Great Britain. Army. Regiment of Foot, 95th; Kincaid, J. (John), 1787-1862; Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Personal narratives, British
Matters, however, were far from keeping pace with Paddy's inclinations,
and feeling convinced at last, that there must be a rival in the
case, he determined to watch her very closely, in order to have his
suspicions removed, or, if confirmed, to give his rival such a pounding
as should prevent his ever crossing his path again. Accordingly,
seeing her one evening leave the shop better dressed than usual, he
followed at a distance, until opposite the post-office, when he saw her
joined, (evidently by appointment,) by a tall well-dressed spalpeen
of a fellow, and they then proceeded at a smart pace up the adjoining
street--Paddy followed close behind in the utmost indignation, but
before he had time to make up his mind as to which of his rival's bones
he should begin by breaking, they all at once turned into a doorway,
which Paddy found belonged to one of those dancing shops so common in
Dublin.
Determined not to be foiled in that manner, and ascertaining that a
decent suit of _toggery_ and five _tin_-pennies in his pocket would
ensure him a _free_ admission, he lost no time in equipping in his
Sunday's best, and having succeeded in _borrowing_ the needful for the
occasion out of his master's till, he sallied forth bent on conquest.
Paddy was ushered up stairs into the ball-room with all due decorum,
but that commodity took leave of him at the door, for the first thing
he saw on entering, was his mistress and his rival, within a yard of
him, whirling in the mazes of a country dance. Pat's philosophy was
unequal to the sight, and throwing one arm round the young lady's
waist, and giving her partner a douse in the chops with the other, it
made as satisfactory a change in their relative positions as he could
have reasonably desired, by sending his rival in a continuation of his
waltzing movement, to the extremity of the room to salute the wall at
the end of it.
Pat, however, was allowed but brief space to congratulate himself on
his successful _debut_ in a ball-room, for in the next instant he found
himself most ungracefully propelled through the door-way, by sundry
unseen hands, which had grasped him tightly by the _scruff_ of the
neck, and on reaching the top of the staircase, he felt as if a hundred
feet had given a simultaneous kick which raised him like a balloon for
a short distance, and then away he went heels over head towards the
bottom. It so happened at this particular moment, that three gentlemen
very sprucely dressed, had just paid their money and were in the act
of ascending, taking that opportunity, as gentlemen generally do, of
arranging their hair and adjusting their frills to make their _entré_
the more bewitching, and it is therefore unnecessary to say that the
descent of our aëronaut not only disturbed the economy of their wigs
but carried all three to the bottom with the impetus of three sacks of
potatoes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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