Part 38

Johnnie had always been a trial of a unique description. Was it possible that he had put the laws of nature at defiance and returned to torment his long-suffering spouse? But the explanation was simple. She thought it so simple herself as to admit of its expression, as we have said, on a postcard.

When she had left him among all those ranks of dead, the thought came to her that he was dissatisfied with his resting-place and would prefer to be laid with his ancestors. And so Johnnie was promptly dug up from where he had been deposited with so much pomp, removed across half England, and “reburied.”

If it was true that, like so many ghosts, he was particular about his tomb, I can quite understand his displeasure in this instance. As I have said, I share it.

He lies now just outside the park where he played as a child, under the lee of the little church where he said his first innocent prayers, and his dust will mingle with the dust of his grandsires.

Such a quiet, peaceful spot! Immense cornfields skirt it on the one hand and on the other the great woods.

May I lie in some such hallowed, uncrowded acre!

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XXXVII

Irish born as I am, there is something in the breath of Ireland that makes my heart rise. The sound of the soft Irish voices is music to my ear. I forgive the slipshod ways because of the general delightfulness. Distressful country as it is—more than ever, now, alas! the battle-ground of factions—from the moment of our landing joyfully on its shores, to the sad hour of parting, our too rare visits to Ireland have been punctuated by kindly and innocent laughter. Impossible, beloved people! They break the heart of the politician and of the reformer; but how enchanting they are to just a foolish person such as I am, who likes to go and live among them and enjoy them without political bias; who can laugh at and with them, and love them as they are!

Our last journey to Ireland began in mirth, and ended in the agonies of a bad passage which accentuated all our regrets. The traject thither had been accomplished with no such drawbacks.

The Master of the Villino is remarkably indifferent to anything the sea can do; but I like to have a comfortable cabin to myself, and a large port-hole for the sea-wind to blow through. I cannot say I’m fond of feeling like the German lover:

Himmel-hoch jauchzend, zu Tode betrübt

between wave and hollow. But it is the woes of other people that really undo me. On this particular passage—a bright fresh day it was, with what’s called, I suppose, “a choppy sea”—I was quite ready to defy the elements, when suddenly there arose, from the next-door cabin, sounds.... No—even in recollection these things are not to be dwelt upon!

“My dear,” said I to my companion, “let us talk and drown the outcries of this shameless and abandoned woman.”

Fortunately I had a companion with whom conversation is always as easy as it is interesting. We began to enjoy our own pleasant humour very much, and did not allow a moment’s silence to fall between us, lest—

We were travelling by North Wall; and when the placidity of the Liffey odoriferously enfolded us, we emerged cheerfully on deck to join some friends, for the sake of whose agreeable company we had chosen this particular route.

The dear little lady who was about to be our hostess we found charitably administering dry biscuits to a very dilapidated-looking, green-faced young woman with the unmistakable appearance of—but again, no!

“Poor Mrs. Saunders has been feeling so faint,” said our friend, with the cheerful sympathy of the good sailor.

We were introduced to the languid one.

“Poor thing,” we said, “you do look bad! Have you been ill?”

One is very crude in one’s questions on board ship.

“Oh, no; not ill!” She flung the suggestion from her with an acid titter. Then rolling a jaundiced eye upon us:

“Were you ill?”

“Oh, no,” we said; “we quite enjoyed the passage.”

The sufferer turned her glance from our brutality to the sympathetic neighbour.

“If I could have slept,” she said plaintively. Then she looked back darkly at us. “There were some horrible people in the cabin next me, who would talk, and talk, and talk.”

“Well,” we exclaimed, and it was indeed in all innocence, “you were at least better off than we were. For there was a creature in the cabin next to us—the most disgusting—the most unbridled—”

It was not till we saw the dreadful rage in her eyes that we realized! It is a horrible little anecdote, but it started us laughing even before we set foot on the quays.