F> 635 19 727 ar/^ / / ( ^ \ '^ INTRODUCTION. I 'he leading ideas f-r this Drama aro taken from Carlctou's A't. \iaguire; or tha Broken Pledgz (American edition), but tliere has 3een no attempt at a close adherence to either story or text. Withjut in the least desiring to forestal or disarm criticism, the au:Iior would point out thai the evil chara,3'.e.-3 of most of the damatis j^&^'sonce are inseparable from a warning work of tli s kind —the curse of drink is fostered and developed by sucli characters, ^nd it would be mere idle affectation to deny that they exist to a limited degi-ee in Ireland, as well as in other countries ; but, at the same time, it must be insisted on that they are now far lees common In the Green Isle, than they were in the days when Carletoji penned his powerful tale^ THE AUTHOR. DRAMATIS PERSONS Art. O Brien- Frank, his brother. TOAL O'DOWL. COONEY, his father. Jimmy Murray, father of Maggie and Kaiith. Patsey, son of Art. Murty Nolan. Jeames Powderwig, ajz English footman. Barney Scadhan, a publican, Tim Flanagan, a carpenter. Larry. Shauneen. Maggie Murray, afterwards wife of Art. O'Brien. Kautii Murray, ha' sista', afterwards wife of Frank. "Widow Branigan. Biddy, servant of Art. Workmen, Neighbours, ^c, &'e. SCE^E— West of Irela7id. TIME OF k.CT\(y^=-About thirteen yei-s. TMP92-007663 ART. OBRTEN: I' THE FLOWER OF KILMONA ACT I. i\ SCENE I. — (A stont-vxiU lane in the County of Galway ; wall ai "> baeky practicable and open Farm house in distance. Coonet O'DuwL, L. 0. ; Jimmy Murray, r. c. ; Tual O'Dowl concealed behind the wall, l. from Murray, but not from his father and audience ; all discovered and talking : — ) a Cooney. Thrue for ye, Jimmy ; it's just me own iday, too,— sorra, I and want, and distress, "ill be in the laud wid this murderin' spring weather — an' where'll the poor be then, God help them 1 g Jimmy. ( With an ugly smile). Where, indade ? But sure ii's an "■ ill wuid blows no man good luck ; an' v-id all that fine store at yere . back, sorra a one o' me sees wher.V it is ^e 11 have to complaui any ^ way, Cooney, wid prices rism' galore ! Cooney. ( With a cynical grin on his harsh features.) No, nor you, I Jimmy Murray, nayther, mebee. They do talk av yere havin' niore of all sorts in the barn than meself — poor old scaliogue that T am ! { With a burst of frankness.) But come, .Jimmy, where's the use of our talkin' this fashion? Sure neyther of us 'ill be to the bad, ccme Michaelmas, an' it's time — we're both neyther of us so yonng as w*;- wor, Jimmy — we settled out o' hand that matter betune me Toal j n i your shl p of a girl Jimmy. Which shlip ? Shure there's two o' them ; an' both as fine geruls as ye'd see this side o' the Lough ayont— but what is it je're dhriving at ? Cooney. Arrah what are ye talkin' of man ? Ye know well v h it 1 mane— aren't we to put the two monies together by marrying my Tual to your Maggie. ARI, O'BRIEN : OE H/^ 6 Jimmy. (Laughing). Bedad there's four to that bargain, an- Cooney. Well — an' there's me, and there's Toal, an' there's j willin' ; an' sure the colleen won't go again us ? Jimmy. Ye say so, Mr. O'Dowl, but faix it's not meself tb> ^ sure. Cooney. (Beckoning silence to Toal, who has been making iS so motions from behind the v^all.) Well, Mr. Murray, ye know yer mind best ; but av I Avas you— mind I'm only talkin' as a Mend^<*^y family — I'd sooner see me hard-earned money go to a young cP"^^ know how to dale wid it and make more of it — (divil a bother tho at bargaining, the whole country side, than my Toal !) — than to^ ^^ spendthrift fellow like that rip of an Art O'Brien ^^^ Jimmy. Art. O'Brien, inagh ! an' who'd give him a pound'* * he'd spend it the next minnit— for all the fine ould blood he has i veinS— and {musing) a fine looking chap, into the bargain ? ^H* Cooney. Thrue for ye ! He'd spend ivery penny, before ye'^iis cowld ill yere grave [Toal leans over the wall, and whispers t m father, vho goes on) an' he maybe a fine fellow enough, but my T^® b not so bad ^f« ■ Jimmy. Arrah, Cooney ! where's the use o' talkm' ? Surt^^l's gerul in Galway'd take a hunched-up little divil like Toal, av could get anything like a man, at all, at all ! " ^^ Toal. {Aside, xoiih a black look of hate at JJf wrra?/)— Huncheoli® little divil ! Cooney. {Aside, and waving him down.) Be (^a husht, avic ; WP Jimmy Murray, say he isn't so much to look at Jimmy. {Interrupting with a brutal laugh) Much to look •"» Bedad JVIaggie was laugliin' the other day, an' she says, says si " Sure little Toal's like the poonch in the show, barrin' he hasn't ^ ' faytures so good ;" ha, ha ! ^ • Toal. {Aside and bitterly.) A poonch widout the faytures ! "® moself that'll be avin wid ye for that, me fine-feathered colleen ! ^ Cooney. {In a rage.) Oh! a poo ch, barrm' the faytures! J-* Murray ; that's the talk, is it ? Oh ! then, good mornin' to you, 1 Murray ! an' its raeself that'll be proud to dance jigs at Miss Magg.^^; weddin' wid Art, O'Brien that isn't worth a trancen for money — ^ an, an meybee he don't know how to wag his little finger {imita ^ drinjcing) neyther. Begorra, it's fine They'll be ! Ould blood, oi^> whiskey, an' ould cabin to live in, an' ould Jimmy Murray's Magf^ to make rale poonch wid plenty av faytures — the faytures of sin, at now, " Sure it's an ill w^ind blows no man good lack," an' Jimmy. Ah, tliin, what's come over the man ? Sure it's jokin' mo ye are, Cooney ? Cooney. Oh, the divil a joke ! A bargain's a bargain, all the world over 2'oal. (Aside.) Stick it into him well, or he'll think ye're only codding him Cooney. Ahem ! An' I don't break bargains meself, nor do I let others break theirs. So I'll jest step down home, an' write the bit of a notice— good mornin', Mr. Murray ! Jimmy. (Catching at him as he goes l.) Arrah, what talk's this, at all ? Who "wants to break a bargain, Cooney O'Dowl ? Come back, man ! Not ould Jimmy Murray, I'll go bail. Sure stand there like a Christen, an' don't be playin' games wid us. Cooney. (Molificd a little, but still on his dignity.) I'm playin' no games, Jimmy Murray, but— sure it's bsst to be plain ? — I'll have the bargain stuck to— Toal must marry JMaggie, or I'll have my money ; an' ye must settle ye're promise down at wanst ; for afther this month, as ye well know, ye cute ould fox, ye, prices 'ill be gotn' up an' up, an' ye'd r^'pe all the benefit of the bad saisun, an' not me Jimmy. Thrue for ye, Cooney, sure I'd not desave a knowledgeable man like yere own self Cooney. Ay, that's fine talk, but Fll talk finer — av Toal an' M ggie's married before Michaelmas Jimmy. Oh, be raisonable ! Cooney. Well, then, before Christmas ; or, to be dacent wid you. within a year from this blessed day— I'll give ye back the bond for nothin' Jimmy. For nothin' ! Oh, be the mortial ! Cooney. Purvided^ purvided, I say, ye'U settle the £100 on Maggie, to be her ownj own Jimmy. (Eagerly.) Ay, afther I've had the rise of prices out of it? Cooney. (Musingly.) Well, yes ; sure it'll all come to her and Katith wan day. We'll fix it this a way : Maggie to have tiie £100 dovm as a weddiu' gift— an' sure it'll be my present, not yours— and two- threes of the rest when ye go to yere account, Jimmy Murray ? Now, understanth me— jest a twelvemonth for the weddui', from this ; oi ( have me £100 back at wanst ; an' I'll give ye notice ivery month, jest to tie ye to the bargain. Jimmy. (Affecting to laugh.) Ah, ye're mighty cautious Toal. (Aside to his father.) Wanst bit, t'.vice shy ! Jimmy. But I make the bargain, an' there's me hand on it— (ihf.y slap hands). Sure I was on'y playin' the joke on ye about v^]i:it Maggie said— divil a word but jokin' ! " Poonch w dout chs S AftT. BHIEN : OR ~. ^ faytures !" ha ! ha ! just to fancy the colleen'd have the wit to say it ! — divil a bit she did ayther, but just me jokin', ha ! ha ! Toal. (Aside, and coming forvm-rds as the of hers move of talking, h.) But I know she did say it ; and wlien she's mine she'll know 1 know it too ! And av that bargain's not kep— and me heart misgives me but Art. O'iirien (whom 1 hate lor his good looks, hate for his winnin' ways wid the gernls, hate like poison for his ould blood, and his fine talk, an' his gintalry !) — my heart misgives me but Art. will be wan too many for me. Av tliat bargain's not kep, I, yes I, the despised " Poonch widout the faytures," 'ill have my revenge ! A rootless, bare home 'ill revenge me— want, and sorra, and misery 'ill revenge me — drmk "ill - ha ! h > ! I know my game wid the ould blood — revenge me— blows 'ill revenge me ! Blood, and meyl>ee murder itselr, 'ill revenge Toal O'Dowl ! {Uxit r.) Cooney. {Coming forward.) Well, then, Jimmy, sure that's settled, an' we're all ould friends a^ain. Sure it's meselt thought ye was jokiu' all along ? Jimmy. Av coorse it was on'y me jokes. Sure there'll be no throuble at all at all, wid the shlip, who's as dacent and sinsible a geul as there's in Kilmona — the flower of Kilmona, as they call her. {Both exit, l. talking. ACT L SOENE II. — {Rough kitchen-garden at some considerable distanrA < behind Murray's farm ; practicable hedges for concealment, e. {Kauth poicts aiul looks r. again.) An' what's the matter wid me own, own Mag ? Kauth. Bachelor ! Dye think I care for him, indeed » {Rums a tune and spreads clothes.) Maggie, {raising her head.) Oh, Art., Art. ! sure we're undone entirely ! ( Whispers aside.) Toal. {Aside.) What's that ? Kauth. {To herself.) Meybee Frank's proud ? But there's as good as him, an' bether, goin' a beggin'. Sure there's Powderwig, up at the big house, smotherin' himself wid love of me, an' meybee I mightn't like him, and meybee I might, Masther Fiank, wid your airs. Art Oh, the unholy viilyan ! God pardon me, for spakmg it of yer father, Mag ; but jest to think he'd sell you— ay, sell ye, the ould skinflint, to that hunchy-backed little imp o' hell, Toal O'Dowl ! Toal. {Aside.) Beg rra it's aisy to see I'm listening, av bad words proves it !—" hunchy-backed little imp o hfU !" Well, that's wan more I owe " the ould blood !'' Maggie, The little leprechaun ! Not that Fd spake a bad word o' him Toal. {Aside.) Lepreclmun' s bad enough for me ! Maggie. No, Art., bad as he is, sure he might be worse Art. {Interrupting.) Not aisy, any way ! Maggie. Oh, he might be worse Art. ; but sure I'd sooner marry— I'd sooner marry avui that ould villian of a father av his than him- self ! Art. Bedad it's the choice ye'd be havm' be'uxt the two ! Maggie. But to think me own father'd sell me for money ! £100 he owes Oooney Art. Well, and arn't ye worth it, darlin' ? Maggie. Ah, Art. ! sure ye won't joke darlin' over it. It's meself that's the unhappy craytur this day ! Kauth. Is it going to stop all night yez two is ? This love's the quare ould humbug ! Art. A minnit, Kauth ! — Sure, Maggie, lift yer head, me owi darlin', never think of the ould— ahem ! — man, but jest lift yer prett] face, and never mind him. Ye're mine in the sioht of Heaven ! Min( for ever an' ever. I'll make ye a home, I'll build a nest for my birdie (Going c. while sJie weeps.) Toal. {Aside.) Ay! It'll be the bright home— the quare ould nest that'll be safe from me, leprechaun and divil though I am ! 12 ART. o'bRIEN t OR Kauth. Heigho ! but this coortin's mighty onpleasant when there's on'y three to play at it. Maggie, is it commg home ye are — I'm done ? Maggie. {Coming again to front vrith Art.) Sure I'm coming Kauth. Art., I swear it— true to you once, true for ever ! Ye have my troth^ ye have me heart Art. And yeur hand ? Maggie. Shall never be another's! {Tears herself away ^ m. e r. fnllovjed by Kauth. Art. gazes aftet her; lifts his hatid as taking an oath ; cheers up ; shoulders his bundle, and exit r., singing " The Ould Blood.") Toal. (Coming forvmrd frowning.) Shan't it, indade ! Now, av I was axed it, I'd say it jest would. " Ould blood's" like ould milk- it's apt to get cruddled, and to thicken the brain. I'v no ould blood, no, nor yet bould blood, for me bittherest inimy (and it's many of those I have, av all tales be true) never could spake me bad for gittin' into fights and sich like ; but I have an ould brain, and a bould brain, and av that don't bate Mr. Art. O'Brien yet, my names's not Toal O'Dowl ! (Exit l. ACT I. SCENE III. — (A street in Ballynawliack. Public house, practicable dA)or, M. E. R., with name of ^'Barney Scadhan^' on sign; Murty Nolan discovered coming out of it, and. wiping his mouth with sleeve). Murty. Illigant fine stuff as iver a poor ould divil put his two lips to ; an' meybe 1 wouldn't like anothe neyther ! " Wouldn't thrust a dirty ould bag of rags like ye !" says Barney Scadhan ; " not wid wan naggin ?" says I, "not thrust Mr Toal O'Dowl's own body-man wid a dirty little naggin ?" " No," says he, as cocky as possible, "no, nor Misther Toal O'Powl himself av he hadn't the brass"— there's where it is, now, brass — av wan hasn't brass, wan mav starve, for divil a dhrop ov whisky he'll get to ate or dbrink ! Heigho ! av I was quality now, an' had the brass, faix I might be diunk an' happy ivery hour of the day ! There's where it is— no brass no whisky, and have to do all Toal s dirty work— an' it's meself never knew liim to have any work that wasn t dirty — though he is supposed to be here on'y watchin' the markets— jest for the price of a naggin or two of whiskey a day — begorra av I do what I do now for the mather av a couple of naggins, I'd ha\e to do a murder for a quart ! Well, I'll have — for want of baccy — a dhry smoke, and jest be like a poli.sman — waitin' foi ordhers, and doin' nothin' but look handsome for the girls ! [Leans mgainst corner of house.) And, be jabers, here's jest the fine girls — the Murrays — wid tha*: Powdher'dpig from Mr. Norman's (Enter, s. E. R., Magqie and Kauth Murray, escorted by Jeames PoWDERWia, .carrying a big market basket, who pays great court to latter). THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. "^^ Kauth. Well, Mr Powdherwig, ye'U be tired carryin' me basket, and wid ye're long drive Powder. Tired, Miss Ka— Ko— Kau Kaufh Now, none o' yer impidence ! , fr^t. ms^ Murray^i could nevaw be ti ed m company with an ^^^K^h Ah ffo alon<^ wid yer balderdash ! Shure anything 'd tire a af^r Ei^Us^*^^ of their-(^oo^mg at Ms shorts and .Ik Powicr Ahem ! caulves {looking on them complacently). i-^S Calves- heads is silly things an' m.ybe their shms is no betther. But, Maggie dariin', we must ^e- !^Jf^^r^ ' , , Powder. {To MuKTT.) My good fallaw ! is this an oteU Murty. k what? Oh, I see. Yez can get a dhram theie , but, whisper, where's the girls goin' ? Powder. The l-adies are a-gomg shopping. Murty. Nowhere else? Powder No, my good fellaw. , . , -r,„ ,^^ Murty I knowletther, Give me the price of a naggm an' 1 11 te^ yeasaycret-gcrraifsw'orthit. (Powderwig, with bye-pay, gives him money, and they ivhisper) „ Mr Pn«;flprwio- an' Maggie. \Ne will do our little business now, Mr. Powderwig, an thin we'll meet you here . Kavth. We've some friends-cousms mebee-to see tirst. Murty. There, I tould ye ! It's afther the O'Briens they i8 {to Powderwig.) t ^i. j o Powder. {Jealous.) Ladies, may I attend you _ . Kauth. Not a fut-good bye— we're busy {going h.) Gomg to ^TK.' Well, that's a new name for Frank O'Brien-Dempsey ! Maggie. Let's hurry, Kauth, or we'll miss them ! MicrtT/. {To Powder.) 'G n^a ye'll be cut out ; take them that away, ye gommick, an' they'll miss the road. . ^ Powder. Ladies, ladies! you're going wrong-this is the street to Dempsey's shop (persuades them, with comic business, to (,o with him, ^' Murty. An' that's the English futman, is it ? . Sweet on Kau«i Murray too ! The unwholesome baste '.mimics ^f^^/idhis caulves and the male in his head Bedad, here's "Sobersides," as Toal an his divils name him-Frank Brien, going home to dmner ; see av i don't Wiii the price of a naggui out of him, sober as he is. ier sarvant, Misther Frank ! an' I hope all's we wid ye ? Frank. {Enters, i.., with head down.) Well? Oh, yes, well : thanks Murty, all's well, but have you seen me brother anywhere, he s not home at all last night. t^ , t ^^.i .^a hin^ n«' Murty. {Deeply.) Faix then, Misther Frank, I did see him-an ^""XlrSo.Ty! Why? Where ?-I guessed this fellow would know of him— what d'ye mean, Murty ? Murty. Ah, what doe it matter what a poor ragged divi like ine— Btarvin' f or a dr— for a crust about the streets of this god-forgotten place— manes ; sorra a di- — a bit 14 ART, o'eniEN : OB Frank. {Giving money.) Well, well, there ; where did you see him Sfurhj. Well ye know what happcDed him last night ? Frank. {Bluntly ) No, I don't Murty. Well, whisper, he got along wid some o' thim ran tin' roarin' young divils the town stinks wid, and faix they tuk to singing " The Ould Blood," let alone dhrinkia' whiskey-poonch galore, until the whole of 'em got m' i^thy quare Frank. Quare ! dhrunk ye mane ? Murty. Well dhrunk's hard spaking, Masther Frank — but most of 'em cudn't stan', and none of em but Toal O'Dowl— an' it was he was kind to Masther Art. and tuk him to his own lodgin' wid him — cud walk alone Frank. Disgusting ! Murty. Oh, no ways at all ! Sure Masther Art. was excited wid singin' " The Ould Blood," an' why wouldn't he ? wid it biling in his own veins ? Oh, but Toal was kind to him, an' Frank. Where is he now ? {impatiently.) Here's another shillin', ar y'U stop talking an' tell me ! Murty. Stop talkin' and tell ! That 'd be a quare road, Fm?ik. Well tell me your own way, at wanst. Murty. Well, Toal, who's as kind a little man as iver breathed, tuk bim home, bein' shamed like for you to see him thataway, an' tried to git him to pick a bone this mornin', and to pull himself togeder an' get down to Tim Flanagan's to work ; but sure the dhrink was dyin' Frank. The drink dfrn'— {solemnly) would to God it were dead ! Murty. Dyin' away-like in him, ye undherstan', an' so up he gets an' • ToaVs voice s. e. r. Marty ! Murty Nolan ! Come here at wanst, I want ye ! {Exit, Murty. s. e. k. ) Frank. {Failing to stop Murty., comes forward.) Drunk ! an' not able to come home, or to rise for work in tlie mornin' ! Oh, my God, is it that this greatest curse thy earth knows is com in' on my misfortunate brother ? Is it that he, so honest, so noble, so generous, so kind, so true, ay, and so good — wan-t at least— is he fallin' into that awful black pit of divils dug out by drink ? God is good an' surely He will never let that noble boy turn into a baste— a hideous, foul monster, soaked in sin, bekase soaked in drink ? {Considering.) No ! God would niver let his own fall away to it ! But, suppose Art. leaves, of his own self, his God, an' in his pride an' vanity of blood, an' wakeness for the soft-sawtherin' of blackguards that he knows and dispises, and yet can't help bein' flattered by— how would it be then ? There's awful words ! 'God will not be mocked !" An' if he is mocked, who shall stay his han' ? An' Art. — there's no manner of doubt of it— has been droppin' his good ways— no prayers av a mornin', no mass, no nothin', to keep him good and true — an' these scoundrels that fawn on him, an' crack him up about his " ould blood," and play on his vanity an* his foolishness. Oh ! Art., Art. ! there is a steep, steep hill to go down, an' me heart misgives me ye have begun to slip on it. {Greatly affected., and then turns to go l. , ivhcre he is met by Maggie, KaiUh, and Powderwig, and starts hack confused.) Maggie. Frjank O'Brien ! THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 1 Kauth. {Curtseying sarcastically.) All roiiii' the town to look for M O'Brien, and find him where we started from ! ( They shake hands). Frank. (Composed.) Looking for me ? Maggie. Yes, we came to shop, Frank, an' thought we'd just call ii neighbourly you know Kauth. Very neighbourly, Maggie. We didn't want to see Art. { all, did we ? Maggie. No, nor Frank, I suppose ! Powder. Miss Kau — , I mean Murray — only came to shop, I b< lieve Kauth. No, we didn't, eyther ; and who led us on a wild goo? chase ? Frank. (Taking Maggie aside, while Kauth pouts and flirts wit Powderwig.) Have you seen Art. ? Maggie. (Surprised.) No! Where is he? Is he not well? 01 Frank, don't say anything has happened him ! Don't leave me i suspense, Frank, an' Frank. Maggie — he is not worthy of you— as you hope for happinej in this world, give him (affected) up for ever ! Maggie. (Starting hark.) Never ! Frank, what's this ye're askh me ? Are ye mad ? Give up me own hearfs darlin' ! a\ Franl ye're playin' on me. {Frank shakes his head sadly.) But what is it Where's me own Art. ? Sure there's somethin' here that s wrong Oh, for Heaven's sake, Frank, tell me nothins happened ! Tell m( Frank, at wanst, an' don t dlirive me wild wid yer mystery and suj pense. Tell me ! Frank. (Sofroivfully. ) Maggie, me poor colleen, my brother Art. - Murty. (Interrupting as he comes out of Scadhan's unperceivcd.) 1 it Masther Art. yere wanting ? Sure here he 'S. ( IFith discordar laughing and joking from two or three voices inside, Scadhans door ■ flung open, and Art. shoved out, half -drunk, laughing, and excitec He is astounded when he sees Maggie, Frank, and others.) Tableau. ACT I. SCENE YY .—( Three months after last. Tim Flanagan's carpenter shop in Ballynawhack. Three or four young men with Ari O'Brien, all working except Toal O'Dowl, who is standing h Art., and watching his xoork. J Art. Arrah ga 'long wid ye, ye little omadhaun, what'd I kno"\ about yer cuat ! Toal. Thin it's yerself jest would know— sure there's never a bo; in the town but has a bether taste ; an' why not ? Isn't it the ral ould gintale blood that's coorsin' in yer veins ? Oh, bedad, ye ma; laugh, but it s truth I'jn spakin' Art. An' if I have the ould dhrop, what's that to do wid the patther] of a coat ? 16 ART. BRIEN : OR Pat. Faix I think if s ivery thing to do wid it Shaunecjt. Sure isn't it the gintry has the taste Tim. Ay, and wasnt the ould O'Briens .of Limerick always the hoight of quahty ; Jiegorra. it's Ai't. that is the gintleman, an' ha9 the taste. Divil a lie in it now ! Art. [Sighing. Well, faix there may be somethin' in the ould blood too, but it's meselt wishes some of the ould land stayed along wid the blood. Toed. iHaJf sneering.) Sure an" that'll come back after ye get the bit of a shop and business av ycr own— you and Frank. Larry. Of coorse it will. JBedad I wish there s the same prospect before me, let alone the certainty. But how can the likes of huz compate wid the O'Briens ? An' jest see how he s gett'n' on sense he wanton the taytotal— savin' ivery pinny, and not spinding an ould rap Tim. {Half aside.) Whisht ! Shure ye wouldn't praise him for the maneness and closeness, disgracin' the ould family ? Art. [Overhearing and half aside.) That's the divil of it ; shure jviry man o' them thinks it's skmflintin' I am be not takin' me dhrop. (Aloud.) Shure the taytotal's on'y me o^vn — sorra a pledged man am I ; "n'y me own will. Toal. Arrah, Art. , who'd accuse ye of demaning yerself wid pledgin' ? —it's cn'y dried-up blagards does that. All {laughing). Dried-up blagards ! Listen to little Toal now ! Isn't he the 'cute little villyan of the wurruld wid his jokes and sayin's ? A7t. {Laughing.) Dried-up b agards th t s not able for no more, and thin goes and pledges thdrselves ! Oh,bedad, Toal, I'm wid ye there- it's on'y the hardened ould dhrunkards that n.ust plidge themselves. Toal. Thrue for ye. Well, will you come up the evenin', an' pass yer opinion on the patthern ? It's yerself can give it well. Art. Oh, ef ye insist, I'll come f on'y lave me alone to finish this job. ( Works.) Toal. Faix I wont interfere. Good bye. Ye'll be up 'twuxt seven and eight ? {Exit, winking to others. ( Sce?i£ shifts to Toal's lodgings ; practicable window ; Toal and Murty discovered ; the former sjireading a small table with bread, cfcc, (candles on it,) and a large teapot; latter sitting on a law stool sucking at a pipe cynically ). Murty. An' what's the big ta}q)ot for ? Toal. {Bustling about. ) Tay f Murty. Ay, an' what's the tay for ? Toal. Drinkin'. Murty. Ay ; an' what's the whisky to do ? Toal. What whisky? Murty. Sea Ihan s whisky. Toal. Sure there's none. What ar' ye talk in' of ? an't me and Mr. O'Brien goin' to have our tay— jest like quality, eh ? {Sneers.) Murty. t h, that's it ? Bedad, Art. O'Brien hasn't dnrkened the doors this three months — an', neyther has tay ! Is it taytotal yer goin* to be, Toal ? Bedad it s time for me to look out a new sarvice ! I wouldn't demane meself wid tay ! Toal. Who'd be axing ye ? Tay's for yer bethers ; whisky 'ill do for THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 17 an ould batliered naggin*, like ye — but Art. an' me's gintale, ye know* — reg'lar sobersides, like Frank ! Murty, Yer a deep divil, Toal O'Dowl, an' me mind misgives me but yer up to some o* yer tlu'icks now Toal^ Well, an' who else ? Don't 1 pay ye to help me ? Jest give ov6r yer smokin — makin' the place stink like a dhram-shop — an' take a scrap of a note over to Barney Scadlian's— an' ye may stay there till he finds ye away. ( Writes.) Now, off wid ye ! Murty. An '11 Barney give me a dhrink ? Aivi'& voice, at a distance, singing the ^^ Ould Blood," and advancing, Bedad there's the " Ould Blood ' comin'. "What about that dhrink, Toal? Toal. {Hurriedly.) Bad luck to yer dhrinking. Murty Same to ye, Mr. Toal. {Knock at door .) Toal. {Takes note and scribbles.) There ! Dhrink till ye burst, and be ! It has no effect on yer saison'd ould hide, on'y come back when Barney bids ye, an' do jest what he tells ye— be off ! be off, now ! {Hurries him out, s. E. R.) An' now for this swaggerin' blade, wid his "ould blood." It's me^elf— me, Toal O'Dowl— will mix that same blood afore I'm done wid it, wid the flowing filth of the town gutter ! {Goes L. and adviits Art. O'Brien.) Ah, Art., me boy, sure I half thought ye'd be giving me the .co-by. But come in, come in, and heartily welcome, though it is a quarther sense ye were here afore. Art. A quariher, Toal ! Bedad, I believe it is — let me see— oh, shame on it, so it is — that time when poor ]\la:gie — saints guard her bed this night — saw me, and me diguised m dhrink Toal. Ay, Art., ye were bad that while ; but what odds ? Sure ifs a good man's case — wanst in a way on'y, I mane Art. Ay, wanst in a way, av it doesn't grow on a man Toal. Tut man ! grow— how'd it grow on a sinsible man ? Besides, Art., sure all the quality that is quality, and has the rale ould dhrop in them, has a sup too much noAv and again — it's gintale ! Art. {Laughing.) Gintale ! Bedad that's the quare talk — none o' that gintalry for me no more ; I'm off it. Toal. Besides, it don't be well for a strappin' young fellow, as ye are Art., to be gettm' mane wid yer money Art. Mane ! Toal. Faix the boys says it — I wouldn't be repatin' tales, but sure it's the talk o' the place -"there's Art. O'Brien," says they, " av the rale ould stock, shamin' his blood," says they, wid their gassip an' talk, " be pretencUn' taytotal, wliin it's on'y screwing up his money he is^" says they, "an' " Art. Una rage.) Screwin' me rLoney ! An' what right have they to spake thataway ? I'll be screwin' their necks yit ! Toal. Ay, what right indade ! a pack o' ould croneens, that doesn't ought to spake of the ould blood at all, at all ! But come— niver mind their nonsinse — {shows a coat and patterns) what dy'e say to that now for a cloth ? Nate. Art. Nate enough ; but too shiny for my taste. So it's mane they call me ? Toal. {Showing another.) Ay, it's a bit bright, but that one's nater — niver mind, man, what they call ye, a hard name's bether than bein' a dhruuken blagard— hold it to the light av the candle now. 18 ART. o'bBIEN : OB Art. Ay, that's bether a dale, but the pathern's too broad for ye, Toal — I'm not afraid o' turnin' a dhrunken blagard, sure there's a madium betwuxt that an' a pledged man — show us that other ? Toal. Which ? That one ? Av coorse a man could, ay, an' ought, to take his moderate glass, without takin' to dhrink, as it's called — how'd that wan suit me ? — to be sociable and friendly like ; an' av a man doesn't take it, he's ayther a poor, weak-headed fule, or he's mane and close wid his money — bedad I like that one. Art. An' ye wouldn't have a man shtop it entirely ? — there's none o' these much count but this wan (picking it out from rest). Toal. Oh, but it's you have the taste. Art. ! Illigant that'll make up, now — shtop a glass now and thin ? Not I ; no, nor no wan of sperrit ayther. It's on'y fules and misers is afraid of a hearty glass. Whisper, Art , that pathern yon ye've chose for me, is the very wan Mr. Norman of the castle was choosin' for himself in the shop. See how the gintale blood runs in parallels now ! A fellow like me now, nor Larry, nor any of huz commin' papie'd avin luk at it; but the gintry picks it out a* wanst ! Art. Oh, it's the on'y dacent one o' the lot, the others is no account at all. But, Toal, touchin' the dhrink, don't you, nor any one else, raisconcave me, I'm no plidged man, nor a close man, nor yet a mane man, but Toal. Sure /know yer not, Frank, but what mathers what /know, when it's the talk o' the town that ye're afraid av yer head, that ye're close and mane, an' a disgrace to the ould O'Brien . Ah, what divils' ruction's this ? (Knocking at door l. and snatches of singing. Toal opens window and calls out to go away.) Art. {Comes forward.) Mane, and a disgrace to the ould O'Briens, they call me, is it ? It's httle they know of me {muses). Faix, though, I don't know but what they're right now, afther all's said an' done ; it is onsocii^'jle not to collogue wid one's mates, though they may be on'y common blood ; an', bedad, there's no doubt it's chape to be on the taytotal— divil a rap I iver spend now, save in nicissaries— mawe t faix it may seem so, who knows ?— What is it Toal ? Toal. Like their impidence ! Here's these rantin' divils from Flanagan's want to come in and dlnink a trate Pat Molloy lift ttiem {qoing to window). Go dhrink in yer own lodgin', and don't interfere wid Air. O'Brien and meself ? Vaices {outside). Arrah open the door, Toal, or we'll burst it in Sure we're locked out av oar own place wid illness ! A dhrop of whisky'U warm up yer little yallow carcase, Toal, ye divil, ye ? Ay, an' all for nothin'— won't that plaze ye for a pau' of skinflints ? Art. Skmflints ; who's that spakin' ? Toal. Arrah niver mind their nonsinse, Art. , they're half dhrunk, I think. Go long wid ye ! Divil a fut ye come in here tliis night. Mr. O'Brien and me's having tay, or goin' to have tay ! Voices Tay, inagh ! Sure it's the pledged man Toal's goin' to be, like Art. O'Brien {laughter) ! Art. Arrah, Toal, let them in ; you'll have a sup wid them, but I won't. Toal. Not a fut I Yer my guest, an' I wouldn't put timptation in yer way THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 19 Art. Timptation t (A crash beloio as of a door, and enter l. the /our tporkmen with bottles, half drunk.) Toal. Pretty goin's on — breakin' me door ! Larry. Ay, an' yer head for two two's ! Art. {Laughing.) Bedad it's the dhrop taken ye have, the whole o* ye, Umbs as ye are ! Larry. Dhrop taken ! Why not ? Sure we're min, not ould croneena Buppin' tay ! Shauneen. Holy Moses ! Look at Toal's taypot ! Tim. Ah, to hell wid the ould humbug ! (Knocks the teapot off with his stick. All laugh). Art. Faix, Toal, they'll ruin ye in crockery. Pat. An' aren't we able to pay for it ? We're not mane save-all's, like some. Art. {Firing up.) What d'ye mane ? Pat. What 1 say Toal. Ah, whisht, boys, whisht, sure ye can dhrink yer whiskey in peace and quietness, an' lave Art., who doesn't touch it, alone. /11 have a dhrop wid ye, will that satisfy ye ? Shauneen. Isn't the httle fellow a man, now ? ' Larry. Ay, that he is ; he's no ould croneen nor skinflint {looking drunkenly at Art). Toal. We will. Dhraw boxes and chairs round and fill up. Sure Art. won't mind {sneers), an' there's plenty av milk. {Seat themselves and fill, while Art. looks foolish and undecided.) Now, I'll give ye a toast All. Fill up ! A toast from Toal! Toal. Ay, and more than fill ! Here's : " God Save Ould Ireland !" {Cheers and drink.) Pat. {Half aside.) Holy Moses, to dhrink it in milk ! Shauneen. {Half aside.) Arrah lave the poor craytur alone ; it's no head he's got. Larry. Tune up a song, Toal. Toal. Is it me ] Is it frog-croakin' ye want ? Art. 'ill sing ua " The Ould Blood !" Tim. {Half aside.) Faix he maystwgrit, but there's little signs be shows av it — settin' like an ould quaker screwin' money ! Art. {Aside. ) It's the nice opinion they have av me, an' it's hither to Stan', all for nothing too. What harrum in jest on.- glass ? But no, I gev me promise to Frank and to me own darlin' Maggie. Shauneen. Tim, sing yerself. It's you can. All. Ay, a song, Tim ! a song ! (Tim Siyigs ) Toal. More power to yer elbow, Tim ! An' now a toast ye'll all drink— for ye rine ? Tell me Maggie f Oh bedad the ' ' ould blood's " lookin* up ! and then ye fling a bit ef thiun out parlour at me head ! Maggie. Flung the parlour at yere head, Art? {Laughs.) Isn't yere father the quare man, Patsey ! Patsey. My dada's a gintleman, mammy ! Maggie. Oh good morrow to ye, sir ! sure we're all gintry now ! but whisper. Art., where'd all have been av Maggie Murray hadn't married ye ? Art. Maggie, my wife, by true lovin' wife, 'twas you done it all ! 'tv as you tuk me and saved me when I was on the brink of rune, and Maggie honey. Art. O'Brien's not the man to forget it and av ye br< ught me no money, Maggie, av ye brought me nothin' in life — Maggie. {Shuddering.) But a curse. Art. ! Art. Whisht, whisht ! Maggie alanna, an' hefore the gossoon ; ah be a brave woman an' forget that nonsinse ; but look around at what grt \v up out of cur rinaway weddin ! soberness, dacency, honest work an' honest pay, three darlin childre, prospeiity an' a wealthy home, and pace of body an' sowl ! thims weddin' gifts the finest lady av the ould O'Briens 'd nivir aqualled ! {baby cries without) but rin' Maggie I there's little Meg callin' for the sup {exit Maggie, s.e.r., followed by Patsey.) An' I have a cake for Franky again he wakts up, tell him ! {goes on zuith his work.) Ay, thrue, it is for me, she had nothin' on her back but the owl frock she wore, but she had in her sowl the roakins' of happiness, ah, an of wealth, too. Heaven bless her ! — There, that'll plase ould Mr. Korman, I doubt, an I'll dhrive over in the cool av the evenin', an' show him thim plans {hums a stave of " The Ould Blood.'') Bedad I'd like to n' where the ould blood 'd be be this time av it hadn't been for darlin' Maggie ? {takes up some letters and. sorts tJiem), an' wasn't cute of her to save me name be not lettin' me take the plidge, but jest promise to meself an' her to takenottin' out o' me males, or except, at other times, wid herself setiin' beside me, an' that for seven years — bedad there's a mystery in seven they do be sayin' — till I got fixed in the way of it — what's this ? a note from Teal O'Dowl like? — an' now it is aisy for me to come and go amongst thim, and nivir overrt-ach mt-self at all ! Oh, she's the clivir Masfgie ! Well, Hr. Toal, ye little uivil, what's it ye want {opens letter). ' Would I come over an' ' — bad scran to ye're crooked pothooks, Toal — *an', an* execute' — there's a fine word — 'and execute the misurement for the I THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 27 new storehouse, at me convaniance ' — see there now, how they wait on Art O'Brien's convaniance — * any day this wake ?' — to be sure I'll go. Toal, ye're not half so black as ye're painted, but know the ould blood when ye see it, an' av ye do have a wakeness for ye're dhrop o' dhrink, sure now me probation's over 1 can jine ye in a glass an' be nivir the worse — an' that last's darlin' Maggie's doin' — (enter Patsey, running s. E. e.) "What is it, Patsey, asthore ? Patsey. Mammy says there's Uncle Frank and Antie dhrivin' up the street, dadda, an' yere to go and call them. Jrt. Frank and Kauth ! {Knocking, and then enter l. Frank and Kauth.) Well it's good for sore eyts to see ye ! Welcome, and heartily welcome ! An' how's all at Kilmona ? Kauth. Nicely Art. thank ye ; and how's Maggie ? Frank. Ay, how is she, and the baby ? Art. Illigant, illigant ! Step inside Kauth and see her ; she'3 nursin', and saw ye comin' Kauth. Come with Antie, Patsey. {Exeunt, s. e. r.) Frank. Ah thin, Art. man, but it's yourself that's lookin' finely. Art. Faix there's two of us then ! Marriage agrees wid ye Frank ! Frank. Ga 'long wid ye — sure Kauth 'd agree with any man, but — Art. {Laughinj.) But Powdherwig ! Arrah what a dressin' Kauth *d have given him av they'd been married — what's become av him ? Frank. He's at the big house still, an* {laughing) just as much in love wid my Kauth as ivir — Art. But come, Frank, what '11 ye take ? Franh. Nothin' Art. till me dinner — Art. Not a drop o sperrics after yere dhrive — the air's fresh ? Frank. {Gravely ) No ! Sure you take none out a males ? Art. Oh, mo probation's past, but I'm a changed man, an* av I take a dhrop it's on'y a dhrop, an' on'y whin occasion calls. No fear o' me now ! ¥r.ink. Sure occasion did'nt call for it for nine years, an" why now ? Art. ^ jrah, Frank, it is the same ould croak you are in as ivir ? What talk's this at all to a sinsible man ? But sure ye can't help it, Frank — it's in yere blood av ye — but lave it man, an' come on in and Bee the childre. {Exeunt arm in a>m s. e. r.) ACT. II. SCENE II. {Same as Scene I., Act I. Enter Frank and Kauth l arm in arm, and talking. ) Franh. Bedad, Kauth, ye're right — sure ye always are, me own wifa as ye are — Kauth. Arrah ga long wid you ; whose else's wife 'd I be ; Powdherwig's (laughing), the crature ? Frank (Laughing). Poor Powdherwig! Faix it's hitnseif that's in Inve wid ye rtill ; but, as I was saying, Kauth, yr're right about the cr^ps, faix there'll be the finest sayson ivir known sseuse the bad year when ART BBIEN : OK Kduth. Ay sense when me poor father — God rest his sowl ! — made all the money. Frank. An mebee Toal's father, ould Cooney that's gone to his place- Kauth. An' it's sorry I'd be to say ichere that same place is, eh Frank ? Frank. "Whisht, whisht, Kauth asthore ; sure avin in joke I wudn't say that av the ould dead villyan. Kauth. It's the warm joke's in it for him, I'm thinking; but I'll lave him to what rest he may get. Ye're right, he did make a power o money that year, an' little Toal has it all now, an' he's not the wan to let it milt away! Frank. The divil a feai o that. "Who'd a thought ten years ago we'd all be so well off here — you and me in Kilmona farum ; Toal in his father's ayont, rowling in money ; and Art and Maggie makin' a fortun' in Bally nawhack — but what d'ye sigh for, Kauth, that away ? Kauth (Slowly). I dun no, the fortun' is there no doubt — but somehow it don't seem — it dont look Frank. It's safe enough ; barrin' the wan thing Kauth. Ay — "What's that ? D'ye mane Maggie takin' on so about fathers curse, an' he to die so soon after 'ithout takin' it back again ? Frank. Part that — she's heart-scalded, poor ciature, wid the bi-terness an' weight av it Kauth. Ah ! sure there's nottin' in it ? Didn't Father Roddy say it di In't signify a thraneen, an' that curses on'y harmed thim that spoke tLim? Frank. Thrue for him — he did. Kauth, I'm thinkin' that's not the curse— eh Frank ? Frank. Will throublethim ? Bedad I think we both think the same. Kauth. Ye're sharper than I thought ye, Frank, an' that's sayin' a dale ; but what did ye think now ? Frank. Faix I think the cursed be on from Art's side, not Maggie's. {Suddenly) I dun't at all like this suppin' av his, sense the probation's over ! Kauth. (Oravely). Nayther do I ; no nor Maggie, the crayture, ayiher — ye don't know half Frank ! Frank. (Sighing). I can make a good guess — it's growin' an him again — is the cursed taste for the dhrop. Kauth. It's that indeed, I fear. Whisper, sure Maggie toult me — an' I promised 1 'udn't tell a living bein' — but sure, Frank asthore, ye're all wan as meself ! — Frank. All wan ! an' sometimes, bedad, I'm the wakest wan, and get's knocked agin the wall — Kauth. Ah git out wid ye're nonsinse ! "Why would'nt, as they say, the grey mare be the betther horse ? But Maggie toult me — {enter POWDERWIG S. E. L ) Frank. Tould ye? — Bad cess to it! here's that omadhaun that's always atther ye. (Roughly). Good day t'ye Mr. Powdherwig. Powder. (Bowing to Frank, and offcing his hand to Kauth). May I hope, Miss Kau— ahem! Mrs. O'Brien, your 'ealth is haU that could be desired ? Frank. Just listen to the jackadandy I THE TLOWER OF KILMONA. 29 Kauth, Sure I can't understancl ye! why don't ye spake English ? Powder. Speak Hecglish ! haint I a speaking as we — ahtm ! in the huj>per succles — address ladies in town ! Kauth, Ah thin ye may go back to town for me ! I don't want ye, an' I don't understan' ye — Powder. Not hunderstand me ? Frank. {Dryiy). Naytherdo I, What are ye follerin her for ? Powder. {Confused). Following? You mis— mis--nii^ap[.ieheTid me, Mr. O'Brien— Frank. Ah Miss the divil ! sure ye can't be foolin' me, What d'ye want ? Kauh. (Laughing). Aisy, aisy Frank; faix ye fright the poor Cray lure ! ha ! ha ! Howdcr. Fright! poor creetchaw ! 1 — I — good morning, Mr. and Mrs, O'Biion, I ham on ha visit to M-r. O'Dowl's. Kauth. Oh ye' re goin to Toal's ? So am I I want me butter-money afl liim. We'll gn together, {with a roguish look to Fravk). Powder. Delighted I'm shaw ! (offers aim. Frank cuts in between them.) Frank. I'm not Shaw, whoivir he may be, but i'm goin' Toal's road meself, Mr. Powderwig I Kauth. Between ye, I have no chance of gettin'. Frank. An' mind ye, Mr. Powdherwig, sure, withthom iUigant calves ye might jt-st git a wiie of yer own, an' lave other i aj)le s alone ! ye're fulish enough an' ugly enough to catch the rich widdy Branigan ; it's the pair ye'd be, y^'re all calves, and she's all pigs ! Put that in yer i^)ipe and smoke it. (Lxeunt R.) ACT II. i^CENElU.— (the kitchen in ToAL O'Dowl's farm house ; Toal and Art. O'Brien sitting at a table icith plans ^d Pow'DEBwig.) Frank. Art! what's the matter? Art. Mather — nosin's mather! Sing us up the tune agin Frank I an' Kaulh, me own shisther, '11 join ? Ay an' that ould grinhiu' bosthoon av a Fow — av a Wigpow — Powwig — uhat the divil's yeie name at all, at all! (Pursues Poivderivig who runs awuy behind table. ) Frank. Art, Art, I'm ashamed of ye ! Ka.uth. (To ToAh fiercely) What scoundhrel's thrick's this yere playiu' ? Toal. (Quite sober.) Kauth OBrien, an' Frank! Believe me it's not my doiu' ! He kem dhriviu over here wid his ])laDS fiom THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 31 Bally nawhack, an' he stopped at the village along wid Larry aud some of his ould collogues at Tim Flanigan's — faix he had the drop taken, ay an a good wan too, when he kern in — ax Murty ! ( Winks at Murty. ) Murty. Divil a word a lie in it! He was mostparts gone when he kem in. Whusper, misther Frank ! Toal gev him sober-water ! think of that now, sober-water — see the bottles lying there ! hut sure he wudn't touch nothin' but the whiskey ! Divil a bit else, Kauth. Poor ilaggie ! This is the curse indeed ! Frank, we'll take him home wid huz ? Frank. Ay, av we can get him. Toal. {aside) The fools ! They may take him home and welcome, for to-night ! But he's mine now ; I have the key av his sowl for iver,' an' min call it be a strange name — whiskey ! {Art. has been dodging Powderwig ; now catches him by the collar and struggle ; Frank i-c. form Tabhau and scene closes.) ACT II. SCENE lY.— (Same as Scene III. Act I. Street in Ballynawhack ; TiM and Shauneen leaning against Scadhan's smoking pipes.) Tim. Ay, I hear tell he's took on dreadful agin ; f lix, I alius said pride'd have a fall. He's drinking hard this six months ! Shauneen. Ay an' for him to be settin' up as better than huz and the likes o' we, wid his airs an' graces — gorra I and Toal stt our hearts on givin' a thwist downwards. We've put the taste av the whiskey an him agin. Tim. You and Toal, inagh ! t'was Toal aTid you I think — sure ye're on'y doing the little divil's dirty work ! Shauneen. An' what are ye, I'd like to know ? bad scran to this ould nipe — it's alius going out ! Tim. It's ye that has no taste for it — the whiskey kills the 'backy. Shauneen. Faix yere right. We light up the smoke from custom- like, but it's on'y the rale sobersides does be rightly enjying their blast of the pipe. — Be gorra! here comes Art., an' oh holy Moses, Tim, do'sn't he look downish ? Tim. Musha he does thin ! But ye'll see he^ll brag as big as av he was the sarre well-afF mau instead o' bein' near a pauper as he is now. Shauneen. Whisht ! see now av I don't raise the price of a drink aif him. {Enter Art. Seedi'y dressed and looking rather dvssipated s. e. l. ) Ah, Art. me boy, is that yerself thin ? Faix I didn't expect to see ye to-day ? Art. Morrow, Tim ; morrow Shauneen — and why didn't ye expect to see me ? — Oh wirra, wirra but it's I have the murderin' head an me — why Tim ? Tim. Oh bedad that headache jest tells it — the pig-dal'ng an' pig- faced Widdy Branigan says to me, this morning, says she " Faix Art, O'Brien was bad," says she, " last night ; and the divil a fut he'll lave 32 ART. O'BRIEN : OR his bed this morning" says she ; hut says I, "what are ye talkin* about? sure he's no wake headed bosthoon like that English ' caulve'-chap, that's smellin' after ye, AYiddy ! He's the ould ,blood that cries *niver say die!' " AH. Oh ! <^hat's the talk is it ? Tim. Yes; "smellin' after me." says she, " faix I'd sooner have Powdherwig, lule as he is, doin' that ;-ame, than have a poor puny fellow like ye're Art. O'Brien that can't si and a dhrop at all at all !" says she; "Can't stand it?' sajs I, "it's little ye know av the strength ai' the power av the gran' ouid blood" says I — Shauneen {Half-aside.) Arrah hould yere balderdash! sure he cudd'nt stand a naggin or two now — isn't he looking in at Scadhan's dyin' for a dhrop, and he afeard av it ! He's no O'Brien at all J Art. {over hearing ) What call has the widdy to talk o' what she duuno about ? JM stand me whack of whiskey wid any man — ay, an' I d give yese a drink now, min, on'y me head's bad on account av a knack I gev it. Shauneen {Ha^f- aside.) A knack wid a glass ! TiTn. Faix there's nothin' like a hair av the dog that bit ye. But I misdoubt, ^.rt., av ye cudd stand it ? Art. {Aside.) Arrah, ^\ hat talks this ? An O'Brien to the back-bone, wid all the ould blood av cinturies in me veins, an' me to stop listening t© the nonsinse av a pair av gommicks that id be rogues av they wasn't fules. — I'll show them where the rale blood is! {Aloud) stand it? Jost step into Scadhan's there, an' we'll see who'll stand most. Ill pay for all ye dUriuk, so ye needn't stint in trvin' me strength. Come on. {Exeunt into Scadhan's.) ACT II. SCENE v.- (Art's home : same as Scene I. Act II. Frake: and Art. Bitting at table talking over some papers ; and the room emptied and more tumhled than informer scene). Art. Well me hand and me heart t'ye, Frank, bu*-. it's you has done me the service wid that bit of a loan ! Faix I'd go all wrong 'ithout it, things does be goin' so square wid me av late. That hundhred pound '11 save me. Frank. God send it may, Art ; sure it's all I could spare ye. But, Art., whisper, yell be a man, and — kum what may — don't break the wife's heart — yc've had a warnin ! Art. Musha don't croak, Frank, there's a good fellow — I've been misfortunate' av late, but won't I pull it up wanst I set to work ? now for the receipt {goes to desk) Frank {Aside) misfortunate ; ay, blame the luck, me poor Art., blame anything but the thrue cause — the cursed dhrink that's been tanging an ye so lo;ig I /irt (turning over almanac leaves) Arrah what's the date at all ? — ■ Wliurro ! Frank. THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. tS Frank What are ye shoutin' for ? Art Well that l>ates Banagher ! Here's Patsey's burdny, aiid divil a futt av me nor Maggie ivir to rimimbirit ! Here, Biidy ! Biddy ! I say — Frank, (d yly) What are ye callin' for ? Art. Arrali have ye the heart av a stone ? Wouldn't I be caHin' for the sonny that doats an' me, an' me not kape it — Bildy ! the burday av him ? — musha what wis Maggie thinking av to forgel it ? Frank. Not a bit av her forgot it, the craythure ; no woman ivir forgot the burday av her first-born yet. Mebee she thought ye'd kape it too much, Art. Art. Biddy ! It is deaf ye are ? Frank, av ye warn't me brother Vd call ye a baste for that sayia'. Biddy ! {Enter Biddy, s. e. r.) Biddy. Sure I'm not dif ! what d'ye want ? Art. Where's the mistress ? Biddy. Gone out, this hour past. Art. An' where's me sonny ? where's Patsey ? Biddy. Safe an' soun' in bid ! jest where he ought to be, the darlin'. Art. Go an' fetch him up at wanst. Biddy. W^hat far ? Frank. Sure the child's aslape, an' ye wud n't wake him? Art. Ah ga'long wid yese ! V/uddn't kiss the darlin' av me heart! the light av me eyes 1 an his burday ? Will ye ga lang an' fetch him/ wuman. Biddy. " Need's must whin the divil drives"! shall I dress the craythurj ? Art. \ Yes, av coorse, an' be quick ! Frank, j No, av coorse, why would ye ? {Exit Biddy s. E. R ) Art. Well, FranI', we must have a tumbler jest to dhrink the darlin's htalth — now don't be makin' long faces, itsyerdelf likes it, ould sober- sides though they call ye. (bustles about room). There's the kittle. Water ? aye, full. An' suggar, and limon— an' for Maggie to go out on such a night av joy ? — an' tumblars — faix she must jest take wan her- self when she's back, an' Frank. (Aside) It's well Maggie knew it, but she dursn't tell him. Bedad its not me hundred poun's 'ill save the business avhe gits an the dhriuk bad agin — faix he s made a fiueholein the turniture av this sem room sence I was la^t in it -all the best things gone — gone, how I an O'Brien shame to say it ! — gane to the pawn shop — an' for dhrink ! Wirra, wirra, but me heart's scalded wid him ! Art. Ay, the wather biles finely now, an' Frank, wan tumbler — ■v^hy not ? — to dhrink Patsey's health ! Arrah Biddy ! be g^uick I Frank. Wan tumbler, Art, an no more ? Art. Oh divil a more ! (Eriter Biddy and gives Patsey half-awake to Art and exit.) Art. Me darlin' darlin' sonny ! the hope av me life I Sure Patsey, darlin' kiss me an' hug me to ye — far it's yer own burday night ? (embrace) Patsey. Me burday ' an' won't me mammy give me a purty prg»' sent? 34 ART. BRIEN : OR Art Sure slie will, Patsey ; an' so'll 1, to-morrow, honey. What was it I gev ye last year me own, own, heart's pet ? Patsey. Sure ye gev me the arrum chair, ye made for me, daddy ! j4rt. See that now ! how he limimbers ! Well, an' I'll make ye a table to-morrow — av I'm well enuff, I mane — but anyway I'll buy ye a fine toy, and a cake, an' — Frank. Ob, bedad ye must'nt stuff him or he'll be sick. Now a kiss for your uncle. Alt Ay take him, Frank, an' may ye soon have wan like him ! (gives child.) an' now for our tumbler — but sure the child hasn't his coat ! Biddy, take Patsey and put the coat on him. It's cowld it is, {Enter Biddy and exit with Patsey.) Art. Sit ye down, Frank, till I brew the jorum {hretps) that'll be about it ? Eh ? A bit more sugar ? {Tastes ivhisTcey ) Bed id that's the rale stingo ! I'll just take a glass av it nate — sure me stomach's out av ordher — ah, that warms the cockles av one's heart ! have a dhrop nate, Frank ? Frank. No thank ye ! I nivir did yet, an' I nivir intend doing it. Art. Didn't ye ? that's quare. {Ahsevtly drinking another glass.) Felix I aften take it — Frank. Now? A t. Ay now — av coorse I didn't when I was on me probation, Frank. Ii'rf the pity, Art., ye didn't stap an it. Art. Whisht yer croakin' — there's yer tumbler— get outside av that an' it'll make ye think better av me ! {Both drink together. Enter Biddy with Patsey, who runs over and sits on Arts knee) Art. An' kum, Frank, I'll give ye the toast — here's to Patsey ! the hope of the ould O'Briens ! an' long life to him ! Frank. Amin ! an' happiness wid it, an' afther it ! {TTiey drink and Art sec'-etly yives Patsey a sup.) A t. An' ye love yer'e father, Patsey ? Patsey. Yis, I love me ould daddy, an' me mammy, an' me daddy lov* s me — don't you daddy ? A't. Av coorse I do! Ah! An' how could I help it? He's the fondest little chap ye'd ivir know, Frank — but ye'r glass is empty ! fill again man ! F ank. No, I won't ; wan'sme measure. An' yerself said on'y wan. No, no, no, don't fill again for me ! I'll not dhrinkit ; no, ye needn't — I'm determined — I'll not have it. At. Isn't y'er uncle the quare man, Patsey ? Av ye won't, ye won't, an' there's no use talkin', but faix I'll have it meself {drinks it off) an' now I must have me own, or I'd be chatin' meself — that's the talk, Patsey me man ! {mixes and d'-iv.ks) Arrah, Frank, don't be lukin' so sour— faix ye'd turn milk sour wid the luk av ye ! Frank. Better that then be a heart-scald to wife and childre. Art Ah then, Mr. Frank, whose the heart-scald? {Drinks ) Am I Patsey ? divil a fut av it." Shure I wouldn't have the hoult av the boy's love, Frank, av I was what ye say ? Sure he's the on'y wan — ay, avin better than me darlin' Maggie — that can soother me, coax me, an' git me to bid when I'm not well — Frank. {Asidh) Not well! a man '11 never let on he's drunk— on'y *not well r THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. dO Art. What is it ye be sayin', Pataey, whan ye want me to go to bed ? Tell uncle. (Dnntst think av the ligs of him. {Aloud) Faix it's quare angels there must be in your heaven ? Powicrioig. My 'eaveu ? {Enter Murty unseen and leans over half- door M. E. R.) Widow B. Ay ; sure there must be an English heaven <»s will as an Irish wan {As de.) I won't say but what it 'd be a mighty warm w^n. {Aloud ) Shure the Irish and the English nivir agree in this wurrul 1 (God bless it I) an' why wud they in the nixt ? Powde wig. Hiwlhaw! an Hiiish eaven hand a Henglish one! but tec hagree, adomble Branigan ? Widow B. {.isde) Doesn't he talk swate now. {Aloud.) How Civl we ? — I doii t cnre f.-.r Englishmia, now ; they're mostly stuck-up p 'or fiiles that iidu't kiiow a guse fram a gandher-— no ! ye needn't be takin' me hand ! no, I tell ye ! I doa't like the breed av ye. {Aside.) Alebee, thoujih, Id putt up wid it all the same av I woraxed. {Aloud.) Ah ! l.tve gf> av me hand; sure, don't I tell ye I nivir cudd bear ye ? Poiodenuig. Not b aw yaw hown sweet P. ? Ho ! my hown, my best, my loveliest ! {\sde) Hi know she's the richest widd;^w hin the town, hand perhaps she'll ave me ; {Alond.) Nay, nevaw look ha.vay hand blush me ch!y Moses listen to the liar ! Wi 010 B. {"sd). Like enough she did, the huapey ; she'd p-ide tv ta' e him fmrn me ! (Aloud). No Mr. Powdherwig, I hard ye ! I'o'vder. 'Esrd me? what? hangel hof me 'art, hand hof me 'ead — Art. (Asid). Ml powdher his 'ead for him ! Foiuder. 'Ere hon me bended knees, ere, though the huneven THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 41 pavement 'arts me infawnally, I beg at my lovely widdaw's feet for 'er hand, 'er art, — Art. {Catling aw9y the ropes supporting the Jlour and bacon ovf.r Powderwig's head; they both fall on, ani nearly smother Fowderwig) Her pigs an' her male ! ( Exit Art. \ Powder. Scoundrel ! ho ! Hi'm smothawed, phew, Theha ! phew ! Widow B. (Bushing after Art). Ye hateful baste ! to half murther me man, and spile me male, I'll have me revinge an ye for that wrong. (Enter Frank, Murty, Maggie, Kauth and neighbours who all laugh at PowDERWiG and Mrs, Branigan. Tableau and end of scene. ACT in. SCENE. II. — (The bar o/'Scadhan's public-house, fitted up as visual Art, Toal, Murty and Larry Arrah, give it to the babby ; that's all its fit for. Shauneen.. ) Ga long wid the mess, Art! Sure ye ought to be ashamed av yer blood— you an ould O'Brien an' to drink that hogwash ! Git out, ye're no man at all ! Art. No man, amn't I ? (Defiantly/ drinks a tumbler full of the cordial. ) What d'ye think av that now 1 I'm not to be made dhrink whiskey be you, an' I'll dhrink hogwash, or any other wash just av I like — no man, inagh ! Toal. Bedad I'm half inclined to agree wid Shauneen — Larry. An' it's well ye may. He spakes true. Faddy. Nat exactly. Now I'll argufy the pint. Here's we an' the likes av huz, commin' clay wid no ajjerrit — Toal. Faix I'll put sperrit in me thin ! Boys fill up— it's my harvest thrate an' ye may dhrink till ye bust. A it. Hurrah ! for Toal. Ay, but he's the bould little chap, and dot sn't spare his money, or fear his whiskey. Art. (Drinks, and who is g tiling excited.) Toal ! I'll dhrink t'ye though it be on'y cordial ; y'ere a man iviry inch a ye — small as ye are — Shaunfen. Musha ye need'nt throw the smallness av his body at him ! bedad it's the large heart he has. Tim Ay an' that's betther than the ould blood, which is apt to rin cowld an' make a fule and a coward av a man — ^o 'tis Toal. Now, Barney ! Fill up all roun' ! an' dont forget Mr. O'Brien's medecine. All. Medecine ha ! ha ! ha ! listen to him. Art. Laugh away an' welcome. Ill have me cordial. Here's t'ye Toal. Toal. No ! Don't drink to me Art. Brien ! no man shall say, wid my consent at laste, "heres t'ye Toal !" in cordial Dhrink to some other wake-headed fule — I'm a man. {Turns away, and all laugh.) Art. (Embarrassed ) I'll dhiink it wheder ye like, or not. {Drinks and fills again.) Ha ! bedad it may be on'y cordialin name, but it's the rale rousin' it gevs the heart. I wondher what it's made av now? (takes up bottle.) Ay, dhrugs sure enough, here's J he 'potecaiy's name " Cheatem an' Hookit " right enuf— what the dhivU can it be ? {Brinks again.) Shaxireen Arrah pitch the stuff to hill. {Strikes the nearly empty bottle out of Art's hand.) THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 43 Art. (Firing up.) What's that ! Mind yerself av ye're able I Here's at ye. Toal and others (intervening.) Shtop ! Shtop"! for heaven's sake no fightin' min. Ye'll rune Barney wid the polls. iihauveen. Arrah let go o' me. Why shouldn't I fite him 1 Art. The likes of ye to offer agin me ! Agin an ould O'Brien o' Limerick. loal. Ah far the love av heaven lave off? Tim. Ould O'Brien indeed, ould babby. Toal. Ah whisht ! whisht will you ? Art. be guided — n6 fightin', whisper ; sure ye wuddn't sile yere ban's wid such a commin' blagard ! — Shauneen, be paceful ! — Barney fill up glasses all round, an' we'll drink peace to the two, fine min as they are. Come now ? Art. Oh ! I don'L want to be in bad blood wid him. Shauneen. Nor I wid Art. av he'll on'y driuk wid me, an' a grip av the ban', and a luk in the face, at the same time — faix I'll do the same and thin all's over. Art. I'm yere man ! There's no bad blood here. Bainey. (Advances with glasses; Art & Shauneen grasp right hands anda/l stand round.) Now, min, drink good luck and good fellow- ship ! Sure an O'Brien's alius ready to forgive and forget ! Drink at wanst ! and thin all's well between ye ! dhiink ! (The two take the glasses in left hands and empty them. Art. (flinging his glass to earth.) Whiskey ! What divil's work's this? Barney (affecting amazement.) What's that ye say— whiskey ? Ye don't mane to say I gtv ye whskey in mistake ? Never ! Art. (spitting.) Whiskey, an' no mistake at all. Barney, av I thought now ye done that a purpose — Toal and others. A purpose ! what nonsinse ! Sure in the hate av the ruction, how'd Barney know what he gev ? Arrah drop yere blusterin', Art. O'Brien, and be a man. What hanum's done ? Art. I don't want to quarrel. Murty (aside.) What harrum indade ? Art. What's done 's done, boys, an' Barney didn't know mebee ; sure I'll believe him. Murty (aside.) Didn't knew inagh ! av course not— over the left. Mebee Toal didn't tip him the wii.k, ncytber ? Though the divil ft matter, save for the name av the tbiug, whetbei he gev him whiskey plain or nat, for the cordial — an' it's diunk on ii he is this bless'd minuit — was all pure sperrit, wid a flavour on it ; suie it's I ought to kuow— Beein' I med it my.self— me an' Toal— ha ! ha ! an' putt it in a medi- cine bottle. Toal. Well Art. glad I am to see you williu' to be frindly an' give up that quarling. Shake hands all round, and we'll have a jorum on it, an' a song — All. Ay, a song. Toal. *■ The Ould Blood," an' Barney, ye divil ye, fill up jorums all round, an' mind, no mistakes this time— Whiskey for the mm, an' cordial far the — Tim. Art. O'Brien of the ould blood ! Art. What talk's this ? In for a pinny in for a pcuL'. An' bure now 4 ART. BRIEN : OR me plidge is broke — be no fault av mine, mind ye — I may as well be hung far a sheep as far a lamb. So fill up whiskey for me, Barney — fill bould and strong ! Toal. That's the right talk ! Sure he's a man agin, an' no slave. Here's to hill wid all enslavin', degradin', plidges ! Ml. To hill wid 'em I They're made for fules and childre — nat for min ! {All drink, and Art. leads off a noisy chorus while they crowd round the bar ; Toal and Murty come forward J) Toay Sing on, me bould bird ! Sing while ye can — ye've nat long — the net's over ye — the snares ready to spring — the twig's limed that'll hould ye fast for ivir ! Ye're mine, Art. O'Brien !— Mine, Miss Maggie, that despised and jeered me ! — Mine, till death and hUl take ye for their own ! Murty. An' a very purty sintiment. Toal O'Dowl ye're too bad for mel Toal. What's that ? What 're ye talking av, ye ould fule ? Murty. Ye're too bad for avin me 1 I've runed bodies far ye, but whin ye come to talk av so wis, I'll go no furder wid ye ! Toal. What? Murty. {Aside.) Faix I'll thry it an wid him— sure I'm poor. {Almtd.) I'll damn no sowls far ye, Toal O'Dowl ; it ii^n't in me wages ; an I'll jest afF to Maggie O'Brien an' tell her all yer divilry. Toal. An' what good'Jl that do ye ? Murty. It will, for I'll tell Art., too ! Ay, an I'll show him how we med the cordial av whiskey. Toal. Murty, don't be a bosthoon ! I'll give ye a crown — there ! — an' let me have no more o' this talk. Murty. {Taking it.) Faix, I'm poor, an' sure the poor must live, the craythures (Knocking without ; clock strikes twelve ; all start ; after parky police admitted, and leader caUs out, "Art. O'Brien here, and drunk!" Tableau.) Toal. That's as it should be ; that Art's broke the plidge 'ill be known all over Ballynawhack before midday to-morrow. Revenge ! {End of Scene.) ACT III.I SCENE III.— (Abt O'Brien's home; very poor; Maggie & Patskt discovered.) Patsey. Mammy, mammy, won't ye dhry yer tears an' play wid yer own Patsey ? there's a good Mammy, now. An' Mammy, you'll be tli« queen in the show, an' I'll be the — what'll I be, Mammy ? Maggie. The prince, my own darlin' ! Patsey. Au' what'U dad. la be, when he comes home. Mammy Maggie, {weeping and catching the child to her heart.) Whisht, Patsey dariin'; Daddy's not well, sometimes, an' can't play. He'll go slape. THE FLOWER OF KrLM:o^TA. 45 Patsey. Av' I ax' 'm on'y, Mammy. He won't go for you, will he 1 Maggie. On'y when he's unwell, Patsey ; on'y then, darlin*, he's contrairy, Patsey. But Mammy, he's near alius unwell, now ; isn't he, Mammy • Maggie {weeping)- Heaven on'y knows how thrue that is, Patsey I (EisiTig.) But, darlin', rin about awhile an' play, an' Patsey. Mammy, I want to spake to ye ; whisper ! Peter Byrne said — an' mammy won't be angry ? • Maggie. No, no ; how eould I ? Patsey. He said to me mammy, that me daddy was always— Maggie. Whisht ! for God's sake whisht ! Patsey. (Astonished.) Drunk, mammy ! the lies av him ! Maggie. Lies, Patsey. All lies ! nivir mind thim whin they spake bad av yere daddy, nivir listin thim ; it's ill he is an* wake fram hun- ger an' cowld (shivers) sure it's hither cowld, an' no wonder daddy's ill — rin about, darlin* playin* horses, an' warm verself. Patsey. Yes, mammy, but I'm hungry ; will ye give me supper mammy ? Maggie. Supper ! mavrone ! my swate son of sons, ye must go widout to-night — I — I have — no — male — Patsey. A bit of cowld pratee, mammy ? Maggie. (Aside.) Me heart's burstin' from me ! that I should have to say to me hungry child " no " when he axes for food ! (aloud) Patsey-, darlin' nivir mind it to-night, an* I'll see an' get ye — get ye — Patsey. Mammy, me darlin' mammy don't cry ! I made ye cry mam- my ! nivir mind ! (a knock heard) wipe up yere eyes, there's some one comin.' Maggie. "Who's there ? Patsey, asthore, go inside and lie down on the — the straw — bed I cannot call it — who's there ? {Exit Patsey, s.e.r.) Kauth {Outside.) Sure it's me — Kauth ! (Maggie opens door and enter K.) crying again, Maggie, oh me shisther, me shisther what's this awful trouble come upon yez ? Maggie. The throuble — the curse — the foul divil out o hell himself ! Drink ! Oh Kauth me heart's broke wid it — me heart's broke. Kauth. Sit down, darlin' an' lay yere poor hot head agin me lap — there — oh Maggie an' it's I feel for ye, an' pity ye— ye who deserved the best av husbands to get one that's killin' Maggie. Whisht, whisht ! not a word of that. He's me own darlin' husban' for iver an' iver — it's the madness that's on him. Kauth . Madness ? Maggie. The madness av drink. D'ye mind, Eauth, when we wor all childre together ? Was there a softer, kinder wan amongst uz than Art? Kauth. Sorra a wan — he was the pick av all. Maggie. An' d'ye mind, when we all growed to be young min an' young wimin, who was the bouldest, the bravest, the best av thim all? Kauth. Sorra to spake it — it was Art. O'Brien ! av he hadn't been, ye'd nivir have tuk him, Maggie ; he was the best. Maggie. Ay, the best ; an' the kindest, the most generous, the noblest ay, an' the most loving an' tinder ! Dye mind too, Kauth, how the 46 ART. o'brien : or wild shlips of geruls (and who of them was wilder nor gayer than me and you ?) how they'd be tazing me an' sayin' Art. 'd lave me bekase I wasn't good enuff for him ? Dye mind it, Kauth ? Kauth. Ay do I, well ; an' the rage you'd be in wid them, Maggie. 'Twas the rage of love, Kauth ! mebee they'd call it jeal- ousy ; but it was love, I loved the very shadow av him, I loved the groun' he throd on, I loved aven the dog ar the baste he shtroked ; oh ! Kauth ! Kauth ! I loved him more than me sowl, more than me God — an' I love him still as fond as ivir ! Kauth. [Pointing to scar) ^yid that mark of his as ye ? Maggie. Ay wid that mark av his, gerul ! Though I'll carry it to me grave, doesn't I know he done it in madness— this ma iness av drick ! — see now, asthore, there's this fine, noble, darlin' young man we've talked av ; an' he rises in the wurruld ; an' a gerul, mad wid love av him, axes him to marry her ; an' he does ; an' they thrive an' pros- per (in spite av a father's curse) ; an' God blesses thim wid three lovely cbildre— oh Kauth ! Kauth ! me darling childre — Kauth. Be calm, sisther, be calm — Maggie. — an' all the— happiness — ay, an' comfort becomin their sia- tion — in the wurruld is their's — there's not a blessin' wantin', not a need remainin' unfulfilled — when— merciful God ! how can I spake the words ? — when the madness — the divil oat o' hill — seizes me unfortu- nate. Art. — the light o' me eyes — the darling av me sowl — an' all at wanst — a'most like a flash av lightening — all is changed — prosperity flies away : the thrift of years is melted like snow ; character is soon lost ; pace knows us no more ; aven the undyin' love bttune us is changed to curses and blows ! an', oh Kauth, it wriuches me heart's core to spake it ; an' me two lovely babes is taken from me — to heaven — betther far thim purabs — betther for all — but, oh Kauth .' who killed them ? Kauth. Whisht, Maggie darlin' ! ye musn't spake so — sure 'twas the faver ! Maggie (laughing hysterically, then crying.) Faver, Faver inagh * It was the dhrink that killed thim innocents- Ay Kauth, stare though ye may — it was the cursed dhrink, an' cothin' else ! They wor starred ! Kauth. Oh Maggie this is awful ! Maggie. Awful ! and thrue, as I live an' breathe, as I hold up that han' to Heaven, those babes— my own blessed darlins — by dhrink, an' dhrink alone, were murdhered ! (Door flies open and in staggers Art.)_ Art. Mur— murdhered ! AVho's talkiii' av murdhered here ? Wat d'ye mane be sittin' down here ? an' you, Ka— Kauth, what divil's mischief are you up to ? plottiu' mur — murdher ! Where's Patsey ? whore's me heart's sonny ? Kauth. Baste ! Arn't ye shamed av yerself ? Art. Shamed ? not a bit ! For why ? Ga long and git a bit to at« Mag — I'm famished wid hunger. Maggie. Oh Alt I have no money, sure ? Art. No money ! who wantsh money ? it's mate I want — get some. D'ye hear mc, ye slatthern Kauth. Wliat d'ye mane, ye blagard, be spaking to her so ? Ill lam ye manners, ye cowardly ah ! wudd ye Maggie. For the love of God, go, Kauth ! he'll kill ye mebee ; he»i mad when he's like this ! go, go 1 (Enter Frank) THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 47 Frank. Kauth ! Art ! What's this conduct ? are you wild to shtrike me wife ? Art. Ay, an' yerself too ! What d'ye luk at me thataway for ? Frank. One moment, be sober av ye ivir were now ! Art. O'Brien, y'll mebee nivir see me again — I can bear the shame no longer ; Kauth an' I sail for America next week ! Art. \ Shail for 'merica ! Maggie ) My God ! alone ! alone in the world ! (Maggie sinks iveeping on a stool, Kauth supports her.) Frank. An' before we go, let me say wan word of warn in' ; let me, in the nem of all that's most holy, pray av ye to spare that poor woman crouchin at yere feet ? — in God's name ? Art. Art. Warnin' an' prayin' me ? Ga long wid ye ! ga long to hill out o this (Maggie breaks from Kauth and runs out calling "Patsey!") Ga long lest I knack ye enta bits, ye spalpeen ye Kauth. For the love af God, come Frank ! (Exeunt by door.) Art. Ga long wid ye, ye prachin, snivellin', hound ! wid no pluck normanhudd ; a disgrace to the gran' ould O'Brien race. (Yells out "The ould Blood.") (Enter Maggie and Patsey s. e. rJ Patsey. Daddy, won't ye come an' lie down be yer own Patsey ? Art. My son av me heart I That I will, Patsey ! now ? Patsey (taking his hand) Ay now, Daddy, we'll go slape (Exeunt B. E. B.; Maggie. Wan night more tided over. Wan more crime staved off. Great Heavens above, I thank thee ! Here, an' me bended knees, i thank me God no blood's been shed in this roof this night (shudders riokntly) an' oh ! what a fearful thiug to return each night me thanks for ; ay, an' thanks to Heaven that keeps me safe. What's before me 'd make most wans mad — a barren home, no food, no fire, no babes av me breast — but the both gan to the angels they kem from ; no fricds in the wurruld but those that are lavin me — not a morsel, nor a hope av a morsel for me starvin first-born — a darlin' devoted husban' trans- formed into a wild baste— a monster of cruelty an' disgu&t ! Oh God ! me God ! have mercy for me son's sake, me husban 's sake, have mercy ! (Falls, and end of Scene. ) ACT. III. SCENE IV.— Widow Branigan's shop; Toal and Widow B. die covered.) Widow B. Gane ye say ? clean gane ; Toal. Clean gane, bag an' baggage ; I saw thim off meself, unbek- nownst though ; Kauth took on dreadful. Widow B. Did she thin, the hussey ? Why'd she be takin' on an' her husban' wid her ? It's mighty quare. Toal. Mebee she lift a bit av her heart behind 1 who knows? Sure 48 ART. O'BRIEN : OR yerie beau Powdherwig was awate on her vranst — ay, an' she on hurt— = are ye jealous, widdy ? Widow B. Jealous av her ! an* she an O Brien — be mariage though it is — what'd I be jealous off, inagh ! Toal. Faix I dunno — ony I thought ye worn't particularly swate on any of thim, the way theve thrated ye. Widow B. Troth an' ye're right. I hate the whole bilin' av thim— - % proud, concated lot ! — wan av thim sets her cap — an' she, Heavens be good to us, a married woman — at my man ; and another half kills the poor fellow wid a load a male dropped on his neck ! let lone a side of a pig ! I hate them, Toal. Toal. The divil a doubt o that — av I'm any judge av faces ; an' ye're not the ony wan, ay ther, Widdy. Well th're gane now, and there's the end of them ! Widmo B. Ony the worst's left behind, an' that's Art. Drunken baste ! Toal. Thrue far ye ; an' a disgrace to the town ; awful he is ! Widow B. Poor Maggie ! I a'most pity her at times ! near naked, an' stervin' about the place. Faix I'd a'most help her now, Toal, ony I soor I'd be rivinged an all av thim, an' her baste av a husban' above all. I soor it, an' I'udn't go gack o me word — 'ud I Toal ? Toal. Why wud ye ? Sure ye'd always kape up a proper sperrit, Widdy. (aside) av a woman's jealous, or afinded in her faling's about her man, bcdad she'll go to hill far her rivinge ! and more power to her elbow say I. Widow B. Ay that's the talk, sperrit's a fine thing, so whan Maggie kera here beggin' a grain o male— Toal. Beggin' male ? So low as that ? Widow B. Ay an' lower av possible ! She begged a dish av me — for the sonny, she said — but I sa'd, seys I, "Mrs. O.Br, en yese'll plaze not to ax me," ses I, for, ses I, "I've tuk a vow to give nothin'" — I didn't say to who — an', ses I, *' you wouldn't have me go back o' me oath ?" Toal. Well, an' what did she say t Widow B. Jest nothin', av ye plaze the proud they are still, but turns ou her heel an' out she goes, for the wurruld like a thragedy — ah Mr. Powdherwig, sure it's good for sore eyes to see ye. {Enter Powdherwig.) Toal. Good evenin' to ye Mr, Powdherwig. Troth I'll be goin'— - two's company, three's none. An' whisper wi Idy, strike while iron's hat— he's the best chance you'll get — fine ligs — an' illigant head o' male — an' a penny in the bank, eh Widdy. Widow B. Ga 'long wid ye little divil. {Exit Toal.) So, Mr. Powdherwig, ye're love's gan. Powdherwig. No, my chawmaw, yaw not gone ; yaw heaw still to enchant yaw hown sweet P. Widmo B. Ay , but the other charmer — Kauth, Murray, that was — aflf to Ameriky wid out ye. Powdherwig. Hi'm glad the paw gal's gaun— perfect baw the way she flung herself at me ; reawUy pitied haw. Should have taken drunken brothaw with haw though. Saw him just now reelin' along the street, singing his mad song — really Mrs. B. adawble one, he is two bad. Widow B. Thrue for ye ; he's the burning shame av Ballynawhack Dhruuk day and night — night an' day — in rags and tatthera an' dirt — THE FLOWEE OF KILMONA. 49 an' liis poor wife an' boy starvin*. Heigho I wander are all min as decateful min ? I mind him a sober, noble, young sthrip of a fellow, heigho ! Pmvderwiff. Hall men are not. Hi ham not, Mrs. B. ; hoh my angel lady, hif yound' honly say the word, hif yon'd honly place thy 'and hin mine— say, oh say most beautifu' hof Branigans, why not become — ahem — Mrs. Sweet P. ? WicUm B. (sinks into his arms.) Oh its the happy pig-jobber I am this day! Powderwig, darling! I'm thine for ever. Powdherwig. {Kissing.) Beauteous Branigan, ha, ho. [Aside.) My hi, hain't she a waste ? {almid) what bliss his mine, hand ho, Branigan ho, Branigan this his (aside) 'ang it hall, TU 'ave to let her drop. {Aloud) this is ho, the scrumpliest moment hof my life. (She tries to get up, he slipt backwards under the weight, and drops her.) End of scene. ACT III SCENE v.— (Art. O'Brien's home ; Maggie crouching over the empty fireplace and weeping bitterly.) Maggie. The boy ; me darlin' ; Oh would that he wor dead ? No food this day has passed those prutty lips, save a bare crust flung him in the gutther ! No clothes to keep out the icy sleet an' the bitther bitin' cowld ! no fire to warm the little tender limbs av him ; no bed to lie on but a rowl av filthy straw ! No father to care far him ony wan that's mad ! an' the worst madness ! No mother to cheer him, save a heart- broken despairin woman who cannot avin die far him. Patsey, Patsey, the core av me heart, there's moments whin I more than wish y« dead ! there's times whin black, hellish, thoughts breed in me mind, an' creep, an' crawl, an' mount higher an' ivir higher till they touch an' blaze up me brain wid poisoned idays for fagots — till they make me a'most feel for a kni — Great God ! Keep me sane ! {nojse without, a knock) whisht ! Art ? no, it is not Art., {Utterly) I know that— its too quiet a knocK for a dhrun — (door opens and enter Toal> You here ! tell me ! what's — speak — for heaven's sake tell me Art, is not — Oh, speak I What of Art ? Toal. Maggie, Maggie ! I know nothing of Art. — how should I ? Maggie. How should you ? Who'd know bether than the man that juned him ha ! ha ! / know ye, Toal O'Dowl ! Ye've nivir decaved me • Toal. Have I not, thin ? Well, that's a comfort t'ye anyway, Mrs. O'Brien. Maggie. Small comfort's lift me in this wurruid ; but there s wan at any rates, an' that's to be quit av you, Toal O'Dowl, so sp;ike yer business, an' be gan fram under me roof-three lest it should fall and kill ye. ToaX. Pleasant spakin'. Faix I'll take it aisy — here's an ilhgant arrum chair, ha ! ha ! [Sits on an old box.) 50 ART. o'bRien : OB Maggie. "What impidence is this ? Toal. None at all. Maggie. Lave me house at ons't ! Toal. Your house, ha ! ha ! Mebee ye don't know it's my house ? I bought it three months ago from the poor fule that's let ye live her© so long 'ithout a pinny rint ; it's my house, and there's me papers. Maggie. Shameless villyan, that ye are ! I'd sooner lie in the ditch than undher this roof-three — I'll lave it — now. Toal. Ay ; an' the child — it's snowin' out. Maggie. Heartless wretch ! Me boy, me boy, how can I take ye out? Toal. Well, don't ; that's all. /'U let ye stay in ; it's a pleasure to come an' watch ye ; the housekeepin's illigant. Maggie. Av I die for it, av Patsey dies for it, I'll lave thii to morrow. Toal. Ah, thin, ye won't now. Art, won't let me. He's my servant, d'ye see Maggie Murray — I like that name best — he's my slave, Maggie Murray ; and wid wan glass av whiskey, ay or half, he does anything whatever /bid him Maggie Murray ; fl'ye see that, now? Ye'll stop here. Maggie. Toal O'Dowl ! av I was a man I'd — Oh ! I d tear ye as ye stand ! Toal. Ha, ha, ha, wudd ye now ? The joke av it !— But we'll quit coddin' and talk sense. (Rising.) D'ye mind, Maggie Murray, ivir callin' me me * A Poonch 'ithout the faytures, eh ? Whose the Poonch now? Meself? ar yere bastly blagardof a husband wid the 'faytures' av the dhrunkard, and 'ithout the sense avin av the Poonch ? Has • little Toal' bet ye there, Miss Maggie Murray ? Maggie. Thriumph at yer will, the thriumph's a poor wan ! Toal. Thriumph ! Ay, I thriumph over the ould, ould whiskey, an' ould cabin, wid Miss Maggie Murray, to mix the poonch wid plenty av faytures av sin, av sorra' an' av want !' D'ye mind that ? Maggie. Villyan ! heaven'll punish ye ! Toal. Ay, indade nom ? — Well, d'ye know what I soor ? ' Poonch 'ithout the' faytures' 'd have his rivinge — I soor want an' sorra an* misery'd rivinge me ; dhrink'd rivinge me ; blows'd rivinge me (an' Miss Maggie Murray that's an illigant clip ye have over the eye — ha ! does that mek ye wince ?) I soor blood'd rivinge me ; an' haven't I seen it flow fram ye — at his han' — like wather fram the pump ? I soor 7nurder'd rivinge me — an' who knows the hour but what it will ? Maggie. Ye monsther av hell ! wud ye put me own husban' to mur- dher me ? My God free me from this fearful villyun ! My God ! My God ! Toal. Ay, Maggie Murray ! call an yere God, but how will He answer ye whin ye're own father cursed ye ? an' who brought ye the c\irse ? Who, I ax, Miss Maggie Murray ? T'wasme, t'was Toal O'Dowl ' the little Leprechaun,' putt it in the old man s heart an' worked it out afterwards! "Cursed be ye abroad!' he said; *' cursed at home! cursed in one another ! cursed in yere children ! cursed for ivir be yere lot !'' Has it come to ye. Miss Maggie Murray ? Maggie. ( Who has sunk on her knees.) Oh, mercy ! mercy ! in pity's name meicy ! THE FLOWER OE KILMONA, 51 Toal. Did ye ivir show mercy to me ? No ! But yet— I'm not so black as I'm painted — 1 11 show some to you. For, Maggie Murray, despised and hated as I always am by ye, Maggie Murray, I love ye still! Whusper — Maggie. (Seizing a chopper.) Inhuman, disgusting monsther ! I'll free the wurruld av ye. (rushes at him; he escapes by door; Maggib flings the axe away^ bursts into tears and sinks on floor in faint; pause ; enter Powderwig. ) Powderwig. Mrs. O'Brien ! Mrs. O'Brien ! wall I nevaw ! the pore creetchaw's in a suvNOund ! Mrs. O'Brien, I say ! Maggie. (Faintly.) Who's that ? Patsey ? Art. ? Oh, my head ! Ah, Mr. Powderwig (rising) a faint — that's all — Powderioig. (Ghavely.) Mrs O'Brien, from me 'art hof 'arts I pity you, hand so does my sweet B. that is now — ahem — is Mrs. P. — hand, Mrs. O'Brien, you'll pardon the hintrusion — Maggie. It's few inthrudes here now — wan's jest gan, and there can't be a worse come — go on sir ! Powderwig. Forgive me ! Hi'm not an 'artless man ; Hi an* Mrs. P. (Mrs. B. has was) whom Hi persuaded to forget hand forgive, take the liberty hofif hoffering* you a place — ha berth, has I may say— hof comfort, hand hindependence — Maggie. (Eagerly.) Oh, sir, for the love of heaven, where ? Tell me where a poor disgraced and broken woman may be taken, to work her flesh from her fingers for bread for her and hers. Tell me, in glory's name! Powdei-wig. Haw ! the work would be 'ardish, is 'ardish, but the pay and living is good, hand you can 'ave it hat once, Mrs. O'Brien. Maggie. (Grasping his hand.) At once ! Oh, sir ! You've saved us, saved us. Powderwig. Ahem — but there' one condition hattached, Mrs. O'Brien, slight, but cannot be hoverlooked — you must come hand live hin the place — Maggie. (Recoiling.) An' lave me husban' ? Powderwig. Ahem ~ that his essential — leave him haltogether— my borders bar himperative. Maggie. (Sadly and firmly.) Then, sir, ye may take yere orders back where they kem from. I thank ye kindly, fram me heart, I thank ye, for thinking av me, but my duty is here. I cannot leave my husband. Powderwig. Cannot leave him ? Hexcuse me, Mrs. O'Brien, but it his madness to stop with such a man. He's — he's — he's dangerous, Im told. Maggie. Enough for me, hj's my husband. I stay wid him while life lasts — an' after — jest as it's plazin' to heaven. Powderwig. Hand you reawUy refuse, Mrs. O'Brien ? So say, yes or or no, finally. Maggie. No, a thousand times, no ! Never till the day of my death, or of his. I took him. / axed him to marry me, not he axed me ; an' avin' av it wor otherwise, I soore at the altar, I'd be his true wife, and never, never, shall I leave him — come woe, come despair — till death for ever bursts the band betune us ! Never ! Powderwig. Mrs. O'Brien, Hi respect hand Hi Hadmire you ; but you'll hexcuse me for saying your hansaw is that of a madwoman, Maggie, Mad, perhaps ; but true to the death ! (End of scene.) 52 ART. O'BRIEN : OR ACT III. SCENE VI. {Outside Scadhan's ; night; Toal and Mv^rr discovered.) Tool. Mad ! an' wuddn'fc I be mad wid that cat o* he'll like to murdher me -wid an axe ? Mad indade. Murty, {Aside.) Gorra it's pity she didn't rid the wurruld av the baste. {Al(yud.) Oh, bebad, that althers, the case, an' no wondher, Toal, ye're put out — a cat o' hell indade. Tool. Murty ! av I wasn't afraid av the noise — no harm tellin' you' for no wan'd believe yer oath — av it wasn't far the noise — sea there {showing brace pistols in belt) I'd a shot her ! Murty. Wudd ye now ? Bedad it's kind o ye. Toal. No nonsense wid me to-night, Murty ! I'm in no humonr to Btand it. Do what I bid ye ; fill him up mad wid dhrink — make him a wild raving madman an' — we'll go there ; I'll say no more ; do as I bid ye ; and there's all the gould I have about me for airnest or more. Murty. {Clutching gold.) Twenty-two golden sovereigns. Toal. Mind ye do it ! Mad, I say, ravin' mad must Art. O'Brien b» an hour or two hence. {Exit s. e. e.) Murty. It's bloody villuny, I know's up ; but what can a poor ould scowliogue do ? Faix I'll hide the gould away — it's dangerous to be found an one. {Exit l. {Enter Art. in tatters ; pale as death, bloodshot e'des, misery, m. E. R") Art. {Maudlin.) Pity a poor lost man! — an ould O'Brien av Limerick ; bedad I'll sing ye the grand song av the rale ould stock, an' all for the price of a uaggin. Sure it's chape it is. Arrah whisht! There's no wan to hear me now, an me dyin' far a sup av whiskey ; an' there's Scadhan's, so warm and cosy — ay, an' listen to the laffin' — mebee at me — didn't that imp o' hill, Barney, kick me out av his doors this day for beggin' the price av a glass ? the mane, dirthy scoundhrel-^ an' me that spint a fortune there in dhrink ? Curse the dhrink ! Curse it, I say ! Curse the man that makes it ! Curse the man that lives by it ! Curse the man that sells it ! Curses for ivir light an the head av those that timpt to it — Ay, Art. O'Brien, Art. O'Brien, it's well ye may curse it ! "Whete's me strength, an' manhood, an' pride now ? — Gone to the wild, bleak winds av heaven ! Where's me religion? — Gone for ivir ! Where's me home — me own dear home — that I tuk the joy an' the glory in ? — Gone for ivir! Where's the thrade that thruv as no ither man's thruv ? — Gone for ivir ! Where's the darlin babes I loved — little Franky, the dailin' little crathure wid the goulden hair, an' the eyes av heaven's own blue ; and me wisheen Meg., the angel an airth, wid the angel voice av her — where are me childre ? — Gone for ivir ! all but me sonny — me own sonny Patsey — an av he'd ^o — av he'd go ! nathin' should hould me on earth ! nothin' — heaven Itself 'udn'tstop me ; 'ithout Patsey I'm a roaring wild biste an' Maggie ! the Maggie av me youth av me wild love, the Maggie I worshipped— ay adored ! Great God ! what is she now'i Wan — wasted — starved — half-naked — bathered, bathered I say, with that trimbling fist ! Oh VVl go mad to think av it all ! read ! mad ! tor the dhrop to keep me up — mad ! THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. ^S Murty entering l.) Art. O'Brien ! arrah what are ye screechin' about ? Bedad the pohs'll have ye ? Ars. Murty Nolan ! for the love av heaver give me a dhrink 1 For y'ere dear sowl's sake git me a sup of whiskey ! Murty. See how low he is ! wanst I was beggin av him ; now I'm his masther. Well I will — I will — in wid ye to Scadhan'a. Damn me I'll earn the gould ! (Exewnt into Scadhans' end of scene.) ACT III. SCENE VII.— ("Art O'Brien's home, same as previously ; Ma