I had just read so far in some work or other which I had carelessly taken up for a peep after dinner one day, when a loud knock at the door of my apartment made me close the book, and say "Come in!" The door slowly opened; but, as nobody entered, I demanded "Who's there?"
"It's me, masther; Darby, yir honor."—"What do you want?" inquired I.—"Nothing, sir," said he, "but I've got a letther for ye, sir."—"From whom?" said I.—"Faix, I don't know, sir," replied he archly; "for I haven't read it yit; but here it is."—"Why don't you come in and give it to me?" demanded I.—"I'm afraid, sir," said he, "that my brogues would dirty the carpet, and set all the girls in the kitchen a-laughing at me for comin' into the drawin'-room; and sure a purtier room a man need never wish to come into."—"Oh! very well," said I, rising; "you shall have your way, Darby."—"Am I to wait for an answer, sir?" said he, giving me the letter.—"No," replied I; "I'll ring if it be necessary."—"Thank yir honor," said Darby, and turned to descend the stairs with the furtive caution of a cat when stealing upon its prey, lest he should make his brogues audible. A loud crash, succeeded by a louder laugh, through which I distinctly heard, "Merry bad look to yiz all!" convinced me that Darby's coming up stairs with the letter was a contrivance of the other servants to play some trick upon him, which their merriment seemed to show had succeeded; but into which as I did not care to inquire, I sate down, opened my letter, and began to read. I had not proceeded far before I found it related to business of the most serious consequence, and required that I should write instanter to a friend, who was on a visit at Bally——, (nearly forty miles distant across the country,) and have an answer by immediate return of post. There was no time to be lost; so I wrote my letter as speedily as possible, folded, sealed, and directed it, then rang the bell with unusual impatience. It was promptly answered; but this time there was no knock at the door before it opened, for it was Eileen, my usual attendant, that presented herself, with a face whose natural health, cheerfulness, and rustic beauty were considerably heightened by the flush of recent merriment.
"What have you been doing with Darby, Eileen?" said I.—"Oh, widdy-eelish!" (her constant ejaculation) said she laughing, "nothing at all, sir; only he said he wanted to see the drawin'-room, so we sent him up with the letter, and he slipped his foot as he came down, sir; that's all."—"You know I don't like those tricks, Eileen," said I, with all the severity I could muster against her smothered laughter.—"No, sir; I know, sir; but when an omadhaun like that—"—"Silence!" said I. "I want to send a letter by the post: what o'clock is it?"—"Half an hour too late, sir," said Eileen, resuming her gravity; "and there'll be no post to-morrow."—"No post to-morrow!" echoed I.—"No sir; to-morrow's Saturday, you know."—"Confusion!" said I, "it will be so indeed. What's to be done?"—"I don't know, sir," replied Eileen despondingly; "how far is it?"—"Oh! nearly forty miles across the country," cried I; "and I want an answer immediately."—"Can't Darby run across with it?" said Eileen.—"Run across with it!" cried I; "is the girl out of her senses? Run across forty miles, as if it were nothing more than a hop-step-and-jump!"—"He'll do it in that same, sir," said Eileen seriously, "if ye'll only tell him what it is."—"Who'll do it?" cried I impatiently.—"Why, Darby, sir," said she; "Darby in the kitchen, that's known all the country round for Darby the Swift."—"What!" cried I, "that fellow that brought me the letter just now? Impossible!"—"There's nothing impossible to God, sir, you know,—glory be to his name!" said Eileen, "and so the crathur has the gift of it: he'll do it, I warrant ye." I looked up in Eileen's face, and saw there was something beyond common opinion pleading for Darby; so, waiving all farther parley, I desired her to go down stairs and send him to me instantly. Eileen curtsied, and, retiring, shut the door; but immediately opened it again, saying "You don't want him the night, sir, do ye? for," added she with a loud laugh, "I think he has broken his shin-bone."—"Send him to me immediately," said I peremptorily; upon which Eileen, exclaiming "Oh, widdy-eelish!" made her exit.
Now it was evident from her last words that Eileen, in conjunction with others, had done some injury to poor Darby in their gambols; but as he is just coming up stairs, and will make a long pause before he presumes to knock at the door a second time, allow me, gentle reader, ad interim, to present you with a portrait of my servant, or follower, "Darby Ryan," nick-named "The Swift."
Darby Ryan was about thirty years of age, middle-sized, not over stout, and tolerably well made. His hair, both in texture and tint, resembled the raddled back of a fawn-coloured goat, and waved in shaggy luxuriance everywhere save on his forehead, in the middle of which it timidly descended in a close-cropped peak, till it nearly united itself with two enormous dark-coloured eyebrows. His eyes were small, and the blackest I have ever seen; with a gleam of fire occasionally, that lent them more archness than ferocity. Some thought he squinted, and said that, though under one master's direction, his two pupils went contrary ways; but I believe this was all slander, and only set forth by jealous people, who themselves, it is said, are rather queer in their optics. A fracas in a hurling-match had left his nose little more than a one-arched bridge, by which, if you please, we will pass along to his mouth, where, if I had the time, I could find ample room for rumination, &c. But Darby has knocked at my door, and I am forced to say "Come in!"—"Did yir honor want me, sir? or is it only the caileen's fun, and the rest of them, in the kitchen?" said Darby, opening the door, but remaining outside as before. "Come in," said I encouragingly, "and take a seat for a moment; I'll tell you what I want with you." The girl's fears for the carpet were quite right; for Darby, making a bow to me on his entrance, scraped about a pound of mud off his brogues, which would have discomfited him quite if I had not proceeded with "Do you know the road to Bally——? Can you find your way to it safely, Darby?"
"Can a duck swim, yir honor?" said Darby, emboldened by degrees.
"Oh! very well, I understand you," said I. "Now, mark me: I want you to take this letter to a friend of mine, who is on a visit with the clergyman there, and bring me an answer as speedily as possible. Are you so quick-footed as they say?"
"Quick-futted!" said Darby, seating himself on the very corner of the nearest chair; "where there's a will there's a way, as the sayin' is: but I was never counted slow anyhows but oncet, and that was when I made the clock stop of its own accord on a Patrick's Day, and sure, when we broke up our party, we found it was two days afterwards."
"Well, take care and be more sparing of your time for the present," said I, anxious to despatch him.
"You may rely on it, sir," said he; "I'll spare nather time nor trouble in the doin' of it, although it is letter-carryin'."