Presently the identical Tim made his appearance, and was placed in high state at the top of the room, with a degree of attention and respect fully due to his abilities. For my part, the very sight of Tim, and the thought of his consummate assurance or stupidity in attempting to play for dancing, amused me beyond expression; but I suppressed all symptoms of this, and kept my eyes and ears on the alert in expectation of what was to follow. A bumper of his favourite punch was prepared for him, and while sipping it, I thought he cast a scrutinizing and anxious glance on the company, probably thinking how he should adjust his politics there. But he had little time to pause. A quadrille set was immediately formed, and he was called on to play!—the sapient belles and beaux never dreaming that a modern piper even might not play quadrilles. Never did I find it so difficult to restrain myself from immoderate laughter! There stood the eight elegantes, ringleted, perfumed, white-gloved, and refined; and there sat Tim Callaghan in all his native surly stupidity, dreadfully puzzled, “looking unutterable things,” humming and hawing, and tuning and droning much longer than necessary—not in the least aware of the demand that was to be made on himself or his pipes, but puzzling his brains as to which of his own he should play first.
“A quadrille, piper!—the first of Montague’s!” called out the leading gentleman.
“E—ah!” said Tim Callaghan, opening his sleepy eyes, surprised into some little animation.
“The first of Montague’s set of quadrilles!” repeated the beau.
“Ogh, Mountycute’s is out ov fashin; but I’ll give yez one as good;” and the company being mixed, of whose opinions he could not be sure, the quadrillers were astounded with “God save the King” in most execrable style!
All stared, and most laughed heartily; but what was of more consequence to poor Tim, his arm was fiercely seized, and he was stopt short in the midst of his loyalty by an angry demand “if he could play no quadrilles? Not —— or ——?” and the names of a dozen quadrilles and waltzes were mentioned, that the unfortunate minstrel had never heard of in all his days and travels! In his dire extremity be commenced “the Boyne,” when at the instant some person called the lady of the house. The name seemed a Catholic one—a sudden ray of joy shot through his frame to his fingers’ ends, and from thence to his pipes, and poor “Patrick’s Day” was the result. A kind of jigging quadrille was then danced by the least fastidious and better humoured of the party; the first top couple, superfine exquisites!—the lady an importation from London, and odorous of “Bouquet a-la-Reine,” and the gentleman a perfect “Pelham,” from the aristocratic arch of his brow to his shoe-tie—having retreated to their seats with looks and gestures of horror and disgust, quite unnoticed by Tim Callaghan, who bore himself with all the dignity of a household bard of the olden time, in his element, playing his own favourite tune, and quollity actually dancing to his music! It was a great day for the house of Callaghan!
Well! as there seemed nothing better to be had, “Patrick’s Day” continued in requisition, now as a quadrille, now as a country-dance, by all who preferred motion to sitting still, before and after supper, till at last every one was weary of it, and a general vow was made to drop the “Day” and take the “Boyne,” and endeavour to move it as we best could. By that time, too, our piper seemed most heartily tired of his patron saint, and having quaffed his fourth full-flowing goblet, appeared to be rather inclined for a doze than to renew his melody. But he was roused up by our worthy host, who, good, gay old man! was the very soul of cheerfulness.
“For pity’s sake, piper,” said he, “try to give us something that we can foot it to! I was not in right mood for dancing to-night till now. If you be an Irishman, look at the pretty girl that is to be my partner for the next dance, and perhaps her eyes may inspire even you, you drowsy fellow, with momentary animation, and perform a miracle on your pipes!”
Short as this address was, and gaily as it was uttered, it had no other effect on our piper than administering an additional soporific.
While the old gentleman was speaking, the drowsy god was descending faster and faster on Tim Callaghan. He dozed and was shaken up.