnny lies under a ton weight of Connemara marble. Requiescat! A better fellow never took six feet in a stroke, carried off a third bottle, or gave a job to the coroner. Requiescat! Amen! ]
A MERRY CHRISTMAS.
BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.
Dover, December 20th, 1836.
Dear your Lordship,—I never writ to a lord before, and don't do it now spontaneous; but Mrs. Miggins desires me to ask you to join our Christmas party next week. Now I think that will be what you call a bore, because 'tisn't only us ourselves, but I can't give up old friends and relations, and so there'll be more Migginses than you ever saw before; and, always excepting daughter Sophy, I suspect you've seen more already than you ever wish to see again. However, daughter Sophy did seem to attract your notice like, last autumn here, when you was staying with the duke. I saw clear enough you didn't want the duke nor the duchess to know about it, and so I were glad when you took yourself away; but Sophy hankers after you, and my wife says,—and she's right enough there, though it doesn't generally follow that a thing's right because she says it,—that there's no reason why daughter Sophy shouldn't be a lord's wife and a lady herself, like other fine girls no ways her betters; and, though I did make my money in the soap and candle line, the money, now it's made, an't the worse; and so, if you really wants to marry Sophy, say it out and out, and I'll give my consent. It is but fair and right to tell your Lordship that there's another young man desperate about her,—not, when I say another young man, that I mean to call your lordship a young man, for I know that wouldn't be respectful. However, if I had my own way in all things,—which I haven't, and few men have,—Captain Mills of the artillery would be the man for Sophy. He's a mighty proper man to look at, and I've asked him down to spend Christmas here too; so, if your lordship don't think it worth while to come, why only say the word, and, to my thinking, Captain Mills will have a good chance.
People do report things that I don't want to believe about your lordship's ways of going on; but if you do marry Sophy, hang it! make her happy. Don't take her away from them as loves her, and then be neglectful and unkind; for she don't know yet what unkindness is, and I know 'twould break her heart, and then I should break mine, and my poor wife would follow,—so that would break us all. But a lord must be a gentlemen, and a gentleman can't behave like a blackguard to a woman. So some down here on Saturday the 24th, and we'll have a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. In all which my wife and Sophy do join. So no more at present
From your dear lordship's humble servant at command, Peter Miggins.