From that hour the current of his life flowed on with a fresher bound-the fountain of hope welled out its sparkling waters, for the first time, from its depths. To the world-to no living soul, would he have dared to avow his new-born feeling, that Mary Mahony might one day be his own. Within his heart of hearts it lay, and with it was the consciousness, that to win her he must merit her. How, he knew not; but the resolve is much.
Three months glided on. Carroll continued to pursue his calling as a music-maker, and not a wedding nor christening passed by, or, indeed, could pass by, without the assistance of his "professional" powers. But he now became what a young and gay Irishman seldom is-a hoarder of his earnings. He laid aside much of the wild and reckless mirth which had made him, despite his poverty, the king of good fellows. Remmy was, in many respects, above the generality of his class; for he had got a tolerably good education; he was quick at repartee, and not without a certain manly grace of manner; his conversation was never garnished with expletives; he had a good voice, and could sing with considerable effect; he was an adept in fairy lore and romantic legends; and he was accustomed to retail news from the newspapers to a wondering auditory, so that the marvel was how he could be "such a janius entirely." Hence his popularity with all classes. But now, as I have said, he laid aside all mirth that might involve outlay. His manners became sedate, almost grave, – nay, if we dared to apply such high words to a man of such low degree as an Irish piper, it might be added, that a certain degree of quiet dignity became blended with his speech and actions. Like the wedding guest described by Coleridge, he seemed "a sadder and a wiser man." Such a change could not pass unobserved, and while one-half the circle of his acquaintance shook their heads, and ominously whispered, "Sure the boy must be fairy-struck," the fairer moiety suggested that the alteration must have been produced by Love, though even their sagacity and observation failed to ascertain the object of his passion.
CHAPTER III. – HOW THE PIPER GOT ON WITH MARY MAHONY
The aim and the result of Remmy Carroll's newly-acquired habits of economy and self-denial became evident, at length, when his appearance, one Sunday, in the Chapel of Fermoy-it was the Old Chapel, with mud walls and a thatched roof, which stood in that part of Cork Hill whence now diverges the narrow passage called Waterloo Lane-caused a most uncommon sensation. It was Remmy's first appearance, on any stage, in the character of a country-beau. His ancient coat was put into Schedule A (like certain pocket-boroughs in the Reform Bill), and was replaced by a garment from the tasty hands of Dandy Cash, at that time the Stultz of Fermoy and its vicinity. This was a broad-skirted coat of blue broadcloth, delicately embellished with the brilliancy of shining gilt buttons, each not much larger than a half-dollar. A vest of bright yellow kerseymere, with a double-row of plump mother-of-pearl studs; a new pair of closely-fitting unmentionables, with a liberal allowance of drab ribbons pensile at the knees; gray worsted stockings, of the rig-and-furrow sort, displaying the muscular calf and the arched instep; neat pumps, with soles not quite half an inch thick, and the uppers made "elegant" by the joint appliances of lampblack and grease (considered to nourish the leather much better than "Warren's jet blacking, the pride of mankind"); – a well-fitting shirt of fine bandle-linen, bleached to an exquisite whiteness, and universally looked upon as a noli me tangere of provincial buckism, with a silk grinder "round his nate neck," and a tall Carlisle hat, encircled with an inch-wide ribbon-such were the component parts of Remmy Carroll's new costume. True it is, that he left a little too much to the taste of Dandy Cash, the dogmatic and singularly conceited Snip; but still, Nature had done so much for him that he appeared quite a new man, the handsomest of the whole congregation, gentle or simple, and many a bright glance fell upon him admiringly, from eyes which had looked scorn at his chrysalis condition; and not a few fair bosoms fluttered at the thought, "what a fine, handsome, likely boy is Remmy Carroll, now that he is dressed dacent." He was not the first man whose qualifications have remained unacknowledged until such an accident as fine apparel has brought them into notice.
Mary Mahony was at Chapel on that Sunday when Remmy Carroll shone out, like the sun emerging from behind a rack of heavy clouds. A casual looker-on might have fancied that she was one of the very few who did not mind Remmy Carroll. Indeed, she rather hung down her head, as she passed him, – but that might have been to hide the blushes which suffused her face when she met his eye. Her father, a kind-hearted man, who had a cordial salute for every friend, insisted that they should not hurry away without speaking to the piper. Accordingly, they loitered until nearly all the congregation had left the chapel, and, among the last, Remmy Carroll was quietly stealing away. Bartle Mahony accosted him, with a hearty grasp of the hand, and warmly thanked him for having saved Mary's life, adding, "It is not until now I'd be waiting to thank you, man-alive, but Mary never let me know the danger she'd been in, until this blessed morn, when her cousin, Nancy Doyle, made me sensible of the ins and outs of the accident. But I do thank you, Remmy, and 'twill go hard with me if I don't find a better way of showing it than by words, which are only breath, as one may say."
Then Bartle Mahony slapped Remmy on the back, in a familiar manner, and insisted that he should walk home with them and take share of their dinner. "Don't hang down your head like a girl, but tuck Mary under your arm, and off to Carrigabrick, where I follow in less than no time, with the heartiest of welcomes. Don't dawdle there, man-alive, like a goose, but walk off like a man."
So through the town of Fermoy did Mary Mahony walk with Remmy Carroll-down Cork Hill and King-street, and across the Square, and along Artillery-quay, and by Skelhorne's paper-mill, and Reid's flour-mill, and then, on the Inches, by the Blackwater. History has not recorded whether Mary did actually take Remmy's arm-but it is conjectured that he was too shy to offer it, deeming that too great a liberty-but it is said that it was she who took the field-route to Carrigabrick, and, though she blushed deeply the while, she did not make any very violent objection to his taking her in his arms across that chasm, the passage of which, on a former day, had so nearly proved fatal to her. If I said that, while performing this pleasant duty, Remmy Carroll did not press her to his heart, I am pretty sure that no one would believe me. Well, then, there was this gentle pressure, but of course Mary Mahony believed he could not help it. – Do you think he could?
They proceeded to Carrigabrick, but the short cut through the fields proved the longest way round on this occasion. Bartle Mahony had reached the house fully half an hour before they did, and yet he had gone by the road, which, as every one knows, is nearly a mile round. They had exchanged few words during their walk; it was not quite the lady's place to make conversation, and Remmy's thoughts were all too deep for utterance. In the earlier stage of love, passion is contemplative, and silence often has an eloquence of its own.
Remmy Carroll had the good fortune to win the particular favor of Mr. Bartle Mahony, who, as he was retiring to rest, kissed his fair child, as usual, and emphatically declared that Remmy Carroll was "a real decent fellow, and no humbug about him." He added, that as he had found his way to their hearth, he must be a stranger no more. And it came to pass, thenceforth, somehow or other, that Remmy paid a visit to Carrigabrick twice or thrice a week. These visits were ostensibly to Mr. Mahony, but it usually happened that Remmy had also a glimpse of Mary, and sometimes a word or two with her. It came to pass that Bartle Mahony, at length, fancied that a dull day in which he did not see his friend Remmy. Finally, as by a great effort of ingenuity, and in order to have a legitimate excuse for having his favorite frequently with him, Bartle Mahony announced his sovereign will and pleasure that Mary should learn music. Accordingly, when Remmy next came, he communicated this intention to him in a very dignified manner, and appointed Remmy forthwith to commence instructing her. But Remmy could play only upon one instrument, and the pipes happen to be so unfeminine, that he ventured to doubt whether the young lady would quite approve of the proposition. Having hinted this difficulty to Bartle Mahony, that worthy was impressed with its force, but, rather than relinquish his project, declared that, all things considered, he thought it best that he himself should be the musical tyro.
If the truth were known, it would have appeared that the poor man had no desire to learn, and certainly no taste. But as Remmy Carroll, proud as he was poor, had peremptorily refused the money offered as a substantial mark of gratitude for having saved Mary Mahony's life, this