[Original]
CHAPTER XVIII. CONFESSIONS OF THE RAT-CATCHER.
“There are certain ingredients to be mingled with matrimony, without which I may as likely change for the worse as the better.” A Bold Stroke for a Wife.
The man might have been set down a lazy wayfarer indeed who would have sojourned a second day at that pleasant hostlerie, whose sign-board displayed the spirited representation we have copied. Mark Antony avowed that “he had never closed an eye,” while his companion admitted the enjoyment of a short, but not sweet season of forgetfulness, when, according to the confessions of the captain, the insect tribe had assailed his person with such ferocity, that, had they only combined their efforts, “and pulled one way, they must have dragged him into the floor.” No wonder, then, that the journey was resumed at cockcrow. England was the destination; and the route was accordingly directed towards a neighbouring seaport, from which a passage in a trading vessel to Liverpool might be obtained.
At that period—one short to look back to—the transit of the Channel was held to be a daring exploit; and, in Irish estimation, England was indeed, a land beyond the seas. Whether business or pleasure formed the inducement, the latter must be considerable, before a votary of St. Patrick would venture upon “realms unknown and great,” therefore was the fosterer’s satisfaction, in discovering that Shemus Rhua was an accomplished traveller, and also that, in earlier life, the gallant captain had visited “the great metropolis.”
“It’s now three-and-twenty years ago,” concluded the ratcatcher, with a sigh, “and, upon my conscience, to look back, Mark dear, it appears like yesterday.”
“And what brought you to England, Shemus?” said the fosterer.
“Why, I think,” replied the captain, “a gentleman who has directed me generally from the cradle. He keeps, they say, a warm house; and, though he’s the best friend they have, the clargy are eternally abusing him.”