I do not know where Ballymulligan is, and never knew anybody who did. Once I asked the Mulligan the question, when that chieftain assumed a look of dignity so ferocious1, and spoke2 of “Saxon curiawsitee” in a tone of such evident displeasure, that, as after all it can matter very little to me whereabouts lies the Celtic principality in question, I have never pressed the inquiry3 any farther.
I don’t know even the Mulligan’s town residence. One night, as he bade us adieu in Oxford4 Street — “I live THERE,” says he, pointing down towards Oxbridge, with the big stick he carries — so his abode5 is in that direction at any rate. He has his letters addressed to several of his friends’ houses, and his parcels, &c. are left for him at various taverns6 which he frequents. That pair of checked trousers, in which you see him attired7, he did me the favor of ordering from my own tailor, who is quite as anxious as anybody to know the address of the wearer. In like manner my hatter asked me, “Oo was the Hirish gent as ‘ad ordered four ‘ats and a sable8 boar to be sent to my lodgings9?” As I did not know (however I might guess) the articles have never been sent, and the Mulligan has withdrawn10 his custom from the “infernal four-and-nine-penny scoundthrel,” as he calls him. The hatter has not shut up shop in consequence.
I became acquainted with the Mulligan through a distinguished11 countryman of his, who, strange to say, did not know the chieftain himself. But dining with my friend Fred Clancy, of the Irish bar, at Greenwich, the Mulligan came up, “inthrojuiced” himself to Clancy as he said, claimed relationship with him on the side of Brian Boroo, and drawing his chair to our table, quickly became intimate with us. He took a great liking12 to me, was good enough to find out my address and pay me a visit: since which period often and often on coming to breakfast in the morning I have found him in my sitting-room13 on the sofa engaged with the rolls and morning papers: and many a time, on returning home at night for an evening’s quiet reading, I have discovered this honest fellow in the arm-chair before the fire, perfuming the apartment with my cigars and trying the quality of such liquors as might be found on the sideboard. The way in which he pokes14 fun at Betsy, the maid of the lodgings, is prodigious15. She begins to laugh whenever he comes; if he calls her a duck, a divvle, a darlin’, it is all one. He is just as much a master of the premises16 as the individual who rents them at fifteen shillings a week; and as for handkerchiefs, shirt-collars, and the like articles of fugitive17 haberdashery, the loss since I have known him is unaccountable. I suspect he is like the cat in some houses: for, suppose the whiskey, the cigars, the sugar, the tea-caddy, the pickles18, and other groceries disappear, all is laid upon that edax-rerum of a Mulligan.
The greatest offence that can be offered to him is to call him MR. Mulligan. “Would you deprive me, sir,” says he, “of the title which was bawrun be me princelee ancestors in a hundred thousand battles? In our own green valleys and fawrests, in the American savannahs, in the sierras of Speen and the flats of Flandthers, the Saxon has quailed19 before me war-cry of MULLIGAN ABOO! MR. Mulligan! I’ll pitch anybody out of the window who calls me MR. Mulligan.” He said this, and uttered the slogan of the Mulligans with a shriek20 so terrific, that my uncle (the Rev21. W. Gruels, of the Independent Congregation, Bungay), who had happened to address him in the above obnoxious22 manner, while sitting at my apartments drinking tea after the May meetings, instantly quitted the room, and has never taken the least notice of me since, except to state to the rest of the family that I am doomed23 irrevocably to perdition.
Well, one day last season, I had received from my kind and most estimable friend, MRS. PERKINS OF POCKLINGTON SQUARE (to whose amiable24 family I have had the honor of giving lessons in drawing, French, and the German flute), an invitation couched in the usual terms, on satin gilt-edged note-paper, to her evening-party; or, as I call it, “Ball.”
Besides the engraved25 note sent to all her friends, my kind patroness had addressed me privately26 as follows:—
MY DEAR MR. TITMARSH — If you know any VERY eligible27 young man, we give you leave to bring him. You GENTLEMEN love your CLUBS so much now, and care so little for DANCING, that it is really quite A SCANDAL. Come early, and before EVERYBODY, and give us the benefit of all your taste and CONTINENTAL28 SKILL.
“Your sincere
“EMILY PERKINS.”
“Whom shall I bring?” mused29 I, highly flattered by this mark of confidence; and I thought of Bob Trippett; and little Fred Spring, of the Navy Pay Office; Hulker, who is rich, and I knew took lessons in Paris; and a half-score of other bachelor friends, who might be considered as VERY ELIGIBLE— when I was roused from my meditation30 by the slap of a hand on my shoulder; and looking up, there was the Mulligan, who began, as usual, reading the papers on my desk.
“Hwhat’s this?” says he. “Who’s Perkins? Is it a supper-ball, or only a tay-ball?”
“The Perkinses of Pocklington Square, Mulligan, are tiptop people,” says I, with a tone of dignity. “Mr. Perkins’s sister is married to a baronet, Sir Giles Bacon, of Hogwash, Norfolk. Mr. Perkins’s uncle was Lord Mayor of London; and he was himself in Parliament, and MAY BE again any day. The family are my most particular friends. A tay-ball indeed! why, Gunter . . .” Here I stopped: I felt I was committing myself.
“Gunter!” says the Mulligan, with another confounded slap on the shoulder. “Don’t say another word: I’LL go widg you, my boy.”
“YOU go, Mulligan?” says I: “why, really — I— it’s not my party.”
“Your hwhawt? hwhat’s this letter? a’n’t I an eligible young man? — Is the descendant of a thousand kings unfit company for a miserable31 tallow-chandthlering cockney? Are ye joking wid me? for, let me tell ye, I don’t like them jokes. D’ye suppose I’m not as well bawrun and bred as yourself, or any Saxon friend ye ever had?”
“I never said you weren’t, Mulligan,” says I.
“Ye don’t mean seriously that a Mulligan is not fit company for a Perkins?”
“My dear fellow, how could you think I could so far insult you?” says I. “Well, then,” says he, “that’s a matter settled, and we go.”
What the deuce was I to do? I wrote to Mrs. Perkins; and that kind lady replied, that she would receive the Mulligan, or any other of my friends, with the greatest cordiality. “Fancy a party, all Mulligans!” thought I, with a secret terror.
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1
ferocious
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adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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2
spoke
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n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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3
inquiry
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n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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4
Oxford
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n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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5
abode
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n.住处,住所 | |
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6
taverns
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n.小旅馆,客栈,酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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7
attired
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adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
sable
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n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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9
lodgings
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n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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10
withdrawn
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vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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11
distinguished
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adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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12
liking
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n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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13
sitting-room
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n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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14
pokes
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v.伸出( poke的第三人称单数 );戳出;拨弄;与(某人)性交 | |
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15
prodigious
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adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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16
premises
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n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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17
fugitive
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adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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18
pickles
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n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 );处于困境;遇到麻烦;菜酱 | |
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19
quailed
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害怕,发抖,畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
shriek
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v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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21
rev
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v.发动机旋转,加快速度 | |
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22
obnoxious
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adj.极恼人的,讨人厌的,可憎的 | |
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23
doomed
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命定的 | |
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24
amiable
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adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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25
engraved
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v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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26
privately
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adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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27
eligible
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adj.有条件被选中的;(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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28
continental
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adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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29
mused
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v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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30
meditation
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n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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31
miserable
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adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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